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Best Intimate Poems

Below are the all-time best Intimate poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of intimate poems written by PoetrySoup members

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See Also:

Poems are below...


New Intimate Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Intimate poems are below this new poems list.

My Most Intimate Dream by Ellison, Jack
The intimate stranger by Birch, Kornelia
An Intimate Moment by Pinet, Emile
Intimate Conversation by DiMino, Joe
Intimate Betrayal by Levy, Barry
Intimate Strangers by KITCHEN, TIM
Intimate Domain Horn Haiku by Horn, James
Intimate Dream Lover by Love, Jamesa
Sweat Intimate Conspiracy by Biocchi, Daniel
Intimate Love Affair by Edwards, Kim Robin

View all new Intimate Poems

The Best Intimate Poems

 
Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Sheol

Dark Knight-tress 

Underneath 
This gown I feel nothing
Silk less feelings
The odor of intimate apparel lessens 
Vanity fare from any sun
Warrior of beauty
Where have you gone?
A fortress of gloom
Not even death wants in
Black nail tips
Brownish plum lips

I close my eyes 
I see them all
The Shadows
Climbing over my soul
The darken deepens 
The stars dim my view
Irremovable makeup
Land becomes an enemy
I become
The Dark Knight-tress
Scolding my next victim

~S~


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2013

Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Loves Fragility

Love is such a fragile sentiment
So oft confused with sex,
So in our daily double dealings
We render it is so indefinable
Like the faint flicker of a candlelight
That is blown out by our despair,
An intimate venue of self torture.
We add to its impenetrable obscurity
Blowing the flame right out,
Thus our outrageous shadows 
Are silently snuffed out.
 
How easy it is to forget 
All our wistful whispers, those
Sweet nothings of past affections,
We no longer trudge the path made up for two.
Forgotten are those bygone days
When we believed that thistledown tufts
Were really friendly fairies in disguise.
 
We head for a dull and empty living
Blaming everyone else uselessly.
Aren't we the product of our time?
We slam the doors of love in our own faces,
Building woeful walls around us
Painting it with a tinge of misunderstanding,
When we can lead such a colorful life,
Giving our hearts a chance,
Laughing at ourselves.....
And at the moon above.

P O T D  28 March 2017


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017



Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

When He Came

I waited for him as the soldier comes
With a beating of drums and trumpet call;
But he arrived instead with a quiet tread
That my ears never heard at all.

I thought he would come like the blazing sun
And claim me for his bride;
But in the soft twilight of a starlit night
He stood there at my side.

I thought he would come as loud thunder
That shouts to the midnight skies;
Instead he came as a whisper
And the finger of love touched my eyes.

I dreamed of the fire that shone in his eye
Might give mine a more tender glow;
But I saw in his face a more intimate grace
That I discovered not long ago

I thought he would come in the tumult
Of ten thousand voices in song;
Instead he came in soft silence
And brought me to where I belong.

I hoped would come to incite my soul
As seas are split by storm's strife;
But he brought me balm of a sublime calm
And tranquility that crowned my life.


Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2011

Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Love Awaits

That is the path I've chosen,
covered with soft blades of grass
hedged with variegated hostas,
and  moonlight filtering 
through hanging willow  trees.
Winding path tilts slightly uphill,
towards a wooden pergola
that glimmers in the darkness,
a temple built in paradise 
for my lovely Marguerite.
I have planned my life's purpose,
I know so clearly the urge to live,
my priceless gift from Cupid
cleansing the humdrum of this life.
The nightingale enlivens the silence,
full moon  oozes limpid serenity,
the glow worms twinkle lovingly
like a myriad of faraway stars.
A lonely breeze caress my face
but cannot quench the thirst
nor quell the boiling of my blood 
nor the hunger I feel for her.
I gaze upon her lovely face
A chiaroscuro in the moon beams
A painting mightier than any Madonna
that emanated from Fra Fillipo Lippi
Or an intimate impression by Renoir.
Yet like these famous portraits of old
Our love forever will survive.


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017

Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Of Road Rage and the Poetrysoup Profanity Policy

As Joe was biking down the side of the road
He ran across a chap with a dearth of driving skills.  
Or more accurately, the driver almost ran over Joe; 
'Twas one of life’s unwanted thrills.

A spirited exchange ensued between them
About who was in the right.
But this being the delicate poetrysoup,
I’ll keep the language light:

“You fornicating chewer of masculine appendages,” 
Quoth the driver.  “What the fornicating inferno were you doing?”
Replied Joe, “Just following the traffic signs, 
you premenstrual hyena in need of screwing.”

He quipped, “You’re replete with fornicating doo-doo,
My  light was coitally green.”
Quoth Joe, “Alas, your light was not.
And your maternal unit stars in movies obscene.”

Said he, “A shower of gold, is what I’m told, 
May clarify your sight.”
Retorted Joe, “Stay in that car, spawn of Jar-Jar, 
or you’ll be seeing lots of lights.”

“Perhaps remove the telephone pole,” said he,
“From where you store your bowel.”
Quipped Joe, “So I could fire a methane cloud in your direction?”
Oh my, how the driver did howl.

The driver continued.  “I don’t give an airborne 
intimate encounter about you and your bike.”
One thing was abundantly clear,
This man Joe didn’t like.

Joe gave not a rodent’s backside
For this foul troll’s attitude.
Yet the driver felt inclined to continue
with his prattling so rude:

“Consume excrement and expire,
you maternally fornicating 
portion-of excrement consuming
rah-rah blah blah…” He continued bloviating.

Suggested Joe when he finished, “Might I refer you to a friend,
one you clearly need?”
He’s a cranio-proctologist, 
The best around, indeed.”

 “I invite you to  perform an antatomically 
challenging act of self-gratification,” quoth he.
“I ought to apply my foot to your tightly clad posterior
and then everyone will see.”

“While I’m good at riding bikes,” said Joe,
“Flexibility is not my strong suit.”
“So the contortionism is out, 
and I plan to continue my route.”

“And as far as threats go, 
I must say that I’m not very impressed.
I wouldn’t bet your Hollywood looks
on what I sure hope is a jest.”

“In matters of fitness, you clearly lag,” noted Joe.
Which is why you’re in the car, and I’m not.
Thus, I cordially invite you to make a bowel movement
or kindly get off the pot.”

Happily the driver understood the score.
Away he drove with a whine.
Turns out he had to rearrange a sock drawer.
“Too bad, “ thought Joe.  “He talked such a good line.”

Away Joe pedaled into the day,
Whistling a happy tune,
hoping not to encounter such a 
fornicating bowel movement show anytime soon.

3/2/16


Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A twisted tale -Jane's Jewel-

Mardi Gras "The Medieval Story"  

On a hot, heavy night in Orleans,
Joan and Jane were seen rubbing chest on chest
An inviting, intimate moment, to undress
Two pretty trimmed tops, eating like dames
They touched in ways, that drove those who make war insane
The secret spilled before the sun sprawled across the floor

Medieval England, banging on iron set doors,
All around men and women, wanting to witness the whiplash 
Beads and beads of love, thrown at their feet
Joan' and Jane', having fun in front of, yesterdays courtyard
Sweet acts of flagellation were performed to stimulate the crowd
Screaming, and receiving, intense, brutal lacerations 
In the eyes of endless nudity, everything wet in between 
Left to right, a secluded society, dance in masquerade 
Two men rise and ravage Jane, from hip to hip
Join-in, was a Jouster, and Lord Johnsburg, 
They came in a little closer to claim, Joan
Closing, and inflicting as much damage as possible

Crestfallen forces of the unknown, -the audience grows
Remain firm and indulge this wet period of the Middle Ages,

The first crusade held stones in each hand, 
Applauding to neck the beauty of friends
A noose hanging high held no head on this day
Yelling to feel the pain perils of anguish, 
This was in reality the vassal of Jane
The King, ask to see them on their knees
Before he seeded, sending the Spanish tickler, 
Fetching for the finest skin
At her end, Joan, watched Jane, spread like never before
Perfumed skin, rising up in smoke, -Joan's final stroke
Left burning at the Stake, In a Medieval World, from hell
The Siege of Joan and Jane did not end well
 
A lonely Bard, now sits and sings a sadistic tale,
A tale, of dirty deeds, -a dancing bloody masquerade 
Joan and Jane, compensating for the Mardi Gras Parade

By: SKAT


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014

Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

LOVE at FIRST SIGHT

Love was in the air when he laid eyes on her.
Childhood; elementary and even high school with her.
Walking towards her, he greeted her.
Anxiety spiraled as he hugged her.
Conversation grew deeper as he sat with her.
Wanting to get closer because he was falling for her.

Another woman called pausing the time he was having with her.
Knowing he had to answer; he stepped away and spoke to her.
She stated that something wasn't quite right with her.
She said that her stomach had been bothering her.
Now he's thinking back if he came inside her.
Thinking if she lied to him about her tubes being tied within her.

Does he blame himself for listening to her?
Knowing right from wrong and yet he can't blame her.
Does he blame the devil for allowing him to be intimate with her?
Is he not a human that makes mistakes just like her?
Begging God to make a way for him and her.
Asking God to forgive him for committing the sin with her.

God said, "relax my son, you were only dreaming of her."


Copyright © Pace INK-U-SCRIPT | Year Posted 2012

Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Miller Girls: Now Presenting

Inside our parents’ bedroom by the door,
our sister Jenny played the old piano.
From all of us a melody would soar
in varying degrees of voice soprano.

A high soprano Jennifer would sing
as pretty Melanie would sing along.
The house with lovely harmony would ring
when I and Dori “seconded” the song.
For church we’d often render “Silent Night.”
Our tiny congregation made such fuss
as if we were four angels in their sight,
and Mom would fairly swoon with pride for us.

Of whims that took no flight I am lamenting;
Mom’s dream, “The Miller Girls . . . now presenting!”


 For Sonnet on an Intimate Relationship Poetry Contest:
My best intimate relationship began at home. My four lovely sisters, three of whom are mentioned here, will always be the greatest of my friends.


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Tell Me

I have heard, others talk about your god
He doesn't sound like a god I wish to know
Sitting in heaven high on his throne
While I'm left to suffer here all alone
Guilty of sins for which I must atone
I've called those television evangelists on the phone
Put my hands on the screen, as they gave god praise
Was that him working in mysterious ways?
They say he created everything in just six days
No wonder he needed a day of rest
He must be more exhausted with all the sins being confessed?
I myself could keep him busy for over a year 
You can't imagine what's on my chest
It goes even deeper compacted and pressed
So why? I ask why
Why do I need a god of fairy tales
Hung on a cross with nails
Him who is righteous 
and me who always fails
Tell me?
Yes tell me
I really want to know


I too would not want to know that god
Distant sitting on a throne
While we suffer all alone
Burdened by sins for which we can't atone
Confessing to some fraud on a telephone
I will let others sing their false praises
With their religiosity and New Age Crazes
Repeating pseudo wise lines and rehearsed phrases 
Placing unsuspecting seekers in guilded cages

I sit here and wonder
What is there for me to tell?
I have no magic spell
God isn't a product to sell
Let others try to argue and yell
I cannot convince you what to feel
You believing in God doesn't make Him real
He has always exisisted
Deeper than any feeling
Not just a fairytale
Abstract and appealing
He says "Come to me all you who are weary"
A God of compassion 
Not a "Big Bang Theory"
Because I know Jesus
I'm thankful and teary 
He has answers to question's that can't be answered by "Siri"

It's hard understanding  
a God you don't know 
When you feel tossed by life's waves to and fro 
Reach out your hand, my God won't let go
Look in my eyes
See God's reflection
With his heart I witness your perfection
You are not some evolutionary collection
Formed from cosmic dust or random selection
You are Loved that's why Jesus died for you
His love intimate
Freely given and true
Unearnable by things you think you have to do
He patiently knocks at your door and waits for you
if you open the door you will believe in Him too
I speak from my heart and these words are true

We each have our own truth is what I believe
Yours is original sin, Adam and Eve
Yet your God is intimate as well
One who Loved us even though we fell
I'll keep my mind open and wait for a sign
If he's real, perhaps one day He'll be mine
Give me your book
I'll read and test it line by line
Perhaps the water in my veins
Will turn into living wine
When with the King I dine!


Reposting after reading Miraj's thought provoking poem "In Search of God".







This is a creative exercise between myself and my friend Eileen.
I've chosen to take on the persona of a non believer who is questioning.
I look forward to her response, it should make for an interesting conversation.

I put Eileen on the spot with this one by posting it before she viewed it.
Her creative process is different than mine and I should have respected that.
Eileen sent me some soup mails with some creative ideas which I have
weaved into my story. Thanks for the inspiration Eileen, we will take on
another collaboration soon.




Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016

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Star

Oh! Luminous Star Visible light so far up above Music plays in your silent tranquil night As we wish upon a star Firefly’s beacon in velvet twilight Hypnotic faceted beguiling shooting stars Shining galaxies since beginning of time Guiding ships through darken briny seas Oh! Luminous Star Visible light so far up above Music plays in your silent tranquil night As we wish upon a star Ancient stars moving slowly Through time awakening the fire of romantic souls With feelings of ecstasy Love that is planted wanting for more Oh! Luminous Star Visible light so far up above Music plays in your silent tranquil night As we wish upon a star A kiss of your breath intimate heartbeat rhythm of our dreams Your glamour which turns life into a golden haze Scattered stars align in our sky The existence of space and time Oh! Luminous Star Visible light so far up above Music plays in your silent tranquil night As we wish upon a star Truth in your art will together thrive In your light, I learn how to love In your beauty to write a poetic verse In your energy to slumber in your lullaby Oh! Luminous Star Visible light so far up above Music plays in your silent tranquil night I'll always wish upon you, my Luminous Star


Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2015

Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Love's Amnesia

I’d almost forgotten what it feels like,
When you hug someone you love and instantly your knees get weak….

I’d almost forgotten what it feels like,
When someone whom you truly love looks deeps into your eyes and
Suddenly the rest of the world disappears….

I’d almost forgotten what it feels like
when someone you love kisses you on your lips and
suddenly you feel butterflies creeping in your stomach…

I’d almost forgotten what it feels like,
Getting intimate with someone and wishing it would never end
Wanting more…..

I’d almost forgotten what it feels like,
Being in love…

I’d almost forgotten what it feels like putting my feelings on paper
Until I remembered what it feels like Loving you…..

Dedicated to My Soul Mate....


Copyright © Marlies Agdomar | Year Posted 2010

Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Tell Me a Sweet Lie

Tell me I'm the one, the love of your life.
It's not my fault you won't become my wife
I'll look in your eyes as I dream my dreams.
We can both pretend, it's not what it seems.

I know there's another who holds your heart.
I can't stand that it's ripping mine apart.
So I will take this, just one more night.
Hold me and rock me, till the morning light.

My pain is to great, please whisper sweet lies.
My brain knows what my Heart can't realize.
I'll give you freedom, please let me pretend.
I am not ready, for this love to end.

Tomorrow walk away, that is your chance
I will survive, if you give me one glance


Sonnet on an intimate relationship.


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2012

Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

12,045 Days ......(and counting)

My affirmation deceitfully severed
forever robbed by selfishness
Left to tackle life alone 
Tumbling in the wake of my dad's mess

He left when I was three 
The crevasse has increased for 33 years
Traded his life with us 
For another woman and a couple of beers

He wasn't there to pick me up
When I fell off of my bike 
To teach me how to fish 
Or enjoy a nature hike

Now I'm a father to my son 
Hoping not to make the same mistake
Living day to day on this lake of life
My son in tow through my own wake

It's been nine years and we're going strong 
Six more years with my son
That's more with him than I had with mine 
My son I guard in a web I've spun

A web of love, discipline, and nurture
Full of "I love you's" and "see ya in the morning"
A kiss before school and one before bed
Lots of playing, talking, reading, and singing

My son doesn't know the pain I feel 
To not know my dad in intimate ways
No hands to comfort me or words to heal
No dad in sight for 12,045 days.............................(and counting) 






------------------------------------------------------
My son and I have a great relationship and for this I am thankful......


Copyright © Abe Lopez | Year Posted 2009

Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The WORD-Heroic Crown of Sonnets

BEGINNINGS

The WORD was there before the dawn of time
the Trinity communed in sacred tongue
with sounds unheard, unspeakable, sublime
they uttered words of their unending Love.
With power in God's WORD the world was formed
and from His mouth the universe was placed
His voice so strong, like clapping thunderstorms
God's crowning glory was the human race.
With flaming tongues, God set the sun on high
by His commands, He placed the sea and land
made creatures on the earth and in the sky
and with His breath, God breathed life into man.
Tis mystery, God's ways we'll never know
His Voice, unheard by any living soul.

ANGELS

His Voice, unheard by any living soul
and yet in heaven angels heard His Voice
while gathered round God's throne they would behold
His majesty, and with their songs rejoice.
Angelic messengers went to and fro
to carry out the bidding of the Lord
and Lucifer, so beautiful and bold
was chosen to receive a grand reward.
To him was given power o're the earth
a prince to oversee, protect his realm
yet with great pride, he viewed his greater worth
than God Almighty, and from heaven fell.
Allowing freedom, even angels find
most Holy God proclaimed His grand design.

EDEN

Most Holy God proclaimed His grand design
the master artist, architect of life
made rivers, trees, and mountains so divine
a stunning monument of paradise.
Alluring sweet aromas filled the air
from Eden's garden, wafting round about
young lambs could lay inside a lion's lair
peace reigned, the world was innocent throughout.
While in the Garden, Adam walked with God
it was not good for man to walk alone
the Lord made woman from his side to love
in unity their bond with God did grow.
Conversed with God, their conversation flowed
with sounds so pure, it made the angels glow.

GOD AND MAN

With sounds so pure, it made the angels glow
while birds sang out sweet, melodious songs
round sacred pathways man and God would stroll
midst lavish realms of life the whole day long.
For Love's sake, God placed man above the rest
He gave him choice, would man remain steadfast?
Since God knew man, He put him through a test
to see if freedom in their love would last.
So stood two trees, of knowledge and of life
forbidden fruit, a taste of death and fate
to disobey would bring men sin and strife
would hurl them to death's tomb, from love to hate.
A choice to make, would man yield to God's plan?
Creator God, who knew the heart of man.

ADAM AND FREE WILL

Creator God, who knew the heart of man
infused a spark of His own being to
his handiwork, so man could understand
a love so deep, it transforms souls anew.
To demonstrate the cherished love they shared
the Lord put stunning brilliance in the skies
sunrise, sunsets, the moon and stars shone there
to mark days passing, evidence of time.
To Adam, God assigned to name the beasts
spent time with them, observing how they lived
a daunting task, yet he could truly see
the benefits sweet innocence could give.
God's costly risk, man's free will was at stake
desired faithfulness, a choice to make.

TEMPTATION

Desired faithfulness, a choice to make
the WORD most High ordained to bring about
knew Satan would be crouched at Garden's gate
would enter in and cause great harm throughout.
The darkness slowly slithered to the light
and sweetly masked its hate with lying tongue
approached the woman, Eve, made wrong seem right
and tempted her to sin, that wicked one!
When Eve found out that she could be like God
her spirit lit with passion in her eyes
she ate the cursed fruit, too late to stop
then Adam joined her folly in his pride.
The devil came to tempt the heart of man
the enemy was near to thwart God's plan.

THE FALL

The enemy was near to thwart God's plan
entangled man, ensnared him with deceit
from perfect paradise mankind was banned
it caused great sorrow, making angels weep.
For it appeared that Satan had his way
had shattered lives so intimate with God
the Lord who Sees foresaw this fateful day
yet undeterred, a plan anew was wrought.
Though banished from the Garden, God remained
with Eve and Adam and their vast offspring
descendants came, too numerous to name
along with wickedness to God, their King.
Chaotic sin and death ruled Adam's race
yet sacrifice would cover for Love's sake.







.




 
Submitted on 5/9/2016
Heroic Crown Of Sonnets contest



Copyright © Laura Leiser | Year Posted 2016

Details | Intimate Poem | Create an image from this poem.

SHOW ME WHAT LIFE IS

I move my hurtful head and stare forlorn
Over my non-existing boundary,
Where past is seen and future laughs decayed.
Here language is an unwelcome guest,
In stillness awkward, clean environment.
My eyes stay empty, yet insist and glare
Through looks of expectation all around:
“Where are the others, how long did I sleep...
Why can’t I speak, why can’t I move my legs..
Why is my vision dim, hearing askew?
Why can’t I turn my head? Where are my arms?”

A man sits here, I recognize his form:
He sat here yesterday, a week ago;
Last month he spoke, a resonated dream,
His hand on mine, his eyes a kindly blue.
He speaks in words I cannot figure out!
Expressions intimate, yet challenging
For memory and body, still it feels
I’ll understand if only I will try.
He speaks and smiles, his mellifluous voice
Reaches inside where tears are made of salt;
And I reach out for him, he takes my hand.

Today they let him in, my Little One.
He cried impatience loud, I heard his hurt.
He leaped and jumped, so they could not forestall
Him holding me so close in his embrace;
They cannot understand his tenderness
Needs close bodily touch and so does mine…
We used to spend our days in bitter cold
Amidst six more, all trying to survive.
The winters feasting on us in that land,
Bare and barren, forests deep and vile.
Our hearts beating as one kept us alive,
His heart I need in order to survive:
I revel in the glow of his warm shape;
I close my eyes, a fetus in his love

They moved me to a country far away.
The mountains here are high, the glaciers white.
The people speak a language I don’t know,
But languages are easy to be learned.
They’re friendly and not curious which is good,
Because I have no answers, what to say
If someone asks what I am doing here,
Or why I wheel a chair instead of walk,
Or how I come to twitch so strange and tic?
I don’t speak one word they can understand!
Their world is one of beauty, yet I long
For people that I know, companionship.
If I must be alone till end of times,
I’d rather not be here, or anywhere…

If there is something good in this strange world,
Don’t take it away, allow some of it,
Give an example, how do I fit in?
Allow the means to find my value here,
Teach me why waking up was worth a dime,
Why every second here is not in vain.
I will have life, my family, they say,
Is waiting for me, but I can’t believe
They want me back, they once gave me away...
I rather stay with people that are nice...
Make every moment count while I have time.

I have my hands, some paper and a pen.
Today I start to set right what was done
To us, to give us back our pride, so cruel
Taken, so brutally, by evil men
Who thought us nothing but commodities.
Their crimes be judged, these torturers of youth,
Who lust and kill, who do not feel regret,
See other people as their rightful herd….
Their days in court will end in prison time,
More than their days spent on this cruel world.
My hands will talk, my language powerful.
I’ll write and turn my words to prisons strong,
To keep their vile intentions far away.
Our gilded cage will open wide and free.
This is the first day of my life. This is...
Day ME!

***

Bio, written in Iambic Pentameter Blank Verse
March 24, 2017
Copyright © Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

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Love

Love, Is that a word, Or the foundation of all mountains of speeches? Is love a whisper or an ejaculation? A prayer, or a plea? Why is it that love crescendos off the tongue Like caramel in symphony? Why does it melt me, As if by heaven God made me an iceberg, To later fall in the heat of destiny like my enemies? Love, Is it woman, Man? Is it the softness of your hand, Or the coarse scratch against a rocky sand? You say you love me so simply, genuinely What is it my mind cannot comprehend, As my eyes zoom in to your wanting lips, The almost anticipated sound saintly slips Love, A fraction to my experience, And a lifetime left of its dark and intimate peaks. . . In these mountains of words, How does one sleep? How shall we rest willingly in the dangerous unknown, With you and I alone? Love, I love you too.. How can I not when all of its footprints lead back to you? Love is as simple as the word yearning on your mouth As deep as the dark, undiscovered creatures of the sea Though, most of all, As far as I dare feel and see, As simple as it sounds, And God must well agree, Love is you and me


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

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Poet to Poet


Intimate musings are part of a poet's repertoire;
flights of introspection and reflections,
savored more when shared with kindred spirits
A poet can speak to another poet
with an intrinsic mutual understanding
that our words comes from deep in our heart
Words are the currency of our soul
Thus, I must speak poet to poet
with words weighed carefully in spoken gold
When I sometimes write in the first person,
it doesn't necessarily mean I'm personally talking about me
I'm simply the face of a poem,
emotionally bonding myself with my words
to better convey our common humanity
I write of things experienced by others,
and some of those things may have happened to me also
Then like a layer of clothing, I don it,
it becomes a living, conscious part of me
Therefore, I can now be that cold-hearted person in a poem,
because I've intellectually embraced that frigidity
Wrapped my mind in the essence of a thing,
of which I can now write about with depth and clarity
Sometimes only a part of me is in the composite of my poem,
one bit of biographical fact embedded in the story
The person I write about may not always actually be me,
but I become that poetic persona to better help the reader to see
something I wanted them to experience vicariously
For lack of a better word, name, label, whatever ...
Call me an amalgamated man: a collection of bits and pieces of 
everything I've ever seen, heard, thought about ... or things I've
heard someone else say or do --- it all attaches to my psyche like glue
This is poet to poet, from me to you
To help give you a better understanding of how I'm able to
write about the things that I do
Poet to poet: feel free to help me better understand you
The poems I write may be fiction or they may be true
Everything I write about is a bit of me, 
it's a bit of someone else, maybe even a bit of you
Which part is actually me you ask --- I give the Silent One gesture ...
Shhh ... you just never know who you're talking to


Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016

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The Lonely

Slowly he opened the drawer and looked inside.  Some time had passed since he last gazed upon the cloth that lay there.  Years perhaps.  Yes definitely years.  The blotched rusty brown stains, yellowing its whiteness, spoke of its age.  He reached in and moved the cloth aside. The chalybeous metal gleamed up at him.  The last time he touched it was when he filled it, six chambers, three full, three empty.  Fifty-fifty, why not fill them all?  It would end it so much more quickly.  The pain would be gone.  The loneliness, the ever present deep, aching loneliness would finally end.  He remembered the last time.  So long ago, he had these same feelings.  Feelings that left him doubting his life, doubting his world.  Nothing could stop these feelings as if he was falling into an abyss.  Never ending falling, deeper and deeper until all hope had left him.  The darkness of his own mind blinding him to the beauty around him.  He knew that beauty intimately, the beauty of a shared sunset, a walk on a beach, holding hands and laughing, making love in the grass in a breeze filled meadow, a single fragrant lavender rose, but what good is beauty that can't be shared?  What good is love that no one wants?  Back then there was time.  He didn't want it to end but he saw no way out. The darkness was too deep, the pain too intense.  The loneliness was simply unbearable.  His decision was to leave it to fate.  A fifty-fifty chance, fate, God, luck, call it what you will.  It was of no concern to him.

Whatever it was he was still here, and up until this moment he was glad.  He had found comfort in a warm caring relationship that lasted for years.  He even found happiness, until life intervened and it was ripped away from him.  He thought he had found it anew for a short while before he saw past their lies and felt the pain they caused.  Now time no longer mattered.  The Lonely haunted him again.  That's how he grew to know it, The Lonely.  Always present, always lurking close at hand.  Watching him.  Waiting for its moment, and its moment had finally come again.  He had but one chance left.

A beautiful person had come into his life.  Gentle and kind and full of the wonder that gave him the desire to try again.  A friend, more than a friend to him she was his saviour.  They talked and laughed and grew to know each other.  She  shared herself with him.  Not her body, nor even her love, they were saved for another, but her intimate inner self.  That part of her that was so difficult to share with anyone, even those who were closest to her.  Her true self that resided deep below the superficial face that she shared with the world.  His feelings grew for her and she enjoyed his attention which made him smile for the first time in a very, very long time, but he knew that it was destined to end when she spoke of her dreams and how they would lead her away from him.  He let himself care anyway.  Then it happened once again.  The Lonely stepped in.  He pushed her away because he was broken and he knew it, but then he had always been broken.  With this sweet, caring person that meant so much to him he found he could no longer share his feelings.  She had too much to bare in her own life to worry about shouldering his weight.

So, now, he was here again.  The Lonely pushing deeper and deeper inside of him until he reached into the drawer and hefted the weight of the metal in his hand.  It was heavier than he remembered.  He slowly walked over to his bed and leaned back against it.  His head pressed into the ornamental trim that created depth in the sleigh styled headboard.  The pain went unnoticed.  Slowly he placed the metal between his teeth.  The taste of old cleaning oil danced on his tongue.  For the briefest moment the thought of chipping a tooth flashed through his mind.  It made him chuckle deep down in his gut.  There was no fear.  There was no hesitation.  He allowed himself only an instant of remorse.  He thought about those people who had been important in his life and the beautiful times they had shared until they disappeared.  Then he wondered if they every really cared at all.  His last thoughts were of his special friend, hoping that he had not hurt her like so many had done to him.  Gently he squeezed.
 "Click."
He thought about squeezing again.  End it now!  But, Fate had spoken.  Feeling mildly disappointed he moved his hand to his lap and stared at the instrument that had let him down.  He heard a low laughter develop within him.
"Not so easy to get rid of me," it said.  The Lonely was still there.
He moved from the bed and carefully wrapped it in the cloth and placed it back in the drawer, knowing it was not the last that he would see of it.
His stomach grumbled.  Picking up his keys from the top of the dresser he turned and walked out of the door, mumbling to himself, "I guess it'll be Chinese tonight."

03/12/17


Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2017

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An Erin Adventure

It was an autumn day, fresh and crisp,
with a slight breeze blowing that made 
our cheeks rosy.  My Aunt Trix and I were
on the trip of a lifetime, one in which she
had been making plans for almost all
of her seventy-five years. Being of Irish 
heritage we both felt akin to that beautiful
country. Our first stop after seeing London
was to take a train ride through charming
Wales with its wet emerald hills glistening
after a light rain. Soon we were at Holyhead
at the Ferry buying our tickets to cross the 
Irish sea to Dun Laoghairie. The ferry was
a pleasant surprise. It was decorated with
intimate tables along side grand glass 
windows for a wonderful view. The center,
where different restaurants lured in hungry
patrons, was akin to the neon lights of the
Las Vegas strip. There was even an inviting
kid friendly area where children were elated
in seeking out adventure. After arriving in
Dun Laoghairie, we were told is pronounced
Dun Laorry, I rented an automatic compact
car and we headed for Galway. I had to keep 
reminding myself to keep on the left side of
the road. We found a lovely bed and breakfast.
Galway was a lovely rural village near the sea
with friendly folks. We each had our own room.
We delighted in hearing the lambs as we went 
to sleep.  After a wonderful full Irish breakfast
the next morning, we were on our way to visit 
the famous Blarney Castle. 

ancient castle walls...
the Blarney stone awaits our
precarious kiss

We arrived in the afternoon and were thrilled 
at the first sight of the castle with bright rust
hued ivy vining its way around the round 
tower that overlooks the River Martin. The 
current keep, a medieval stronghold in Blarney 
near Cork, was built by the MacCarthy of 
Muskerry dynasty, a cadet branch of the Kings 
of Desmond, and dates from 1446. The Blarney 
stone, reputed to gift eloquence of speech, laid
at the end on the top of the roofless keep with 
a line of eager tourists waiting to lie on their 
backs, head first, to kiss the well worn stone. 
I will never forget the ecstatic smile on my 
aunts face as she was helped up after kissing 
the Blarney Stone. I captured her joy with my 
camera.

charming autumn view...
the castle's steep steps were climbed
to kiss the cold stone

Visiting Blarney Castle and it's grounds was 
the highlight of our holiday. The memories and 
photographs still cause a smile and a tear.

8-7-17






Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2017

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The Ramblings of The Water Mistress

I feel the water
above me
below me
all around me
intimate
caressing
accepting
loving me

I go further down
to touch the bottom of the pool
and there
on the two painted dolphins
I push my hands down
and my feet break free from the water
shooting up into the air
my handstand
For a moment
I revel the erectness of my form
My legs above the water
the water trickling down them

slowly
I bring them back down
and burst out of the water
head and chest pushing out
Hair...laden with water
swung back
spraying a trajectory of liquid crystals behind me
I take in the air
I smile
I live
I breath
my arms move back and forth
I dip in again
then swim to the far side of the pool
I hold on to the metal hand guards
Put my legs out on the side of the pool
Knees bent
I push myself below the surface
looking around...
my playground
the water, my home

I'm in my element
I'm free
weightless and happy
the muffled sounds
and dancing lights on the surface
flirt with me
I stay for as long as I can
then I break the surface
Floating on my back
I look at the sky
I feel sublime
chest and tummy tasting the air
I'm there
There
where in my mind
I'm beautiful and divine
sultry mistress of the water
he's touching every part of me
I'm free
I'm free

Jade

I am never as happy as when I'm swimming....the pool lets me be more creative, but I also enjoy swimming in the Mediterranean sea. I've been called a dolphin.... I'm more like another aquatic mammal at present, but even those creatures are graceful and beautiful in the water. Summer is coming....


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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ABC Love Poem

                            ~My Trip With Love~

A arrival from Montreal to San Francisco seeing my son and his children.
B beautiful red roses on my approach expressing their love towards me. 

C for caring to have an eye contact honoring my motherly devotion & fidelity.
D for dreams come true when i sleep at night in my own studio. 

E for enjoy having our breakfast first day while exchanging our life time stories.
F for faithfulness towards one another was so important since his childhood.

G good friends who invites me to their homes to meet their families.
H for happiness when I run to the restaurant help greett his customers at work.

I interfering with my sons life is a long forgotten issue, a perpetual respect . 
J for jokes we exchange together through evenings laughing endlessly.

K kissing me good night when the night is over for me to retire.
L for love that I get from both of them when I cook an oriental dish.

M morning ride on a tour with family & soft music while driving.
N for never do I complain about any subject when shared together. 

O older, but I don't let them feel my arthritis pains when I am visiting. 
P for pictures are taken as souvenirs from this fabulous journey once a year 

Q quite evenings when I leave my son and wife to have an intimate night.
R for roll up my sleeves to clean their home to amaze them out of love.

S surprise when home from work to a house clean & table set for dinner. 
T transport for me is the subway my independence not to bother him.

U unique love between a son and mother, he is my rock. Best friends.
V variable outings touring the city while discussing his children's future.

W wanting those happy days to last forever. But will return next year. 
X xylophone for enjoying the music of our last dinner together.

Y yearning from my depth to have wanted my stay to last longer.
Z zone when we said farewell at the end of the visitors area. Tears of joy.
Visiting my sons once a year is my dream come true forever. The love for my children has always been, "The Endless Love Of A Child".

Therese Bacha
. 28/5/2013

 An ABC poem :For Alfred Vassello


Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

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Tell Me

I have heard, others talk about your god
He doesn't sound like a god I wish to know
Sitting in heaven high on his throne
While I'm left to suffer here all alone
Guilty of sins for which I must atone
I've called those television evangelists on the phone
Put my hands on the screen, as they gave god praise
Was that him working in mysterious ways?
They say he created everything in just six days
No wonder he needed a day of rest
He must be more exhausted with all the sins being confessed?
I myself could keep him busy for over a year 
You can't imagine what's on my chest
It goes even deeper compacted and pressed
So why? I ask why
Why do I need a god of fairy tales
Hung on a cross with nails
Him who is righteous 
and me who always fails
Tell me?
Yes tell me
I really want to know


I too would not want to know that god
Distant sitting on a throne
While we suffer all alone
Burdened by sins for which we can't atone
Confessing to some fraud on a telephone
I will let others sing their false praises
With their religiosity and New Age Crazes
Repeating pseudo wise lines and rehearsed phrases 
Placing unsuspecting seekers in guilded cages

I sit here and wonder
What is there for me to tell?
I have no magic spell
God isn't a product to sell
Let others try to argue and yell
I cannot convince you what to feel
You believing in God doesn't make Him real
He has always exisisted
Deeper than any feeling
Not just a fairytale
Abstract and appealing
He says "Come to me all you who are weary"
A God of compassion 
Not a "Big Bang Theory"
Because I know Jesus
I'm thankful and teary 
He has answers to question's that can't be answered by "Siri"

It's hard understanding  
a God you don't know 
When you feel tossed by life's waves to and frough 
Reach out your hand, my God won't let go
Look in my eyes
See God's reflection
With his heart I witness your perfection
You are not some evolutionary collection
Formed from cosmic dust or random selection
You are Loved that's why Jesus died for you
His love intimate
Freely given and true
Unearnable by things you think you have to do
He patiently knocks at your door and waits for you
if you open the door you will believe in Him too
I speak from my heart and these words are true

We each have our own truth is what I believe
Yours is original sin, Adam and Eve
Yet your God is intimate as well
One who Loved us even though we fell
I'll keep my mind open and wait for a sign
If he's real, perhaps one day He'll be mine
Give me your book
I'll read and test it line by line
Perhaps the water in my veins
Will turn into living wine
When with the King I dine!










This is a creative exercise between myself and my friend Eileen.
I've chosen to take on the persona of a non believer who is questioning.
I look forward to her response, it should make for an interesting conversation.

I put Eileen on the spot with this one by posting it before she viewed it.
Her creative process is different than mine and I should have respected that.
Eileen sent me some soup mails with some creative ideas which I have
weaved into my story. Thanks for the inspiration Eileen, we will take on
another collaboration soon.





Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

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A moment in time

A moment in time..

I saw you across the room the other day,
Much like another time when you held my gaze,
Pulling me in with one passing glance
Our longing eyes betraying thoughts, that this might be another chance
This is crazy I thought, we both surmised and laughed.
Looking away, looking back again, can anyone else see what’s going on?
This moment of desire shared between you and me,
Embracing the what ifs and what would be?
Two strangers living separate lives, intertwining paths in space and time
Connecting in ways we could not explain
The thought of one touch occupying all senses
Haunted by the what could have been
If I would have been, the one to say I do
We recently shared a moment in awkward conversation
Trying to be informal and coy,                                                                                           But what we really wanted was to
Wrestle with the deep mysteries of each other.   
The woman in you celebrating the man in me
The man in me praising the woman in you, the beauty of you
With your long hair and misty eyes, just something about the way
You look at me, makes my body leap inside, and weep at the same time.

Where were you from? What was your name?
The love from my youth is one and the same,
Has it been that long? Forbidden romance lost in memory
Something of a glimpse captured in remembrance,
Yes! You found me in my misery long ago
Wanting to love me out of a misguided childhood,
Only to be met with at the time, a beautiful mess
We shared intimate conversation, falling for one another
As words fell from our lips, an exchange of hopes and dreams
We fulfilled a need in one another, drying tears from each other’s eyes
For a season,
But momentum drove us on separate paths, on distant shores
I watched you fade away, like a fog across the bay.

Do I have regrets and will I have regrets?
Sure I do, and yes I will,
I didn’t have the words to tell you then, what pride refused to say,
That you meant more to me than handholds on a treacherous mountain,
That your tenderness broke through layers of bitterness left untouched,
And that now, like before you shake the foundations of my very being,
Only you have been able to reach me there.
Shall we embrace this forbidden love? Build a future out of broken lives?




You have yours and I have mine, what will become of us if we pursue?
Sometimes true love is never meant to be shared, if it decimates 
The only thing you know to be true, what is real and what is now
And the impact a dream can have.
So when I see you now, at least for the moment I can believe and know
Your okay and that life has treated you well and that you’re happy,
We can find peace in our circumstances, the way we found each other again.
And smile remembering that once we shared a moment in time..



Copyright © Angel fire | Year Posted 2013

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I TANGO WITH THE WINDS

                        

                              +
                              U
                              p
                             to
                        the blue
               cotton - candy clouds 
         in  my pretty rainbow dress, I 
       softly sing along with the anthem 
 of Western Winds.  Airy and light, I'm lured-
      being  invited  to  sway  so  slow,
       swirling in intimate tango with 
            the cool - sweet breeze. 
                 Breathing anew, I
                  clamor for more, 
                   I dip and dive.
 With snaps in my tail, I soar high! High
    like a ship sailing the playful tides 
      of the blowing winds, mounting
           from   lows ~ to ~ peaks
              but as the wind rest
                     to relax
                        I fell
                         down
                           too,
                              /
                             f
                              a
                                L
                                  L, 
                                 /
                                b  
                              u
                                 t 
                                  \
                                   a
                                    s 
                                  /   
                                n
                               e
                                 w
                                      w
                                        i
                                        n
                                       d
                                      /
                                    g
                                  u
                                  s
                                   t
                                    s,
                                      \
                                I
                                      /
                                    r
                                   i
                                  s
                                   e
                                   \     
                                    a
                                     n
                                       d 
                                       /   
                                      r
                                    u
                                     n 
                                    /
                                    t
                                     o
                                    the 
                                heavens
                                  I dare 
                                     to 
                                     go
                                      !
                                      /   
                                    To 
                                    my 
                                 Master,
                                I will  be
                                attached,
                              forevermore.
________________________________________________________________

SPONSOR: Broken Wings
Contest Name: Creative Layouts
~~1st Place~~


O.E. Guillermo
6:08 pm, October 20, 2015


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

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Felony Money

True definition of a hood love story,
They called him Felony.
Skin was as smooth as a shot of Hennessey.
He made a lot of other men envy.
His style was particularly different from the rest.
No gold chains around his neck, but a simple rosary lies on his chest.
Underneath his Sunday best was a solid bullet proof vest.
His pockets had a secret treasure chest.
Steepness with infinite thickness,
But every man has a weakness.
She killed him with kindness.
A righteous lioness,
His royal highness: his positive guidance.
She was the offspring of the titans.
 Exceptional of importance to his reputation,
 She was his foundation freedom from his everyday discrimination.
A safe haven like a wave equation, her name was Money.
Half black and half Puerto Rican,
Skin complexion of an Egyptian he nicknamed her Isis.
Dipped in gold went perfectly with her skin tone.
She was an overgrown precious stone.
Foreknown Money was working with the federal bureau of investigation.
 Deeply in love with a convict but yet victorious triumphant.
Stunting on everyone’s judgments Money is Felony movement.
A step ahead of the government,
Never seeing a seal indictment
Money was his antidepressant.
Felony was her significant participant.
Both of them reaping the enjoyment,
Bonded by each other’s fulfillment,
Seal their delinquent intimate commitment.
In love with a codefendant left them with a Bonnie, and Clyde ending.
Love testimony of Felony and Money


Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2014