Best Kneads Poems
It is a sun splashed day; the air is silent with the sound of waves
from an ocean moving to the rhythm of crying gulls.
The sand underneath my feet is warm and soothing.
The crashing waters from a wind sculpted waterfall swims
into the arms of its mother sea.
It is a private beach at a spot in the world
were the Caribbean Sea and The Atlantic Ocean hug.
It is a strange sensation of hot then cold, that tease the senses.
The young woman with me is my lover of four years.
The golden rays of light from the bright morning star
lives in the flow of her platinum blond hair.
In her eyes I can see the bright clear blue ocean, warm,
but with a piercing love glare that sends shivers up my spine.
We are young, in love and safe
inside a perfect glossy postcard background.
Her red lips and light drenched skin glows
with the beauty of this perfect Jamaican day.
Without a thought I grab the back of her head,
jerking my lover's whole body towards me
locking her in the strength of my grasp
inviting her to quench my desire.
I bite her lips before engaging in a deep passionate kiss
and remove a barely there bikini from her statuesque figure.
She embraces me as I lift her in my arms
naked for all the Gods to observe.
I set her down under the refreshing flow of the rushing waterfall.
She attempts to pull at me, but I deny her.
I hold back both her arms and use my mouth
to suckle her all the time absorbing the beating waters
that kneads my flesh, like so much dough.
Suddenly I set my angel free. She pounces on me,
like a lioness in heat famished for the taste of flesh.
The world disappears and I find myself willingly trapped in a void.
Nature's voice conducts an orchestra of emotion.
We writhe in the ecstasy of touch.
With the strokes of a divinity fingers paint a portrait of rapture.
We dance now to the precise notes
of an escape into the arms of serenity.
In one fluid movement, our bodies become one.
There is no end to the divine flavors we share.
Cooling waters flame our sins.
We explode like a building
imploding gracefully to the roar of infinite sound.
Until eventually we pass out naked
locked in each others arms.
We find ourselves lying on the warmth
of the fine white sand beach when we awaken,
tattooed in the telling shades of a Jamaican suntan.
Jesus is the Master Potter
By Franklin Price
09/14/2023
Jesus, is the master potter
We, the followers His Clay
He molds us into shining lamps
Reconstructing day by day
He lays His hands upon us
Kneads and shapes us 'til we're done
He is the Master Potter
Who recreates us, He's the one
As cracks appear, remolds us,
Provides our structure with relief
Then fuels us, and lights us
To be His lamps that shine belief
He trims our wicks when needed
To even light the darkest hour
Leading others to salvation
His lamp has given us that power
He adds a globe of glass or crystal
To let the light burn in the wind
To guide lost souls to heaven
For since the garden, all have sinned
He cleans our globes when they have darkened
And our lamps are not as bright
And we doubt that we are able
To shine out believing light
If Jesus had not died for us
On that cross upon the hill
Would be no need to have our lamps
For other's nights, our lights, to fill
a cat
to bat
pretty
kitty
now brat
this cat
but lands
my hands
it kneads
rubs needs
turn bat
back cat
the bat
leaves scat
fun song
too long
Suicidal Love
It chokes and mauls me,
It suffocates me as its venom spread to shake my heart,
It kneads and lives me vulnerable to hurt,
When you hunt it,
I remained obdurate to love,
Its obsession sucks my strength,
When the peril of real epitome of African beauty sprout her,
Chokes and desires of having you drown me into sour guts,
It is a suicide how this eerie feeling fills,
For it freezes not the frosted and fermented heart to freedom
It is suicidal how love is.
Woven in Silk Threads of Love
(Apropos Us and the Children)
Time tested love, bruised
and battered,
lay like littered crystals
on the steel plate stage of life;
dismembered and crumbled
like a stale cookie
whose particles
have lost
their electromagnetic-like
attractiveness.
Ingredients of envious spice
inhibits any and all adhesiveness—
that tough threading love folds and kneads.
Yet, the sprinkling of forgiveness
knits and weaves the web
of diverse unity of understanding—
cocooning new beginnings:
Indeed, the most fragile butterfly wings
have endured—soared in monarch majesty—
defying time tested, treacherous winds
that the teeming silk of love forever spins.
Yes, to err is human; to forgive divine;
may eternal blessings forever twine
this tender love of yours and mine.
First Day of the Year, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Premier de l’an by T. Wignesan
Each moment of waking up is an act of giving birth
I use the iron tools myself on the mother
To death
Myself : Who is this myself ?
Am I somebody else other than the weight I bear
Who resists who clings refuses
To be born ?
This weight deliberately reinforces itself
Through its heaviness
It wouldn’t want ever to be anything but matter
Half-conscious half in a state of stupor
Root before being stem
Seed which pushes upwards through the ground
Without being pulled out
Meanwhile it fathoms its false state of sleepiness its
burrow
(And) in delving into it it expels proportionately
All its skin goose-pimply to the touch
Hairiness of anguish enormous world
She kneads it more and more into the narrow passage
Her own abdomen compresses in vain his anguish
Towards the interior and the exterior at the same time
An every day happening that’s always impossible
The act of giving birth
This first day of the year nineteen seventy-three
Aged fifty-six years and eight months
Once again after twenty-thousand times more
I knew I have to be born
I do not want to.
I cry out to Someone who is stronger than me
That he might pull me out of my old fears originating from
my mother*
That they put me on this earth
So that I might walk towards my end once and for all in
my stride
With my dead elder-sister for company
On this earth of living beings
Someone who is I right at the end of the route
Up above
Puts aside with might the thin-lined horizon
So that I might be born
One day the more.
• See his poem : « Now to be flesh of a man and a woman »
(Sophia, O.C., t. II, p. 416)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
I soak in his charcoal fingers drenching my buds
when nightfall rips the hem of my skin,
a coral fire glazes upon our mouths
and the lion in him kneads flammable
grinds: that the soaring heat in lilac glare,
in fragrant sweat of navajo curves;
ripen the mounds along a bodice trembling …
Once, twice, thrice with gentle fondness
crawling on outstretched harlequin dome--
in the lure of amber moon dipping—we
could not speak beyond walls in ash etches …
and like hungry souls let loose by sapphire mist,
the ginger sweetness of craving
finally explodes on hammock’s ruby-like gyre.
Silent One’s United Colors: Colourfication
................
Charcoal, coral, lilac navajo, harlequin,
amber, ash, sapphire, ginger, ruby
3/16/2016
I soak in his wheezed language
drenching my breath ,as twilight rips
the lining of my skin; a massive fire
slowly rolling upon our chests…
as the lion in him kneads a melodious
rambling that the climbing heat,
the serenade of minstrel’s tunes
gushes on this day through a café’s view.
Then once, twice, thrice with gentle
stutter of outstretched whispers---
through the lure of a need humming---he
could not speak clearly beyond the gardens.
In a flash, like a hungry soul let loose,
my steady mate quivers in beats
as the singer drones ' The Way You Look Tonight.'
“ Will you carry my name and be
this guy's lifetime bride?” Secretly, the potion
of my craving finally explodes!
Sounds of The Day Contest
For Nayda Ivette Negron
Resubmitted 6/20/2016
Thin stilts between earth and heaven
bend into a arch of tossed dusk
reflecting amiable strains
fleeting weeds embrace...
fingers of parting sky paint jeweled combs
twirled in a bun settling on the
nape of windblown curtains; a night
arriving bears cupped hands ready
to tuck a blanket of rhinestones, much
like stars moving from one house
to another...
and life flashes by as endless travelers
floating in azure tour the hours in an imperial
journey, rising and falling with the
kneads of rocks and moss: throughout
the aroma of glazed seasons, flowers
close and open the hesitant hearts of
men and gargoyles;
that always, fire of rainstorm changes
to sunlight, black ravens to crickets, spite
to nobility—desiring only
the music of love’s flight for being,
if only to understand the wonder of this world.
Earth, Fire, Water, Wind Contest
Truths slant with his sharp angles.
Skies cloud over as lies untangle.
Spinning time, she spills gray thought,
kneads her words like clay till wrought.
Weary days, she works her pen,
beautifying dreams again.
When spirits lift, she will escape
his rough hand from throat to nape.
Even now, her frail heart crumbles.
Beaten down, her hours tumble.
Words confuse from mottled page,
flailing on a blackened stage.
On a dirt road made of grit,
she strengthens wings struggling to flit
between his grip of thumb and fingers,
an innocent soul always lingers.
Freedom found and compass tossed,
from highest peaks climbed up, she's lost.
Light streams down from one bright star.
Her skies open from dreams afar.
His rage tries to steal her soul.
She fights to take back her control
from past tumbling, her tale is told.
Her shrouded words will now unfold.
Written 3/23/17
rushes now the spill of feet
a lunar festival right nto moonlight
skirts flaring, hats flipping
as silhouettes swagger with desire
bosoms advancing retracting
against tunes from guitars and tambourine
slay this fiesta with quickening of heels
an extravaganza which shrieks
in the thrill of music
refined by the ecstasy reeled by
tiptoes midway...the exchanges
arm for arm as ladies and men
seal a choreography made only
to.last on this evening, lusty and divine!
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take me to primitive times
when after bouquets and incense spray the air,
a dance unknowing rigid choreography
pulsates to inner throbs of my body
soaking the nectar of soil beneath my feet,
then to dive among flickers of heat, to drape
a world circling far across stars without
glass nor walls... till all but percussion tempos
inhale the floats inside my lungs, my flesh.
Arms open all cages of birds winging
past trees, hips shedding butterfly threads
floating on sounds of grass waves and
stone kneads ...
how wild, how tender
and unrestrained my child’s spirit.
Somewhere, Prapto whispers, “listen
to heart’s movement; break your head”,
till my whole body connects to the fragrance
of my inner breath, spicy and pungent...
like an odyssey of primitive spins
known only by my soul willing
for a movement... the invisible cloth of dance.
--------
*Prapto is the proponent of free body movement,
a distinguished guru from Java, Indonesia
*Inner body movement-dance connects me
with nature, life , and self... this i enjoy!
In the Year 2012 Contest: Carol Brown
by nette onclaud
"Mas Tacos Por Favor" As she slings her hands back and forth on the dough
" Mas Tacos Por Favor" As she gracefully accepts the water on the dough
"Mas Tacos Por Favor" As she gently places her fingers and kneads the dough Just Once she says her in heart..They will Know Mas Tacos Por Favor...
Just Once they will know the hearts of hard immigrant hands and the gentle tears that stain these lands..
Just Once they will know what it is like to be told you don't look Spanish..
Just Once they will know what it is like to have to deceive appearances by looking as if....acculturate and assimilate
Just Once they will be mindful of how they eat our food and laugh at our hearts.. Just Once again on the corn grinder to make the edges perfect...
09-25-2015
Summered Autumn Winter Bite
Abundant harvest
fall growth cycled lay
gather send a wheeler paid
festive heir praise life
Shortening days
kneads winter forward
home stead deli stock stack flue
baked chopped butchered cords
A shivering morning turns to light snow while unseasoned eyes study the hoar frost web of an architect; built during warmer wet days now slowly legging her icy fingers across an exposed neck the capture sweet with summer yield and autumn fill
My mistress' eyes are nothing like a 40
Watt full spectrum LED bulb;
Doritos are far more red than her lips' red;
If Teslas be white, why then her organs for nourishing babies are dun;
If hairs be USB cables, USB cables grow on her head.
I have seen Monsanto patents damasked, red and white,
But no such intellectual property see I in her cheeks;
And in some volatile aerosols is there more delight
Than in the exhalation that from my mistress is unmentionably unpleasant.
I love to hear her powerful voice, yet well I know
That WAP hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go (except when I became too old for parental controls)
My mistress, when she stalks, kneads the earth like a cat.
And yet, by Hubble’s image of The Pillars of Creation, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Contest: Parody of a famous poem
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins
Dec 21 2020
this heart kneads easily
molds to the touch of a lover
this heart needs easy
has a hard time with it's over
i have a heart that bleeds quietly
my heart has a hard time saying goodbye
cries its drops of blood internally
i know. i'm the one who wipes them dry
my heart sets time easily to another's
a heart too delicate for this world of hammers
it's a candy apple heart it cracks when dropped
my heart is warm and it's here for you to adopt
it latches on to the pain of loving hearts
the ones with complicated moving parts
you can know my heart through my eyes
you can also just touch it on my lips
hear it beating on your walk byes
you can see it when my flesh rips
i guess i should warn you
my heart is wanting too
to be honest it's lonely
so here let me hand you the key