Best Languorous Poems
In twilight, old songs you're softly humming.
Languorous smiles silken your lovely face,
beguiling my presence still, becoming
in all your ways, a gift of heaven's grace.
Deep your eyes, beheld above the stillness
of mystic mien, dismissing every voice.
Caresses known in sadness and in illness,
a bounty cherished, if you make the choice.
Alluringly, you draw the bedroom curtain
and move in softest song of violins.
Of languid looks and outcome certain,
as old as Eve, the ancient dance begins.
Sway, your heated honey scent of passion
and poise, anticipating kiss conceived,
shall return my longing, in your fashion
and make my life ten times a joy perceived.
My love grows great to see your form advance
and weave with siren song the ancient dance.
An angel, he appeared one afternoon -
amazing, amorous, and alluring.
Beguiling her with beautiful ballads,
how splendidly he bewitched her!
Long languorous summer days they lazed
in a field of daffodils
as she lay blissfully in his brawny bronzed arms
looking lovingly into his eyes -
those baby blues with long lush lashes.
Seventeen were they. Their first love it was -
a lovely flirtatious and fabulous first love.
Suddenly, it all just stopped.
Sent away to serve in war,
her sweetheart sadly disappeared with barely a Sayonara.
Several seasons swept away
like brown leaves in September’s breezes.
Studying at school, sometimes she recalled
with longing - the love of her young life
and the boyish glee in his bright blue long-lashed eyes.
Unbeknownst to her, her lost boyfriend
was back from his lonesome barracks
and the bloody battlefields of an awful World War.
Back was he, though limping from a bullet to his leg
and looking for the love of HIS young life.
Seventy-seven years later,
see them sauntering together
in a field of daffodils
situated by a house he built for her -
two lone centenarians
with grown twin sons and seven grand-kids.
Their lasting love was lost but only for a blink
of their long lifetime -
a lifetime of lovely marital bliss
that envelopes them still with bountiful blessings.
March 31, 2022
for My Lost And Found Love Poetry Contest
Sponsor: JCB Brul
when light faded out
and darkness descended
when all over me
the icy chill began to creep
I slammed the windows and doors
tightly shut
and like a child crawled
into my padded bed,
while the winter gale
was still raging outside
you broke upon my thought
as a euphonious melody.
when I longed for your warmth,
you knocked upon my feeble heart
as your voice trailed across to me
louder and louder,
I woke up from my languorous sleep
felt snug, the chillness around me, swept away
and a strange desire,
coursed through my nerves
I could feel the heat
of your tumultuous passion
the soft touch
of your caressing hands
the musky odor
of your fragrant breath
the warmth in your almond eyes
you stood before me
as an embodiment of grace
you opened the windows to let in the light
not leaving me grope in blinding darkness
you took me to the seas
of shore less delight
you enlivened every atom of my being
kindled in me the fire
of amorous desire
swept me off my feet
by the inundating tide of love
I felt my sleeping passions
suddenly set ablaze
Alas, with my senses lulled to sleep
leading me into a state of serene calm
through the door ajar,
you faded out like an evanescent dream
leaving me so stupefied....!
Placed First
Feb.20. 2022
Winter Love Poetry Contest
Sponsor- JCB Brul
Sunlight surfaced at the breach of dawn
It climbed salty rungs to emerge from the sea
When fully risen, what had been spawned?
A molten fireball cast from the dragon's breath,
a firey yawn exhaled in languorous flight
searing tangerine flames across the horizon
Daylight drifted over waking valleys and hills
in dappled luminance of shimmering gold
It danced in pirouettes upon my window sill
and chased shadows from my bedroom wall
until it tumbled on the bed where my love slept
He stirred, I smiled and then wept with emotion
at the passion glimmering in drowsy jade eyes
With each rise and fall of his muscular chest
the heated flush of desire within me burned
Sinewy arms reached out for me...
"Come back to bed," whispered from his lips
and my gown lay puddled upon the floor
I'd had enough of watching sunlight's strolling
for it had stolen too many moments next to him
My toes were cold from morning's chill
but it was not from Winter weather that I quivered
It was time to savor the sweet warmth of love
from his fingertip tracings upon my skin
Midsummer hot afternoon hip
From licking lips of ice-cream drip.
Chocolate and mint I often crave
But strawberry - my old time fave!
Exquisite, palate pleasing taste -
My thrilled tongue twirling, soaked and bathed.
Body and mind of chilling bliss -
Hot and cold dish of ice cream kiss.
Ultimate height under the sun,
Where joy and pleasure melts in one.
Midsummer dream of taunting tease -
Languorous love in heat wave breeze!
June 20, 2022
" Imagine a place where there is beauty, bliss and plentifulness for all. It is nothing short of utopia. Though we are far from realizing it, isn't it thrilling to imagine a version of the world different from the existing one where all disparities will be leveled and happiness and freedom are made the birthright of all? Now such a world is enshrouded in mist. But who can say it won't emerge suddenly from the blue in some distant future"- By Poet
Though, utopia is merely an illusion,
Or a chimera born in the womb of our whims,
I shall take you to a near-utopian land,
Where, peace and beauty blossom like the cherry in spring
And trees grow like the cedars of Lebanon.
Come on, my Love! Let us move to that land,
Where the sun resurrects anew,
Where darkness gives way to light,
And life renews itself every morning.
It is our dreamland paradise or interim utopia.
Let us go into that Garden of Delight.
Look to the East, my love, beyond those crooked hills,
Where poplars grow tall in line
And a gentle breeze susurrates through the foliage of leaves
And wild weeds hem the edges of pathways,
Where bunnies and squirrels hop and jump
And run around whistling bamboo reeds,
Where the laughing cataract leaps down from the rocks
And flow along in silvery rills
Where the languorous breeze plays upon the leaves.
This place has all the beauty and bliss of utopia.
Away from the tumult, far from the bustling crowd
With the pandemonium of the world hushed to serene silence
Let us walk together to that sequestered glade,
Where we shall sit by the side of a rustling stream
And dance across the flowery meadows.
In this place of perennial greenery and sunlit groves
We shall walk hands locked and hearts singing as one,
Till the bright day gives way to a dusky night,
Inhaling night air in scented perfume.
Under the stillness of a star-spangled sky, we shall roam,
Through moon-blanched woods, enigmatic and mysterious
Listening to the sweet whisperings of our soul
And ‘drinking life to the lees’ from the chalice of love
Oh! Come on, let us not tarry….
Let’s move fast to that Utopia!
Tranquil thoughts
breathing
of slow kissed sights
comforted
in expelling this light
languorous trembled gaze
A mask promising nothing
yet yearning to taste
now pushed aside
Risking this pull
stakes everything
Claims made
forever washing
though tears of ecstasy
now rolling free of
ducted bliss
trailed warmth of
cored beings
exquisite dripping
yets
Serenades of wanting
traveling through blood
as feather breathes
brushed lightness
thieves strength
floating in
washes of joyed right
Unaltered and bare
lured to charm
unhooked to potent need
she is lost
Silkily softness crushed in satin
drawn to slither tight
set free to embrace
crystal screams
shattered
in feathers graced might
Masked
to be nothing
revealed
in breathlessness
Sun reflect—
soporific effect
of sultry, languorous afternoon.
A photo album, open in an attic room,
of my family and dear friends gone all too soon.
Phantasmagorically fey—
gallimaufry in stray
disarray.
A haze…
Languorous oft in summer days
Where sundrops drip
From melting skies
Onto city grind
And parasols shade the cobbled grays
Across back alley lanes
Trains and trolleys tip toe by
As a fool in love forever waits
Among a noon bistro Paris crowd
For his girl, who is always fashionably late
Outside a sidewalk somewhere café cityscape
Young beauties amidst a mid-day stroll
Becomingly, become ever respectively
The flowers that line the picket way
Or some frilly prize ponies
Beneath carousels about avenues of Torrid place
A testament to this…
The carriage horses that turn their whiny heads
And then, when I turn mine
It’s to witness boots of cavalier instead
That step to one side
For moments languor has left
As my own prize has made red carpets rise
Those flutter lashes like shotguns glint blasts
And soon the white dove makes its notorious descent
Where the gentlemen, unbeknownst to them, become like minded ruffians
As they dive into madness for her precious handkerchief
“Oh” this women of mine, she has her perculiar ways
Just like all the silly rest
My damsel mademoiselle never enters into throes of distress
Longer lace invites mischievous about a button down dress
And her kisses offer smiles and arduent waves
With utter love contempt to them, but my hand is her biggest praise
I guess it’s the thrill of the game
And she’s the tigress and I her willful prey
Opening up the Gazette, coffee I incredulous sip and purposely hide my face
As my sweet flora strolls my way
And lands into her lover's arms
In a somewhere summer Paris afternoon café
George W. Towne
1847 – 1899
From Iowa I came by restless wagon train.
From the mid-west I arrived
With satchel and silken scalp still intact.
I read Proverbs and Ecclesiastes to pass the time.
I read the Gospels of John and Luke.
I read Harriet Beecher Stowe and
I read John Greenleaf Whittier.
I saw the icy Rocky Mountains beckon me to the west
Waving their invisible fluid fingers
Like blond ballerinas in silent ever-moving tableaux.
I saw the railroad snake through the endless golden valleys.
And I saw the muddy roads converge
Under a hundred bee-infested pepper trees.
And it was here in this new colony I found a home
For my wife Fannie and our three dubious children.
You could always spot me in the distance,
Walking down Pickering Street.
For I was the dapper one in black derby hat
Taking the cash in the Greenleaf Avenue millinery.
I was the suited one in dusty black,
Winking and bowing to the lovely ladies
Showing my respect but imagining something else
Deep within my empty searching soul.
I was the tall, cleanly shaven erudite
Who had memorized the entire Gospel of John
And walked the northern foothills at sunset
Wearing my ever-present derby hat
And meeting, yes,
Secretly meeting Lucy Swain
Under the tall cedar tree on Rideout Ranch.
Confession is indeed good for the soul.
Confession has always allowed a good but dishonest man to sleep soundly.
To sleep long languorous hours on a cold winter’s night.
To sleep for an eternity without guilt or regrets
Under the hardened forgotten dirt of Clark Cemetery.
For I was the handsome one in derby hat
And only Lucy and I knew,
Only she and I knew intimately
About the patch of soft carpet-like grass,
There under the tall silent cedar tree
On Rideout Ranch.
The long, languorous
days of summer
have arrived.
Good-bye sweat shirts,
long sleeves and jackets.
Hello shorts and tanks,
bathing suits,
and sundresses.
Bring on the
pool parties!
Break out the grills -
it's barbecue time!
Who wants to
go camping?
I do! I do!
Gather the tent
and sleeping bags.
Don't forget the
fishing poles
and sunscreen.
It's summer time, folks!
Can't you hear
the beach calling
out to you:
"Come and Play!"
"Come and play!"
Frolic in the
waves and build
castles out of sand.
Let your inner
child cut loose and
celebrate summer!
8/4/16
For Ed Ebbs Anacreontic verse 4 Contest
Reliving Upside Down
by Odin Roark
The Jungle Gym geodesic glistened,
Afternoon showers dripped,
Languorous droplets fell,
Saturating sand below,
Just like then.
Bench of parents
Reflected memories old,
Stroller wheels struggling,
Obstinate sand as obstacle,
Giggles and screeches
From canopy covered pram,
Bumpy ride for my brother,
His laughter, sheer joy.
Fathers,
Mothers,
Sitters and nannies,
Attentive to children’s every move.
So many eyes saw me
Atop the dome’s iron lattice,
Hanging by my legs,
Seeing the world upside down,
Shouting, “Look at me, Grandpa!”
He didn’t notice this day,
His sudden slumped body,
Dropped the half eaten sandwich
To the ground.
Part of me wanted not to upright my view,
That safety of abstract vision so foreign then,
So understandable now,
So strangely comforting then,
So painful now.
I now straddle atop the bars,
Thinking thirty-three years haven’t made it easier,
Save the bench now replaced
The sand succeeded by concrete,
The tenders and watchers now often of different purpose,
Staring at me not knowing
I’m anything but a nut case.
Some of us just discover
Life’s remembrances
Sometimes prophesy what is to come.
Some, like me, will realize
Their whole adult life is programmed upside down,
Its sophisticated induction lures escapees
Into free-for all playground-workplaces
Where capture so often comes by way of
Pills,
Powder,
Liquid
Needles.
I smile.
Swing down to the ground,
Throw an embrace to Grandpa’s bench,
Look up and shout…
“Reliving upside down moments of love is okay.
Really…
It’s okay.”
On a Painting
Hey, what are you up to?
here is a sliver of earth
between two gravid rivers ?
Swelling with milk
they quelled dyslexic lands
that dried and cried in nobody’s tongue.
they too had a fateful beat.
only it was random or circardian.
Obscurity is clarity, here and now,
of mitochondrial stuff.
methodical minimalisation
inside a faceless river of black milk.
languorous flow to wet phenomenal banks.
Who would not notice
the hyperlinks dripping nectar?
like running nose, perhaps,
in a manner of speaking.
they flow into a fulfillment,
Or into wind-swept islets!
Inspiration: The Frida Kahlo Painting “ My nurse and I”
By S.Jagathsimhan Nair, 12 Aug 13
For Cyndi's contest.
I lay me down in the land of a languorous lull,
A leisurely liaison laxing amidst the silenced still…
No weeping words wander upon the constructive canvas.
The day mourns the nebulous neglected nestled night,
Where the shadows sustain the seductive sorrows…
Condolences for a candlelight as it flickers to foreordination.
Where empty echoes escape through voiceless vapors,
A quiet quiescence quivers as it lies to its rendering riotous rest…
And a calamitous calm causes a chaotic caliginous collective.
A suspended soothe within the overlords of obstinate oblivions,
As tranquilized time is transported to a pensive purgatory prison…
I prepare for the heavens and hells that await my misled muse.
...there has been an anomaly in the space-time continuum...my muse has reached a lull...perhaps this verse will give it spark to ignite it to Super-Nova status lol...
Feb.12.2020
Pick-A-Title, Vol 14 - Tristich
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Placed 1'st...Thank You
waltz blazing sirens from shores of the frosted tomorrow
just look around and behold everything that makes our souls distant
l’existence est ailleurs! my negatively dear Clementine
in this omnipotent Babylon of boredom whoredom
where our shapes slowly turn shadowless
turning in their dreamless sleep
glide around our glacier home
and we follow the fireflies among the languorous joshua trees
into the land of dandy lions and burning monks
into the tinfoil country of cowboys riding the giant amoebas
feverish orchids on the horizon where the fire alarm is always on
so run & hop on the railroad to false paradise
where we will dance alone and leave footprints in the garden
leave footprints on every rooftop
then walk up the clock tower to the ghost of a friendly lamp-lighter
who will help us from within to banish the darkening
and light up our own dungeons of blood candy splendour
as multiple painted phantoms of Van Gogh’s ear
listen to the foghorn music of pallid depths
in our much adored papier-maché sea shell mansion
our lovely cul-de-sac, stellar and crystalline, vanishing on a rota basis
standing in still life as a crescent groom, as graves on the Moon
opening the frontiers for a cosmis octopus, a zealot, a hypocrite
headless and worshipping the order of the howling iris
which makes our nosebleed grow longer like shadows do at dusk
and that’s when I love to unwind that brass hair
of your golden-haired psyche