Best Moist Poems
The pensiveness of the sky
is broken by the cry of a crow,
by trees distilling intimacy
and moist, vibrant expectancy.
Violets, ferns, and birches
share life-giving vapors.
The chalk-bleak horizon
and pungent, poignant odors
whisper sonorous secrets.
The visitor is enveloped
in this pithy, soulful world,
all cells saturated
with a suggestive sustenance.
moist yet flaky white
butter melting spreads just right….
my taste buds excite
"""""""""""``````"""""""""""
long-stemmed river glides
soaking on threads of nectar...
blue moon combs her hair
"""""""""""""""""""""""
(( P D's Any Haiku Will Do Contest
by nette onclaud))
Fog again this day
Air very heavy moist
One lone bird chirping
There's a place where men love to go
To explore dark moist caves
The deepest, moistest caves known to man
A most favourite spot they crave
If you're not in shape it can make ya sweat
But how amazing to succumb
Deep in the heart of these dark moist caves
You must try it you really must come
If your mind's down in the gutter my friends
Wasn't talking about sex you see
Had ya fooled, was talking about travel
To the Lost Sea Exhibit, Tennessee!
© Jack Ellison 2013
"Another Fine Moist"
Underground with the worms?
It's another fine moist
You've gotten me in, Stanley.
N'est-ce pas?
"The night was moist," wrote Billy Crystal,
As the writers-blocked scrivener in
"Throw Mama from the Train."
You run into many old friends, here.
Here in the slime is where I'm at.
Let me show you where it's at.
And that's a fact, Jack.
My ROM brain is prewired,
Yet subvocal mnemonics filter thru,
A RAM cache, stored for future amusement,
But crossing over now, randomly.
Flickering light of
chandelier dims,
timid blinks
become audacious,
fragrant whispers
intermingle in crevices,
fingers orchestrate
enchanting invites,
blazing a mystic
smoke that escapes,
vents of love
in raging storms
of night,
to envelope mists
of hushed union,
beads of Aurora
sparkle at dawn
June 3, 2020
SOME KIND OF SENSUAL Poetry Contest
Sponsor: nette onclaud
Theme: Smoke
44 words, checked with wordcounter.net
~Winner: First Place
BRIAN'S SELECT 4,any form,any theme Poetry Contest
~Winner: First Place
silver damp moist fog
coats golden rods, green ragweed ...
oleander blooms
This morning the dew crept into my bed
Soaked, I smile uncontrollably
The smell of femininity struck my senses so,
Sunrise, woke up the sleeping giant
This parched expanse
of forlorn loss
begs my soul to
venture across
the cracked terrain
of cold disguise
to imbue dew
within those eyes:
a miracle
of splendid vim
that wets all threats
within our swim.
A moist berry was all I could think about.
That burst to wet my tongue.
A quenching I could drain away
for comfort that would numb.
That soul surrounding other berries
who's bowl would make them one.
Where every spoon dividing them
would make a bath undone.
And dampen all my spirits bound
for hunger that was lost.
To honor me with kisses
from a spirit now with cost.
That every bite now taken
meant a pleasure for my loss.
Meaning every cost worth making
was a work I'd do for gloss.
Rich roaring rain
Plough pretty plain
Mind morning mimes
Reap rapture’s rhymes
Feel festive flair
Art ample air
Join jazzy jet
Sign simple set
Bright balloons boom
Zap zesty zoom
Grand gracious grooves
Meet misty moves
Dance dewy dreams
Such sensuous streams
Lift laughter loud
Prize precious proud
Cheer cloisters choice
Ply poignant poise
Taste telling times
Meet moving mimes
Set sight seeing
Meet moist morning
Leon Enriquez
25 December 2017
Singapore
Imagine a beginning of a warm moist feeling...
That builds and builds until your mind is reeling…
Inside a euphoric pleasure when losing control…
On top of a satisfaction that does not slow…
In the warm moist dew of the morning…
Comfort and good feelings do arise…
To keep your thoughts from churning…
Embrace the pleasure when you rise…
It's not every morning where the juice's flow
from every where.
Where even green leaves
shouldn't be freed from the tree.
Here where the white sticky sap
ran the length of the tree.
A thickness to the air
moist air, being sucked in and out by
laboring lungs once stout.
These are the morning where noon
stands still
and what is thinly worn sticks
to the once thick bark.
Mushrooms try to poke up past their
broken backs
strangely flat misshapen heads
their moist yet strangely still.
Pale moonlight where around one green bush
the moon moves up the hill.