Best Nipping Poems

Teardrops, bagged eyes, a way of sin
The mirror reveals a lost eternal soul
A conniving move against tonight's phantom glow
Voices circle the insomniac moon
Like magic and beauty, "She's Gone With the Wind."

The idea of love, 
broken like yesterday's wishbone.
She is leaving today, her arms, my shelter
Her...

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Over harvested fields —

I walk beneath the fading afterglow
of a forgotten lantern   a path worn
by wanderers older than the scroll of Zeno
its damp salve seeping through my coat
into my bones

Fog an Erebian curtain   a Stygian veil
barn swallows following
susurrus secrets of the...

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Beneath a moonlit black velvet sky
Where scarlet leaves from the Maple fly
On November’s  wind and breathless sighs
And a lone coyote’s distant cry
You and me where hints of winter lie
Frost nipping our toes as autumn dies
I am warmed by the love in your eyes...

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Winter descended upon the prairie plain
Pelting the ground with freezing rain
Nipping, biting this cold morning air
Thin layers of ice coated everywhere

You get out on the road but don't step on the brake
That would be your biggest mistake
For it would make you slide and spin
This would...

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dizzy, from my shameless lust 
i paint your mouth with mine.
nipping, brushing faces, 
breathing you like oxygen.

my fingers, my lips, my tongue 
upon your naked back
draw a map to my destination 
via the scenic route no doubt

starving 
for your wet lips. 
make a meal of this

Lost in the carnage of our intimacy.
I...

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Ageless and amazingly, the nerves sing,
butterflies flutter within the begin
like the bowed tension of a cello’s string.

Let the trailing flow of sweet kisses sting.
Pain so close to passion, adrenaline,
ageless and amazingly, the nerves sing.

Nipping ear and throat so breathtaking,
as we fall and roll on the...

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Walking toward His grave, the cool air nipping at my nape on this chilly Nisan morning, feeling disconsolate. The sun has just risen over the Mount of Olives, while the magnificent temple basks in radiant light just beyond. I used to view the holy place...

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Jack Frost adores nipping at our fingers, toes and nose.
Always dressed in white, he hides outside our homes
Creeping out in the dead of night
Keeping his icy wintery fingers busy 

Frozen fronds of fern like ice white frost
Resplendently dress our windows and gardens.
Our surroundings are adorned...

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It was in the mists of morning, beneath the rising morning sun,
We had come to conquer Ft. Langley, It was me and Al and John.
We had all teed off quite nicely, on number one I scored a seven,
But Al warned me that one was easy...

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A Song If this is My Country..

This Song is dedicated to the brutal Rape victim of Delhi and it’s a message for My Countrymen. The Original song is in Hindi on You Tube with Song Lines Text in English. The Song contains many situations universal...

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Shapely to coarse green stem, 
sitting alone; wanting to grin.
Patiently waiting for the take,
wanting Halloween to begin.

A few more weeks left to grow,
inviting; nestled in straw.
Children soon make their choice,
with little eyes in awe.

Fields abundant in orange hue,
serenading a season of rest.
Large or small or...

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The icy wind blows through
blushing our cheeks,

Eyes stinging and watering,
and mouths tinted purple.

Snow flurries whirl around us
nipping at our ears;
making our breath white and heavy.

So, we pretend to smoke.

But wide grins give away our game
With hearts purging laughter,

We look long at each other,
Eyes glinting sincerely...

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Ursus Maritimus ...

I entered your world in quietude, slipping through the granular, soft.
          Long slats to feet parting the frozen. Cold of a previously unknown
     Extreme, nipping, sharp, the epidermis with ardor....

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Did you even note;
an imposter is in our midst!
And our beloved Tube is the originator.
Faithless beast, merely nipping
at our consciousness for many years
and now the unsuspecting weather man
is the infected carrier, flipping forth
without a care--unconsciously,
the old ageworn and frazzled fellow
practiced through the decades, now
hallowed by...

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Adrift upon the ocean  
bob a bunch of resting birds.
What is it that they call themselves?
A flock or school or herd?

Could it be this feathered colony  
is a band or horde at best
No screeches, calls or gaggling,
they don’t brood or crowd or nest

Spread...

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