Best Obsessively Poems
if flowers write about love storms
and the moon obeys the heart’s blaze
would you, O Dawn’s King
become my forever flame ~
the wild-blue fire,
finger-locking our besotted souls…
aching obsessively to taste
the sacred warmth
from the Asclepius arms
of Cephisesus’ spring river
ricocheting and reflecting
the burning desire we breathe…
and I listen ~ in amatory silence,
to your voiced whispers
the slow, soft velour laughter
as you caress my sky
with poetic phrases ~
igniting this ink to release
blooms spooned with fervent sighs
lines linear against
the hysterical history
of hurt without healing…
but if only the petals
floating and
frolicking in the wind
could empathize
with how my lips thirst
with flares of jealous heat ~
wanting desperately
to be the trembling skin
the only zephyr
that touches your smooth silk fever…
O pursuer of pressed passion
my reason to remain alive
relinquish into the orchard
of rooted, clandestine utopia,
where I savor the luscious liqueur
spilling from the titillating tips
of scribbled Shizuka ~
kiss me when the sun sleeps
feel me when the Venus stars awake
dress me in dancing darkness.
I will be the violet spark
to your electromagnetic light…
take me beyond time
eviscerate the
evil threads of illusion
unchain the steel of
our imprisoned pages,
let the words flow as one..
for my heartbeat now
is the sober mirror to your pulse
nevermore remembering
the final glimpse
of an irreversible ending…
** inspired by the artwork The birth of Venus, Sandro Botticelli ~
Knowledge gained liberates or mutilates.
Ramifications of reality’s realm reached
make your insides want to abandon the body ship.
Rocking back and forth as you hurl dry acidic pain
expelled by the force of shell shocked lucidity:
You’re not good enough to be loved.
Breathing in is treason.
Your heart demands release of life’s lease.
On the kitchen floor
crumpled dreams drag to prostrate form.
Alone…..
Every reason to stay is obliterated.
Ascorbic failures scream.
Heart blood transforms to salty rivulets.
Self-loathing usurps the throne of belief.
"Appeasement sacrifice,” it sagely suggests…
"Your life!"
Relevant Reasoning...
For someone for whom love is cell oxygen
grey matter food
supreme soul sustenance,
life without full bodied Love is death.
Might as well...
Cowardice cackles and goads….
The cut isn’t deep enough.
Red streaked line mockery of mental hell feels
abhorrence breathing between the sobs
that one hears …
No one hears
Troubled mind has drained desirability’s delight.
Not strong enough to live not strong enough to die,
you are spent…
negligence purged.
Silence begs to benumb,
yet a reminder remains.
The thorn of truth finds a home.
Embedded in my side,
it won’t be denied.
Removal immuned
it is unseen by naked eye-
exposed to the naked heart.
With every movement of love making
matrimonial mattress yet exudes
the faint scent of virginal dreams...
Pain permeates
It digs in deep.
Nothing will change.
YOU cannot change.
You are unlovable.
You're troubled and troubling brain
takes beauty down to notch of insane.
Give it all away.
Lavish and ravish.
Obsessively bid for love
while you auction respect away,
but herein is the cursed truth:
You are not good enough to be loved.
You never were.
You never will be.
For Charlotte's Heart and Soul Contest
September 2, 2014
I’m losing it; you know I am
When I ask myself questions, then answer them out loud
And consider this a “conversation”
When the lizard that made his way into my home
Becomes my pet
When I repeatedly count the cards in my deck
Because I can’t win at solitaire
When my first thought as a hurricane nears
Is fear of virus transmissions in evacuation shelters
When each day is much like the last
And I wake in bed, not knowing if it’s day or night
When I haven’t seen family for eight months
My skin starts to itch; my hands shake and twitch
When I’m told I’ll have to quarantine
If I want to visit sick family members
When I hear fear in my sister’s voice
As she tells me New Jersey's second wave has begun
When I manicure my lawn obsessively
With scissors instead of a mower
When my list of prayerful intentions
Takes an hour to review
When the noise crickets make
Starts sounding like a symphony and I look forward to their nightly
performance
I’m losing it; you know I am
Written July 29, 2020
For Chantelle’s “Isolation Philosophy” contest
I tried to reach out, blink in silence and say my words, but there is a lost syllable and a forgiven diction. I buried my art, my passion.
I tried to tear my skin apart, carve in silence and swim in the blood, but there is a broken knife and a tired hand. I buried my sorrow, my passion.
i tried to hold your hand, glimpse in your heart and kiss it close, but there is a fragile door and the locks made of dead petals. i buried my love, my passion.
"I went back to the grave, holding your favourite lilies. I dig slowly beside you and reach the metal clank. I loved you passionately and obsessively.
The box handle creaks and opens, a canvas with dried blood stains, a half fractured knife and the unsent letters.
a lady walks up to me, handcuffs me back and requests that i slowly move away from the evidence and let go".
I buried your body, my passion.
The definition for the word decadent in this poem is the following: extremely
pleasing
The synonyms you can have in mind are the following: unrestrained and
shameless
I want to indulge in this love
To arrive at its very core
I want that delectable taste
The pleasure that it has in store
I want to revel in opulence
Luxuriate in comfort fine
To savor its decadent treats
Indulging in what is sublime
I want to relish its sweetness
To take in and not abstain
I want to be ravished by love
To give in to pleasure and pain
I want to be wild, uncontrolled
Glutted in a wanton excess
To be obsessively taken
Have my inner woman undress
Like richest silky smooth chocolate
I'll tempt, tantalize, and I'll tease
Making love to be what I want
To melt in my need to appease
Decadently decadent love
Is all that my heart and soul crave
To be lost in time and in place
To drown in a love that can save
Eileen Manassian Ghali
This is a repost. There was a time when I was deleting my poems. This was ohe of them. I have brought it back to light. Thanks for reading.
I think of you badly,
I yearn for you crazily
Passionately in wanting
Obsessively in needing
and I dream of you,
your fingertips all over
my chapters
in search of faith's
happy endings.
Every night I wait for you
to come to me
I let you taste the feel of me
an emotion deep inside your heart
lingering softly, whispering secretly
Alone you are in my thoughts
Your spirit is in my breath
You have crawled into my heart
rocking me fast asleep.
Oh how I crave your scent on my pillow,
feel the warmth of your soft skin.
savor a kiss on your moist lips,
have your hair cascade onto my chest.
Heaven is speaking loudly
telling me you are the one,
I am coming for you my darling
we'll make all our feelings a home.
Achieve greatness by running a race.
Break sound barriers- just go to outer space!
Climb a mountain to get a good workout.
Deliver a speech- you'll probably have to shout...
Earn some money by helping clean up.
Film a video where you put on makeup.
Graduate college, online, of course!!!
Hire for the future; build a great workforce!
Improvise a sketch and perform it for all.
Just watch a sad movie, and prepare to bawl.
Kidnap an animal, then keep it for yourself...
Laminate bookmarks and organize your bookshelf!
Make some yummy cookies, brownies, or a cake.
Nestle in; watch a show where all they do is bake.
Optimize your storage; start with the dresser...
Poke around a bit to find some hidden treasure!
Qualify for a job, or just peek at the website...
Read some poems; mine are sure to excite!!!
Sleep all day, then pull an all-nighter.
Take some time to become a songwriter!
Unfold some origami, and then fold it back again.
Vandalize something, if you can't, just plan when...
Wander around, and pretend you're mist.
X-out something on your bucket list.
Yammer on about your favorite subject.
Zip your zipper obsessively- jeez... are you occupied yet????
"You can't shout. You can't even cry.
The 7 Gentlemen are coming by.
Looking in windows. Knocking on doors.
They need to take seven and they might take yours.
You can't call to Mom. You can't say a word.
You're going to die screaming but you won't be heard."
The above is supposedly from some ancient fairy tale.
I've tried researching its origins but to no avail.
Has anyone heard the fairy tale titled The 7 Gentlemen?
If you have, I'd appreciate any information my friend.
PS
The "7 of what they need to take that might be yours" are human hearts.
As the story goes, supposedly 7 Gentlemen arrive in the dead of night in some rural out of
the way town. They open up a magic box that steals the voices of everyone in the
community while they sleep. For the 7 days thereafter the 7 Gentlemen search for victims.
When they find one, they surgically remove their heart while the victim is still alive. The
victim can't scream or call for help because the victim's voice is locked in the magic box
along with the others. After the Gentlemen have collected 7 hearts, well, to be honest I don't
know what the hell happens next or why in the bloody hell they need to harvest these darn
hearts for in the first place. Which is why I now find myself obsessively researching this
ancient fairy tale which may or may not actually exist.
They really do get a very undeserved bad rap,
for being filthy. Can you imagine that?
The only other animal I have ever seen,
that comes remotely close to grooming itself as obsessively,
as does the common rat,
is maybe possibly the common house cat.
The Noose is tightening.
The 5’s and 10’s yanked from our hands and aching backs
Are spent on band-aids:
A last stand effort to plug the holes in our hearts
When the price of drowning is only getting higher
So we turn to tiny acts of thievery
Taxes prettied up, cashiers uncorrected,
Stealing at the edges because we’re backed into corners,
Corners
Glittering with promises corners
Dripping with possibility,
With Island resort wallpaper
Sold in bulk at Wal-Mart for
Profit: A trail of crumbs called America-
Which has curdled our souls and we love it!
And hate it and gossip about it and think obsessively about it and then
We find the most expensive friends our looks can afford,
Shopping for substance (50% off)
Staring through the eye of a screen
Light speed in pursuit of heaven on earth (Ignore the plastic)-
Until pop!
We die of ADHD.
Never having had the chance to smell the genetically modified roses.
Never having had the chance to see through this kingdom of ideas
As we served out our sentence to life in cubicle.
Jacob Reinhardt
10/24/2013
Unforgiving Reflections
by Odin Roark
Life’s not a bowl of cherries,
It’s a comedy of errors.
Like a corpse refusing to die,
An attempted burial forever postponed,
Past mistakes appear to never realize interment,
Self-loathing, the death defying destroyer, seems forever.
How pervasive our hording of errors,
Fault’s buried-deep-admonition
Denying mistakes deserve closure,
Goading us instead to carry the extra baggage
As guilt laden badges of honor.
How tenacious the hiding…
These mirrored shadows,
Revealing how meticulously faults are collected.
From the daily shave for some,
The application of make-up for others,
All serve our self-adjudicated punishment,
Guilt’s aging toll most apparent in dry wrinkled faces,
Folds of decaying sags beneath fastidiously groomed beards,
And gray strands hidden amongst obsessively coiffed hair.
Have they no closure,
These undying blunders,
These reflections of self
That remain unforgiving?
Was Freud right?
What if id and ego’s right and wrong debate is eternal?
After all, the superego, our patient judge,
Has no where else to go,
Nothing more to do.
****…
Maybe it’s time to destroy all mirrors.
Good idea?
You're not doing well,
Ya gotta lose weight;
Keep track of every particle
Of food on your plate.
Count calories obsessively,
Go on diets galore;
Don't even eat jello,
'Cuz "there's always room for more."
Drink water constantly
Eight bottles a day;
That'll surely take
Your appetite away.
Yet at the end of the day,
When all's said and done;
You lost one whole ounce,
Was that any fun?
Stepping on shuttered dreams
Feet bleeding wishes of travel
Disable soul mails postcards
To a corner called " Empty Apartment"
Still nature on the thirteenth floor
Mom's glasses left behind and a cup full of tears
A phone ringing obsessively
The door permanently unlocked…
Jetlag freezes childhood memories
Dirt squishes mortality between my toes
Ravens on cracked limbs distract me
A shovel full releases a white cloud
I jump on ready made steps in snow
Hungry children of the graves follow me
I stop, they stop, I feel, they feel - so lonely
Playing the game of “Orphaned Roulette”...
for Matt's Contest "Empty Apartment"
Forget that it's all sugarcoated
Accept that you can't quit
Censored, conformed and covered up
Egotistically you won't admit
Because you'll never see how you're
Obsessively checking in
Ordinary people telling lies to you
Knowing you never will win
This morning at (long) last something-I was robbed in a way I was fearful curious about. What happened?!
Pickpockets are a myth, almost everyone I know have an experience-with.
Pickpocket by definition "a person who steals from the pockets or handbags of others in public places"*Pick pocketing is a crime that in my universe has some nobility because the thief uses no violence or coercion but in a slightly surreptitious furtively steel with the help of a pal carrying away one goods. The stolen item, a "deluxe" half pack of cigarettes whom he could add a wallet with ID's and a dozen dollars. The freakish part is that I track the embezzlement not thinking about any wrongdoing. Reading my daily paper in a coffee shop what pops in an unintended touch far from suspicion putting me wondering for a second and after returning to the usual awakening routine.
A block away when reaching for the pack and after obsessively looking for it, suppositions and hypothesis popped then the understanding. My imaginary fictitious person is true and despite unacceptable and inadmissible is kind of an art. I cannot identify the perpetrators but know exactly when it happened. The errand quickness done with mastery technique and the little loss increase my awareness to this lower members of the crime world that I still find enigmatic.
*Dictionary.com