Best Palmed Poems
She felt his hands so gently lift her hair
Her fingers trembled on the moistened quill
She knew his lips would graze her shoulder bare
Her writing she kept up to mask her thrill
He pressed into her back his angel face
as thighs of steel closed in on rounded hips
Her line of thought she could no longer trace,
for she was lost in wonder of his lips
Her sonnet all forgot, her quill fell down
She felt his hands undo the single bow
that loosely held together evening gown
She smiled at wanton ways she’d come to know
With patience born of love he did undress
She leaned back on his chest till she was freed
His hands sought out her breasts with sweet caress
and in their palmed embrace she sensed his need
She stood up to her feet, and she turned round
to face her lover seated on his chair
She drew his face to taste what hands had found,
for well she knew the pleasure he found there
She watched his mouth and tongue dominion claim
A moan from deep within escaped her lips
She felt herself go weak, and he untame
for grip of hands just tightened on her hips
And soon she found herself on bed of love
Enraptured was her body and her mind
With trembling hand she touched his face above
as he plunged to her depths release to find
As morning light tinged sky in pink array,
she slipped out of his arms and sat to write
The honeyed words dripped down without delay
and soaked the page in rhyme of love’s delight
Eileen Manassian
Brighter than a fall bonfire but with the chill of ice,
the winter sun haloes a gray and barren woodland;
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a florescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings to the horizon.
How it hurt my eyes.
Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol’s merging.
Trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, welt the dusk,
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.
How it hurt my mind.
Splayed fingers do not block the sharpened spears of screaming light.
The winter sun, indexed, and palmed, scratches the face of I.
Within a dakened room beneath a pall, behind hides blue veins,
near comatose, I sigh, the light, the light, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death both hurt.
First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 2014
Tonight I felt the deep inner desire to conform, to feel at right with the crowd for fear of being scorned. But don't be fooled dearest reader, this ain't a story of morals and how I got consumed into a life of addiction or crap like that. This isn't a sob story, just written down at the drop of a hat. The real twist is that I didn't give in, but where does that leave me? A lonesome wanderer gazing at an infinite sea? A person dreadfully awake, in the midst of a miraculous dream? Truth be told I at times feel the luckiest, not drawing near to the most common follies of my peers. But at what price? For who, in a world filled with bubbly laughter, could hear the sound of a silent tear? Who, holding a hand of their own, following a path they love, could notice a shadow like me, so hopelessly alone? I love you all most dearly, but like the moon loves the sea... just out of reach but always in sight. I live my life as the rainbow kisses the earth, wishing for my colors to allay someone else's hurt, if only for a moment, a minuscule grain, on this sandy shore. I am really not so significant, but still I desire to be more. But in all honesty how can I? I'm simply an observer, a reporter looking in. I'm not the strongest, nor the brightest, the bravest, nor the wisest. I am just a man with an eye for beauty and an obsession for the safety of the bench. So still I watch in dread as others live and I just sink. I clutch to papers filled with so much lifeless ink! They are nothing but shards of myself, tossed and thrown in mile high piles, that none in their right minds could ever wish to file! Though the world I live in and the one which I've created, seldom collide, I sit still waiting on that perilous bridge, for someone else just as crazy, and just as lonesome, to sit it out with me, side by side. It may not be perfect but it feels right. And honestly who could hope for more at the end of the night? You have a destination in mind and a foot always in front. You have the whole world palmed in between delicate fingertips. So go on and take a swig! Ingest within you... the taste of a wish!
Crimson rivulets, felled from a need for pain.
They forget to scream, and instead a sigh reigns.
The blade that strokes.
Each murderous thought it provokes.
An attempt to escape paled and failed.
The stains embalmed.
The blade now palmed, for the wrist it may dash.
If it may, more blood doth it dash
An idea that pain is relief, how rash.
This hurt so much, could they not ever remember to move on?
Yet to this they fall pawn.
Somehow to it they feel drawn.
Their thighs and wrists well clawn.
Now they are gone.
Out of the silence, a single sound is born.
The echoing drip of the dropping drops of stained blood.
“Scrabbled”
I could write a book
about all your dance moves
fire handed on a platter
heart beating like a hammer
a body of work
glanced at nonchalantly
on an open floor
dance cards marked,
silent deals made
and understood
blind man’s bluff
toe tapping a sequence
by numbers
on a floor assisted
instinctually sliding
in the desultory
golden yeared
in the dusk of setting sun
aces played straight to the kitty
passionatley winsome
words
she spins
dancing
across tables
stories lost in the beat
of poetic seduction
never touching once
the steps down a strong spine
elusive open palmed
read like a gypsy
down a back of satin
warm fingers reading
sliding down notes
braille like velvet skin
held in your arms
and turned like a cello
to face you
strings pulled
john-donned
plucked undone
the heart
hidden
between
the legs
the cupid’s bow kissed
a work of pure fiction
mercilessly
teased
"dance?"
She
whispers
in your ear
"your
scrabbled."
take
note,
regards
sincere
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
“Paralyze My Heart” / Dua Lipa vs. Finger Eleven (mashup)
https://youtu.be/mlYbDA7TkBE
"Miss U Less, See U More" /Faithless
2.0 (Purple Disco Machine Remix)
https://youtu.be/Jp8NXWqvxRE
"Black and Gold" / Sam Sparro
https://youtu.be/eHuebHTD-lY
Man Eating Flower
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/man_eating_flower__1220943
Not De Beauvoir
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/not_de_beauvoir_1245050
Licking Life's Luscious Lips
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/licking_lifes_luscious_lips_1288730
Cherry Ripe
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/cherry_ripe_1288487
Entranced
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/entranced_1254444
Black silky curtains hang down,
stopping short of 3 inches long,
messy, good scented hair,
partly covering two beautiful hazel orbs,
dancing with the joy and suns light,
endless staring, tender loving eyes,
placed gently in a smooth light-mocha creame complexion,
centered by a small, cute, baby-like nose,
and large, scrumptious, peach-colored lips,
little black scruffel of a beard, lightly pull forward for a kiss,
broad shoulders, slightly tence from stress,
muscular arms, wrap tightly around vanilla skin,
tone even chest, bicepts strong build,
warm and smooth, fingers carress,
---distracted . . . . [my appologies]
twilight setting, golden light against blending skin,
blue-green-hazel eyes devouring the view,
tounge run across, a bottom pink pursed lip,
swallow quivering, breath, adventuring mind,
colored cloths slide off satin, falling evermore,
crumpeled slowly on the wooden floor,
piles sitting surrounding bare feet,
fingers searching, lips connecting, tounges tying,
skin searing, eyes falling, breathing halting,
heartbeat speeding, time receading, passion sweating,
open eyes, whisper only truths, nevermore lies,
callosed fingers, gentle in their open palmed feeling,
cupping firm, sensitive breasts, so appealing,
lips speaking, kissing revealing feelings, stealing pain,
from their growing swollen-ness,
lips softly, leading trails down belly skin,
teeth gently pulling on the skin of belly button,
trailing down, fingers slide around smooth cheeks,
bringing lips back to lips, nervous about going down,
"Bat Crazy 5"
Some say
she was batsh** crazy
life hits the windscreens
in the labyrinth of life
that way
the foot remains pinned
to the metal, fast to the floor
full speed, left brained left hand
holding hard-gripped the gear stick
an upwards inflection, “You know”,
in the Queen’s Land, "all under control"
the open palm under the shaft
moving all the way up to 5,
reflecting on the mirror rearview
she watches the eyes
of her child
dreaming of open highways
the foot remains pinned
to the metal, fast to the floor
full speed, left brained left hand
holding hard-gripped the gear stick
never once moving from 5
the left all the way up to targa 5
right hand up on the wheel
left hand down right up to 5
windows spitting emeralds
like a baphomet
the two finger salute
the other above so below
watches on
"here we go again",
the 1 above it all
watches on
as above so below
that 1's long-suffering
that way, aghast, but resolute,
that 1 has never-ending reserves
of eternal patience
and watches on
perplexed
her mind geared on
how to kill off
a spider
and his sister, next
changing lanes
easier said than done
when you're hell-bent on
Freedom
the highway sign
Happy New Year
flashes ever onwards by,
foot to the floor
left brain baffled
at forgiveness
at Christmas
long gone by
right hand on the wheel
left hand down
open palmed
shifting gears
accelerating increduality
towards the accuracy
in the justice of karma
drivers sitting on both shoulders
inside the vehicle
holding the wheel
the internal speaks
to the universe
listening
for kindness
and answers
on a lost highway
Blue Sky
nods, as if in agreement,
that 1's always amused -
but never confused, that way
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“Is it possible to switch dimensions?
There is currently no conceivable way to get to these if they exist, and they may only be possible, not actual. To travel between realities, they need to be in proximity. To be in proximity and not interact, they need to be incompatible. If it is a compatible universe you could travel to, it is already here.”
"Won’t you let me know,
if you made it home that night
Oh won’t you let me know
If our bones made it home alright..."
Brighter than a fall bonfire, but with the chill of ice,
the Winter sun haloes the gray and barren woodland,
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a fluorescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings--
to the horizon.
How it hurt my eyes.
Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol merging:
trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, welt the dusk--
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.
How it hurt my mind.
Splayed fingers block, the sharpened spears of screaming fright.
The Winter sun, indexed, palmed, scratches, the face of I.
Within a lightless room a pall hides blue veins, near comatose,
brazen: the light, the light-- I sigh, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death both hurt.
art by JulieG350
First Published by Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 - 2014
"Alpha Mnemonic"
Word
Image
without the image
no word
Language
a disease
communicable
by mouth
Alpha from brain
Omega passed
on her tongue
to yours
Ancient codex
genetically kissed
dispersed with
music intonation
gutteral
romantic
cerebral
never rehearsed
language
a virus formed
Mnemonic
from where exactly,
Within?
ad lib
ad lucem
ad libitum
from somewhere
other birthed
codex ancient
Alpha alien
genetic
hive driven
we are observed
writhing in our smalls
amphibian brained
we are still
loud embryos
clashing and clinging
unjust
we are
just learning exotic
movements
within our
blue pitri plate
circular in motion
we are agitated
not calm, chasing long versed
pre-recorded, re-rehearsed tales
a breath blown over us
language divides us
in love and belief
a disease
we are
we think
we speak
we spread
our languages
communicable
by eyes that
envision dreams
of others within
we are not knowing
with clandestined
futures and
over-ripe mouths
to succour
we simulate
ad lib
ad lucem
ad libitum
sensual
cold
science
hot and feverish
we lie
in bed
with irreverent
romantic fate
Omega
ohm resistant
high voltage
across the conductor
Always equal
Metaphors of unity
become
the Sequel
Blissfully ignorant
Ripe Red currents
juiced up and
Blue buries itself
warm palmed
on a soft beating breast
Ideology and
Romance
arrive
late
Memory
lost in the
Alpha
Mnemonic
Stuck in
the warm
and sticky
we grow cold
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Language is a Virus" / Laurie Anderson
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIOnODxUTZQ
Palmed within your outstretched arms openly displayed
our fates are mapped for all to see, believe or be denied,
so upon the lines of time and faith, let your love cascade.
Closed eyes will not belay the coming, I'm afraid,
nor opened eyes change an outcome gone awry
palmed within your outstretched arms openly displayed.
Anger, sadness, fortitude, love that's been betrayed
can all be read upon palm, the future revealed, espied,
so upon the lines of time and faith, let your love cascade.
Within the carnival, behind the draped tent's arcade
the gypsy fortune teller sits, her foresight on your hand applied,
palmed within your outstretched arms openly displayed.
Lines short or long, cut or curved, choice seems but charade
the hands tell all, the time of birth, of death, all they do confide,
so upon the lines of time and faith, let your love cascade.
So hold your hands above your heart let your love be laid,
lead the best life that you can, let goodness be your guide,
palmed within your outstretched arms openly displayed
so upon the lines of time and faith, let your love cascade.
Contest: Rhyme Battle Round 4
Behind the mirror, the man is seen
Where on our streets surrounded, Friends
Thousands met cold, untimely death
With screamed echoes of souls unrest
Bullets flied, guns blasted ceaselessly
Children dead in their mothers’ arms
Father, for his lost son searched
Found him only, with parts cut in shreds.
Behind the mirror, was the man there?
Our Young children, to soldiers turned
Educated only in field of war
Guns carried, bigger than they can bear
Faught battles, of no cause but fear
To read or write, they dared not do
But to shoot or kill, well informed they were.
The man behind the mirror, how did he rest?
Our babies, dead while he sound slept
In his glorious, paradise mirror he kept
Still offered nothing, but violence more
Promised, inflicted upon innocents, murder
If anyone dared open their mouths to speak
Or, if orders came of his seat to render.
Behind that mirror, my freedom he took
Our homes Burned; our stores looted
Citizens, chased out of a land to love
Forced into exile for years so many
Adapted to a culture so not ours
From scratch, we started to build
Until bit by bit, we rose so high above
Like an eagle, up up and away.
The man behind the mirror, for him I always blame
The color so dark, on our backs stained
Bruises so deep, forever left to heal
Visions of his bloody watch, repeatedly, us plagued
Flashbacks of dear ones loved, Snatched,
And palmed away by cruel, hateful death
With tumbled bodies over bodies
All soiled up into one tiny hole.
Behind that mirror, the man will always be
With blissful look in his red, budging eyes
Wishing evil gleefully, with a dark smile
His laughter,joy, through my anguish I see
My heart beats fast, like a thunder sound
And the more my hate for him increase
Oh how I wish, that mirror came crashing down
Then, a taste of his own medicine, he shall get
What memories and thought pools we swim in
Between two distant unreachable shores
A sandy future palmed and green
Or the rocky crags of endless chores.
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 25'
1/26/2022
43 cents in my prune-palmed hand.
Clumped in a circle; flat coins.
Brown for the pennies that hold my thoughts
and silver for the ones it joins.
Cupped in a hand with room for more
yet weighed by the heart as less.
Dumped on a table to bounce and flop
while left for the owner to bless.
SILVER STRANDS
We left the dusty strands of Santander *
And struck west, seeking Peru, the far shining land,
Our carracks riding high in the water,
Hungry to ground our boats on its silver strand.
Pack mules groaned under their silver load,
Barges of silver threaded the palmed rivers, manned
By dusky Inca slaves on their road
Down to Peru’s glistening silver strand.
Dipping in the warm sea up to our rails,
The holds cracking open with chest and cask
Of gleaming Spanish reales, the creaking sails *
Pulling carracks full-laden for the task,
We slipped out of sight of New Spain
And its mines of silver, that silver land,
Glinting hills, glittering cities, far over the Main, *
And said adieu to its coasts and silver strands;
Struck out for Santander, and unfurled
Tall curtained palaces in Aragon and Castile - grand *
And reaching to the sky from the New World -
That far horizon with its silver strands.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
NOTES
*Santander is a big port in Spain
*Spanish money of the period was counted in REALES and was used everywhere as currency and as a reserve store of wealth, like the US dollar today. In the sixteenth century over 300 tons of silver each year were brought to Spain in fleets of ships from America.
*The Atlantic Ocean was commonly called the (Spanish) Main.
*Castile and Aragon were the two main kingdoms of Iberia
which united and became “Spain”.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .
Written for, and entered in, Susan Burch’s Contest “ Silver Strands”
Pamlico morning;
Clouds floating over palmed isle
And the clear blue sea