Best Passionautumn Poems
If I could Harken to thee, a sonnet,
of loves most great desires,
the mere utterance, would warm thine ears
as the soft crackles of lusts fires
The ambiance, of shadows dance
across the Scottish tapestry,
Muses, light footed, pirouetting
my symphony, my love for thee
Fairest is thy silken mane
of the finest Irish Auburn,
brilliant as a cool autumn day
as the leaves of the maple turn
The tower bells, they toll for thee
as pale moon, illuminates the night
hark, the far cry, my dearest dove
of the owlet, so yearning flight
The petals of the Royal Rose
silken soft, compared to thy blushing skin,
or the Emerald glow, of thine own eyes
alit, passion, kindled from within
Mine own heart, burns with ever fire
that, which only thee, can conquer,
Conquer thee not, my dearest dove
for our love, forever, must endure
Harken to me my dearest Dove
sweet sonnets, from silken lips,
for I know thou shall be to me
as close as my finger tips.
Rock ...
Rock ...
The dry leaves crackle under our blanket
One of only two sounds that find me
The other is her
Rock ...
Rock ...
Pure and lovely
Wanted and wanting
She is all
Rock ...
Rock ...
Skin against skin
Joy upon joy
We find heaven for a time
Rock ...
Rock ...
There is no pain and we suffer not
There is only Us
Us and the autumn leaves
Rock ...
Rock ...
I can not tell her sweat from mine
Everything is as one
As our bodies
Rock ...
Rock ...
I hear my name on her lips
It sounds natural
It feels right
Rock ...
Rock ...
Her hair dances across my face
It smells of strawberries
Strawberries and Us
Rock ...
Rock ...
I feel it and her body tenses and trembles
I see the passion being excised
I see the pleasure become too much
Rock ...
Rock ...
It rolls over me and I lose control
For a moment I feel one with the entire world
I hear her playful laugh
Her shy laugh
Her dirty little girl laugh
Rock ...
I fall to the blanket
The crunching leaves greet me
With dry and welcome applause
I love her
I love her
I think that she loves me, too
She who holds a seamlessly symmetrical silhouette
so supple to the touch
coupled by hips on sticks of tango, that inimitable set of pins
simper at all that you clutch
Bob nearer the eyes of delight
now attune and bound for that which you pine.
sweet quarry in search of marvel, of unmoved bliss
of skin against skin and devoid of the wine
Posture within posture you exude the line
that this foreplay is vessel to where
and piece in arriving where you began
tender so to flatter the tips of foothills
and the tally of the gentle man.
He fastidious with his touches and the gather
Dosed with melodious songs of time
that dance inside a stone-solid nightstick
making shape of fervent ferry
perfect in rhythm, poignant in rhyme
Edging toward frenzy, blinded by light that cuts athwart
He in whisper, you in shiver, ever-soft, all through the night.
You embrace and clutch that which you won.
Two mere afloat - amid sugary scented, tepid milk
and silk of a tensile strength higher than the foil.
Both in concert but as one.
Revel inside the puff and wail delight
bask in pallid threads of all heavens
and darkle with enchanted angels.
Blush, preserve the sevens and elevens
Yelp at the moon and talk in tongues
assent to leer toward implosion
Near slumber now, etch precious
beside the scent of the richest of teas
and bouquets of nomadic autumn
Sleep over leaves that are green
and kaleidoscope-vivid
enhance your reverie and tempt the pungent perfume
of the tenderly-parented Pinot
Sitting here again
Smelling the autumn air
Remembering the blood
The taste upon my lips
As my tongue licked it away
Feeling my heart beating rapidly
Trying to move but unable
Wanting to escape but frozen
Enjoying forbidden pleasure
Sucking life out of the living
Hearing the screams as music
Terror enveloping my soul
Relishing in pain
Lusting
His eyes are pools of autumn fire
An intense gaze, of which I never tire.
To drown in their depths a pleasant death
He comes in closer, I loose my breath.
Our pulses quicken, skin tingles, a live wire.
The touch of his hand upon my skin
As he looks into my eyes, my thoughts are a sin.
Taking me into his strong arms, he holds me
Even in his tight embrace, I feel so free.
The beat of his heart, is my hearts twin.
His breathy voice, whispered into my ear
The sound of it excites me, brings me near.
The thoughts in my head, vivid imagination
The feelings for him a strong fascination.
To loose him now is my only fear.
The future is an unknown mystery
Will I always be alone, will he come to me?
With him close to my side I will be complete
The sight of him, his touch, will be so sweet.
Whatever he wants, whatever he needs...I will be.
I know that we are strangers
But I'd like to see your face
There's something so familiar
About the way you turn in haste...
In golden strap tied sandals
That come right below your calf
Beholding to the candles
As it splits the flames in half....
Against the blackest marble
That is darker than it's glare
Like the moon in Autumn
As it penetrates each layer...
That is falling off your body
As you turn toward the wall
On that Italian leather
That I know will break your fall...
But you remain a mystery
Till I become that chaise
To hold you in a tryst to be
So I can take it's place...
Terry
WWW.WhiteLionPoetry.com
On the easel of my horizon
Monet was painting
an autumn twilight,
but I watched as smoke
gray fingers
smeared his pastel
and my visions wisp-ed away
a god spoke of burning
the testament of life,
every single letter
of every verse,
now?
they feather to ash
on the breeze,
I burnt them,
I woke yester-year
with a poet in residence,
but today, today?
I awoke the scribbler
living on the nothing
of me
before each page
passed over the flames
and consumed in the
reaching fingers of black,
melting to mould
each strip of my flesh,
I close my eyes
and feel the ridge
of a word, a letter
I allowed them
to sear my palms,
I brush caked salt
from the corner
of my mouth,
as I handed each poem
to a quick death,
I read the Misery
of each page
that flares,
those black fingers
now curl black strips
of my mantel,
like scrapping paint
flaccid but not broken,
I pick at a piece of ash
in hopes of piecing,
a poet back together
but Monet has left
and I can only sketch
in the charcoal
with a god,
whispering in my ear,
that I must burn for nothing
Embracing the floating leaves
They paint so free in amber, cherry sun
Bright eyes passing hope through lonely echo
River the voices receiving warmth
Branching air with hope, the forever flight
Dancing in Autumn leaves
Reborn through hands, what ancient lives
Shine empty earth with sacred fire
There is a birth expired within these deaths
Magic blessing releases wishes to light
Praying in the Autumn fire
Unleashing seeds instead of dead leaves
Atoning whispers that bleed new names
So temporary, this giving of time, souls unwind
Eternal the leaves that kiss their last breath.
Deborah M. Priestly
The ambient moon hangs graciously over us this evening
As the autumn breezes chill us just enough to stir senses
But, yet we walk together, enjoying the time we have
…..In the moonlight…
The sound of quiet and distant traffic does little to distract
While we traverse the offerings of earth and the moment
As we make way to the destination of our hearts and minds
…..In the moonlight…