Best Sinewy Poems


Premium Member to read you -

YOU ...

                               are a mystery, a spellbinding novel
                       each new chapter more enigmatic than the last
                I read you with my fingertips
           pausing to regard the inches, to savor each
       like a meaty word that I turn over in my thoughts
    in careful consideration ... of its flavor
  with the gentle brush of my palm
 one precious span of your opaline flesh is added unto the next
inch linked to dynamic inch ...
like the flowing, voltaic sentences of a master wordsmith
the journey of each phrase of your contours
 bespeaks to my core a torrid tale of longing, pure ...
  a hunger to delve ever further into the sultry, shapely, sinewy saga
    that your alluring body whispers to me -
       whispers and sighs, with its subtle, spicy shivers
           to realize the destination of this epic journey
                to unravel the mysterious and beguiling narrative
                       that your anatomy conveys to my core
                               the sublime, licentious and seductive story that is ...

          YOU.






~ 1st Place ~  in the "Mid November 2018 Any Form Or None" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 3rd Place ~  in the "Mid December Premiere" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.

Premium Member Dear Heart

Dear Heart,

You are the great fulcrum of the human machine 
So integral to keep us alive and leave us healthy 
I know you work incessantly day and night
Neither taking rest nor seeking respite

By defiance, on any day, if you go on strike
Alas! All our body functions will come to a halt
Though a sinewy piece not bigger than a man’s closed fist
You are the seat of umpteen thoughts and emotions
      
A wondrous magic casket holding love and hate
A pouch that can contain so much of treasure
A sponge that can absorb any amount of pain
A hidden cave to stash away so many secrets
 
So deep and vast as a fathomless sea
You are so full of spiraling eddies and currents
Who can fathom your horrendous depths?
Who can explore your hidden recesses and crevices?

At times you stay still like a placid lake
Silent and unperturbed without even a ripple
At times boil and spill with emotions and feelings
Pounding like lashing waves of a stupendous sea

Sometimes like a swift bird in flight
You take off on wings to alarming heights
Or like a gambler’s horse on the race track
You keep galloping in lightning speed

Sometimes you are hard and resistant as a rock
But don’t be insensitive and unfeeling as a clump of wood
That’s my only prayer to you, my bosom friend 
Store as much love as you can and lavish it as a millionaire

Do you know how much I love and value you
I feel there is nothing greater vouchsafed to man
Than the gift of an ever loving palpable heart
I relish you and wish to hug and caress you dear!

Much Love,

Jan.30.2023

~ Placed Nineth~

Dear Heart Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mystic Rose Rose

Premium Member Sweet Torment

Whispers fondling neck and face
in voice promising torment divine
breath caressing each exotic place
bringing sensations along the spine

Hunger drawn from seeking lips
unsated passion kept at length
exploring hands, gentle finger tips
arms holding back sinewy strength

Eyes of desire, how they smolder
looks flaming with tongues of fire
wants and needs, growing bolder
burning torment on blazing pyre

Faint first kiss,  scarcely a touch
A beckoning to draw nearer yet
this night when we loved so much
sweet torment we shall not forget

May 8th, 2016
© Lin Lane  Create an image from this poem.


Dreams

Lie in a bath of foaming suds to dream
Thinking that I am in your arms again

Can feel your heart beating next to mine
Sinewy legs, round my body entwined

Hot kisses up and down my spine
Whispers of undying love divine

Such dreams so sensual refresh you as true
But I wake up and find I’m not with you.

Dreams so deep do release your pain
Only to feel them begin to ache again

Premium Member Fingertip Tracings Upon My Skin

Sunlight surfaced at the breach of dawn
It climbed salty rungs to emerge from the sea
When fully risen, what had been spawned?
A molten fireball cast from the dragon's breath,
a firey yawn exhaled in languorous flight
searing tangerine flames across the horizon

Daylight drifted over waking valleys and hills
in dappled luminance of shimmering gold
It danced in pirouettes upon my window sill
and chased shadows from my bedroom wall
until it tumbled on the bed where my love slept

He stirred, I smiled and then wept with emotion
at the passion glimmering in drowsy jade eyes
With each rise and fall of his muscular chest
the heated flush of desire within me burned
Sinewy arms reached out for me...
"Come back to bed," whispered from his lips
and my gown lay puddled upon the floor

I'd had enough of watching sunlight's strolling
for it had stolen too many moments next to him
My toes were cold from morning's chill
but it was not from Winter weather that I quivered
It was time to savor the sweet warmth of love
from his fingertip tracings upon my skin
© Lin Lane  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Hand Puppets- For Contest

Hand Puppets


Hard, calloused and dirty, it pleaded with me.
It had no eyes, no face, no soul.  Or so I thought,
or didn’t.  Yellowed fingernails, dirt covered and
trembling faced upward as would a beggar’s
face.  A sound, perhaps its voice, startled me.  I
heard nothing but the plea from the open, soiled,
begging hand.  It seemed to say:  “please, sir, please,
I was once like you, one of you.  I worked, as you can
tell by the sinewy strength now buried in despair’s dirt.
I touched – the cheeks of loved ones.  I held – an infant,
a child, my child, and somehow lost my grip on all.
I have felt tears, my own tears, running through clenched
fingers yet not knowing whose tears they were or for whom
they were shed.  I know cold, bone chilling, painful cold
and stiffness borne of pain, yet cannot, or will not,
reach for help and so I beg.  Namelessly, facelessly,
but not shamelessly.  For if I had eyes, I could not look
you in the face, nor could I smile or frown, or say thank you.
I am but a proffered hand in need, not of help but of
sustenance, not of kindness but of indifference, not of
awakening but of oblivion.”

I listened to the hand, looked not upon the face, and placed
a pittance against the enormity of the lifelines torment
and walked away.  I looked at my hands and wondered
what story they told to those who took the time to look
at them, to listen to them.  I covered my face with them,
and I too felt tears running through clenched fingers,
not knowing whose tears they were
or for whom they were shed.


John G. Lawless
2013

submitted to – Your best free verse poem – 
sponsor – SKAT A


Premium Member Mirage of My Saving Grace

The black-as-widow’s-weeds night of endless stars 
was so cold...
cruel as temperature 
plunged its frigid fingers feeling through my being
fondling my heart and soul without mercy
molesting me - taunting my will to live
and just when I thought 
the ice water in my shivering veins would kill me

there she was

she came shyly at first 
demurely spreading 
her pinkening skirts over the horizon
while her blushing complexion 
deftly gelded the darkness
I prayed-I pleaded-I made deals 
(with who? you don’t want to know..)
that her warming smile would be my saving grace…

It began to slowly dawn on me
as she flexed her sinewy heat waves 
flaunting her solar power
that I was caught 
between false hope and no deliverance
for the desert sunrise-to-sunset 
now faced-off and challenged me
with barren bone-dry intensity
sucking dry the new dew 
and any life 
containing moisture

weathered granular remains 
of ancient feldspar and quartz
with eons of sifting and shifting boredom
took on a hell-raising life of their own
as the fire-breathing celestial sorceress casted spells 
of smoke and mirror mirages
and magically made ridges of rippling blond sands
glisten like scales of a million skimming sidewinders
writhing in joy at my agony—

it’s amazing 
how cold I feel when I have been so burned
again I face a desolate night 
— deserted —
without a blanket


Susan Ashley
April 29, 2018


Widow’s Weeds: For women of 19th century England, a custom of mourning that involved  wearing heavy, concealing, black clothing and the use of heavy veils of black crepe. The entire ensemble was colloquially known as ‘widow’s weeds’.
Mourning - Wikipedia

Premium Member Strength

Steadfastly tethered
To an anchor of fortitude. My...
Resolve and faith often tested
Endlessly assailed, yet unbreakable
Never will I surrender to adversity, for...
God helps me thrive and persevere
Through a cavalcade of sinewy trials
Herculean, my strength




CONTEST 575 ,ANY FORM OR NONE,ANY THEME,UP TO A MAX OF 8 (E I G H T)LINES 
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: 2nd Place)
Date and written: 03/09/2019

Writing Challenge, March 2019 - Inspirational Acrostic - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart (Winner: 5th Place)
Theme # 5 
Date and written: 03/09/2019

Premium Member The Second Coming

Chartreuse moss insinuates itself
into cracked brick as leprous eucalyptus
line the path, fallen leaves contorted 
into coral spines on weathered terra cotta.

Traveling between the trees I stumble
upon one sinewy stalk in a lithe tuft
heralding the second coming of a lily.

May's slate gray 
muffles the air until I hear 
the chameleon trill
of a mockingbird.

Choose To Be

Written on: 4th and 5th April 2012.
by : sashi.prabhu

The beaten path seems sinewy lean but somnolently long,
In my life’s journey, forgot to whiff sweet fragrance flowers beside these paths as I walked along.
But I have reconciled and solemnly pledge not to ever repent,
nor Cry or  weep over my life’s time aimlessly spent


Will strive tirelessly to work on creative pursuits,
To those conniving rascals standing beside my life’s pathway care two hoots.
On my gifts talents and skills focus and resolve,
My heart and mind deeply involve and take myself to the next level and I profoundly evolve.

Life it has begun to seem to me now very much brighter,
My body, mind and heart they all feel joyous nimble and lighter.
Have changed myself like the astute breeze,
Harmoniously and with simplicity have begun to live my life with ease.

Now, I seek inward courage to emphatically say,
Looking into their mind’s eyes “please make way”.
I have got stuff to do and keep life’s somber and sepulchral processes at bay,
My desire now to change is ever firmer than my wish the same to stay.

Now I have made up my mind to let them know the truth,
I really would not bother if I shatter their “illusions” and sound terribly uncouth………….
I am not what happens to me
I am what I choose to be…
I am me………

M FOR ME 

By: Sashi Prabhu (zeauoxian)

Premium Member Arabians To Zebras

Ancient Arabians, mother to all
Bloodlines, essence of exquisiteness

Clydesdales, symmetry of strength
Dignity of duty, power of purpose

Ebony elegance, midnight silk
Friesians, crusaders in
Galloping gallantry

Hardy hearts, tiny and tenacious
Icelandic horses, gaited grace over
Jagged soil, volcanic climes

Kaleidoscope diamonds, lissome finesse
Lipizzaners, dancer of moonbeam dreams

Mustang beauty, bred by
Nature, to run in
Open grasslands, their hides
Paints of freedom

Quarter horses, nimble and surefoot across
Ranges unfenced, corralling waves of herds

Sleek strides, sinewy speed
Thoroughbreds, spirits of the wind

Unbridled, they fill all
Valleys and vistas in
Wild wonder; with Alexander and
Xerxes, they conquered the world

You may say these are outside the list
Zebras, to me - the mounts of fairies and myth

2/16/20

Premium Member Elixir of Silence

Written: October 1st 2023
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

In the ocean of silence, I’m stunned 
Astonish by its grandeur as I descend.
A comely curtain of conciliatory calm
Elapse the chaos, surreptitious and warm.

In the hushed embrace of the twilight sky,
A silence plummets, ambrosial all nearby.
Astonied hearts stand in solicitous awe.
A comely night implies her ethereal flaw.

Emollient whispers waft into the air.
Surreptitious secrets are shared with care.
Incipient stars start their gentle wafture,
Surreal leaves create a ripple in nature.

Mellifluous melodies mend meteoric might,
Fugacious flimsies that fizzle out of a fight
Gossamer moonbeams cast their diaphanous glow,
Creating an aura of silence, tranquility, and bestow.

Ineffable fairness, fiercely feisty, not frigid,
The break of dawn silenced, as if timid.
Saturnine secrets shrank in secrecy.
Stupendous silence slides, sinewy spree.

Lull launders, looping the limp land,
As warblers start with a duteous band,
Sullen clouds gather, ominous and dark.
Yet awestruck hearts find solace in calm remarks.

Reassuringly, the heavy silence lingers.
Dour faces are glum, yet prudent fingers
Guide the oxymoron of emotions that flow,
Glowering and divine in their quiet glow
 
In the gloomy hush, discretion gleans hold,
As discerning minds decry peace in the fold,
The prudent ones, with a discreet glance,
Understand the power of silence dance.
 
Glum faces settle in quiet repose.
Views deepen, and worries dispose
Astounded by stillness, they are in awe.
Of absolute peace that stillness can draw.
 
Awestricken by the amorphous depth it brings,
They decry solace in the lull that silence sings.
A curtain of calm tumbles, amazed and serene.
As the amorphous depth of quiet is felt and seen.

Inauspicious cruxes balmily soothe fears.
As diaphanous whispers softly, quell tears.
Hinky hearts hearkens a hypothesis behind,
A voice uttered, "Love silence will never hide". 

No query or qualm can squeal this bond.
Silence is where my peace is dulcet fond.
In the hushed embrace of the twilight sky,
Silence reigns, and my love will never die.
© Sotto Poet  Create an image from this poem.

Prairie Women

Prairie Women

I love the road-map faces of Prairie Women,
Piercing, knowing eyes looking far away,
Sinewy strength 'neath calico dresses,
Did they hope beyond - to us someday?

So tanned and competent to fill in the blanks 
When someone became sick or some man would fall,
They could toss themselves on a horse's back,
Ride fearless to a neighbor's child's call.

Then after holding man or child with fever,
Cook brown biscuits and drive cows' hay carts.
Put on a black church dress, hair in a bun,
Sing faith with strong and noble hearts.

Love was action, nor pretty words,
Rough hands smoothed many a brow
They didn't live long, but lived so well,
I love the road-map faces of Prairie Women.

Premium Member Sacrifice Your Light

for me ...

I stretch a coursing arm ...
      my fleshy tendril of electric
         actuality, spanning fingers
   wide to encompass my full
and fiercely sensual quarry ...

      I touch the tapestry of you -
         silken warmth of anticipation,
   digits close around absolution
and imagination, so I draw it
      all gently, quietly, IN to the
         blackness - the inky pool of
   obscurity that I yet inhabit ...

now ...

      close, ever gentle, your eyes ...
         do you perceive the wonder??
   There is NO light there, yet ...
it is NOT empty - no blackness
      but that which holds a million
         instances of energy and color!
   A maelstrom, indescribable that
you rarely consider, yet it swims
      there subliminal with every blink ...
         a world of dark mystery AND
   seemingly enigmatic chaos,
pulling, subconsciously, on your
      being, thousands of times EACH
         day ...

   such beauty herein - such
extraordinary sublimity and
      pulse ... do you feel it? Can
         you own it? Does it pervade
   the sinewy substance, thine?
Does that soft veil of vitality
      close warm arms about you?

         See! Do not open your eyes ... 
   don't fall to that aberration,
for there is a permeation of
      static noise inside your lids ...
         stay true to that conundrum,
   and spread your senses, all ...

there is an awakening here,
      I know ... it's an honesty and
         verity not known to the many -
   I am on the other side of it,
saturated and whole ... let it
      absorb your being, allow it to
         soak the essence of you, and
   your eyes will alter - sharpen
focus ...

      slowly, they'll adjust with your
         spirit, and a new reality shall
   swath you in its tender cloak ...
sacrifice the bright, for those
      without eyes - know a truth,
         astounding ... and live again ...

   for me.







~ 5th Place ~  in the "Open Poetry 3" Poetry Contest, Charlotte Puddifoot, Judge & Sponsor.

Premium Member Creativity

The bible 
our pure poetry

Divine voice

art -- gallery imagery 
Father’s expanding palettes of time
space infinite – 

shadows of unframed
formless canvas -- man's freedom 
to light, shape, transverse supernal grace,

we, alone, limit speed
and trajectory

bridging dark gaps, colors
dappled, dropped and splashed
faith will make mix, both consciously 
and intuitively apply:

heaping our scrapers and brushes,
the chill of the chalkboard screech
the joy of the slip and slide
the rankle of arms and hands figuring
otherwise meaningless medium

Creativity man's Adam

ligaments of my elastic being
dutifully, lovingly allowing stretch
for explore

sinewy constructs for
mental lift and taut endurance,

the unshakable frame that
holds all upright, and
makes daily challenges
superbly sculptable, while
retaining elasticity -- 

God let’s be

and we decide
if when and what…?

His unseen hand 
yet in the flaming attributes….

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