Best Spooning Poems
A body abandoned
needs to mourns its last breath in death
a heart cast aside
still aches to meet its last beat
and a free spirit yearns for a winged monarch moment
to fly in the spirit of freedom…
opportunity
flares a tongue
snaky and bittersweet.. a flicker
grows flames that twist passion’s kiss with kismet
a chance
to escape on a breath of air
an exhalation;
warm incense offered to vesper -
the wish of a scent to slip through the keyhole
above the hiss of heat
and gasps of air
rushing combustion to a roar
airy mystics spoke in the eerie smoke
w h i s p e r s
urge the purge of perishable pain
unclasping lonely-linger’s grasping fingers
soft-spun knit and purl unravels
as vintage yarn twined with sun and rain unties -
aging rays fail to stave Winter’s grays
and the ethereal thread of an earthly creation
releases its tendril
from the spinning wheel’s weave of circular seasons
from seed to harvest and warmth to chill
vestiges of sisterly hands cup a ceded sigh
chrysalis celebrates destined to re-emerge a butterfly
terminal tremble of a twilight trill is hushed
vulnerability swaddled
cradled by clouds of silver and gold
a mortal’s surrender consummates upon the pyre -
cinders cleansed of tears and cries and vices
but never the dreamy intrinsic colors
of the opal’s unfurling blaze
she ascends
a flash of embers relieved of ash
taking fire to the skies with a tigress torch igniting
molten pools spooning the spine of the western shadow
heralding an awakened afterglow to the afterlife -
lamplight gilds mare’s tails hooking heavens
pathways adrift from the burning thurible
of a trinity on the cusp of rebirth...
incense rises upon a heated atmosphere
riding the riddle of the four winds
beyond realms of soil and salt - reason and logic
yonder the profound truth of the-not-humanly-known
seeing past reflections within mere margins of a mind’s mirror
accepting the enlightening throb of the enigmatic pulse of creation
becoming one with the ultimate mystery
the wish of a scent to slip through the keyhole
fulfilled with exchange of gifts -
the offering of her sunset shroud
for the white mantle of sunrise
the waning moonlight thinly enveloped
the dusky canvas obscurely sprawling
across the way from the window I looked,
I knew a park was there with slides and swing
but for the moment dark revealed nothing,
for the moment I didn’t care, either
because in darkness I felt even darker;
I was lying in bed embraced by regret
of decisions of love and time wasted,
spooning the layered sheets of doubt and fret
all thawed out from my heart into my head;
The memories of hurtful comments said
by and to me were chastising voices
of ghostly choices purposed to depress;
As dusk became the night I became lost
in whimsically strewn wishes and pleas
to gods and stars and genies alike, crossed
as eyes crying for mother drowned in seas,
I spoke to nobody but begged for keys
to unlock another time, another place
to start all over again with new space,
To unseen gods I had long since quit on
I prayed, bargained even, another chance
and I’d do everything right this season
- A jobless man needing a pay advance,
But for thirty three years nary a glance
had alpha or omega set on me
and this night I expected no divine decree;
several hours elapsed as I collapsed
in smoldering thoughts of suicide fanned,
- I had outlasted night’s concealing grasp,
and as the morning sun began its planned
ascent, I gave into Hades’ command
through my tenth floor window whispered to me
of hellish suggestions to jump and flee;
on ledge I stood and looked across the way
for one last glimpse of earth and pastel sky,
- a small souvenir of my final day,
My eyes settled on last night’s park from high
above, and that’s when I saw God’s reply,
- an unspoken answer for eyes turned blind,
His deafening promise to all mankind;
by his heavenly brushes came colors
where none had been, transforming lonely space
into one of vibrance and life renewed,
- and it was a different space,
I watched as birds celebrated morning
with songs of praise and thankfulness,
- and I felt a quick waning emptiness,
I heard the children below lining up
for the school bus all on time and ready
to live and learn in this new day granted,
- and I felt like I knew nothing at all;
but then I knew everything all at once,
and I stepped off the ledge ready to live,
ready to embrace
ready to seize life found…
in another time.
Fantasy sold on a 50’s bottle cap;
a party-girl side-saddle sits
on a double-edged crescent moon
up high—a silver scythe in glamour-night-sky
corners of her cherry mouth tilted up
her left hand raises her glass a toast to the stars
frothy head of champagne-beer flirts
with lips spooning the rim
right hand holds the bottle instead of reality
look! no hands on a razor’s edge
precarious hilarious
a redhead with bouncy-curls and a flouncy-skirt
boot-heels over head when she laughs and Oops! falls
clouds catch her without friction and pillow her fiction head ~
but you—with wild escapade eyes—fell hard
far beyond Earth with not a soft cloud to cushion you
glam-allure just a sexy lore a filthy lure
but once you’ve been star-dusted and angel-dusted
it’s all the same…
vintage Miller bottle cap
a perfect circle like the fattened moon face
leering through broken windows
shards glitter the floor like fallen constellations
your black pearl eyes two muddy puddles
life drained through rows of tiny needle holes
slip-knot above your elbow just tight enough
your pulse beats its fist against the restraint
pounding—pounding—pounding
impatient to be bled and fed
you and this dragon’s den a dilapidated pair
abandoned and without family
you share the blank stare of broken windows
veins collapsed like crumbled staircases
empty inside of empathy and dreams—
a junkie’s spot where shooting stars crash
embers in your bloodstream turn to dust
you cook in a rusted bottle cap by candlelight
candle’s glow your Sun in a dirty universe
you pull back on the syringe with your teeth
this house unused by the living—a cold corpse
but in the warm rush of your skin’s flush
your gaunt gray body melts like hot wax
pale horsehair walls a slouchy silent witness
... your soul escapes as it scrapes across the floor
flurries blow in through broken windows
whirl of wind whistles on its rounds like a jailhouse guard
rattling beam-bones jangling ghost-bones—
user-litter scattered
like broken-wish bones
burnt fingertips and a "High Life" bottle cap
all that’s left
This is a short piece for Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I lost a close friend very talented, very young to breast cancer. I also lost my cousin recently to the same disease. I hate that ugly "C" word. I just wrote this story to highlight the relationship North American men have with women's breasts. I hope it is taken in the spirit that it is written.
I don't have to try not to look at a woman's cleavage,
I love looking into their eyes.
I love listening to them talk.
I enjoy listening to a woman's point of view.
It enlightens me.
It gives me views of the world that I would otherwise miss.
I appreciate their nurturing nature.
I like how soft they feel.
Hold a woman's hand?
That is sure to send shivers up my spine.
Lock lips?
If that is not what heaven feels like
send me else I'll take my chances there.
There is nothing like that first kiss.
I can walk all day with her as if it were a minute in time.
I float on air.
I am a romantic.
I adore women.
I love the way they walk
the way they smell.
Hugging or spooning it's all good.
The opposite sex is very special.
It is time we listened more and appreciated more.
Women can lead us to the proverbial
Promised Land.
No!
I'm kidding.
I like staring at their ****.
16~10~2014
We have our routine to perfection
Our way of saying I love you and
Wouldn’t want to live without you
We’re a strong solid team you and I
We are going to make it through this
Home is when I’m with you
The incessant flow of aches and pains
All those appointments and treatments
We don’t blow things out of proportion
Or make a fuss about how things used to be
We’ve moved on taking it one day at a time
Home is when I’m with you
Now when my arms wrap around you
Softly resting your head on the pillow
We simultaneously raise your legs
Gentle as a ballet that’s well rehearsed
Swiveling you comfortably in bed to rest
Home is when I’m with you
I bundle you in warm cozy blankets
Cuddle up with whispers well into the night
Pressed one against the other
Caressing the nook of your neck
Spooning you till one of us falls asleep
Home is when I’m with you
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~CAN'T IMAGINE~ 2020
AP: 3rd place 2025
Submitted on April 18, 2019 for contest VERSES OF METAPHORS 3 sponsored by LU LOO - RANKED 1ST
The grasshopper left the corn
For the dawn of the baobab tree
The elders brought flowers
For the floor of the ages past
And the door of ages to come
Grasshopper's heart stridulated
In awe. Its mandibles move
To shred its doubt in questions.
The elders stood silent
Before the open palm spooning
The eyes for a taste of wisdom:
"Patience," said the elders.
The elders ears buzzed
With the sounds of futile wings
Longing for the flight of freedom
"Grow your conscience," spoke
The elders in the morning smoke
Of dew where the heart
Of flora and fauna is burning.
And I was left nothing there
But corn blades bitten bare
To the ground, and a path
Through the desert sands of wrath
That beckons me to where
I will sit in the elders' chair
Weaving syllables out of air
And searching for reason
Beside the stillness of the heart.
I am the recycled question
Waiting for answer in a flower's
Bed sown with eyes of treason.
I decided to turn around this morning,
stop spooning away the day
Forget about mother nature,
look much deeper into the grey
I could see late night approaching,
and planet Earth speeding away
When the unimaginable happened,
God spoke! this is what he says
Your journey through life is now on pause,
over there’s the final shore
Take a moment to absorb these words,
which we both know you’ll ignore
The path chosen can be known,
I walked it a trillion times before
For in eternity all gates are open,
yet you find abstract doors
Order dictates I should pull the plug,
but I’m enjoying your cryptic show
Every so often an aberration pops up,
and I like to watch them grow
The universe wastes so much time,
creating infinities I already know
You my friend are merely an anomaly,
who goes places others won’t go
Take another look at the shoreline,
I should really hold your hand
We’re nearly there already child,
I can’t tell, if it’s a promised land
The footprints are still quite fuzzy
most of your life reflects quicksand
Best go back to sleep for a while,
maybe tomorrow we will understand
I awoke later on that night,
my bed seemed the other way around
The stars were somehow brighter,
as my head stopped hearing sounds
This vision had made no sense at all,
other than being quiet profound
And when I put my shoes back on,
sand poured forth upon the ground —
By
David Kavanagh
They start thick—
not the polite kind you stir into tea
not the mild drizzle on breakfast toast
but the kind that runs hot
slow
dangerous
coating your tongue before you grasp
the price of its pleasure.
They start golden—
dripping off the comb
sun pressed into their marrow
too rich, too syrupy—
gumming up the gears of your schemes
too luminous for hands that flinch from light
too wild for walls meant to contain them.
You want squeeze-bottle love.
Clean.
No bees.
No stingers.
No buzz.
But they ferment in kitchens
where no one thanks them—
same way their grandmothers did
spooning fire into each serving
stinging their own tongues
just to stay sharp—
drizzling down your better judgment staining
Sunday shirts
unraveling wedding vows
spilling past boundaries
no one asked them to obey.
They get called—
too much.
too loud.
too open.
too shut—
like they were born to fit into your grip
instead of slipping right through it.
You try to jar them.
Slap on barcodes:
Best before.
Handle with care.
Discount if damaged
for quick sale.
But wild honey won’t kneel—
it contradicts logic
defies preservation
reason
perfumes the air
wrecks your thirst for tradition.
You mistook raw for reckless
Reckless for ruin
Ruin for something to fear.
You laughed when they wept—
like grief was a spectacle
like tenderness was weak
like softness
was a defect to be filtered out.
But by the time you realize
she’s the rarest thing
you ever tasted—
she’s already sweetening
the hands that never swatted her
And now,
we sit here—
jars without lids,
spoons still sticky—
trying to remember
what it meant to taste something
that never begged to be caged.
Maybe—
the glass wasn’t meant to hold her.
Maybe—
it was meant to shatter—
to let something wild
and feral
flood in
and leave you
pleading
for ruin.
—it’s a reckoning,
unapologetic,
untamed,
final.
It was a lovely sight gazing at the curved moon
Spooning with the tumultuous waves of the sea
I was walking along the lonely beach when this
Moon spooning called me and arrested my look
The night rapt in painting illusion in its universe
Now the moon chuckling and cuddling the crest
Next minute the crest spooning with the moon
Impatient to grow in glee to its full a golden orb
A perfect solitariness except the surreal sounds
Of tide rising to pulverize the moon on the sand
I keep gazing at the moon’s pretty bright cheek
The two moon spoons like dimples with drops of
Turquoise sea from the finger like Greek creeks
As if Pablo Picasso is painting the lovely spoons
Of liquid light raising a beauty of hide-and-seek
The world nowadays is mostly a place of pain
The scene of delight therefore was enchanting
I enjoyed as long as I could wait and quench
Then I put it in the pulsating pink treasure box
As an aim to dwell on to keep boredom at bay
October 30, 2017
For the Contest: Moon Spoon
Sponsored by :Kai Michael Neumann
My auspicious Holiday Muse,
it has a hunger pang...
A pen which merrily sings of words,
joyously written in the heart
Honored friends and guests
invited freely
to a feast of thoughts
Etiquette tableware articulation
is succulently presented:
Romantic spooning
lovingly receives
a lip passion dipped
extra helping
Fork tongue behavior
gracefully parse admonished ...
Moist apology napkins passed
hand-to-hand, are sure to
both give-and-take receive
a double blessing portion
Rational wit is the knife
that cuts this well-deserved,
bountiful ponder platter
Tasteful thoughts are worth
twice returning for
All are consumed by fiery debate:
Enlightened rumination slow roasting
on an elevated, rotating spit
The more flame exposed,
the more tender
the meat of the conversation get
The hearth of the heart
warmly contemplate
delectable morsels well reasoned
Toasts of love are ambrosia divine,
as is the
meditative digestion silence time
Pen sated is about the gut gist of it
Just deserts for everyone,
I do ink insist
Tell her no secrets
She can’t cover all your lies
Might have said he would wed her
But the ring wasn’t her size
Months of meticulous grooming
Grooming grooming
Need more sugar my sweet?
Spooning spooning spooning
Oh, what a sticky mess!
He’ll say that he will save you
As you're fed to his fish
Might even say he will serve you
While you’re flopped on his dish
He sets the rules
If you play the game
When caught up as his pawn
Naught will ever be the same
Oh, what a tricky mess!
Hush hush…internet predators
"Fata Morgana"
feet hardly touch the ocean
when silent stars of no voice
transmit words to pay the ferryman
on the water no reflection
gently the sun waves smiling as if to say
feel that, the warmth of waking sleep
no fear of what remains hidden
it will unravel from inside that which is all too deep
walking towards you across the briny mist
from ancient stories forgotten
a halo of St Elmo’s Fire surrounds
it stands still for a short while before you
watching
you,
walking water with your bare feet
faith in dreams consistent in their constancy
that visit you when you are complete yet incomplete
holds out its hand to lead the way across
sharp burning rocks, now a desert, climbing mountains that are steep
a small life crumbles to powdered sand
more than 40 days silent gone astray
years the turning of untimed tides pretence
meets a haunting vision beckoning, new horizon, odd unclear
safe harbour left long ago,
lost in that ornery time, cursed by flying monkeys' bellows
of bloodletting and betrayal, stock still, standing amidst the shallows
somewhere along the way dark narcissus followed
what breaks over the bow
washes all stern fear away
sacred wings of albatross
ne’er to be sacrificed, no more night nor day
souls of ancient mariners
forever follow me, even when I stray
the rich baritone of bedtime stories
messages in code conveyed, I hear them still today
now swallows spooning spinnakers
running directly before wind and sea
the water turns to wine, much stranger the belief,
all manna of trust it feeds
bells tolling
no man’s an island entire of itself
in unusual reckonings
observing swimming hearts, that hear and see
the eyes that melt, this more curiously
in truth, the dream defends
messages eternal
life it never ends
tides move in and out
never alone when we begin
fata morgana
softly the moon ascends
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
VCB
Lux Vitae
5.5.10
"Under a splintered mast,
torn from ship and cast
near her hull,
a stumbling shepherd found
embedded in the ground,
a sea-gull
of lapis lazuli,
a scarab of the sea,
with wings spread—
curling its coral feet,
parting its beak to greet
men long dead."
("Talisman", Marianne Moore)
I'm sitting on the sofa your head rests on my thigh
You haven't slept for so long , Darling won't you try
Tenderly my fingers running through your hair
Beautiful eyes getting heavy, Comforted by the love we share.
I can see that you are dreaming , A smile upon your lips
As softly I caress you with my loving fingertips .
That wonderful glow returning as an hour turns to two
Sleep well my darling , I'm here holding you .
In the early hours you're stirring , Gently my lips brush yours
I know my heart has been taken by the girl that I adore .
I lift you in my arms and carry you to bed
I spend the whole night spooning you as you sleep so contented.
Next morning when you waken , I kiss and hug you tight
Did you sleep well my darling ? Did you have a peaceful night ?
I'm delighted to see you so refreshed , The colour restored to your cheeks
The strength of our true love I hear in your voice as you speak.
Today will be a good day , You'll face challenges anew
My love will be with you in all you try to do
Tonight we'll be together and i'll hug you once more
But for now its my turn to dream of the sweet girl I adore .
Swirl,
this girl,
thoughts twirl,
unfurled in my unconscious state.
I find *tranquility,
this, my great escape from life,
from everyday strife.
This girl,
my caramel swirl,
head rested on my chest.
Her lavender* fragrance*,
of sheer eloquence*,
providing the most dulcet* of dreams.
wafting* whispers* of bliss*, a splendor*.
Unconscious, I can still hear her lilting*
screams for me...
Spooning with me,
as I awaken from my REM sleep...
I no longer feel bleak...
For Linda Marie's contest.....
Name withheld
Of the dark, offered in the morning cup,
and the chill of salted caramel cream,
spooning after an impervious dream
and clink-clink spell of alarum abrupt,
comes the ceramic to sip, birdsong up.
Fruity-caffeine drips into the bloodstream.
Imagery from a black forest daydream.
Pleasing sense and bonny sounds come to sup.
Draining of dregs, at last bit - bottom’s cold.
The Cupid sheet, vanilla, clings to spouse.
The warmth of my body under his skin.
The vigor of unharnessed dark horse bold.
His stirring, a second helping, aroused.
Pastels of cockcrow flutes, dawn’s violins.