Best Touchable Poems
Half-past dusk, and I am seated on a low wall,
the custodian of the garden my Mother made.
Two of the primary colours rest awhile,
but blue is still busy.
There is a stillness,
punctuated by furtive shadows.
Above, silent, like a parent standing over a sleeping child,
the moon keeps watch.
So distant, yet almost touchable.
The Sun may be gone but I will see it again soon,
and in the meantime it consoles me with the gift of reflection.
Just like my Mother.
Her spirit is in this place, and I am not alone.
5th August 2018
For contest 'Clair de Lune', sponsor Craig Cornish
Tonight, her footsteps crack and moan —
She's useless when her tears frost over,
The gutter running without her, alone
There's another ghost inside porchlight silver,
A foot melting on the banister —
She's dark as the wind that picks her up,
This twisting whirl of white clumps
Against wind now seeming touchable —
Outside, the snow jumps
With the draft...and then the window's wail,
Being broken apart like snowflakes assails,
She touches the real parts in foggy glass —
The cold that blasts through a girl's face,
Years after, the woman outside this table —
So the terrace is her cup, white laughter, dark tastes.
The moon so close it was touchable,
framed mid the snow clad ancient trees.
written 11/21/2014
contest: Frozen in Crystalline
sponsor: Andrea
syllables 9/8
Qu'ry this: a chivalrous charlatan, I,
Dareth feign to pen thy prop'r aspect?
Aye, f'r thy legitimate contours art yet
Ov'rwhelmingly stagg'ring to the gazeth,
And if beheld by the ingraft m'rtal, thus,
Wouldst rend'r those folk stunn'd to reticence.
Such provocative p'rfection f'r a prop'r prose
Pedestal doth now standeth thy outlines.
If 't only the ink of mine own quill flow'd with
The langu'rous liquidity of thy libidinous limbs.
W'rds danceth off the wit at but a glance
Of thy exquisite epid'rmal embodiment,
W'rds liketh touch, tickleth, tease, tempteth.
Coequal the wisest of w'rdsmiths wouldst strain
To holdeth nigh and effectual, the phrasing
Of the diaphanous d'rmal dialogue that
Elucidates the sultry "esses" yond thy
Shadow paints on the walls and flo'rs.
Only those bless'd as i, without pure
Sight of the eye, art accomplish'd
Enough to appropriate a competency
Of fair and f'rm'd appreciation and
Charact'rization, of the voluptuous
P'rtions that composeth thy physique.
Those such as i w're b'rn to the burden
Of the darkness, but also bless'd to the
Bearing of the tactile and touchable.
Mine own pen is the palm, the fing'rtip,
The soft application of skin-to-skin contact,
The int'rpretation of v'ry tiny electrical
Impulses from ev'rything integumentary,
And the und'rstanding of all that keen
Inf'rmation being convey'd to the brain. Alloweth
Me readeth thee anon, alloweth me putteth tactile
"Pen" to the pages of mine own soul and psyche,
Alloweth me writeth a st'ry th're upon thee, alloweth
Me knoweth with mine own fing'rs and palms
The wond'rful w'rds that describeth thee in all
Thy immaculate, sublime consummation,
Alloweth me abs'rb the text of thy curve'd f'rm,
And lighteth the darkness of mine own blind w'rld.
Transf'rm this beshrew into mine own blessing.
Alloweth me beholdeth thee as nay oth'r ev'r shall.
As a st'ry, biography, adventure, book, a tale ...
Without end.
He took her there most days
They rowed out to his small yacht
They sat and drank take away lattes
She just cried a lot….
She was so full of sadness
Tormented by relentless fear
So very troubled
Her mind clouded and unclear
She liked it on the river
It gave momentary relief
Life seemed a little clearer
Though be it only brief
She saw them in the distance
Hoped they would come her way
Unbelievably without deviation
They were there without delay
Swimming underneath the small yacht
In water so clear and blue
So close they were touchable
He cuddled her and said,
“This is just for you”
The dolphins swam away….again without deviation
A direct path into the open water
She knew in her heart those majestic creatures
Had sought her…
The emotions they evoked in her
Mere words cannot describe
With heart and mind now smiling
She sipped her latte
And just cried….
The nation in question is a world largest oil exporter
It citizens is be deprived of what she has
Involuntarily long queues from night
In petrol stations till dawn outside the same stations
Makes the danfo drivers angry and happy with price hike
Who will be sorry for the stranded commuters
Is it the profitless street sellers
Or the red hotted conductors?
You then see a divided country
Each citizen angry with and harmless to the government
Frustrated citizens walk miles to chase Molues
No one cares for the other the aim is to get home
Though some do, the poor ones.
Who says it only touches the proletariat
Even the rich are touchable
You will see big fat men exercising in their cars
Suffering from the traffic jam created at the stations.
Who will condole with the cying lady
That cannot manouvre due to her twisted hand
And clucth ridden legs?
A country were urchins
Take to the streets as black marketers
The hoarding stations having collaborated
With them sell the gold four times its price
All moneyed men will buy from the law breakers
The owners says it is due to vandalism
What a suitable lie
For it is likely that the political skirmishes
Has reined on the innocent citizens
Even our eight year leader
Will not address us on the issue
Who says it this is not a dividend?
I say it is.
Imagine that we are out boating on
A lovely Sunday afternoon that floats
Our imaginations like wind swept clouds,
Rippling from horizon to horizon.
You are pillowed in the bow of our canoe,
A thin foam pad lifts you off wood ribbed bottom.
No smooth fiberglass for us, a bright
Umbrella protects you from the sun,
And a wine-rich picnic basket awaits us
As underwater green leaves dampen our motion
In the shallow but glass-smooth mountain lake,
That bends high breaking waves, ridges of buoyant rock
Like a telescope lens, magnifying, doubling our joy.
Craters marring our surface are more visible too,
So close are we now that your flaws seem
Almost touchable in the fragrant breeze
As breathing its emotionally charged air
We clumsily explore the terraformed landscape,
Together, alone, here, Adam and Eve on Mars.
Brian Johnston
October 1, 2015
VIDEO: The Old Friends Do by ABBA (LYRICS) YouTube
AUDIO: Listening Version
What Makes Friendship
What makes distance so touchable,
What makes arm wrestling physical,
What makes fun a thing for two,
What makes tears of missing you,
What makes secrets last, insiders,
What makes smiles, to be tear-wipers,
What makes fighting, ugh, forgivable,
What makes forgiving unbearable,
What makes oops somewhat culpable,
What makes cleanup punishable,
What makes laughs, the one-legged wins,
What makes others say, "Not twins?",
What makes saying goodbye really hard,
What makes memories my field of regard.
2022 August 05
*1st Place*
FRIENDSHIP
~~Beata Agustin: Judged 2022 August 08
I stared at walls and contemplated colors~
I believe it was after midnight~
he spoke of nothing as I imagined the importance behind us, as I imagined the breeze that
was affected by his voice, as I realized nothing intrigued me...
and here we were.
His arms spoke of goosebumps, little shivers up my spine, and September had this way about
her that I wished to somehow capture in mason jars that would decorate the rooms we may
sit in come snow, I knew the reflection of fire across skin and I kissed possibilities as
I watched our seasons...
change.
There's no stopping distance despite the desire to break clocks, minutes and miles are
irreversible, I've found, so I counted them, the hours, and made sure he was touchable and
only an arms length away...
My August arms brushed across his chest, he had the ability to calm though summer still
danced through his heart, my fingertips traced over the forgotten eyelashes that
desperately tried to escape sight and I breathed, sending wishes to the walls that
surrounded us, to the edges that had yet to decide their color, that touched nothing...
yet captivated my attention.
There were shadows that covered us~
I think they appeared right beyond midnight~
but I knew we were swallowing September, I supposed we'd create minutes that would make
us smile come snow and we'd kiss in the reflection of fire...
escaping distance
with the whispers that affected skin.
Once upon a time, there was a king who ruled the kingdom of love, no people in it, just butterflies and doves. His majesty grows older; he started looking for a heir of his own flesh to rule the kingdom. One day a ghost named 'funny Vanessa' came to him on moonless night to tell him that the true heiress is life and sound, and her optional hideout is now over. A year later the king reunited with his heiress, he hugged and squeezed her into his chest and cried from the inside, as kings are not suppose to weaken and seep tears. One day while contemplating at the butterfly doom, the ghost showed up and sang him a poem written by the peace loving dove on an Egyptian papyrus:
What a beautiful world, what an awesome year,
What a colorful days I see, so musical I feel and hear,
No more wonders, pains, sorrows, puzzles nor fear,
Skies are so light blue; rivers are so crystal clear,
The days that just went by, is like breeze of fresh air,
Pure and genuine love, the king and his daughter share
Laughter, Delight finally dried up the oceans of despair,
Joyous and festive days the king of love forever adhere,
That his dearest shining star is so touchable, is so near,
Like spring velvet sun rays, sprayed from up there,
His majesty's seed of love is now mature and sincere,
Like a tree of glory, so colorful, sweet fruit she bear,
Then his majesty prayed:
May your days my heiress and your family be full of joy and cheer.
We as humans will long to reach into a burning fire
Only to pull out ash...but to our eyes it's a beatuiful diamond
So why as humans must we touch atoms, molecules, nuetrons, and protons to feel saticifed
When in reality the things that matter the most is what can't be felt or touched
Exactly like stardust
So What if confidence could be picked up and tangable like this key board that I type on now
What if destiny and fate could be grasped like the pen when gill scouts writes poetry then
takes a bow
What if the WORD OPPORTUNIY can be suductive and affective on my pretty brown skin like
men
What if these words could be trapped like US soliders in Iraq attacking weapons
What if my mental state of mind could be looked at and noticed like time
And what if what i see and what matters the most to me
In my eyes didn't have to blind
See the material state of mind is what humans wish to behold
but what we don't know is papable ideas will always leave you in an confusion
And so i ask why can't the media put a different perception on the human illusion
My dopamine should be leveled and exsistant like faith not leveled by hate
see i can't feel god but i know that the man is important
see i can't see truth but i know that it matters
and i can't hold my mind but i know it's important
and i can't hold my soul but i know when it's hurting
and yes my words are disturbing
So why can't us humans live like stardust and seek reality
Why must we remain weak like this society
So i will ask again and please take time to comprehend my question and it might just change
your perceptions
Why as humans must we touch atoms, molecules, nuetrons, and protons to feel saticifed
When in reality the things that matter the most is what can't be felt or touched
Exactly like stardust
on my top
fishermen carved trail
sow spirit steps
whispered roar of expectations
Away empty- handed
back with results
destiny is there
however
smile
with udder waves
saw
things were never the same
everything changed
my white face
a holy canvas
lovers painted
pure love
browsed the pace of beautiful life
danced with white froth
hand in hand
meaningful
and confidence
revealed the meaning of love
saw
that pure peace
extant
on my top
grinned ankles
praised the natural charms
shorebirds raced sounds
butterfly
showed their beautiful wings
dark horizon looked wild
remained fierce storms
saw
sunset
right to change
all so beautiful
my tale
is real
for I am the real witnesses
not a mere illusion
my tale
is classic
remain touchable
revealed in verses
not heard by ears
no one understood
language of sand
my whispers
rigidity
peacefulness
purity
beauty
only to the hearts
whispered sounds
A tale of white sand
~ (c) sukmawati Komala ~
April 5, 2013
There are things I see, but are not written.
And there are things I heard, but are not sound.
Yet I believe.
There are things I can touch, but are not touchable.
Yet I understand the round.
Yet I believe.
I see you and I know you are there.
Yet I believe.
You will come, like the light in the stars.
Yet I believe.
Yet I believe.
Flesh has a funny way of keeping two people entwined;
It imitates two people, or one person,
Tells one’s secrets,
But still keeps them safe in the layers,
Layers of flesh like layers of me.
The first layer is soft, golden, and touchable.
So touch me,
Feel the contours of my skin,
Stroke me because you need to,
Because I need you to,
Because the being of your own flesh wants you to.
Layer two takes everything in,
Inhales and exhales systematically,
But breathless in your vigor, catches with your every move,
And sighs and moves as your skin brushes mine,
So thrust and lust so sweet and soft so skin itself might shed its tears.
Third is rooted, thick, and strong,
To protect a frail body like mine from the strength of yours,
But fluid enough to dance and bend,
So long as you’re the one next to me as my partner.
So strange and tenacious is the changing flesh,
Often setting free tiny beads that dabble along and drip from my skin,
So heated, the droplet beads of you and I join
As they run along our legs and down onto the soft sheets,
Releasing the warmth so to cool us.
So then so smooth the flesh becomes,
Fiery inside but so cool to touch,
If touch comes so gently it barely feels,
So sensual and slow, one could experience the weight of a light wind,
While face to face our lips will meet, our legs merge,
Our bodies fall into one another’s.
And it is this very essence of flesh,
This imitation of character, that will tell you what you need to know,
The ease and readiness with which yours will happily enter mine,
That makes us one.
BEFORE THE PETALS FALL
Fragrance beyond perfume
An intoxicating beauteous bloom
Kissable touchable tender lips
Numberless pert petal tips -
As scented wavelets pause
Mid sea and shores -
Bathing in the soft light
So subtle so slight
Till they blush shady-hued.
Never before viewed;
Never look again nor speak
Of this fragile moment unique:
Smoothly silken like the tress
On a young girl’s best dress
Folded and curved, and in the breeze moved.
Peached and heliotroped and mauved,
In recumbent cascading
Layers pressed together and fading,
Edged and fronded in frills pink
Of trembling readiness on the brink
To float down to the shore -
One touch and they are no more.