Best Trysting Poems
The daylight is dying
Twilight comes flying
Purple and crimson blaze in the sky;
The sun's in a rush
To part with a flush
And kiss the meadow good bye.
An hour for trysting
When you come unresisting
Precious and eager on hesitant feet;
Shadows disguise us
Rose scent to baptize us
Scenting our bed with odours so sweet.
We can't know the reason
Or the span of a season
But eternal the stars shine up above;
We never had sought it
We never had thought it
Were it not jeweled with the beauty of love.
But all is forgiven
By chance that has given
An hour for the transition of youth;
We never will know it
But our dream will now show it
Changing it all to astonishing truth.
The fireflies ignite you
My breath will delight you
Nothing will vex the passing of hours;
Come, I await you
Night is too late for you
Come while the dewdrops are kissing the flowers.
The wind of the night is
Fragrant with lilies
Touched by a moonbeam, kissed by the dew;
The garden lies breathless
Where love awaits deathless
Under the starlight, I'm waiting for you.
Categories:
trysting, love,
Form:
Rhyme
“Rewind Forward”
Memory mirror
supple sylph yields
and naked
walks through liquid glass
towards your dark eyes
to float in black
legs wrapped
rapture drawn deep
unclothed into your arms
bathed bare
you climb my mountains
pull me in
your fingers coiled
tight and unforgiving
around my silken hair
mouth drawn to bare
omni amor libido
opalescent skin glistens
slow dance
silence listens
caught in time
elementals float in the aether
no walls no stairs no roads
bodies in rhythm rhyme -
in your dark mirrors
are all my blue skies -
dream duelling flames
tongues do not speak
they torch a burning blaze
there are no nights
there are no days
two flaming souls
deep dive
erotic waves
they read no maps
trysting in their lovely trap
Pantoums
each the other world
Phantom
opium kissed lips
repeat repetition
Ships lost at sea
in our ghost myst
a fierce longing
a holy confederacy
Kisses long and languid
Luscious long neck licks
Drink my life
Your need is met
my mead is sweet
and want is whet
Honey swallowed
lost in the love
love in the lost
trapped in the net
an open cave
doorway
where lush moss
waits wet
treasure found
treasure kept
sensual salty
her sea is met
pounds to your
foreign uncharted shore
two rare pearls
are free yet
bound and kept
on the other side
awake forever
with the never slept
hearts open
wounds bleeding
turn the key
Mirror Memory
(LadyLabyrinth/2018)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OqEZ_RQ4Cm8
"Flashbacks", Emika
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wF6v7yCthd4
"Flashbacks (reversed)", Emika
“We did not touch each other. We were both leaning over the abyss.”
Anaïs Nin
“Our love would be death. The embrace of imaginings.”
Anaïs Nin
“Secrets. Need to disguise. The novel was born of this.”
Anaïs Nin
"But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover..."
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Kubla Khan
Categories:
trysting, desire, for her, for
Form:
Romanticism
Grieving, I shall rue the day when atop the hill I stand,
alone with my memories, grasses swaying in the breeze.
Tears on my cheeks, he'd once so tenderly caressed.
A groan will escape my lips and I will fall to my knees,
wistful, yet blessed for I'd held his love within my breast.
Days to follow shall be visited with shadows and grief,
the only smile 'pon my lips will come with thoughts of him.
Too brief the moments when they'll linger and grant respite,
for when our candle flame sputters, my world will be dim.
Then, I'll beg the moon to help me through each lonely night.
Lambent light to my eyes, each time he entered my door.
We had a love unlike any ever kindled inside me before.
We ran through tall blades of grass on that verdant hill,
hand in hand, laughing like children, teasing and taunting.
Every word he'd ever spoken, I will hear in his haunting.
I'll hold one line sacred in mind, recalling when he wrote,
"I always return to you," and thus, his love was bared.
If that he could, I have no doubt indeed he would
and find me waiting atop the trysting hill we shared,
yearning for one more day, pleading for one more hour
to lie beside him, savoring our splendor in the grass.
There was innocence in our budding
Revelation in our days of blossoming
Jubilation in our weeks of blooming
Mourning on the day of our withering
Categories:
trysting, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
Draw back the drapes of those tenebrous clouds
for my eyes desire a glimmer of the pallid moon.
Sullen shadows of night, her beauty enshrouds.
Covering her faint glow is a sin, I dare impugn.
Lustrous is her light when emerged in the night,
as pale as the alabaster skin of my love's cheek.
A pearl in the sky. Passion's flame she will ignite,
reflected across waters in an aura of mystique.
Without the moon, my soul would mourn, bereft.
Her splendor worthy of lyrics written in musical bars.
I would write a sonnet for her if my hand was deft.
Even though her hue is wan, she outshines stars.
I'll not weep for the moon while her light wanes.
I'm aware that it's just a phase, and soon will pass.
Then, comes the time when her luminance reigns
and billowed nimbus will turn aside for her. Alas!
If overcast shadows choose to darken the skies
let them do so to offer shade from the sun's heat,
but never allow them to conceal from my eyes
the trysting place where the pale moon and I meet.
July 22, 2022
One In Five 2 Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Phrase 4
Categories:
trysting, moon,
Form:
Rhyme
Metaphors and similes flow freely from my pen
when I am scripting and scribing in poetic verse.
Across the width of pale parchment pages
the nib of my feathered pen continues to traverse.
Ink courses fathoms deep within me like life blood,
rushing through the eddied channels of my veins.
I struggle to ignore the cramping in my fingers.
There's no hesitation when writing echoing refrains
when I imprison myself in poetry.
Each stanza I carefully arrange in proper sequence
as if it's a bairn born for the creation of my story.
Sometimes my gypsy muse joins me in the dance
when I write with abandonment in wild allegory.
I never try to rein her in when we're both focused
and driven to complete a poem, oblivious of time.
With vivid imagination, romantic sonnets are birthed
as I sit penning line after line in consummate rhyme,
incarcerated at my desk until I've written the last line.
My thoughts tumble like flurries of pristine snowflakes.
With a single spark of romance my passion ignites
as each completed verse falls perfectly into place, it lifts
my need to write compositions of love to greater heights.
Day and night, I find myself a wanderer, lost in reveries
where I journey in a private kingdom of verbose amplitude.
Around each curve in the road is a new challenge to be met,
and yet, none thwart me when trysting in romantic interlude.
Rude would be the one who would disturb me
when I'm handcuffed to a work in progress.
I try to indite with some semblance, dare I call it skill or talent?
By no means am I an accomplished laureate by my admission.
As a mere poet, I do not strive to compose a magnum opus,
but a meaningful collection of verses as a worthy composition.
If by chance, my poetry is interpreted and appreciated by some
who view my emotional imagery with soulful eyes of admiration,
I will credit my gypsy muse with her conspiratorial whispers
and amorous experiences as the impetus for my inspiration.
I hold the key to unlock my self-inflicted prison door,
and used when at last my pen has been laid to rest.
Categories:
trysting, muse,
Form:
Rhyme
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-Six
Soon all the rooms at trysting hotel were for years booked through
By pilgrims from Mindanao and Minangkabau to Timbuktu
Saudi princes bought the hotels at Carrefour de Pompadour
Kings of Malaysia with retinues planned long séjours
Sea Anne-Anne’s “broken news” chartered all the sailing club’s boats
The Mayor sacked the Accounts Chief for failing to raise the rates
Sea Be-As put out feelers to buy the Pompiers de Paris
All-Cheese-Seas-Roar made a secret pact with the mosque’s prelates
All-Lions-Fun-Press opened offices at the Préfecture’s terrace
Bee-Bee-Sea late as usual wanted a Royal Palace
So they got the Queen to confer Lordship on the Président
Beings-Port set about organizing annual matches face to fa ce
Between Robo-Cops and the Darling Dears clad in chadors
On one condition: they all fought it out in the lake outdoors
Just then His Holiness with his yea-sayers strode out for air
When boom-voiced Commandant pounced on them with Robo-Cop jaws:
“Pray! Esteemed Prophet’s Emissary! Lend me thy sovereign ear!
Habeas corpus ad subjiciendum this writ makes clear
Miscreant Tent Maker’s son Omar doth s’installe à demeure… »
« STOP ! » ordained the Imam, « I must forthwith lead the dohr prayer !”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
trysting, allegory,
Form:
Rubaiyat
IN THE TANGLED WEB OF TIME…
How long
must we still march
and sing---
our feet grown weary
and facades of justice
quietly silencing our voices?
Today
we remain footnotes
to his story---
our story
a cocooned legacy
of a pregnant dream
hanging
in the tangled web of time.
Matrices
of pseudo gains
continue
to tease un-ripened minds
with scams of liberty.
Today
in due time
in due season
we will rise up
from the pit we’re in---
rise up
and catch the fallen dream
laying it in the warm nest
of the bosom of liberation---
and incubate the waiting vision
of our destined realities
singing songs of redemption---
ringing bells of freedom
dancing to the beat of liberty:
Indeed
the flame of determination
burns eternally
and the love-journey
of the unshackled
continues toward the trysting place.
Categories:
trysting, allegory, analogy, black african
Form:
Prose Poetry
The bridge was built in 1892 across the gorge of Deer Lick Creek.
Many eerie things have happened since that time adding to its mystique.
'Twas built when men took pride in their guild of yesteryear.
Built of sturdy oak, it will stand for many years, that is very clear!
Eerie clip-clop of horses' hooves can be heard on moonless nights.
'Tis reported that darting to and fro are mysterious lantern lights!
According to local lore a lady in white emits a sepulchral scream,
As she leaps from the bridge with a babe in arms into the rushing stream!
On certain moonlit nights a specter is seen dangling from its beams.
He was caught in the act of fornication by an angry spouse, it seems!
Even to this day, horses are spooked as they skittishly cross the span,
And libidinous lovers avoid it as a trysting place when they can.
The old bridge has weathered many seasons with dignity and grace.
Once, horse and buggy crossed its oaken floor at a much slower pace.
'Tis pleasurable to stroll across its creaking planks and muse upon its past,
But best you do so during the light of day or the stroll may be your last!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Categories:
trysting, scary,
Form:
Rhyme
Garden sentinel, carrion he’s stripping
Woolf tail wagging white fangs ripping
Stream-of-consciousness telling, spewing
Dog’s breakfast masticating, chewing
Mourning doves cooing, woo-OO-ing
Backyard cricket legs rubbing, chirping
Hot summer night simmering, squalling
Beginnings long day ending, waning
Winged silhouette floating, rising
Sleepy canine lies dreaming, chasing
The stranger rises--ascending, falling
Moonlight beaming, shadow stalking
Temptress appears emerging, merging
Tip-toeing apprehensively disrobing
Sonnets in Portuguese leather binding
Fanning pages dog eared, Browning
Arm extended reaching, grasping
Reaps a sweet pear salivating
Biting, sucking juices dripping
Raped senses senses raped
Rapture erotica
RESIST SISTER!
Nibble, nibble
Fluids dribble
Fires sizzle
Nero’s fiddle
Plays in-fidelity
Forum stories burning, pages turning
Read on dear, dear read on
Groins churning tongues exploring
Stranger disappearing, stealing
Into the night’s secret pages folding
Apparition’s serpent slithering
Lithe away twisting, vanishing
Eve repenting, dawn rising
Righteous ebbing, malevolent trysting
Hew hay glorious Yahweh
Angels singing, trumpets playing
Sins Original ne’er forgetting, e’er forgiving
Lost haven, Milton’s paradise lost
Rue the stranger, spare Adam’s rib
Lust’s garden grows at night
Whilst gluttonous wolves too tired to bite
Categories:
trysting, allegory, night, night,
Form:
Blank verse
"The Hope Thieves"
Colours change chameleon fast
The Hope Thieves
steal dreams to make up
for their own lost lives and fast-draining
upside-down hour glass pasts
In their hearts a million silent cries
In their minds a million worlds collide
Lost, cunning and sly, they drink up pure essence of Hope and Trust
like blood sucking vampires patrolling the crowded underpasses and
the jungled overgrown potent gardens of trysting rose-glassed lovers and soothsaying sage-green poets
They exist as shadow people dark and full of shallow notes
In their lives a million reasons why
In their world all doors shut inside
They exist on the outside
Looking for the key to open their own home doors wide
Lost husbands and brides, petulant, deriding The Others,
Ghosts of romantic scribes finding freedom in wide open Blue Skies
The Hope Thieves
steal dreams to make up
for their own lost lives
Colours change chameleon fast
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/rQiyyoLF05A
Emika/Take Me for a Ride
“Becoming a vampire means completely changing your identity.”
https://youtu.be/jG6s7W9yG_c
Emika/Mouth to Mouth
“The strength of the vampire is that people will not believe in him.”
Categories:
trysting, dark, hope, psychological,
Form:
Free verse
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Twenty-Eight
Other media meanwhile busy with who’s sleeping with whom
Relying on New-Sweep and Thyme to make loud front-page zoom
Mainly of those who leapfrog into top power palaces
On whether de Beauvoirs or transvestites be given more room
Dohr took dire toll on the High Prelate’s laboured vocal chords
And just as the Chief pow-wowed with advisors and legal boards
So did His Holiness with a delegation come from afar
The results as well as can be expected turned out: Discord!
The wily Franquist woman counselor slammed the Chief’s car door
And bee-lined the barred gates of the trysting hotel’s portico
The Chief sent Commandant in hot pursuit of bent-backed woman
Scarf drawn over pockmarked scalp limpet-mouthed suction sore
As the dohr throngful of the Faithful streamed out queues formed for asr
The Commandant waylaid the Imam come out for some air:
“…ad subjiciendum… Omar…Tent Maker’s prodigal heir…”
“Means thou Umar ibn Al-KHattap…Exalted Caliph Sire?”
Non-plussed the Commandant looked hard at Writ in his thick hands:
“Your Holiness! Be it thy pleasure to peruse these commands!”
One yea-sayer read aloud: “Oooo..maaaar ibn al-Khaaayyaaaamm…”
“Who? Must be that drunken half-Turk by rich widows favour finds!”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
trysting, allegory,
Form:
Rubaiyat
In the crepuscular half-light
Our amaranthine trysting dreams
Are transformed to apodictic
Iridescent lyrical love
Tokens of rhapsodic tranquil
Categories:
trysting, life,
Form:
Free verse
I told my love that we should meet
He asked me when and where
I said “At dusk, of course, my sweet.
Let’s meet up then and there.”
Yet of my love I see no trace
For the dusk is wide and vast
As I wait here in our trysting place
Alone in twilight fading fast.
Categories:
trysting, heartbreak, heartbroken, romance, romantic,
Form:
Rhyme
One gnashing of teeth
makes a star fall billions of miles away
A tiny turn in a flower makes angels turn
The flutter of a strange butterfly
Is in my mouth my heart my hands my feet
As the universe
In and around me cry
Large raindrops fall
Busy making the circuit
from Precambrian days
Puddle to pool to river to sea
The humming beauty bivouacing inside me -
Sea to ocean to snorkelling whales,
fun, vapour, cloud and sky
Trysting with the cosmic fall
O, my, my !
Charged and seeded, full of child
Weeping, heavy with labour, wild
fat and veined, in ecstasy
blue belly filled
with water, corn, life, dreams distilled
From tubs of tangerine
In earnestness and sin
The angel and the butterfly
Over my head this evening flew
Lifting up the crimson sky
O, my, my !
Categories:
trysting, inspirationalme, universe,
Form:
Free verse
"He sings his hymns every night, that she will know
the sounds that echo in his heart."
A gift he offers to soothe my lonely days
for in most of my waking hours we must be apart.
"She reveals a hint of a mystery lady
in her words and reflections."
No mystery am I to the one I hold dear
My love proclaimed with tender affections.
"Faith and love are the essential secrets to happiness.
That you possess both," he said, "is a great gift."
Thereafter, he sparked in me a flame of desire
I penned my emotions with the speed of a swift.
"That you can express them so beautifully is a joy to read.
But not all puzzles," said he, "need to reveal their true self."
I pondered his words, wondering what he'd meant
Was he expressing love or I am fooling myself?
"Like two lovers lost in the night sky, only to find one was a fixed star
and the other a shooting star, fading, lost in the dawning of light."
Confused, I waited with questions, clarification of what he meant.
Time passed slowly until he came to me that night.
"Some walls are built to keep things out and some to keep them in.
And some walls we need to just tear down. Once more unto the breach."
I knew there was a wall between us. Could it be torn down?
Did he want me in his life or out? His reply I would beseech.
"I felt this one deeply, Jen. Every line an ode to love,
just fingertips apart yet somehow distant. How deep the trenches."
I knew the answer and was flushed with relief
He spoke of love's flame and the fire in him that I quench.
"Sometimes with emotional waves, you never see them coming
then all of sudden they hit you like a tsunami."
I contemplated every word he had spoken
as I walked along the shore on a night warm and balmy.
"Joy and misery are the fulfillment of life and experience.
You can't know one without the other."
It's a life of happiness I want to share with him
To have the joy of loving him forever is what I'd rather.
"The mysterious raven - harbinger in the night, silhouette at the window,"
he added, "Like honey, baby, from the bee, you leave me wanting more."
No more questions did I ask during our trysting time together
Hours spent laughing and loving with the swan I'd come to adore.
April-8-2023-kj
Categories:
trysting, love,
Form:
Rhyme