Best Virgin Poems
#3~"Lost not forgotten"
"A solitary star had gone astray, yawning before the dark,
hiding; straight ward, waver the wink of light, slowly fading.
By my window I shed a tear; I farm the fields of my soul."
#2~"Down-under"
"Above the winter masses, buried, I wait for the sun.
Sweet smelling kitchen, the hunger rise, within, my tongue swings...
Rise away from the table... noisily I yell for my bike."
#3~"Dreaming with the God's"
"Downhill of Mount Olympus, everything felt real.
In the orchard of my dreams, I am structured as a statue.
Mr. Sandman made a fool, of my midnight summer dream."
~SKAT~
SIJO contest.
Take it easy on me, i'm a SIJO -Virgin-
Brighter than a fall bonfire but with the chill of ice,
the winter sun haloes a gray and barren woodland;
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a florescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings to the horizon.
How it hurt my eyes.
Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol’s merging.
Trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, welt the dusk,
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.
How it hurt my mind.
Splayed fingers do not block the sharpened spears of screaming light.
The winter sun, indexed, and palmed, scratches the face of I.
Within a dakened room beneath a pall, behind hides blue veins,
near comatose, I sigh, the light, the light, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death both hurt.
First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 2014
She collects dreams
like feather in down pillows
her skin in a fever
- in meditation
into a particular story
Last call for lonely hearts
which recently dropped yellow leaves
An embrace
in and out of dimensions
- only to turn back
can't hold back the feelings
she's sound asleep
slowly sinking through the light
a wonderful woe
31/10/2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Poem of the Day: 01/11/2019
Dear little insect
«Our Lady's Bird» bring good luck
~
Aphids for supper
a red robe with seven dots
Virgin Mary sent from God
08.07.2018
Sun :) A-L Andresen :)
Tanka: 5-7-5-7-7 syllable
A surly old maid
had an urge to be laid
and bemoaned her virginal status
with life discontented
her plight she lamented:
"'tis not easy to live without coitus."
A scheme she invented
got polished and scented
tweaked her pointers to swing more voluptuous
with a rose-scented blanket
and aphrodisiac banquet
whisked her beau to the beach to be fructuous
Clad in scant mini
whence peeked her bikini
bent on bidding her cherry adieu
purred words mildly profane
wined him champagne
dined him fare with venereal value
To hone his libido
entrèed on baked avo
oysters, scallops and honey-glazed almond
lips enticingly luscious
sucked asparagus
sneaked a look if what matters had hardened
As was he, she became cocky:
ogled what was now stocky
with no inhibition she fussed and she flirted
our virgin opened her mouth
with one hand down south
loosened a knot and lay there unskirted
Decidedly heady
her lover was ready
to pick her rosebud unsoiled hitherto
her lush lips he fingered
where he lovingly lingered
to prepare for their kissing debut
With a bolt sat upright
said, his voice somewhat tight:
"Your mouth is a pit of infection.
I swear I was keen
but your mouth lacks hygiene
foul breath made me lose my ********."
So pristine each drop wrapped tenderly
by clouds as air into water processed.
Why a diamond shaped of natures play
or of gravity earth awaits, greedily
life yearned for its fall from grace.
Longing for its purity Man restless,
salivating for the angelic virgin to descend.
Unspoiled, unsoiled, sweetness itself only
God can create, a gift free not for man alone
but every living thing with desires to quench.
Alas! the greed in you and I, it was a gift...free.
Reached we have, into the space of angels,
we bastardised the very food of our souls
for can our thirst be quenched by oil or gold?
Answer ye to God when our time is done.
A virgin so pure God sent for our pains to endure.
Slashed, burnt smoke of 'acid' we returned.
Legacy left we are sure, but the poser imminent
when facing our Procurer; were we party to the
deflowering, the raping of that virgin drop of rain?
T M Ioane (April, 2014)
Yes, you’ve touched my body,
but you haven't touched my soul
No, it wasn't deep enough
To make this woman whole
Yes, you've kissed my lips now
but my pain you haven't kissed
these scars that mark my being
Each one, your lips have missed
Yes, you’ve sated cravings
but unsated are my dreams
you've not immersed your being
in thoughts that flow in streams
Yes, you’ve breathed my scent now
but you haven't been perfumed
my fragrant feelings linger
by them you’re not consumed
I lie in the wake of union
I lie here unknown, untouched
my soul a blushing virgin
with robes still tightly clutched
Eileen Manassian
Caressing Virgin Soil, With Soft Caring Hands
In her garden, wearing old pants and her long tresses
caressing virgin soil, with soft caring hands.
Generous to a fault, kind heaven blesses
she a gem of far away Asian lands.
Dawn's early rays would sparkle in her eyes
as she rose to smile at the rising sun.
In her thoughts up and away she flies
to have herself some harmless wishful fun.
Landing between heaven and joy on earth
she would pray sweetest happiness for all.
Later with piety pray aloud for all her worth
remain silent waiting for return call.
Angel wanting others joy above her own.
ONE MORN, FOREVER AWAY SHE HAD FLOWN.
Robert J. Lindley, 11-29-2016
Partly clad
full moon
was taking a bath on hills.
Trees were waiting
for the curtains to rise.
Scented stars would make
giant scars on the clouds,
I would make peace with the sky.
Lids of human greed were laden
with golden dust, I was hoisting the skull.
Of a virgin god who did not
want to live for the blotched up creation.
The decline was obvious. Truth
had refused to climb
on the sky-blue, salted peaks of springs.
Body had arrived,
mourners quietly wailing.
Gouged eyes could not decipher
the script on the halved pyramid.
Sun was sucking the clay.
SATISH VERMA
With malar flushes,
Causelessly she blushes,
In solitude, to herself she smiles,
While walking, aimlessly she tarries.
With a startled look,
Whom does she seek?
The faintness of flight overwhelms me
boxed in caged, corseted, in a cattle car of the air
pristine bells and whistles cajole the herd
as the breath is cycled and recycled through the
bellows of plasticine and metal
germs jumping from orifice to orifice
knees crushing bosoms braced for the portent
the potential
the promise
of the fall.
Faintness elicits only minor response
from the tenders who un-tenderly steer the crowd
small moans garner memories of the mallet falls..
but fail to unseat the kindness
so needed..sought
watery eyes wave
and the floor seems the only safety
and still the settlers stay settled in their complacency..
neither rising to gift an aged woman with their perch
or commenting as she hits the floor
ah the joys of twenty first century flight
in the belly of Virgin America.
Virgin Pure, Untouched By Evil In Men
Where sun has fallen down in land so fair
hides a lone tombstone hidden in woods deep.
Death had caught a beauty so very fair,
that all three - Sun, sky and wind sadly weep.
Shining, in bloom of youth and quite carefree
she of the forest glen had Nature's love.
Her tender heart she had given to me,
now her heart and sweet soul rests far above.
Weeping willows, pond where white flowers thrive
I see her wading its magical scenes.
Dear mercy! If only she were alive
instead of buried there, in her late teens!
In night dreams, I see her in forested glen.
Virgin pure, untouched by evil in men.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-02-2018
Sonnet, (Death Of The Enchanting Forest Maiden)
Crowning the Virgin Mary
I was only six years old and was
chosen by the first grade nun,
To place a garland of roses on the
Vigin Mary in May.
It really was an honor and a blessing.
Mom had pictures made of this event.
As little girls, we all were so lovely.
Dressed in lovely dresses and real shoes.
We never dressed like boys.
I had to climb a rather tall ladder.
Sister Antoinette helped my unsteady
feet
I was so very frightened.
But~ it was quite ethereal to see
the Madonna's face.
Another nun played the piano for us.
They all sang as I was walking up the
stairs to heaven with a garland of roses for
Mary's head.
"Oh, Mary we crown thee with blossoms
today,
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May."
Yes, those were the days,most unique.
God and the saints were allowed in school.
We were taught to live by the golden rule.
Our world,today, thick-headed as can be,
Slammed the door in God's face.
And ignorantly searches for peace in the
human race?
Worse, many have no idea of immortality.
Take a view of the news, you will find,
Great evil forever emphasized, over the
good men, do.
God's word never read,just words of fallible
mortal men.
Churches, synagogues our new killing fields?
Yes, that's the result we pay, for turning in
disobedience from God's most Holy face!
Panagiota Romios
5/3/2018
12:30am PST
Mirrored surface gleams,
Dancing rays off of the pond:
Pearl light reflections.
Blank white
waiting for an excretion
of ink to fill
imaginary lines.
Virgin paper held in reams
repudiate the poet's pen,
this stark silent bond
naked of any water mark.
Two sides
to the story unwritten
imaginary lives
wait in the wings.