Best Voyeur Poems
You look through the windows of my poetry
Deep into the bedroom of my heart
you watch me undress
button by button
It slowly slips down
You adjust the focus
of those binoculars on your screen
reading my poetry
seeing my naked soul
you watch
for free
at a distance
at a safe distance
You watch me dance
In your mesmerized trance
You watch me smile
and all the while
You watch
You see the tears
you see the shadow of fears
streaking my face
leaving a trace
you watch
day in
day out
night time
wondering if I'm alone
if anybody else is home
if my bed is warm
if you see another form
there with me
you NEED to see
I feel your eyes
looking in through my poetry window
Voyeur
you're just a voyeur
living my life vicariously
without touching me
it's your destiny
you look for safety
a distance you keep from me
I know you're there
I relish your stare
I know you want to
walk through that door
looking for something more
but your too afraid
of the inconvenience
of my moods
my happy swings
my sorrowful stings
You're a voyeur
You watch me for free
but one day
I'll close the shutters
blocking my words
withering your soul
as you wither mine
it's fine
Voyeurism is just...
just a waste of time
I want to flesh and blood with you
it's true
But voyeurism
is all you know how to do
One day
Your "watching days"
They will all be through
Another will watch AND caress
will help me undress
and kiss and will bless
all that and more
for the one
who walks through the door
and dances with me
and sets demons free
Voyeurism
doesn't cut it
with me!
Eileen
======================
The voyeur moon has promised she
will hide her light tonight and keep
it dark outside if we'll agree
to let her watch us while we sleep
======================
09/27/2015
I watched you this morning.
When the cool of the air settled on the morning buds
leaving only the hint of moist stolen kisses
as golden rays slowly caressed the dew from the petals,
I watched you.
Your Cobalt beauty beseeching my gaze
transcending mere mortal allure,
playful and mischievous
the Goblin dancing in your eyes,
as your burning gaze pierced the darkness within me,
I watched you this morning.
Then turning away, as if I weren’t there,
you teased me with your tantalizing flirtatiousness,
pretending that we shared but a passing moment,
a furtive glance, an instance’s breath of longing,
your laughter sighing through the soft petals of your ardent lips.
I watched,
your slow feline body, lithe and graceful,
belying the fragility of your nature.
Your deliberate movements agilely swaying,
then you glanced back at me
with impassioned pout,
as your love lies bleeding in your mournful sorrow.
Through billowing trusses of Amaranth blooms
in the breath of breeze
that gently whispers through the curlicue locks
of your glistening auburn hair,
you comb your long slender fingers,
passing slowly down your neck,
straightening each beautiful tangle.
I watched you
and my desire to hold you overwhelmed me
but you ignored me,
making me want you, yet, more deeply.
I watched you
speaking to everyone but me.
How I wished to be each one of them
and bring this sad loneliness to an end.
I watched you
until at last with a single final look, intentional and lingering,
you brushed slowly past me, smiling sweetly,
as you gazed beneath silken lashes,
like those of Aphrodite, long and mesmerizing,
deep into my longing eyes
through the bottomless pellucid pool of cerulean
from which you enchanted me.
“Smile,” you whispered,
and my lips turned for the shortest of instance,
my grin mirroring the beauty of you.
Tenderly you touched my arm
then walked away,
and I watched.
11/20/2017
The name she bore was Amber Moon
and his was Forest Green.
He longed to kiss her late in the afternoon,
when the sun was no longer seen.
His breezy limbs snatched her from the sky
where once she would bedevil,
and beneath them both, there was I,
who watched those lovers revel.
A chap with strong sexual desire
met a lass in alluring attire.
Upon a park bench
he fondled the wench
watched by the park keeper, a voyeur.
I didn’t mean to invade her privacy,
I was simply taking the trash out late that night;
I never noticed how from the back of the house
You could see right into her bedroom when she turned on the light.
The curtains were sheer and not completely closed,
Her silhouette was outlined and her flesh exposed;
I am not a peeping Tom but in my tracks I froze,
Watching her tantalizingly removing her clothes.
She stood in front of her full length mirror;
I inched a little closer to see her clearer.
It was as if she was even teasing herself,
Slowly undressing and watching her own reflection;
Her fingertips caressing the smooth exposed flesh;
Her exhibition demanded my full attention.
She is twenty-five years old and my neighbor’s daughter;
I am twice her age and a little bit more;
I know I am wrong to be standing here watching
But a more beautiful nubile I’ve never seen before.
Her clothes are now strewn on the floor by her feet,
She is totally naked and pleased by the sight;
Slowly she turns looking over her shoulder,
Making sure all of her parts are shaped just right.
God must be very angry at me,
But, God created this wondrous beauty.
She took inventory of body parts with both of her hands,
Pleasing herself with her delicate touch;
I knew that I should be turning away;
I was enjoying her exploring a bit too much.
She kissed her own reflection returned in the mirror
Then turned and walked toward the windows;
Just before pulling down the night shade
She waved to me hiding in the shadows.
Ashamed of myself and embarrassed by my actions,
I returned to my house all alone;
She knew I was watching and vexed by her beauty,
It was me she was teasing all along.
Yet it brought back memories of when I was younger
And my wife more beautiful than she;
Although I’m a widower for seven long years,
That night, again my bride was with me.
Silk soft skin and midnight eyes
In those eyes pure passion lies
Heated breath with moistened lips
Soft panting breast with hardened tips
Flushing cheeks, small beads of sweat
All is given with no fear of threat
Soft-lit room from warming fire
Two souls within burn with desire
Heat that built not from the grate
The two are here no act of fate
Both our hosts know not we view
Their minds are locked as lovers true
No sordid act for each they chose
Passion heightened as bodies close
She is he then he is she
Their merging forms not ours to see
Silence bar for murmured cares
We leave them now for this is theirs
There are so many types
That I have seen –
Would you call me tired?
But then, it does make me tired....
They think they are safe
And that no one is watching.
So the quiet ones turn boisterous;
The boisterous burst into tears,
The angry smile indulgently,
And the kind metamorphosise
Into vicious animals.
I see quirks in unobjectionable characters,
And in the shady types
A quiet respectability.
But then, the variety –
The hundreds and thousands
And more, of strange faces,
Make me feel lost at times.
You might say I’m a quiet observer
Of my fellow people.
But everyday I see a face
More terrible than anyone else’s
Disillusion and fear
Revulsion and weariness
Jostle each other, and hollow eyes
Scare me, until I realise
I am looking into a mirror.
Voyeur Cuz
Wife stealing cousin Wayne,
was the true voyeur,
He’d appear in the room, the silence soon,
Disturbing me and her,
He’d get in the nurses for an orgy,
But he’d just sit an watch,
Drink in the picture,
Don’t step on a Corgi,
He preferred a cuddle not,
Momma was a rented lady,
Cuz stole a few quid on the side,
When the action in the bedroom,
Got him money, wallet slide.
Don Johnson
I spied them through our fence.
They sparred with knuckled fist,
a father with unruly buck
beside back door for violent ruck
that stag was bound to win.
Young eyes that saw that vile display
did not forget that horrid day,
and now know just how close
that same scene could have been.
Red robins hunt among leaves
Last snowbird arrivals revel in sunlight
Shuffling for acorns ‘neath Live Oak trees
Finding a treat, a scurry they incite
Tangled wings, feathers flying
Squirrel approaches undetected
Amid the din of birds fighting, crying
Nut eaten by a voyeur unaffected
*Entry for Brian’s “Show Me” Contest.
Written January 10, 2012
Lured by the light in the bathroom,
he comes, prowling through
the layers of darkness.
Seeing the two paws clinging on the
window bars, and a pair of blue eyes
burning through the holes of lust,
a village virgin whoops, when
the voyeur slinks away.
As the hot sun rays warm the canal,
he hides in the bushy banks, throwing
his blue eyes into the distant nudity.
Sometimes, he is seen being chased
by the rustics with bamboo sticks.
But quick oblivion is bliss;
he gets duty bound again.
Hiding is a risk,
but peeping is a pleasure.
Through the twigs and bars, he stares
at the other side of pleasure.
First printed in my book, Kanoli Kaleidoscope (published by Punkswritepoemspress, US),and then reprinted in The Literary Hatchet
I heard that those French girls were raunchy as hell
I thought I’d go find me a young mademoiselle
I’m no work of art and I’m well past my best
But I’ve had a wash and I’ve changed my string vest
My mate said the best girls stand out in the crowds
But then he said I’ve got my head in the clouds
He said you’re so old that you might make them shriek
I said I’d be happy to just get a peek
So I bought a Kodak, its lens was quite long
To steal me a shot of a girl in a thong
My mate said that’s freaky, in fact it’s perverted
I knew he was right, I was quite disconcerted
But ladies and me, well it has been a while
A quick flash of flesh would sure make me smile
I had an idea: I would head for the sky
And focus on windows of buildings nearby
My plan didn’t work and I took not one shot
Although I had thought that I’d get quite a lot
So I’m heading home where I’ll have a cold shower
And never return to that damned eye-full tower.
I was invited to a party, and have been back to it many times over the years.
It was so notable to me, because all of the people were having such a good
time. Oh, it was just started by an older man who made his apprentices close up and see that there would be enough space for the food, drinks, musicians, and room for dancing.
As the people came in, they were anxious to join in the merriment because
this party was always held at Christmas, and everyone would have a good
time because the host insisted on it. He paid for a party and would be one
of the most active participants. Since he had paid for the party, he had the
musicians play, and danced with reckless abandon despite his age.
No one had more fun, as he would return again and again to the dance floor.
His partner was his wife of many years, but it did not stop him from dancing
with others who had come for the party. The guests came in their finery,
and the oil lamps lit the room and decorations to make it a whimsical party.
The settings were fit for royalty, the food was exquisite, the music light and
airy, and nothing but a sea of smiles could be seen anywhere in the room.
I was however, only a voyeur at the party. I wished that I was one of those
that had been invited in true, but alas, my being there had a deeper purpose
and meaning for me. It showed me that people can have a good time in
each other's company, just by joining in with a smile and good natured
feelings. Oh, how I wished it were truly real at the time.
I haver returned many times to that party, as each year I wait for it to come
on the TV. I would truly have loved to be at "Old Fezziwig's" party, and each
year I try, even for a little while, give up my Scrooge!
12/11/20
Written for "Party Folk Poetry Contest" by Julia Ward
Lipstick-rimmed wine glass
sits on my night-stand
obtrusive shade of pink
My head punds away amidst these new thoughts.
Never recall faces or names
Nor the times shared that led us here.
I record smells, they stay with me
Still can't put a name or a face with said scent.
No trying on slippers, No Hunting Down Femme Fatale
I want to, every time in this instance
Before the initial shock of lonliness consumes me
I wait frantically for it to subside.
My life, like my house, in shambles
It has a foundation but nothing concrete
Watch where you step
It's a long way down the spiral.