One golden coin of poem,
under mother's frail old bed,
hiding in it's bright darkness,
undiscovered by who know's who,
but here it is in my poetry book,
and your eyes roll and loll along,
to hide this coin in your purse.
Two silver coins of poems,
sleeping in the sea and on its bed,
covered by the wriggling wrappers,
of dancing old corals,
hiding from straying sailors,
who lustfully venture,
seas that hide and hold,
precious glittering coins or stones.
Three bronzy coins of poems,
laying and waning just over there,
among those rubbish of cans,
and dancing buzzing flies,
by the side of cars path,
and unnoticed by your eyes,
but here it is in my poetic plate,
as i shout "coins of poems for sale".
Categories:
bronzy, absence, allegory,
Form: Rhyme
Paper Lion
He was a paper lion
With a crayola coloured mane
When he sprung from the page
She thought she was insane
He rose there from the floor
Transformed into a man
Destined to become her lover
Sculpted body bronzy tan
He lacked no ounce of courage
As he reached out for her face
When he pulled her towards him
Her heart began to race
A most ravenous beast
Her clothes he stripped away
He fulfilled her wanting passions
In his hands she was the prey
Power leapt from his body
As he let out a ferocious roar
His majesty from paper Jungle
Had her screaming out for more
Looking there into his eyes
Her confusion mixed with lust
She didn't want to stop him
Yet her brain said she must
She pushed him away
How could this dream be real
Her body and her mind
Kept spinning like a wheel
When she refused to believe
He was returned to the page
The worlds saddest paper lion
Again locked in his paper cage.
Categories:
bronzy, fantasy,
Form: Quatrain
And so
my mind wanders
back to that night,
under the full moon,
when I grasped
at your hair
pulling your
head back.
With muscles tensing,
and my claws
ripping at your skin,
I open my mouth
and close my jaws
on your throat,
scraping at your delicious
skin with my canines.
Fighting with
every inch of humanity
to not tear your skin,
and joyously drink
down your blood,
I feel your body
pleasantly quiver and undulate
in my arm,
and your purring
resonates in my ears.
Do your still
hear these thoughts
in your dreams,
do these images
still skim across
your consciousness,
does the residue
of my blood
still cling
to your lips,
and does that
bronzy taste
sit on the
back of your tongue?
It does for me.
And yes....
I still feel
my lionesss' hair
curled around
my claws.
My beasts
of this realm,
fill my ears
with your questions,
as I howl my feelings
into the moonlit night.
Do you hear it,
as a chip of alabaster
falls from the ever-present
crack in my heart.
Categories:
bronzy, confusion, lost love, love,
Form: Prose Poetry