Specially caught shells and pearls,
still lace is woven with worn fingers.
The anointed ten, working together,
crochet a web of intricate design.
Shells on the sandy shelf satisfy,
but doilies and tablecloths linger.
For long in darkness and flickering,
scented candles and burgundy wine.
Pearls of buttons and bows preen,
but a veil of mantilla lace whispers.
The free flow of digits and knuckles -
gentle, well-versed - her palm’s a vine.
Round and round, her wrists writhe,
breath’s aligned within the scriptures.
Dark, sexy, ebony eyes that light up, sparkle and twinkle.
Tender lips, as tempting as red, sensuous, burgundy wine.
On your handsome face, not even one, creeping, aging wrinkle.
Wish I could grow all over you, like a fresh, climbing, Spring vine.
In star-dusted dreams, we ate, danced and so merrily mingled.
Till the morning’s light, found us, intertwined, in her golden sunshine!
5/2/2024
Dedicated to my Mother whose birtday is May 10th, of blessed nemory!
That is how she looked, on her wedding day!
Your warm hands hold mine,
That with desire both shine and shiver.
Like the moon, looking for a silvered river.
Oh, how long for you I pined.
Sparkling burgundy wine, in tinkling crystal glass.
Hypnotized by your Arcadian, invasive eyes.
This moment, under clear San Francisco night skies.
That time still lives eternally, which nothing can surpass!
Your sweater, soft and dark, green like a sensuous forest.
Stop time in this place~ no, there is far more ahead for us.
We, in love, so totally, eternally obsessed.
I felt like your goddess in a golden, Greek, love-!bodice!
3/5/2021
~6 ~
Quatrain
A,B,B,A
I’m drifting dreaming soaring high
floating flying beyond the sky.
To this love this wonder of mine
my heart seeps a burgundy wine.
Fragrant blend of tangerine hope
scented sweetly, so vast its scope.
The chewy stars are pasted high
fading further dark sorrows die.
Descending through this Milky Way
the cosmos within which we play.
Lovely beauty’s hair is gleaming
raven locks so shiny streaming.
Topaz thoughts, cascading under
wondrous Zeus’ mythic thunder.
White hot lava hot flowing dew
scorching me as I’m loving you
Tranquil sounds soft echoing free
cognac kisses breezing through me.
Hyacinth woman sharing your soul
your cosmic being makes me whole.
(click the pic for a preview of my upcoming book!)
sunset
glowed glistened glittered
the
color of
dark red burgundy wine
where
my
soul
suspended
between
earth and sky
once more
said i
By design, I was created to tranquilize your mind,
enter your world and cause it to align,
protect your spirit from the unkind,
be your inspiration,
support your vision,
help you to give birth to your mission.
By design, I was molded to mesmerize your mind,
lips that taste like burgundy wine,
honey pot that tastes like sweet melon vine,
be your lover,
give you my undivided attention.
By design, I was born to elevate your mind,
introduce you to the refined.
If you are so inclined,
i promise to keep our love enshrined.
this is all By design.
In my house
intoxicating liquid
lies unlocked
in a closet.
Subject to the anti-drug
campaign since birth,
I never thought
to try it.
Why? Fear
of addiction,
or of drunkenness?
Both are reversible,
and I am young.
The type
evolves with dad:
First, red Burgundy wine
then a Christmas Heineken
a coworker’s Bahamas rum
a local Bombay Sapphire
Moutai from my uncle.
(Drink intensity
seems to increase
with his anger
Though he's never
lost.)
Another week, another bottle
he consumes
with accelerating ferocity.
Either he is losing discipline
or planned this all along
making more
of time remaining.
Surely I’ve inherited
generously lenient genes
and could drink his path,
But if I start
I risk regretting seventeen
years of abstinence.
" The Crimson-Conscience-Juror ... "
Scarlet Ribbons On Her Arms
Red Lights In Her Mirror
Best Friend Blood, On Her Hands
and A Crimson-Conscience-Juror
A Ton of Fire-Bricks On Her Head
Burgundy Wine, In Her Cup
Marooned On Her Tortured Island
Tasting, As Rasberry-Razors Cut
'The Cherry' Had A Poison Pit
Her Lips Bled As She Bit
Raging Against A Stop-Sign's Kick
As She Applied One Last, Hot-Poker, Needle Stick
Scarlet Ribbons On Her Arms
Red Lights In Her Mirror
Best Friend's Blood On Her Hands
... and A Crimson, Conscience Juror ...
Written & Copyrighted ©: 1/4/2014
by: MoonBee Canady
Creativity given to a pen
moved by a thoughtful man,
divulges ideas with a steady rhythm...
not minding noises, just writing what pleases him.
Find him dreaming on a deserted island in the Adriatic Sea,
laying on a soft blanket woven by patients hands;
see him wearing classic, dark shades seen in a famous movie...
implementing thoughts too sober for pretense.
Creativity given to a pen
guided by his swift fingers in constant movement
composes another poem with a new arrangement;
why is he a prisoner of his own den?
Have a conversation with him on a breezy noon,
share his favorite drink, which is a burgundy wine
made from local grapes dangling on the vine...
he will explain the realistic tone of his lampoon.
Creativity given to a pen is to express
with artfulness and astuteness each mode;
read his works and try to unlock his code...
you' ll be amazed at what you'll find in your quest.
Some of the Bradford Pears have turned burgundy
The leaves are so glossy feeding the trees the last for this year
As they drink the burgundy wine from their lips
The black ink of my pen tells my poignant tale of my love for you
This creation that you made just for me
Gives me kisses and hugs that no one elso sees
Private; filling my inner being with your presence
Fill me let me overflow sending your love and spirit out
Business before pleasure
Are you a big spender
Mortgaging your heart
For lustful endeavors
Straddling your bottom line
Leveraged with burgundy wine
She wants a quick merger
Before your numbers decline
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