Fondles Poems | Examples

Summer's End

Summer’s End

The sun begins to set a little earlier now—
a gentle breeze brushes past my suntanned face and
I walk briskly on the sand which feels cool beneath my feet.
My pace quickens, like the prance of a Cat on the prowl.

Once home, the trees which line the street on which I live
stand majestically tall.  No longer still, they begin to
sway to the music of the gentle breeze which softly touches
and fondles the leaves with a caress that only the breeze can give.

The air envelopes me, telling me it’s cooler than before—
and I run to the place that I call home,
Glad to be sheltered from something I feel in the air—
from a sky whose sun, today, will shine no more.

I pause in the house whose windows openly beckon the freshness of the crisp breeze as it quietly enters, gently pushing aside the ruffled curtains, and as it filters through the rooms—
I suddenly realize, it’s Summer’s End!

Monster

There is a monster in my bed and I let him in. I supplied the pillow to rest. His quiet wickedness I don't address.  As he fondles my body while I lay still undressed.   I don’t reciprocate his love or affection and he won’t allow me to stop it or reject it. That must be his thrill. Just begging for me to pet it. Like a dog. I like dogs. They don’t force me to love them. They just are. He has a darkness beneath the face,  beyond the freckles and scars.  He stays inside until he thinks you bought the bit that he is a chivalrous guy,  but he has secrets to hide. As sweet and willing as he seems he is holding two sharp blades to your carotid artery. In plain sight but you choose not to see.  You let the darkness in because a part of you believes you too are a dark fruit fallen from the forbidden tree.  Another lying message you allowed your brain to receive. You are more than an object of affection, you are deserving.   Sometimes we have to burn it all down to start anew. A cleansing of the medial prefrontal cortex erasing desires previously initiated for a few as I currently have a monster in my bed and I am the one who invited him in.

Echo's Spiral Inward

An echo is felt, touched, recalled,
it drums against our hearts,
strikes softly upon the ringing
shell of being.

An echo hammers upon an open door,
it is unconcerned with any closeted desires,
it is not ours to interpret.

Echo's image comes to us
wrapped within a blossoming,
an ever-opening vowel of vocalic enticement.

Lily-padding slippers tread lightly
yet step loudly upon the mind.

I welcome all dark flowers,
their language is throb and vibration.
I am awakened by the sensual stem,
pulled up into an erotic drumming,
resounding echo's don, the flesh of myself.

Echo is the face of memory,
it is the naming of names,
Echo returns our call
whether spoken or not.

For a moment we tremble like a leaf
that the wind impartially fondles.

© 33 mins ago

Wishing To Be A Tangerine

"A spoonful of fantasy is often the best medicine for reality." - Poet


Somedays I'm a pale apple wishing to be a tangerine.
Fantasy focused fulfillment fondles contentment dreams.
Enthrall me free amid emerald enthused energy,
wrapped snug-complete in scented sachet sheets -
let gleaming threads golden-gloss this glorious bed.
May lyrical lilacs air link, lift and softly dance while 
harmony twists and peace dips to dazzle me.
I shiver, smile and sigh sensing the sheen of sky -
an ebony-onyx symphony sympathizing with me 
and the ground, a gushing-grass generous scene.
Somedays I'm a pale apple wishing to be a tangerine.

Happiness

Happiness is the whirl of lyrical runes,
voicing of raging monstrous stories in loons.

Happiness is the rough silence of the heart,
that cries in loneliness of love torn apart 

Happiness is a prodigal daughter that,
swims in the rainbow of her abductor's cart 

Happiness is like sleeping in milk sea foam,
intoxicating deep embrace in risk loam.

Happiness is a fear tickle that brings cheers,
a belly full banked in the depths of our ears.

Happiness burns pure like the sax of cigars,
a remembrance for how we soar in the stars.

Happiness is the screeching of our lost soul,
a ride that fondles a tender name in whole.

Happiness is harmony clocks of sour wines,
serenaded in Sunset play, Red Tide Whines. 

Happiness is the smile of a sealed deadline,
that strokes our creative sane, ego hairline.

Happiness screams, a colliding in your name,
a chasing of moon and stars, a racing game.

Condition

The me that is me is often mislaid,           
                 perhaps by intention to shelter my fear
For what if my mirror reflected my soul,
                       would the world still want me

The science of hiding perfects within time
                Its nature is such that a new me is born
It’s easy to zipper the old one away
             and go about life with a safer veneer

But what are the chances forever in life
                Disguises discovered are rarely excused
No matter the reasons or cause of dismay  
                For love of a lifetime, honesty wins

Yet where is the courage to offer the truth
     What touches the surface still fondles my heart
And now there is you to gamble my feelings
                  Oh, when and just how will I know

Though view of my favor can somewhat be real
                       Selected acceptable elements hold
If what you had wanted to see, disappeared  
                        could you justify what remains 

I ask of you now, facades put aside
           This metaphor dangling in dangerous hope
If I were another and you didn’t know it, 
         would you love me still, if I wasn’t a poet

A White Dove Above Their Soul

a white dove above their soul
a languid breath left~
painful sobs of numbing grief

life curtain slowly closes
memories slowly transform ~
fades in and fades out

wind drifts and fondles
quaking curtain unveiling~
their true essence never leaves

 


12/15/2022

7-5-7   7-7-5   5-7-7
Triple New Charlieku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charles Messina

Wonderful

Warm runs of runners,
Uphold my banner to God-
Liness with a hue.

The dream of blackest summers comes like rain,
It fondles my breaststroke through the waters high,
My shepherd closes in on my red pain,
And like a sheep I fall beside his cry.

I pace back and forth to the music’s sound,
I punish wrongs without my whip to spare,
I rule the world with iron as if my bound,
From feet that curve the world as if my stair. 

I take on newness until I must fly,
In colors of the rainbow and brown dirt,
I put on sheets when I go out to buy,
The cloth a knight would wear when heart is hurt.

I dreamt of evil things in darkest night,
But reddened warriors come give heart light.

Just Me

I'm left to an island
With no other inhabitant.
While solitude is complete
And the only combatant.

The cost paid is quiet,
Though its volume is loud.
Where freedom is infinite,
Well away from the crowd.

With no dispute to remedy,
Only calm remains.
As it caresses and fondles,
Any sensation to sustain.

Being left to imaginings,
The selection is vast.
Though no place is safe,
From that diverse past.

If choice has no boundary
Among all the fantasy . . .
Then preference finds a companion,
In the ultimate hypocrisy.

A-Muse

A-MUSE

My inspiration is a Muse
who stirs me when my mind is bleak
to conjure up a mental fuse
igniting thoughts that I will seek

coherent schemes of words that soothe
creating words as poets do
with words as crude as well as smoothe
her cradled words awating you 

a whispering Calliope
resounds in epic poetry
a favorite muse of my theme
a voice that trebles as it teems

she fondles all my words of love
onto her breast that I adore
I stare up to the clouds above 
now we are bonding in rapport

A-Muse-Sing Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
March 24, 2020

Dark Room On Paper

The good witch is still trying hard to collect the future

Nostalgic and post-modern she fondles her crystal ball

With soft hands she embraces Gaia and its sepia hue

Oblivious to oblivion she attempts to elude the inevitable 

A monochrome reminder of the future’s soft calling


If the earth was flat warriors would fall of the edges

But her grip remains an illusion of human endeavour

And yet the photographer’s lens refuses acceptance

'My paradigm is one of lingering hope' he seems to allude

The voice of a renegade artist while the shutter is closed


The mind wanders along fantasy’s perambulating soul

Blends out a scream shot phases into caring surrender

Of a world not quite forgotten in hearts of compassion

Tables need turning and sheets hold fragrance of love

Flickering light embraces translucent impermanence


Its not rocket science to kindle an ephemeral candle

With astronauts on the moon and apocalyptic star wars

Prophesy’s calling however resigns to a parallel universe

In which the dark ages have come to haunt humankind

Clairvoyants see photophiles show and the poet must write


29th February 2020

2020 Chastity Belt

There is a notorious flirt
Who fondles beneath a girl's skirt
But some of his "charm"
Set off her alarm
"Digital Intruder Alert!"

A Crescent River Bend

A crescent river bend
Exiting from bathroom
Perhaps to set a trend
As nude as a fresh bloom
Down the dancing stairs


Did she leave her gown
In a room downstairs
She is looking like a chair
Bending her head down
Palms close to wet hair


Sensuous sunbeam
Can't keep contained 
Fondles the cup rim
Tide in blood unchained
Shivers river bend


Electrons move faster
In the palming shelter
Balance helter-skelter
River in disaster
A full throated rooster


Nude clouds now
Into pink clasp
Please not now, not now
Senseless tight grasp
Arithmetic lapse


Obvious thunderstorms
Lightning from brain to toe
Broken all norms
Sow sow please more so
Ground slips below


Two undraped urges
Two passions in their skin
Two stark surges
Mingling their chins
Blossoms of teen



Tremendous clashes
Sweet rains start
In the ebbing flashes
Children put on T-shirts
Pink beats the hearts




October 18, 2019
NUDE - descending a staircase Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless

Once Upon a Time In Wharfedale

When winter’s end is imminent and springtime soon becoming
blackbird and thrush in noble song bumble bee busily humming.
Scent of air fondles the hazy morning scattered seed cultivates 
memoirs of time, to ramble throughout lob wood and hear sweet 
bluebells across the valley chime.

sweet song of nature
the sound of the butterfly
harmony at dawn

Hosts of yellow heads briskly swaying hillside meadows in unison 
bloom, fussy rodents in jubilant paradise; Street House Farm in
nature’s plume. Pussy willow caresses the embankment; Ridding's 
Farm basks in the heat of June, inspired scythe displays ancient skill
fragrant hedgerow sings dawn’s vibrant tune.

tears of dew sparkle
grassy stems in sunlight sway
a whisper of wind

Ocean of radical heather signify welcome waves of moorland mist, deluge of dewy tears fall on this place heavenly kissed. Wooden bench outside the old hay barn, where the sultry breeze in sugar hill dances, orchestrates the old folk with war-torn minds reminisce those given a life of second chances.

for to those this day
a touch upon rustic face
nature’s sweetest voice.

 © Harry J Horsman 2019

A Sky On the Forehead

A sky on  the forehead 
Lilacs and larks inside
Eyes  enjoying the bliss
Give me milk with bread


Those deep touches of joy
How sweet your palm mom
Molecules mount a gull
Your smile so cute and coy


Look at pockets of my grin
And the pink grapes in bloom
Endless ripples from my lungs
The moon seated on my chin


Just two frontal teeth
From the waiting gums
Tomatoes bloom always
Melodies giggle as I breathe


Whoever fondles us
We say, Buenos Dias
Overjoyed they smile
At the baby Jesus

_____________________________________
May31, 2019

Baby Face What's You 
THINKIN 2 Poetry Contest

Sponsored by: James Edward Lee Sr.
Baby Picture Number 3

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