The most beautiful things in life cannot
be seen or touched, but can be felt by the heart.
— HELEN KELLER
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It was just a slight sight of your beauty,
that spurred my heart to start to race.
Lust and love swam side by side in my veins—
some bound to haem, some dance to hymns.
The choice of dominance–no longer mine;
lechery, at times, sailed faster,
leaving love to gasp in breathless pretense.
Other times, love was the master.
In my brain they took to serious fight,
Both injured but neither took to flight,
My brain was concussed by their fright,
And confusion replaced their freight.
They both ran to my soul that they had stolen,
There, they tortured me with their fangs,
Their greed my spirit could no more cope with,
But they stayed on in defiance.
Their journey within me became endless,
Yet far from my heart your love stayed,
Come closer to free me of their torture,
Otherwise, my brain will soon explode.
Her marital ring gleamed on her left hand,
Yet lust was what she had carefully planned.
Her beauty, stunning, left me wanting more,
But lechery weighed heavy at my core.
I spoke, though words fell silent in my mind,
But what she heard left her in tears confined.
Her tears, a blush of crimson faintly dyed,
I never knew why she had cried, and cried.
Days dragged, her elegance tormented with glee,
I spoke little so lust begged to flee.
Till one night, a moment I won't forget,
When fate rewarded me with her hot sweat.
Where was this beauty before she was chained?
She seemed truly mine, yet my heart is drained.
Lust suddenly drove love far from my sight,
Though sweet, it was definitely not right.
The door of secrecy soon left unlocked,
The hush-hush brought by lust no longer knocked.
A wild wind blew it to the ears of shame.
Lechery scorched us in a low blue flame.
Suddenly a baby to out push,
Its not warned mother in a wild bush;
By training a keeper of record,
The least she would attention accord:
Her baby's first cries in good cassette
Her own wet tears in a TV set...
Now, things are bound to be different,
The cause for it all - too transparent;
A leafy theatre not labor room's,
Shrubs and weeds when brought camera zooms
A company for safe delivery
Should the cold shoulder give Iivery
A still birth her husband's archery
Her husband Bad Slave to lechery.
Dilated pupil captures a partner with her submission
Above sadness, eyes sea sunk in upset unquenchable
Desperation lodged in lagoon swims to 2021 surface
Air refilling deflated lungs floats a Goldi locked trophy
Drawn from decaying pages of housewife magazines
Overtly womanly hip to waist ratio cinched on display
Empathy white tidal wave, compassion washes angst
Surrogate heart fed off rise fall arousal bursts buttons
Nostalgia learns Stu's language, sucking word marrow
Omens of history trip a mirrored future, path predicted
Sorrow entangled sheet furrows, wrath burrowed deep
Trauma not lost thru lustful aggressor swamp syphon
Welcome fragrant frail pale spurs a sturdy demeanour
Enveloped open emotions compel his chest responds
Lechery leaves detail aside, abides with blind present
Longing to cast away loneliness, romance sails rough
8th February
Dictated by Wharf air (after warfare)
DADA DOES NOST WELL
For the life of me
I don’t know why we’d be
In that car of mine weaving through lanes
And me driving like I was insane.
Aren’t I insane though?
It comes and goes
Like the cardinals I sometimes glimpse
Perched on a branch or on the fence.
Honeysuckle, burnt and smoking sage
Reminds me of a younger age
When I walked through woods with my best friend
And I thought those years would never end.
Pull me apart and look for the seed
That was once my heart and made me bleed.
Assault me, go on, get me back.
I know I could do with one hard slap.
Devour me, my love, my dear.
I run toward all things that I should fear.
I took off that ring you never wore,
But here I stand still wanting more
Of your abuse, your treachery;
I miss the passion, lechery.
Good God, I’ve done it all again
And I don’t know who’s to forgive me of the sin
Of hating myself but not who I once was.
But the poor girl knows not what she does.
(My first Horror poem)
celibate cauldron awaiting lechery
eager flames taunting the big pot
succumbing woods severing their sanity
enclosure of trio cornerstones sans flaws
drifting wind tarried draped in its aroma, away carried
trio Hags before a nagging cave
trickled steps as they sang and raved
round the big pot, invoking the craved
straying shavers sans dread
blew their joy, tossing heads
till fate bought them to sell
blown joy met severed zeal
trio Hags baked trio kids.
19:10:19:08:56
Did you tire of one President's lecturing and preaching?
Do you cringe at another's tweets, his lechery and "leechering?"
Then as George W Bush Jr's term fades from the annals of recency
Let us recall the stirring words of this man of abiding decency
"Junior" as the USA's President was a bit of an anomaly
As he observed: "I know how hard it is to put food on your family." (Jan, 2000)
It was rather hard to take his Presidency all too seriously
After this: "I know the human being and fish can coexist." (Sept., 2000)
For education, he and Laura shared a passion, a yearning
To wit: "Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?" (Jan, 2000)
Of course, Bush could also be sharp as a tack, downright uncanny
Like the time he bragged, "They misunderestimated me!" (Nov, 2000)
And after eight years in office, "W" had become quite the orator
As seen in this reflection: "I think I was unprepared for war, --er." (Dec, 2008)
So there you have it, a smattering of evidence
~ That speaking the King's English is not required of a President
SAINT AGATHA
blessed with a womb and breasts
deviant from lechery
she stayed a virginal bride until her death
given only to Christ
Quintian disdained and disturbed her faith
shredding the dignity of her chest
humbling her on earth
but in edenic embrace a martyr’s reborn
2/13/2018
* I am reading Sister Wendy On Prayer She talks about Giambattista Tiepolo’s The Martyrdom Of Saint Agatha. So personal to us women, mutilation of any kind. This rends the heart. Perhaps I will attach a copy of the painting. If not you can look it up.
Stressed out of the monuments of inclination.
The strokes of desire, her urge sought to relish.
Starved dim in all embodiment of mortality.
The line drawn f discipline was faded in tincture.
A yearning passion fr lechery in negativity.
As she basked off morality for selfishness,
such consciousness of a groom was swept in miles.
Misconduct in unfaithfulness defying fidelity.
Selfish interest baked on the iced soul of man.
She had strayed off the doctrines of perfidiousness.
Wandered the streets of sin to venture into more sins.
She has tied on a cloak of secrecy for a better forth.
Bought her silence with thoughts of happiness,
Denying her soul ta free conscience for the best.
The many eyes of Qiniso’s love-life
There was the one with the soft eyes
Speaking to a peaceful existence
The one with the dark eyes
Which reflected her ill-treatment at the hands of the meanest of men
She had her dagger out to exact revenge on ALL men
An unapologetic misandrist
The one with piercing eyes
Threatening to do the unthinkable
If the circumstances so dictated
Darting eyes
Unsure of which love-path to follow
Loving eyes
Casting warmth on his soul
Fearful eyes
Unsure of how long this would last
Guilty eyes
Speaking to a checkered past
Blank eyes
Reflecting an empty soul
Devoid of hope
Wide, bright eyes, speaking to unparalleled intelligence
Innocent eyes
Untainted by the evils of this world
Beady eyes,
Screaming lechery and malice
As someone once said: the eyes are the windows of the soul
Gateway to Hate
I feel different than I did before,
Something’s changed,
I’ve broken loose, and set myself free from this cage.
The world screws you everytime it gets a chance, until you’re in the ground.
With a black-toothed smirk I turned it all around.
Feelings are gone, I lost them all,
The list goes on and on,
The only one left is malice.
They want to spill themselves, take the weak way out,
I want the opposite, erase the rest, now they’ll stop finding things to spit about.
When I’m done there will be no more drama, no more he said she said, no more idiocy,
I have no religion, elephant or donkey,
Down with Republicans and Democracy,
I sin everyday and I don’t care, Never going to atone.
For the rest of my pain struck walk, I’ll walk alone.
Time to feel the pain,
Feel the suffering,
Nothing left to gain,
No one changing,
Time to lose your sane,
Embrace the malice,
Taking hold of greed,
Clench your fist,
Taking what you need,
Becoming a sloth,
Enjoying your own lechery,
Make them eat the moth,
Feeling ultimate treachery,
Walk through the final gate,
And unleash all your hate.
In the human equation,
life's reduced to statistics.
It's the patterns that matter,
zero or one, on or off.
Confronting indifference,
fear festers into anger.
And gnawing pangs of hunger
force the soul to question sin.
As lechery deals in flesh,
hypocrisy sets the price.
And a substitute for love,
lust is an expensive dish.
Reality demeans dreams
while embracing fantasy.
And buries encrypted truths
waiting to be deciphered.
Genetically linked, we're
individually cast.
Yet our programmable lives
are governed by statistics.
PIGEONS OF LOVE
I was at the wrong place
At the wrong time
You were at the right place
At the right time
I was in need
You were in greed
I was incapable
You were enable
When I was weak
You gave me strength
When I needed to speak
You listened
But it was all a scam
All the sweet talks were sham
Just to satisfy all your lechery
My whole life is in misery
@Copyright Meline Ngo. September 9, 2015
Lifeless, I lie here
On the bed of lust
Under the beefy quilt
of mounting shame
With oozing hurt
And fading flame
To feed your lechery
with drops of salaciousness
Behind the closed doors
of raging prurience
As the rays of sun melt
In the heart of burning sky
I lay self down in gloom
And crouch down at your sight
As I bow, you drag me down
To feed your hungry soul
With the tender flesh
Of my puerile charm
And strangled glow
when the moon shines
Over the dying remains
Of my ebbing mind
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My interpretation of the portrait named 'Sleeping Child'
http://www.stephaniedeshpande.com/porfolio/
They said we are monkeys of the first order
that they found us grimpering from branch to branch-
they said they found us in our wildest state-
unredeemed and unrefined like crude oil.
They said we were but a primitive breed
No more important as the dirt beneath their feet.
Yet still, our land furnished their barn
Their very women run to our lands for tan-
They holiday here and have taken upon themselves
those very primitvities they had so decried-
They have come begging, to be among us
for their own lands have been defiled tenfold
By the lust of man after man
gross Lechery of woman after woman-
All, the decadence of their society.
Since they have defiled their lands
and made it a haven for the antichrist
They have run to our sweet land
with unfathomable plans in their hand.
Lord bless Africa.
By Gerald Nforche
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