Long Affection Poems
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Giving up on Love
In the depths of love's betrayal, I found myself adrift upon a sea of tears. Each wave brought me closer to my knees and surrendering, as if fate itself conspiring against me." Yet even as the tempest raged, I clung desperately to hope. But when faith turned to dust, and trust become a distant memory, I knew that love had left my soul possibly forever. Thus, with a heavy heart, I cast aside my dreams of everlasting love. For what is affection but a fleeting mirage, shimmering enticingly on the horizon, only to fade away with the setting sun? I stand here at the precipice of love's end. The echoes of laughter and joy still resonate within our memories, yet the silence of solitude whispers gently in the wind. What is love but a flickering flame that dances wildly in the darkness, cosuming everything in its path before vanishing into the ether? Love betrays all when giving into the blindness of hope..!
How devastating it is, how devastating
when closeness fades, when the connection is trapped
within the walls of our Material
Relationships: bits of affection emerging
seldom, many-guarded; bits of vulnerability
worrying they've been shut out—
I almost ache to see the bond later
that's left its trust in the corner, I mean
the trust that's left its bond, recalling too
that interpersonal nightmare, Estrangement,
in which each heart must scurry
to rejoin the plush interiors of its other,
pushing through, opening indiscriminately
because Love won't take what's only half:
one soul blurring forever
into another's distance.
If we can't know the boundaries between our souls
in life, what will they be in solitude,
corrupted steadily by fear,
pride, or indifference, by intimacy
that depends on courage to survive?
People should keep their walls to themselves
for the remainder of their days: who needs
some stranger's vulnerabilities, wounds,
or insecurities? Darling,
what I cherish in you I pray will always stay
the hell close to me.
But how beautiful it is, how beautiful
when closeness blooms, when connection's free
within the warmth of our Emotional
Bonds: bits of affection emerging
often, many-cherished; bits of vulnerability
thriving, unafraid—
I delight to see the bond later
that's kept its trust in the center, I mean
the trust that's kept its bond, recalling too
that interpersonal dream, Intimacy,
in which each heart must soar
to join the plush interiors of its other,
pushing through, opening indiscriminately
because Love will take the whole:
one soul blending forever
into another's embrace.
If we can't know the boundaries between our souls
in life, what will they be in unity,
nurtured steadily by trust,
courage, and devotion, through intimacy
Does that depend on sharing to thrive?
People should keep their walls to themselves
for the remainder of their days: who needs
some stranger's vulnerabilities, wounds,
or insecurities? Darling,
what I cherish in you I pray will always stay
the hell close to me.
With a gentle hand, he caresses my bare skin
Warming breaths send tingles across my chest
Beating out a rhythm to soothe and arouse
Feelings of tenderness, willing me to touch him
When I embrace him, brushing my lips against his
There is the promise of revelation blushing within
Whispers of dewdrops slide down my thigh and melt
Along his chest, there is a powerful presence of potency
Wherever my nakedness touches him with yearning
There beckons a sigh that mesmerizes me with desire
Reaching beyond my lips, my body, into the core of my being
Heartfelt intimacy which lingers within my spirit’s hope for more
Welcoming me to trace my lips across his bare cheek
He is eager to lean into me, aching to feel my vulnerability
Excited to the depths of dreams and fantasies, he strokes
The edge of my waist, my thighs, my cheek, my heights
With a craving that implores me to feel the craving I feel for him
Dedicated to graceful fondling which encourages me into reveries
Aspirations of haunting love which colors my world in passions
Bestows my hungry heart with nostalgic plans for what is to come
Whimsical mysteries enchant me with their dreamlike feelings
Imploring me to adore this man who enhances my longings for affection
A sense of pure, secret seclusion for the two of us, two who are one
Hot fury for more, wanting, welcoming, waiting for what will come
Whatever transpires between our two souls, our two appetites
For the flesh to feel a fresh rainbow of emotions arising, enlightening
Creating a sense of deep fervency within us, telling us to share
This ambiance of freedom, wanton, spontaneous fire of sweet sensuality!
Sensuality Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
June 25, 2020
MY LEFT RIB
The day thee were created
A soul mate was made
Right from your left rib
She is your soul mate
A soul full of affection
Waiting for thy infection
Affection plus infection
To draw your vision
And catch your mission
He is eagerly waiting
For the presence of thee soul mate
Whose vessels are full of love
Thee soul mate thy love is vital
like a soul
Thy love is bleeding like a heart
Thy love is flowing like oxygen
I'm waiting for thy love
Pictorial like a heart
Waiting to see your eyes
Brighter like a rounded moon
Waiting to glance through the face
Lightening like the sun
Thy black skin like Indigo
Thy white teeth like corn
She's eagerly waiting
Waiting for her lover
Praying day and night
For a true lover
Waiting for a right man
To ask for her right hand
To make a right partner
For the eternity right journey
If love is blind
Then let I be a blind
For I want is a true lover
If love is a dream
Let I be a dreamer
Continue dreaming of my soul mate
Till the dream come reality
If love is a river
Let I be a swimmer
For I want is a lover
If love is an ocean
Then let I be a sailor
For I sail the boat to look for a lover
If love is a war
Let I be a warrior
And save my lover
If love is a ball
Let I be a player and be a keeper
For I want to keep my lover
Dear soul mate
If thee be a root
I will be a stem
If you be a flower
I will be a fruit
If you be a snail
I will forever be thy shell
If thee be the head
I will be the neck
For I hang thy head
If thee be the tree
I will be branch
For branch we use to climb
Eagerly! Eagerly! Eagerly!
I do wait for thee
©® Abdul Wakeel 31/7/17
Don't copy and paste as writer. All right reserved
They were on the summit of the hill as if poised in a portrait.
The breeze ruffling the stud's forelock and mane as he arched his head
responding to the reins he moved on as his rider leant forward and
rubbed his poll in affection. Tensed up his withers quivering he sprang into
action careening down the slope pulling up lame. His rider dismounted
and ran his hand down his legs finding some heat in the fetlock. Lifting
his leg he found the cause a stone lodged in his frog, using his hoof
pick he dislodged it thanking his lucky stars that it was not a pulled stifle.
Checking his hind legs for heat in the hocks and gaskin he found all to be well.
He patted his croup in affection and re-examined the front leg still a little heat but his coronet seemed fine. A week's rest should put him right allowing the bruised frog time to heal. It would be tight to keep him fit for their big show in three weeks time but a strained stifle would have put him out of action for at least six weeks. On foot he lead Silver back to the stables and there applied a poultice to his hoof which he would change daily until the frog recovered, leaving Silver munching happily on hay. He walked into the tack room and replaced his tack and stood admiring the rows of rosettes that lined the walls.. The upcoming show would give him the final proof of how superb he was and then people would flock to bring their mares to him and his line would be perpetuated long into the future.
He was not born roaring.
He was born smaller than expectation,
his spine curving slightly
as though the body itself hesitated
to enter the world.
They would later call it omen.
But in the beginning
it was only a child
learning how quickly affection tilts
toward symmetry.
His brothers moved easily through rooms.
Doors opened wider for them.
Light seemed to settle on their shoulders
without effort.
He understood early
that the world prefers what does not disturb it.
And he disturbed it.
Not by choice —
but by presence.
There is a particular solitude
in being watched
before being known.
It hardens slowly.
Not into hatred at first —
into precision.
He became observant.
Measured.
Careful with language.
Careful with silence.
If love would not be given freely,
power could be taken.
The crown did not glitter to him;
it answered something.
To stand above
what had always stood above him —
to force history
to pronounce his name without pity.
But power does not untwist the spine.
It does not quiet the memory
of laughter stopped mid-breath.
By the time the princes vanished
into the stone mouth of the Tower,
he had convinced himself
that necessity and cruelty
were the same word.
That is how ambition survives.
On the eve of Bosworth
sleep would not hold him.
The dead have a way of returning
without sound.
Not accusing.
Not raging.
Simply existing.
Proof
that what is done
does not dissolve.
When he fell,
it was not theatrical.
No thunder split the sky.
Just a body —
human, breakable —
meeting the ground.
History would name him monster.
But history never records
the first moment
a boy understands
he is less wanted
than the others.
And sometimes
that is where it begins.
My father is not the biological father of my siblings
So I am the bridge, I am the link in the family
I, alone, carry his blood, so it is
all the more poignant, and painful that
I am the daughter who disappoints
I am the daughter who didn't join the Navy
who didn't graduate from college
who didn't marry a military man
who didn't give him a grandson
I am the literature-loving daughter of the man
who can not abide books, the man
with no patience for poetry or art or music (excepting Johnny Cash)
I am the (usually) alcohol-abstaining daughter of the man
who can not seem to show affection without the buzz of beer in him
I live in the land of rain
He has retired to sunnier plains
Still we share the same face
And, for thirty four years, the same last name
I see in me his stubborness
the same silent avoidance of problems and pain
the same wanderlust
the same silly habit of leaving keys in the door
Of hating to wait in airport lounges, in doctor's offices
the same scribbly handwriting
the same distaste for celery and peppers
For better or worse
I am not me
Without him.
7/15/18
standing in a state of betrayal
overwhelmed in nature
words chosen and spewed
brought the ultimate separation
between myself and someone I held in great esteem
how could she be so insensitive?
my life, spiraling out of control
embarrassment and shame enveloped my very existence
she shared what was not hers to utter!
judgement, she clearly defined
right then, in that moment
I saw the opponent within her spirit!
an adversarial assignment
I had to disband!
My Lord’s Love, I was then reminded
forgiveness and love
graced on Calvary’s Hill
overshadowed the hurt and emptiness -
the accuser tried to insert
Oh! what a glorious sign
compassion engulfed my heart
bending my knees, in
complete submission
praying He reveals Himself to her
As He had done me;
Life changing
October 18, 2021
~Ms. Affection
Contest: The High Road Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
there is a painting at the art gallery,
I have a strong affection for;
it is a man that calls me from the past,
in the year 1670 lived this nobleman.
long dark hair falls to his shoulders,
a strong face with fathomless eyes;
eyes full a passion and desire,
he does not smile, yet I adore him.
I want to reach out to him,
he seems to see me, beckon to me;
come to me- he whispers,
aristocratic is his demeanor, dignified.
O, but could I step within the frame,
be in his world- in his time;
we would hold hands in silence,
for he would know without question . . .
my heart and soul are his forever.
__________________________
March 01, 2023 (Repost)
Poetry/Freed Verse/the painting
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1528-736-01
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, You Pick Again
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 03/02/2023
Third Place
As I bow in heartfelt genuflection
to think upon the Greeks
who divined three words
for Love and it's reflection
Agape is the hightest form divine
with selfless care for those who are mine
It's fruit is known by what I do
and building all the parts of you
phileo is brotherly affection
the natural friendship and it's connection
the love that resides in family
within instinct and it's propensity
Eros seems to be most appreciated
never have I found it one who's hated
Two sides to Eros have manifested
both sides has mankind ever tested
Lust and the table of the self
or love of mate and pleasure in it's wealth
All of us has been given this in measure
the dispensing of it can give us pleasure
But rapture is contained when all three live
when we with complete heart choose to give
all of us the truth within resisted
but knowledge of it ever has persisted
to teach us which we are to excercise
the breath of spirit which within us lies
will direct upon us our course and path
and when we pass love is our epitath
May truth ever be gleaned from Noble Men
Please note I accidently left out storge
family love in greek and that may not be
the correct spelling...
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