Long Cupping Poems
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Oh, my darling Arthur, this euphoric feeling what is it?
Is it something from sensual pleasure?
Or something in my dreams?
Is it perspiration glistening on a manly chest?
Or when I have rivulets of perspiration running between my breasts?
Is it lying on a beach somewhere when bodies meet as one?
With waves crashing rhythmically a thrust with every one?
Is it when one runs a hand up and down my body with such a careful touch?
Hardly touching my skin at all, but it still seems to burn so much.
The glistening of thigh beneath a gown, that catches my dream just briefly.
Or the décolleté so smooth and soft when lips caress so sweetly?
Oh, my darling Arthur, this euphoric feeling what is it?
Is it something from sensual pleasure?
Or something in my dreams?
Lying with you on the riverside regaining control of gasping breath,
the ripples down the spine, the dampness I feel on your back.
The tenderness and trembling, as I can feel the weight of you,
but you’re not heavy you are my lover so true.
I welcome the feel of skin, the muscular stomach so smooth and tanned
the cupping of my breast in your large hands. The sweet caress
that sets me on fire the look in your eyes strong with desire. The waking,
but I want to feel more, when will it be my turn? You are the man i adore.
26/6/2020
Entered into Silent One’s
Sensuality poetry contest.
Just as his marbles ran beneath bed, he lost track of time, when he
Advanced to find them; but spied shoe box with Grandma's grands
Her hands had labelled names to each stash; he claimed his stock and went to shop
Money was plentiful; grams good business sense in Harlem procured pure wealth
And Jahmal soon had friends galore; he would pay for early withdrawal of inheritance
Love was not around when uncle was summoned, he drove the boy to remote spot.
Black was not beautiful that day. Uncle and his friend were brutal boxers, then
Right amidst summer crowd, he was let out to run home cupping nakedness in shame
If welts and bruised psyche gave remorse to Grandma, boarding school was gift
Gone was innocence touched by pain as he flexed, stood to blame and shame
Hung his head in humility, then hang on to life and what was left of scarred self
To know him is to love him... now he's sensitive Social Worker.
*
.
please
fill please
in you
my would
heart
by
cupping
your
right
hand
over
the
right
side
of
the
poem
and
pray
for
healing
Half of my heart is not well
Please cup your hand to complete it..
Dusty Rain
Puffs of random promise coldly awaken the hope of droughts thirsty ticket holders.
Parched dust joins in pig-like, snout in the trough, dry tongued greeting.
Satiations mud bath ensues
leaves rub their hands together
cupping cool water
soothing the screaming roots.
Flowers lean back
rinse their colored tresses
rejoice in the trickle
of renewal.
Worms lay – Cleopatra-like -
self seeking mud worshippers
freed from their dungeons.
Puddled streets shiny rainbow hues
search for the pot-o-gold
of street signs end.
Dandelions shake golden crowns
mimic the sun,
smile on the dream
of future days.
Garden Buddha,
licks stoic lips, smiles
cool trickles tickle his girth.
Thin groundhog sleeps
knowing his prized shoots
will soon be plenty.
Birds succumb
to the perfume of petrichor,
dance in fence top chorus line
to the dusty drum beat of
Spring rain.
6/5/2016
submitted to – ika-labing-tatlo(13th): Rain, Rain com my way – Poetry Contest
sponsor – binibining P.iNK
Circle of a world
you warmly surround me
Holding visions of a dream
Melting chocolate to the soul
Cupping hands together
captures pulse beats awakening
sunshine through misted bridge promise
dewdrops each morning
The eyes opening crystals
those of a deep ocean wave takes hold
Satin touching softly velvet silk
pearls washed pure fragrance
Within a starlight kisses cheeks
singing rivers in delight
Beholding you beautiful
Arrowhead of Cupid Striking
Surf falling down deeply
sweeping winds rising
an angel the heart's wings
flying with grace sparkling back
passengers gather while their turn awaits
very few standing out
except for one, sprawling along my seat
room for me, just about
awkward two-handed pillow cupping head
beyond waking, no doubt
long brown trench-coat, boot soles with rugged tread
next train ! should I nudge him ?
needful resting or chemical stupor
not for me to judge him
why interfere ? his world, his well-earned dreams
very hard to budge him
startled, distracted, nearly miss my call!
still he is not shifting
urgent rush on-board, his image fading
sit back, eyes uplifting
spy those familiar curls, grey wooly hat
conversation drifting
earwigging, eavesdropping across the aisle
their words come and go
tune-in and filter out the ambient
expose their to-and-fro
they are other people, not my business
but still I want to know!
his mature companion, black-haired beauty
she smiles, ten years older
for them, no others on their train of thought
like coinciding spheres
bodies tilt towards overlapping touch
as space between them clears
carriage swaying to their sound, back and forth
they listen intently
animated, probing his next response
she lectures him gently
university trends, what does he seek?
he replies attently
predator woman and willing victim
marooned oblivious
to those furtive glances, the flapping ears
attuned assiduous
audience pleasured, unfolding theatre
cocooned delirious
rails switch, clickety-click, clickety-clack
asks his destination
the one just coming but then no surprise
no procrastination
they stay together with no track of time
end-of-the-line station
reality tears, they remain enthralled
their mobiles uploaded
walk on by, lowered voices on the cusp
demeanour encoded
then lost in the crowd, I wish them both well
destiny railroaded
From mouth to ear across a lifetime lived,
traveling strings tying lives together thread on thread.
Every one word building lifetimes;
bonded mud of bricks to house
our broken bags of trailing flesh.
We will hold each others heart,
we will hold each others head up high.
Better or worse for the word or two that has made,
will forever make, and always is,
the difference.
Speak this word or that, watch the matter of it all unfold,
past lives shaped and shaping now
in crucibles of all our conversations.
Words to bridge and touch this world,
like knives or axes falling,
slicing moments each peeled back,
revealing bullets spent and sailing
on to wounded tearful souls.
Comfort words,
words of love,
different shapes and sizes wrapped
in different voices heard.
Inflections, accents, whispered,
loudly shaped intense of spirit,
colored by emotion to enforce.
Chosen words of purpose:
dispatched, planned,
let fly in haste,
erecting endless layers to our waste.
Tools of our intention common to our time,
reserved and planned, chosen with meticulous care,
whose definitions matter more than when or where.
Piercing silent dreams,
floating on the breath of every God,
making mysteries of all we seem to be.
Mirrors made of silence once,
we soon are made of words that move us
through a doorway, joining into life.
Today, a workshop for the poet. Write about a cup.
Standing empty, purpose unfulfilled.
Imagination startled as I smash the cup inside my head.
A million shards of broken pottery lying on the floor.
Broken poems and promises lying on the floor.
Shards thrown out of context as are we.
Broken souls from out a shattered God.
Each shard, a refugee. You and me.
Metaphors attached to all the brokenness we own.
Cups of purpose seeking our fulfillment.
Joined to make a whole of all we hold;
become a cup our truth will then unfold.
What began as empty, filled with our life’s portion,
sharing, sipping, spilling all along the way.
Losing contents we may label dear
until the final tipping of a cup left upside down.
What words escape our pens that are not truth.
Whose content change the soul from which we bleed
Whether subject cup or love, or other siphoned dalliance,
at our finish will complete a lifetime’s cupping need.
the maple
l o o s e n s its amber hush,
leaves drifting
in slow, deliberate strokes
around the bench
she sits
in her denim skirt
and beige sweater,
mittens cupping
the briskness
of the watercolor air
a small stack
of pale pumpkins
rests beside her~
soft autumn accents
in the muted scene
before her,
a watering can waits,
and from its spout
a rabble of butterflies
rises,
tiny brush marks
of wandering color
she gazes
to her left,
comfortable
in the silent drift
of leaves and wings~
perhaps letting her thoughts
l o o s e n
the way the season
does
Venus
Casts a tiny shadow
Upon the ghostly snow
From its candle held by an extended hand
Of a cloaked man
Who trips through the stripped trees
Follows the fresh trail of reindeer
To our second-floor windowsills
Then on to rooftops lined with owls
Comet tails thrashing through the oval
Stars
The kids pretend to sleep
To the faint smell of hay
Their red stockings overflow with candy canes
Earlier in the gray day
As I walked my dog alone in the park
A herd of deer
Found a barren patch of grass
In the backyard of a farmhouse
Laid themselves out
Like real life figurines to a nativity scene
Four does curled up on all fours
Three bucks standing over them
Antlers like crowns
Two more does
Heads bowed
Grazing
Kitchen light
On
In the window
Next to a frozen pond
A swan curtsies and a sandhill crane bows
They nearly kiss
Looking on
In our bed
Between my wife and I
With his furry head laid on our pillow
Our golden retriever jerks from a dream
Whimpers perhaps
For my hand cupping his treat
Both cats stretch
Between our legs
Ears twitching to moles jingling
To the faint guiding light
Outside
It’s five before midnight
The animals will soon begin to talk
Though I’ve heard them
All my life
Hallelujah!
‘Sweat of life’; opening words of candour
Ushering a magic show to follow
She burst forth in delight, of love fervour
Adoring oneness, within heart mellow
Name of the poem, ‘elevating heart’
Laying low, she has posted six so far
‘And cupping my heart gently’ Gods love starts
We behold her divine play from afar
Resonation with euphoria clear
Enlivened by the throb of bliss within
Nectar elixirous open hearts spears
Canvas then coloured by love rendition
Entrée of poet, bright with elation
06-January-2021
Acrostic syllabic rhyme
written for ‘capture the essence’ poetry contest
sponsored by Margarita Lillico