Long Intoxicatingly Poems
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My roots of Creator worship
are fed and watered
by Creation appreciation
and curiosity
Whether this might also be true
and sometimes disappointingly false
for you
A resonantly sacred
sometimes prophetic
heart
With a resilient
health developing
ecosystemic mind
For whom my tricky part,
or one of many
as I recall...
Furtive sidewind glances
to my youthful left
Where he sat
in his magnificent
thick stacked darkness,
My closet worship thing
is impossible to come out
with perfect timing
with someone I am powerfully,
intoxicatingly, enraptured by
with
within
and preferably not without
Yet have no hope or intention
of ever being naked
or even transparent,
and certainly not vulnerable,
within his sight and hearing.
If said out loud,
then unveiled too soon
to not cause unwanted predative
seductive concerns.
If not said too soon
then inevitably disclosed too late
to retain resonant
and resilient trust
No hidden agendas,
no closet colonizing cases,
no aging platonic relationships
continuing to work
and play better
in just right silence
of unseen
unheard
unfelt
untouched emotions
without attaching motions
Back through roots of Creator worship
fed and watered
by Creation appreciation
and thick stacked curiosity.
Is it wrong that I want
your arms around mine
Your fingers skating across my side
cheeks the color of red wine
My emotions give me away, and I can't hide
Your gaze
So intense, that it frightens me.
Kissing the nape of my neck softly
Your Hot breath lingers intoxicatingly
I want to breathe you in
But first please, Lift up my chin.
Compare my eyes to the blue of the ocean
Press your lips to mine...........
........in...........................
.............slow...................................mo........tion........................
..............
Remeber to Drink deep from within.
So that I can know what it is to truly love again
THE KISS
The kind that make angels sigh
So beautiful, it would make Da Vinci Cry
We are the reason for the Mona Lisa’s smile
Push the hair out of my eyes
stay with me to watch the sunrise
Is it wrong
that I want
to fall back to sleep again
So that this dream will not die in vain.
Form:
Welcome to Gutter Ball Saloon
Where careful words waft through the tavern;
Serpentine swirls with evil intentions.
Watch your step and pocketbook.
Observe the chap in the derby hat.
No, the other one.
No, the other one…with the honeycomb vest.
That singular sap is one of kind.
Or one of ten; a soldier-still pin at full attention
Standing in formation on the glossy maple
Eager to be wrecked, toppled head-over-heels.
Spare.
He’s been gassed, you see.
Some fancy bouquet of honey perfume
Mingled with cheap cigars and one too many.
He’s feeling lucky and takes a gamble.
Throws in his hand and a couple of dice for good measure.
Snake eyes!
Just look at that dame.
Her dark velvet accentuated physique
Candy apple lips that drip pearls
A string of words she drapes about his neck
Intoxicatingly beautiful.
The phrasing…and she’s a bit of a looker too.
A real up-and-comer with a knack for bowling.
Spare.
A quick spritz and yank of the string.
I dare you to look away.
He’s choking…but of course he is.
He never had a chance in that bowler hat.
Just look at those red cheeks.
Flush.
She’s got him by the balls.
Snake eyes.
Now if you’ll look closely…
I’ve got your wallet.
Strike!
4/26/15
I see the students of OLSH College, whispering and wondering
Some look lifeless, drained dry of will
Some looked scared, struggling still
I see them travel from grass to concrete
Daring not to cross the street
I see the leaves, the trash, the dirt
Feeling unwanted, discarded and hurt
I see a magpie, flying so free
At OLSH College, I see
I hear the bustling of OLSH College, trying to wrap up the day,
The scraping of chairs, the screeching of doors and footsteps of students who stray
I hear the wind whooshing past my ear
The magpie cawing, brazen, without fear
I hear pencils cry as they slave away
Sharpeners scream as they are forced to slay
Yet I hear the laughter of happy students
Bribed with games and chocolate presents
Satisfied and satiated, I listen as they cheer
At OLSH College, I hear
I smell the odour of OLSH College, sweat slipping slowly under the sweltering summer sun
Perfume masked the onion-like smell with flowers and freshness in one
But nothing beats the intoxicatingly tangy lemon tree
And the pleasant sweetness of the Azalea Charlie
And yet I am lulled into the canteen
Of chocolates treats sickeningly sweet
My nose leads me to the scent as I beg my stomach to quell
At OLSH College, I smell
I feel the bricks of OLSH College, each with its own story to tell
Hard and brittle the bricks are underneath
The peeling white paint that hides beneath
The dreary posters smooth to the touch
Of plastic and paper rough
But just outside the cool windowpanes
Wet, little droplets race down as it rains
Swift glances at those blotches I steal
At OLSH College, I feel
I taste the bitterness of OLSH College, of teachers and students alike
Unmotivated girls, not ready for the world
Eating their lunches with delight
It seemed the bribes they had been given
Of sticky gummies red and blue
Had not changed their minds, to gossip they were smitten
Oh, teachers don’t you wish they were chewing glue!
Yet I am putrid green, brimmed with envy
My stomach has gone on a one-month vacation
I wish I were a magpie, eating for free
I would take left and right at slightest invitation
Dear Ramadan, please make haste
At OLSH College, I taste
The woman whose eyes tell a tale of a different story captures my curiosity. Wiser than her peers, whom she has fooled with a nonchalant exterior and disregard for her surrounding animosity. I see a heart and a real mind that's full of kindness and generosity.
Fierce and gritty, humour sharp and witty. Witnessing her side of madness she's kept hidden from the world, to me is such a pity. I am intrigued by the woman who smiles at me from across the room, so charmingly and pretty.
Observing as she tucks a loose strand of ringlet curls behind her ear, truly feels sublime, I could listen to that laugh forever, a timeless-sounding chime. Slowly in my direction and then closely walking by, the floral scent she left behind is sweet and intoxicatingly divine. I've yet to think of how, nor do I know when, but the woman whose eyes are full of tales, one day will be mine.
To be her true self always. To feel loved all of the time
A rose grows from my heart.
Its roots run deep into my veins.
Its petals of golden crimson
Bring pleasures to my being.
Its stem of thorny spears
Calms my many fears.
Protects my soul from temptations,
No need for explanations.
Ravishing its fragrance.
Intoxicatingly divine.
As from the pages of Genesis
Drifts far into my senses.
The beauty of a rose.
Likened to Juliet’s prose,
Savors romantic favors
In multitudes of flavors.
Likened to new found love
Awash in blissful lust.
The serenity of the aged
Who perch on evening steps.
Poetic phrases grace
The many pages
Of the love
I have for thee.
Blessed is the love that
Grows from deep within.
For Timothy Lee
I often lose my composure watching you near
for love as a muse stays our passion infused.
My insides ignite, deliciously alive
within sparks your persona designs.
Years of making love have not dimmed
the passion between our her and him!
Each day clarifies we made right choices.
We've bled from our share of thorns, but
being in your arms, more often than not,
is as a comfort bed of silky, thornless roses.
Shared years have not our appetite whet.
Our mutual longing grows stronger yet.
Any day reducing me to bruised or confused
may nighttime heal sleeping wrapped with you.
Love and lust both flame your ardor to ignite
and claim me in sighed, surrendering cries.
Your calloused hands are alpha paradise
on my thighs, your lips tantalize my layers.
Both my skin and mind intoxicatingly spin
making every care disappear somewhere.
My senses mesh elations while flesh bound
'til our capitulation and adoration sound.