Long Palm Poems
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Awaken the Beast Within
Feeling the heat of my approach,
Seeing the hunger burning in your gaze,
Anticipation builds to a fever pitch,
As I straddle your waist without delay.
My fingers trace the hard planes of your chest,
Exploring every dip and ridge I find,
Trailing lower still, seeking evidence of your desire,
Until I cup you firmly through fabric grown tight.
Your hardness throbs against my palm,
Betraying depths of want untold,
I palm you slow, feeling you pulse and twitch,
A primal rhythm, eagerly unfurled.
As my touch ignites sparks along your skin, our bodies meld together, two halves finally whole. I guide your hands to map the contours of my aching curves, inviting your worship, craving your claim upon my willing flesh. With a roll of my hips, I grind myself against the rigid proof of your lust, a shameless moan escaping my parted lips.
Take me, ravish me utterly until thought deserts us both and only sensation remains. Fill me, stretch me wide around your throbbing length as I cry out in ecstasy, begging for more, harder, deeper still. Paint my insides white with your essence, marking me irrevocably as yours alone. Let us lose ourselves entirely in base, primal bliss, writhing as one until the final shuddering waves of release consume us whole.
I still reach for you.
In the dark,
in the quiet,
in the spaces where your warmth
used to live.
My hand remembers.
It remembers your chest,
steady beneath my palm,
the heartbeat that guided me home.
It remembers the way you’d squeeze back
without words,
just to say you were there.
Now the sheets are cold.
The air feels wrong.
I move through rooms
that once held your laughter
and feel the silence pressing
against my ribs.
I thought love ended with anger,
with distance,
with choice.
But I never imagined
it could end
with absence.
They tell me you’re gone,
but my body refuses to believe it.
My hand keeps searching
for your hair,
your breath,
your touch -
finding nothing
but the echo of you
lingering like smoke.
How do I live in halves
when every part of me
was built to lean on you?
Where shall my hand rest now
that it can no longer rest on you?
I whisper your name
into the pillow
like a prayer no one answers.
The world keeps moving.
I stay still.
And in every small moment
between night and mourning,
I reach again
and find only air.
On the day our eyes open to the prism of the sun
Winter solitude would be gone
The avalanche of differences melts into nothingness
Through the same breath, through the same soul
We would live again as one, no matter who we are
No matter the colour of our skin, gay or straight
rich or poor, innocent or once condemned guilty.
No matter if we are lawyers or peasants
No matter what our political believes, nor our different religions.
A Catholic, a muslim, a Buddhist, hinduist, or a jew.
On that day We would all wear identical dresses
We would all be the significant other, because He died.
He died for all .Jesus died for Peter, John and Judah
For Lazarus and Maria Magdalene. He died for them
For him, for her,for me, and even for you.
He gave the dripping of his blood , and painful cry
for each and every name, engraved on His father's palm.
He was born to die, but its not His death that We celebrate
We celebrate His life, because We believe in life
We celebrate His forgivness, because We experienced
the beauty of forgivness , and the return of blissful joy.
We celebrate the gift of love, because love He bestowed .
He was born to die, but He was born to rise.
Upon death He has risen, through his death We survived.
Because of who He is, in the labyrinth of our night
there will always be the flicker of a candle
that fills our heart with hope and light.
" and the birds twitter like whispering violins"
Quote by - Constance La France
the sensual soft kiss of love
drips like warm honey upon the soul
as a fragrant candle flame
dances in the silent breeze of twilight
when lovers become dreamers
and dreamers gather wishes
in the tender palm of their heart
as nightbirds sing their lover's song
and the birds twitter like whispering violins
to become a glorious symphony
in a moment of time
wrapped in a ribbon of memory
shared as a wondrous gift of wonder
where lovebirds glide on the misty horizon
two silhouettes drifting away with the twilight
5/15/23
contest Writing Challenge A Quote
sponsor Constance La France
twenty minutes
with an ice cube in my palm. . .
ice king wannabe
My Conclusion:
cold stinging torture
becomes more bearable as. . .
ice turns to water
Insufficiently numbed. . .
my hand could now tolerate
a hole drilled through it
For Skat's ICE KING (in less than 10 lines) For the adventures one Poetry Contest
I really wanted to see how long it would take the cube to melt in my hand when I was laying out in the sun, around 100 degrees F. So I timed it and it took 20 minutes. It stung really bad for at least the first ten minutes and hurt all the way till the end but was much more bearable as it turned to water!! for me, this was like performing an experiment. I would not like to be the ice king.
I spend my day doing my mundane task
The future is an uncertain blinding mask
I try to peer into what lies ahead
But its all confusing and I come up with nothing instead
I gaze into the mysterious crystal ball
I want answers but see nothing at all
I would like to know what’s beyond that closed door
But when its opened I can’t tell what my life has in store
I search for it in an old quatrain
But when translated there is no knowledge to gain
I went to a fortune -teller who could read my palm
But they’re wasn’t any revealing lines of alarm
It doesn’t matter what’s in front of me or what I have to go through
I’ll beat the odds and overcome it as long as I have you
From the whisper of conception,
Man begins his endless march
A traveller unborn, adrift in the ocean of flesh,
Where heartbeat drums like sacred music
And dreams float in liquid silence.
Then birth
A violent dawn, a sudden cry,
He greets the earth with trembling eyes.
Love and hatred stretch their arms before him,
Pain and laughter twine like serpents in his path.
Hands gather to hail his coming,
Some warm with joy, others cold with envy
Yet all sing his song of arrival.
In childhood, innocence is his garment,
He knows not the shadow from the light,
But time, the stern teacher, strips the veil.
If fate grants him a cradle of comfort,
He dances in the halls of pleasure;
But if the world turns its iron face,
He tastes the hunger of the earth.
He learns, he loves, he strives,
He dreams of crowns and kindred hearts.
The clock turns
He toils for bread, he weds his hopes,
He sows his sweat upon the soil of ambition,
Yet the reaper waits, patient and still.
And when death calls
Another road unfolds, mist-clad and strange.
Souls wander at the crossroads of eternity,
Each guided by the lantern of their deeds
Some shining bright, some dim as regret.
The journey does not end,
It curves like a circle in God’s palm,
An eternal riddle carved in dust and spirit
Man walks, falls, rises, and walks again,
Forever a pilgrim between birth and beyond.
Captives hold a captive with ropes
A lion who roamed free
The duck in fear runs like the wind
Figure beside palm tree
Pharaoh Hounds enjoy life of ease
At their owners' pleasure
But if those hounds could talk what tales
Could be told at their leisure
A Pharaoh blessed with many sons
Who upon the porch view
An ancient sport by captives who
Lions and tigers subdue
A male lion whose power contained
For a moment or two
Entertained sons with mighty sport
Then bid lion adieu
Before the servants caught the lion
He had roamed the palace
Then chased by Pharaoh's long lean hounds
Who now need digitalis
Finis'
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Contest: Ancient Egypt
Written: November 15, 2013
The witch sees green. She sets sail from door to door.
Her wake fells trees. “What the highest bidder forgot
to consider” was the black and blue broom in her grasp.
—Poet (sponsor words in quotes)
What the Highest Bidder Forgot to Consider
She wanted to draw up a contract for my trees. The leaves,
in a rut, are shaking. Scrupulous her hatchet points
at this one, that one, this and that… Sales in her blood.
What devil taught her her trade? Money grows on trees.
She never heard doesn’t. Her pioneering hooks in oaks.
She’s a palm reader, a ruinous rattlesnake, a rat fink.
I spotted her close by. She held my husband’s eye, but,
as I’ve said there was another pair looking on. “Calamity,”
the silence, of my small bit of forest, whispers, and
goosebumps shatter the hopes and dreams of the lip licker.
Con artist in shootout. She’s not considered their feelings
at all. She’s prepared to pluck them out by the roots
or leave a bloody stump; she’d take them all down
with her double barrels, but the shrew is shrewd.
When my neighbor recommended us, as nice as she was,
the grifter rubbed her palms and cackled, but not too loud.
She met her match. I took her broom, cracked it in half.
One must dare to decelerate and take note of a squirrel.
I am learning what it’s like to observe a few note worthy ways
and sometimes selfish behaviors of squirrels in my back yard.
Like the time that a squirrel took my pecans from my makeshift
platform after I put them there to dry. You might not call them selfish,
but perhaps you would, if you loved pecans as well as my wife and me
I am forgiving though about the pecans, because I enjoy watching them
walk and run atop the fence with very little effort. I tell you, I am captured as I watch them chase each other from limb to limb, or race up a palm tree and hide beneath those protruding stickers.
Their movements are so agile and quick; and they appear to be afraid and in a constant state of readiness. However, they could also be fearless, provided they are able to keep adequate distance from you. They believe it to be their right to any and every nut their little hearts desire,
without any regards to ownership.
Were I at work 9 to 5 or some other shift, I would not have learned such minor truths about squirrels; and had I not been retired, never would I have seen a squirrel outwit a cat who gave in and walked slowly away.
There’s a beautiful and wild kingdom out there my friend. Let’s enjoy it.
04222015 PS Contest, Animal Antics, Shadow Hamilton