Long poem by
Abder Derradji | Details
Mother nature oh! Rose of roses!
Mother of all flowers' and smell,
Ylang Ylang! You don't know what it causes!
An aphrodisiac turns you on like hell!
Sandalwood with its masculine warmth poses,
Rosemary clears the head, you can tell,
Peppermint purifies blocked noses,
Patchouli the meditative, it does sell,
Orange oil refreshing, stimulates since Moses,
Chamomiles in variety and bluebell,
Mandarin the sweet floral in few doses,
Helps you digest and makes feeling very well,
Marjoram helps a positive mood,
In creating and lemon oil reduces the stress,
Lavender the cleansing oil is surely good,
Juniper Berry soothes and tones the muscles in mess,
Geranium the relaxing prepares you for action,
Cypress oil relaxes you twice and once again,
Cedarwood calms and makes ready for attraction,
Basil oil with prairie's odours is the main,
With Myrtle the antiseptic and carminative,
And Niaouli the beverage that it was,
For Neroli, the aphrodisiac is very active,
Origanum, Pimento, Pine oil and Rose,
Pettigrain, this is a citrus vulgaris,
Calms anger and refreshes the mind,
And the sedative, hypotensive Amyris,
With Angelica the stimulation you will find,
The Aniseed, Pimpinella anisum,
An antiemetic, diuretic and an insecticide,
Likewise in Anise-star, illicium verum,
All the same remedies you will find,
Laurus Nobilis, this is Bay-leaf oil,
Analgesic, cholagogue and hepatic,
In sweet styrax, Benzoin when you boil,
Vanilla flavour, a deodorant and cephalic,
Citrus Bergamia, Bergamot like orange,
An uplifting in character for anxiety,
In Birch tar, Betula Lenta you need courage,
To kill pain and thank the Lord Almighty,
Black Pepper, piper nigrum spicy sharp,
Cajuput oil, the herbaceous and penetrating,
In a singing-like circle with a harp,
Helps the heart, and respiration in circulating,
Cinnamomum Camphora that's Camphor,
Since Chrosroes the Babylonian King the wise,
Surely was part of civilisation and folklore,
For the Eastern powers that fall and rise!
Caraway, Carum Carvi is sweet!
And a flavouring agent in all your food,
Adding it when marinading your meat,
Aromatise the entire dish that will be good!
Cardamom, Elettaria yellow flower and pale,
Very spicy and digestive from the East,
The Arabs praise it in their coffee call it "Hail",
And the Romans took it after each great feast,
Carrot-seed, Daucus carota has a past,
In skin diseases, teeth and gums and the sight illness,
Its effect on red blood cells is very fast,
With the right blends it surely helps the body fitness,
Apium Graveolens, celery is fresh and warm,
That was a symbol of funerals, death and grief,
It was believed in ancient Egypt nay in Rome,
To cure swollen limbs and to relieve,
Cymbopogon Nardus that's Citronella,
In wax candles helps mosquitos to disappear,
Its oil is used to beautify and make the "Bella",
In look and smell and feeling...what's more to hear??
Clove, coriander and clary Sage,
Cumin, Elemi and Dill,
Thousands of oils won't fill the page,
Eucalyptus and Fennel they heal,
Fir, Frankincense and Galbanum,
Garlic, Ginger and Grapefruit,
Guaicwood, Hyssop and Helichrysum,
This is immortelle oil to suit,
Jasminum, the waiting King at the doors,
A perfume for lovers to indicate,
A seduction imported by the moors,
To Spain, then Europe to fabricate,
Its uses along with Lavandin,
This hybrid of true Lavender and spike,
Was exploited in soap trade to begin,
Then turned to perfume-making and the alike,
Lemongrass is a very reviving,
And Lime, this citrus medica,
It does match when mixed with Mandarin,
And with Nutmeg could be a "replica,"
Linden Blossom oil is a slightly spicy,
Litsea Cubeba is a floral and fruity,
In Melissa, the honey-bee you fancy,
And Myrrh the musky, symbol for beauty,
Palmarosa, they say "clarifies the mind,
And Parsley was named after "Petros,
In Pine oil, good feelings you will find,
Rosemary has affected "Ethos",
Rosewood, this "Bois de rose",
A "Jacaranda" is known in Brazil,
A real deodorant in dose!
Sage was believed in Rome "To heal,"
Pimento is known as "Allspice,
And Santolina is still a pillar in medicine,
With Spearmint the smell is very nice,
In Tagetes the citrus flavour is never lasting,
Tangerine the hypnotic and Tarragon,
Terebinth the balsamic the vermifuge,
Thyme the thymus vulgaris that was born,
From the tears of Helen-Troy that grew huge,
Tea-Tree oil is sanitary Australian,
Verbena makes a love potion pot-pourri,
Vetivert, this earthy fragrance's never alien,
To the world of perfumes, competition and fury,
On Violet the odorata was said,
A symbol of fertility in Greece,
The perfume that Marie Antoinette preferred,
And in Yarrow a help for diabetes.
Copyright © Abder Derradji | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Chantelle Anne Cooke | Details
I opened the emails: nothing.
I looked through the mail: nothing.
I checked my cell phone: nothing.
The elders always remembered Valentine's Day, but not the children. The youth I had saved from death, spent thousands on to improve their quality of life and gave them my time to ensure a full day of smiles and laughter.
Their Valentine's Day always remembered.
Mine always ignored.
I stood up and threw the computer into the wall and slammed my cell phone into the front door. Tears tackled my face like wet wrestlers. My mood brooded into sheer madness.
I raggedly rushed out the back door, reached for my weapon and shot in several bullets into the ground. Gun shot after gun shot rang out as I cursed my own heart.
Panic pounded me like a drum as all the lights went on in the neighborhood homes. I forgot to drive out to the secluded forest and fire out my fury.
I hid my gun a la James Bond style and whipped down the rest of the whiskey. The hot sauce trailed all over my face and around my mouth.
I stumbled back inside into the living room and collapsed.
Swirling sirens surrounded my home.
I could see all the neighbors outside. Again.
Staring, glaring, leering and sneering.
Oh well I was the Pinstripe Drama Mouse.
Five medical people stormed into my home and found me on the floor, panting, sweating, crying and clutching a Valentine's Day stuffed bear.
“Ma’am, tell us your name please.”
“A, b, c, d, e…”
“We don’t have time for games.”
They looked around my home to see the plethora of medication and alcohol evidence.
“Don’t you realize alcohol is toxic?”
“I’ll show you toxic!” I slammed my right hand into a broken beer bottle. Blood blushed everywhere.
I awoke later in a padded cell in a straitjacket.
My body ached with bruises, dried blood and my brain bubbled. I vomited repeatedly. Insanity played me as if I was his instrument of foolishness. I began body slamming the walls and started screaming.
Black steam surged beneath the door, and I saw the twinkle of white.
My knight in shining bone had arrived. His skeleton shimmered. His ebony robe thick with king authority and his scythe sharp as a sword ready for battle.
“Sh, my mouse, my mouse.”
I crumbled and cried.
His scythe slit through the straitjacket. I stood shaking naked before the Grim Reaper with my body a map of bruises from the Ivs that dug too deep in my skin, vomit crumbling off my face, urine and feces stained my skin. Tears and sweat were rivers running down my being. My hair stank foul. I was humiliated.
His beautiful pearl bony hand stroked my left arm repeatedly. Bones of silk steamed inside and outside of me. I was having a spiritual and physical ballet spa at once. Now, I was dressed in a long white satin gown.
My body healed and my soul resealed.
He clutched me and kissed me passionately. I was his dove in his black tree of the afterlife. I could hear his beating heart.
Yes, Death with a beating heart—for it was the souls reuniting as lovers, families, pets and mother nature re-blooming.
“What is going on in there? Are you trying to escape?”
The Reaper slammed the door open with his scythe. He stood over eight feet tall.
The nurses began crying, “I..I…am not…”
Death remained silent and we floated fast to the nearest window to the left of my holding tank.
“Are any of them…” I whispered to Death.
“Did you make an entrance?”
Death eyed me and smiled, “I am all about the exit.”
With his right skeleton hand holding the large scythe, he smashed the window open and we drifted out. Everyone in the hallway had passed out.
Death threw his sickle into the silvery starry sky where it transformed into a cloud in front of the full moon.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Your favorite!” Death winked at me.
We arrived at Multnomah Falls at in Bridal Veil, Oregon.
“My mouse, you need to re-charge as a Fate. Tonight, I will be with you on Valentine's Day.” Death bowed to me, and his pearl skull grew a dozen red roses. They floated away as Cardinals.
A tear danced upon my heart.
The Grim Reaper and I entwined as lovers. We rushed up and down the waterfall like two crazy partners, laughing and smiling. Full moon winked at us.
Sunrise rose slowly.
Death carried me, and we transported to a different home, my beach home on the Oregon coast. He placed me in my bed, and my three cats curled around me. My lover then steamed away...
Sponsor Broken Wings
Poetry Contest Valentine - Form D
Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2017
Long poem by
Jason Palm | Details
This is the other side, the eternal space hidden...
A world without skin and flesh,
the perfect nightmare relents.
Before and after... and even now, since then does not exist...
Yesterday and today... as time ticks away,
dying in inanimate moments.
The air blows, a silent breath, of fragile bitter cold.
As dampened mist settles down upon,
the light extinguished mind.
The forgotten now, converted to, wooden creatures and solitary rocks...
Fragment reminders of life left behind,
recreating inert souls in time.
With delicate branch and sharpened leaves, cutting a beautiful silence...
Surviving in a desolate forest,
a metallic and withered tree.
Only the immortal shadows, unveil his fleeting movements...
The dance of silent silhouettes,
whisper his untold anxiety.
There is no fear,
there is not resentment,
there is not blame.
There is not fate,
there is not regret,
here there is no pain.
In a clearing of the forest, suspended like a dark sun...
Shining in his gray solitude,
there lies a silent stone heart.
The stone heart remains, in a lucid inert place...
It does not do... it does not live,
it does not feel... it does not believe.
Awaiting his final existence, last events of foolish, dark solitary life...
He doesn't know when it will happen,
but surely foresees that it will.
And with this it finally begins...
He does not resist, he does not escape,
he calmly awaits liberating self destruction.
The falling leaves suspend in mid flight, as time now stands so still.
The darkness now... illuminates, by an intensely blinding flash...
The fire scorched wind... burns and melts,
this existence he knows to ash.
The stone heart resists, fascinated... by this moment...
Melting his inside... burning his outside,
like the daylight... erased.
A violent and delirious explosion, splits the stone heart by half...
Liberating memories, illusions and dreams,
and all of his feelings to waste.
After everything was over, in this cold and inert place...
Only smoke, echoes and ash,
scattered ruins of despair remained.
However... at end, this story might send, what no one could see or know...
Of the beauties that lie, inside of dark mind,
and of what broken stone heart had obtained.
A beautiful red rose... so tenderly fragile, bleeds forth from fractured heart...
Imperceptibly delicate... dares to petrify nature,
now thrives where the heart had died.
The red rose unknown... from a seed not yet sown, blooms forth with heavenly rapture...
In the cold existence of this place,
this darkened other side.
She had been sleeping in a blissful place, struggling from the start...
Staying warm by sonorous heartbeat,
of this broken stone heart.
In a short time, frozen by cold wind, in deep silence of eternal night...
The absence of light, takes this wondrous sight,
red rose succumbs to the frost.
Her color, her petals, her sap, her fragrance, at end nobody saw or knew...
What happened to the heart, the broken stone heart,
was happening to me and you.
© Jason Palm
Copyright © Jason Palm | Year Posted 2017
Long poem by
Robert Ronnow | Details
How far from nature and life it is
the gray clouds, airplanes in them
the night cooing and pigeons roosting
Sirma's garden gone to roses and seed
That airplane overhead!
pointing the way
pointing to war
War being an aggravated condition of what
we already know
Flowering beneath the noise
of yet another jet passing overhead.
* * *
Why this much sadness in a world so beautiful?
We are sad for the weariness of everything, including earth
(that will go on tropically flowering long after we are gone)
who are nothing
in powerful time's
history, passionate history, coffee between
* * *
Enter into alliance
With the sweet darkness, night!
Night and day, day and night
Everybody knows when the moon is bright.
We dance by the light of the moon
* * *
We dance by the light of the moon.
We dance by the light of the moon and setting sun.
we crow and call
and make the world alive
Two gray-skinned sharks, jets,
embrace in the sky, a blue green oil truck takes
the hill, cobblestoned, in low
* * *
to remain so
by the stillness
the movement of the car uphill
part of your system of beliefs
unmoved by it, parked
necking in the front seat
hawks diving for pigeons' eggs
and so you are compelled to move
by the force that created you. but
you impose your own small order
departing from traditions
human history understands
such as those currently developing
the human mind beyond its past capacities.
* * *
Two straw sandals
blue jay call
two sea gulls
* * *
The jets return
and breathing low
of pure noise.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Terry Trainor | Details
Sitting working in my private room a grandfather clock ticks and tocks so very loudly,
Like a metronome tuned into my mind my eyes become heavy my lids slowly begin to close,
My mind drifts into very dark places, jet black places with a tiny white dot way off,
I walk towards the dot and after miles and miles it started to grow so much brighter.
Looking behind to see where I started there was nothing just the darkest of dark black,
I have no choice but to keep on walking towards the white dot now confused and scared,
After hours and hours I reach the dot but it is not a dot now it is a new bright world,
There were green fields greener than I have ever seen the trees had heavy velvet leaves.
People walked towards me they were smiling they were happy I wanted to shake their hands,
But they hugged me and held me and talked so kindly my troubles and worries disappeared,
Young children skipping, my new friends laughing it seemed I had known them all my life,
Being with these people was pure happiness we walked up to a white mansion we went inside.
A beautiful girl came running out to meet us she stood in front of me and gave me a rose,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen it was frosted and gilded and drops of dew fell,
A man with grey hair and a white suit sat by a piano and began to play the sweetest tune,
I leaned on it's shiny surface and could feel the beat of soft hammers on wire, pure music.
All smiled and clapped when this maestro had finished my friends giggled as they saw my joy,
They asked lovely questions nice questions I enjoyed answering as they made me feel good,
We got up and began to walk back to the place where I had first met my wonderful friends,
We talked we laughed everything was about nice things I could feel the smile on my face.
Then the man with grey hair and the white suit said it was time that I made my way home,
Still smiling I desperately wanted to stay forever he saw this and said to have patience,
They stood in line by the entrance each person hugged and kissed me tears ran down my face,
The next thing I knew I was in my private room the grandfather clock still going tick tock.
I thought about my wonderful dream those wonderful people and still felt very warm inside,
It was all so very real and was very disappointed knowing it was just a lovely sweet dream,
Those people in that beautiful garden blessed with such loveliness they seemed so very real,
Standing up and stretching I saw something by the door it was a beautiful rose frosted and dewy,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen.
Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Norey Bailey | Details
Caught a Flight out of town
Hadn’t seen you in while
Wondered if you’d still look the same
Still want me to be ya number one dame
At one time you offered me your last name
Then in a blink ya mind changed
No hurt feelings
Some times dealings can get touchy
But I loved you too much to see
See that neither of us was really ready
Still kicking it like our bad days don’t have a place on a calendar page
Still licking and kissing like if the sun rose then the moon set 3 times consecutively it
still would only be the beginning to a race that has no ending
Still wondering if ya heart is still pending the transactions of vows
But as of today you no longer are allowed
No longer endowed with the riches of this misses
No longer enriched with the bliss of my lipgloss kiss
I’m No longer available to answer your call has been missed
Don’t even remember the names of our imaginary kids that I gave birth to on our way to the
top of superstardom and you were such a good dad changing diapers and making bottles not
time for postpartum
I forgot about the whip I bought you on our 20 year anniversary to the hall filled with
our closest friends our imaginary kids and both sides of our family
I didn’t even dream up a thought of how you would look when ya sexy grey grew in ya goat t
and you aged like pinot noir
Nope I promise I didn’t let my hopes and dreams get that far
I only got to the 2 days reserved on my Microsoft outlook saying “going to see my baby” in
the subject line
Didn’t even realize this would be the last time
You was there to pick me up the embrace was in the best taste with the golden touch
single rose to arouse my nose you took the luggage filled with mine and your clothes
yes…clothes you left when you left
clothes that I remembered not to forget on my trip cause when I came home I just wanted to
forget that you ever did exist
butterflies in my stomach from the first time we kissed
you was talking about plans you made and all the places we had to hit
all ya friends wanted to shake my hand and all them jealous chicks you went to school wit
wanted to see if I was that bytch
and yes I did bring my cutest fits
with them shoes that only look cute but really hurt like shiit
got my hair colored pressed and clipped bikini waxed and all that just in case we took a swim
but anyway where was I, yeah the sweetest breakup had began
in the car just quiet holding hands
playing jams like you’re all in need to get by
by mr meth and mary blidge then sweetest thing
Copyright © Norey Bailey | Year Posted 2008
Long poem by
Akash Yadav | Details
At the centre of the world:
Back in the Roman days of yore--
A voice echoed, that decreed
To a crowd of commons, lost and unsure:
"Our rivers run dried, the Wrath of Gods,
Needs must be pacified
By human blood, our slaves shall shed,
Our warriors will provide--
Thus merciful Heavens shall send rain--
Be at peace with Man again''.
And on the said day, adorned with masters,
Stately Lords of highest rank and score,
Awaited by the general crowd,
Fiercer men and more,
A scaffold was drawn, even as
The sand blew a wind in every watchful eye,
Making less some cheer of each human
That wistfully searched the sky...
Yes, this very spoken day,
The sky that hued nor tanned,
Saw three armed men striding the List--
The mightiest of this land--
One stood like a boulder, Crixus was his
With him along, Thracian Spartacus--
A slave that rose to fame,
Both against a third, a towering Beast,
'The Shadow' called Theokales,
Old and young, rich and rugged--
Uneasily was each seated
Some worn out voice, cried ''Now Fight!'',
Another one repeated
"Fight now!", thus began all audience,
And now it began...:
The first few blows went to them
Whose blades reeked with a stain;
They'd done it--or thought they had
When the heart-torn beast once fell--
Not for long--then to rise again
As death would from Hell...
His choppy face became a smile,
His gruesome sword and shield
Came like a blizzard--a tempest harsh--
More blood bathe the field...
A barbarous show in the rink:
One, and two, and mightier blows
Were mete and dole on them throughout
They bled--Crixus lay in a dross
(Lo! The skies had clouds about!):
But Thracian hauled-up to his last--
He rose too, after many a fall--
The strength in him seemed failing him
When a fallen Crixus gave a call:
(Having lifted-up his head-gear,
And held it in the Sun,
Such, that the glare would blind the Beast),
A sinister deed had savagely begun:
He hacked him--got him to his knees
(While "Kill!", shouted the multitude)--
He crossed his blades, brought 'em down--
The lauding masters bellowed in forsoothe:
A ''slash!'' had filled-in the silenced sound,
A headless cadaver fell to the ground...
Thus did end with reeking blood and sand
A deed that did just start;
They were pleased, that were to be,
In this very art....
Glistening eyes 'mid festoons of thund'rous
And amid rain,
Watched Thracian--his sword upheld,
That stood-by the one he'd slain...
Copyright © Akash Yadav | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
Chris Boskovski | Details
As I pull weeds from cracks in sidewalks
Yout sit on top of thrones made of solid gold
And I pay no mind to the women around me,
Only to your beauty do I hold an Ode.
I see my fair Spanish lady
my daring, sweet rose with thorns,
That run up and down her spine.
As she stops in the daily parade
Waving at the peasants,
She looks at me and summons her guards
Too take me away.
Her beauty is unbearable.
I cannot take not being with her
For a single moment in my life.
Black like coal,
Her smile is bright, as the first rays of the Red Sun
In the dawn.
Her lips painted with ruby lipstick,
her silk laced dress and shawl wrap around her,
Like a beautiful butterfly in her cocoon.
Her skin of olive, dark color and her green eyes.
My God, those sweet and piercing green eyes
Oh, how they hit my soul and make me shiver with excitment.
She is intoxicating and I am intoxicated in her beauty.
She is like an angel, a Latina beauty who walks the streets paved gold,
As I walk the cracked, cobblestone walkways.
She shines in the Spanish sun, like a dimoand in the ruff
As you blow the dust off her sweet brow,
she glows and sparkles with extordinary excellence.
She is beautiful and sweet and kind.
She loves me, but her father minds.
I am only a peasant, and she royalty.
Can our love ever be together in one holy matrimony?
I pray to the Lord, of all that is good,
Please give me a sign that she loves me.
Soon a storm came over,
blowing me down to the ground
And a cloud of dust swallowed me whole.
A great Conquistador on a great white stallion
pulled me up and told me that she wanted to see me.
I shacked with nervous of joy as I followed the warrior.
She was there, under a palm tree
Near a beautiful beach in Barcelona.
She smiled and a glow covered me with passion.
I hugged her and kissed her upon her sweet lips.
I tasted virginity and she tasted loyalty.
We both tasted beauty and harmony.
As the warrior left us,
We made love upon a vigin white sheet,
Soon covered with a flowing river of red.
She moaned with exticy and love was in the air.
The Ode to my sweet Spaniad, Mi Corazon!
We lay there in each others arms
Looking up at a clear night sky
The twilight glimmered ever so softly
And a shooting star blazed across the sky
I kissed her and she kissed me.
I whispered in her, "My love forever"
And she pushed me back upon the sheets
and we made sweet and ever lasting love again.
As we looked in each other's almond colored eyes.
I said to her, in a soft voice, Mi Corazon.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Chris Boskovski | Details
the love that has no meaning,
the silver ports of the moon,
shine so bright,
that it blinds you in the twilight
she is beautiful and she is divine
she is the song sang by the sweet nightingales
in the gardens of worthy, overgrowning and blooming roses,
like wildfire grow tall and the thornes of the vines
tangle around her feet and drag her ever so slightly
throughout the garden of beauty.
As the roses lay along a table,
as she sits at the table
and she waits for me, the wordman
to come to the dinner table at the stroke of nine
and sit with her,
start a scene or two of romantic setting,
to pursue love in her name.
Love is around us,
the candlelight shines and reflects in her silk hair,
as her evening dress glitters and shines
and her bossom shows itself in the nightsky
as we lay together,
we pursue a dream together,
forever we live together forever,
as we stand upon the belcony of Romeo and Juliet's love scene
we swim in a pool of sweet divine care and love,
we swallow grapes and drink wine
hand and hand on Persian rugs and virgin white cloth sheets,
we dance to a simple, yet sweet Chopin's masterpiece
of his beautiful nocturnes,
which make such a sweet and romantic song in our heads.
We stomp out the flames
as we dance the night away,
and you lay in my arms,
and I kiss you upon your lovely head,
and you hold my hand,
and I hold you tight
never thinking of letting your love go away from me,
I would take my own life,
before I lose your love.
See us together,
it is a painting that lasts lifetimes,
that needs no touch-ups.
I care for you and love you!
Love me, I know you will.
My sweet and loving portrait lady,
who in reality is more beautiful than a fully bloomed rose
that sits on its green stem,
in the garden of beauty that sits outside my window.
Come up to my chambers
as I picked roses for you and pettles litter the atmosphere
as love's tension grows
and suspence brings us together,
let us make love tonight
seal the passion
and pursue love once and for all.
Then shall we wake with the first rays of the blazing of the morning sun,
I shall wake next to your beauty and glory,
and I shall point my attention to the heavens
and thank the Gods for sending you on the open road,
toward my chamber door, I call my heart.
Then we shall dress, and walk the pathways
in the garden of beauty
and I shall pick a bauquet of roses
and we shall sit by the lake and pursue our love
for one another
and nothing, not one earthquake shall shake us apart.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Chris Boskovski | Details
My love intended for the girl of my dreams,
she walks from side to side,
not knowing that I walk alone.
She is beautiful than any other thing in this simple world,
everything around her shakes and trembles
as she walks on by without a spare of a passing glance.
The wine is drunk
the last cigarette smoked,
the pain of heartache gone away.
It feels good to see her go my way,
to take the pain with her away from me,
as I sit in the wayward cafe on the river of ashes.
A beautiful girl she is mine,
but that course of life shall no surpass mine,
and my heart beats and takes me away
in hope of falling in love.
Irony of love and hate,
it is similar in many ways,
as I sit and think of her.
She angers me,
but when the vail of anger falls over my eyes,
the passion of love enters my mind.
Come now, take me away,
hold me in your beauty,
and love me with your gentle body.
Go into the gardens,
where the nightingales sing,
and sit at the patio's crossway.
Watch the artists paint pictures of the garden,
watch the writers write about the garden,
and watch us go and pick flowers in the garden.
The air smooth and wind breeze calms the nerves,
the pain of my sorrowed heart is soothed,
by her sweet intellegence and beauty.
Her eyes, orbs of blazing sunlight,
blind me with the beauty of her beauteous face,
her lips and skin smooth and pure.
She is glorious,
My love she is the dream girl,
who comes and takes my nightmares away from me.
As I sit on the park benches,
I light my last cigarette,
and reminicse on the days with my love.
I close my tired eyes only for a moment,
and the moment is gone,
my beauty is gone.
The tears are all gone,
the pain has gone,
the feelings of everlasting love are all gone.
Where did it all go?
Where did my beauty go?
Where did my love go?
All gone now, all gone now,
as I grow old,
the feeling of death takes me by surprise.
The park bench is cold,
the cigarette is burnt out,
I am longing for a drink.
I lay in a wayward cafe
drink a coffee and talk to myself
discussing a book of poetry.
Looking over to the right
I am blinded by beauty once again
this time this is no dream.
Alas, my dream girl came
that appeared in my sunny pleasure dome,
who has walked barefoot in the gardens of my mind.
She sat with me,
I looked at her
and we smiled together.
We held hands together,
and dreamed together,
forever and ever.
cigarettes smoked together.
A cloud over our heads
in the shape of a heart
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013