Long Tempting Poems
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As You Travel
By Franklin Price
3/2/2016
As you travel through this life
Do you hear a little voice
Each time you reach a fork
In the road and have a choice?
Is there a little feeling
In your gut that makes it tight
Telling you one way is wrong
And the other one is right?
Best to listen to that voice
And the tightness that you feel
Experience is showing you
That the choice is yours and real
No one can make it for you
Though they may show the way
In the end the choice is yours to make
As you travel day to day
The voice and feeling always there
To Show the path and give the nod
If all is right when the choice is made
Could be the hand of God
If a second voice interrupts the choice
And you know that voice it is wrong
Could be the devil tempting you
To a place you don't belong
In the end it's binary
The choices only two
The voices there to tempt
The choices up to you
What am I feeling for you?
A futile yearning,
If I don't entertain it,
It will haunt me for the longest time.
I am sinking in you.
You are avoiding me
It is best you do that
Your eyes, your eyes, your eyes.
They got me transfixed,
This is just a feeling
That is heading to its tail?
You and me loving deep
With no strings attached.
Playing all games
Breaking all rules man made.
You are evading me
Your skin, your skin, your skin,
I'm peeping through window
Wine sipping through your pores
You stay so close
I am in a nuptial situation,
It is wrong for me to fall,
I am hiding, I am seeking
An emotion that will end.
Its you, its you, its you,
You are a tempting phenomenon
I am weak, a shaking reed,
In turbulent waters of desire,
A river rushing to its end.
Passionate woman,
I love you beyond imagination;
I surely know if your infidelity...
even when you offer me your tempting lips
and turn them over my warm lips.
Oh, there's no woman as beautiful
as you truly are,
yes, passionate woman,
I love you beyond imagination...
because you really are one of God's most wonderful
creation, and touching you softly
excite me even more,
but knowing you more increases my comprehension.
Passionate woman,
you are giving me everything
without questions or doubts,
but will it ever turn into a true feeling?
You have my promise today,
will you have yours tomorrow?
And if spring comes only once
to cheer up lovers with flowers and songs:
turn to pretty thoughts, just think
it's a much lovelier spring in our young lives!
Try your generosity in someone
who will love you without a single restriction...
passionate woman, I love you beyond imagination!
Torn
She sits and stares, all the while thinking
Will she allow it, or will she not?
For a moment she’s misguided
By the power that she’s got
While she’s sitting there and thinking
’How is this helpful to my soul?
Why is it that I am longing
To go down this deep dark hole?’
And this longing is exhausting
But it’s tempting her as well
For a moment she is feeling
Like she’s under a dark spell
All it takes is a decision
She feels helpless, she is torn
Between reason and emotion
As she sits she feels forlorn
How ironic is this feeling
When she thinks she’s in control
She knows her decision making
Can eventually take its toll
She is on the brink, not steady
The state she’s in is insecure
And she’s now a bit uncertain
Of just how long she can endure
She can sense the mood that haunts her
How it puts her to the test
Then suddenly her new intention
’I refuse to be depressed!’
Wendy Nipas
ALL THINGS THAT CAN TEMPT ME
All things can tempt me when I wish to write
a poem can’t guess which time to be right!
Tempting situations always arise.
Yet not difficult to compromise.
Retired life, not pursuing a fixed job
Swinging in short span as pendulum’s bob.
Watching television compulsory.
Gossiping also comes mandatory.
Yet Poetry attracts as an addiction
To pen a poem has no restriction.
03/15/20
'
'All Things Can Tempt Me' Contest by Beth Evans
HM
'STRAND CHOICE U' contest by Brian Strand
The pearl-gray sky of early morning
harmonized with my mood;
color without color
life without meaning;
as I wandered through the streets
at a loss; no job.
My downcast eyes;
eye contact unsought;
watching my feet step by drudging step,
came across a twenty-dollar bill,
discarded, dropped, abandoned?
It lay there, slightly grubby;
as money often is.
To lose a twenty bill, I thought
for someone could be the difference;
food or hunger,
others; just a gamble;
on some bright spinning reels of chance.
But here it was:
Twenty dollars on the ground,
Andrew, staring at me; tempting.
A moments troubled hesitation;
I move on
and leave the twenty where it lay
for someone needier than I to find.
Yellow sunshine pierces the gray
My back straightens
my walk is brisker, zippy.
$ Poetry Contest placed 1st
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
Date wrote: 13-June-2021
See where I started,
in the garden of my childhood.
Fenced around with parents
hedged in with strict convention.
Walk with me.
The bare hills of ambition from my youth
lead upward, onward, overlooking
crowds and earthbound throngs.
Climb the eroding pathway to the top
whence with far-ranging envy see,
mocking,
the high peaks of distant mountains,
unattainable,
glitter their silvered summits.
Stand on these cliffs and wonder
as the seabirds plunge and soar
like hopes and aspirations
tempting disaster as fate's breakers
beat upon the rocks of past mistakes.
Walk on the clifftop, if you dare;
the tightrope of success;
never relaxing concentration,
risking the headlong plunge
from heaven to hell slowed only,
if you're lucky,
by the outstretched hand of friendship.
Now wander through these quiet woods
of contemplation,
restful and green with peaceful glades.
Soft birdsong filters shafts of sunlit
understanding,
bringing into wondering view
the undergrowth of hidden imaginings.
Sit for a while, for a short season's warmth
beside this running brook of happiness
and listen to its peaceful trills
contrapuntal to the murmured sounds
of slow, contented summer,
tranquil in a lover's arms beneath
the frantic beauty of the skylark's song.
Descend these nameless, slippery paths
that lead through the dark places
to the chasms,
to the lonely depths of black despair
where midnight terrors lurk
in deep, dank caves of restless sleep
and every monster's shadow looms
large and overbearing.
I offer you no final resting place,
no welcoming tavern for a lifetime's thirst,
no sheltered bungalow to care for
after work well done.
Only a cross-roads in a barren place
where a blind fingerpost
hints at unseen directions,
untravelled paths with unknown travellers
crossing.
Walk with me.
Kim James
26/5/95
I've been listening to your eyes
for what feels like eons,
noticing how the rain cries
unto your purposeful lips,
excited also, by the sounds of your
beautiful breaths in the smooth sunlight,
Tapping the pool of love blood,
rippling rose restless
to the edge of a frozen bloom
where the youth of our love wonder stood,
speaking to one another through playful madness,
tempting tragedy to resume
so to confess innocence in the fire flood
of the raw poetry pulsing in divine mood,
I find you in the fragrance of warm faith
and your eyes sing of sorrow unsold to sin,
palmprints upon our hearts bespeak a dangerous heat
that says love born of longing will never be safe,
for a moment we rue what's true about heartbeats lonely and thin,
You pull me within a hue of genius and clue of spirit discrete
revealing a teaching of soul engineering
where the meaning of living
is loving the bleeding
of pure beauty fleeting -
J.A.B. 02-19-2025
Reluctantly I sat abusing
Some old and sad familiar musing
That for some reason kept refusing
To lie quietly
A thought that in a moment read
Was understood and put to bed
Now prancing once more round my head
O daring memory
Why must thee wallow on the tongue
Barren tree with fruit unsprung
Tormenting, tempting songs unsung
In endless reverie
So oft times I've thought before
Unquiet spirit I implore
Why dost thou rattle through these doors
Of vain assurety
Must I bear this burden hence
Without knowing why or whence
These troubled thoughts but for a pence
In silent suffering
Down the rabbithole of self.
Pride's snickering-cajole waits in the wings, unmoved, unperturbed
by my prior resistant strains.
My fingerprint residue a ghost
in the remains.
In hallucinogen haunting of k-hole,
flaunting a devouring maw.
How it's juices stain.
In lust's wormhole ride-inside a black hole.
I find-
Turned out like a mirror inside.
In a maze of my brain in a
Labyrinth again.
Her.
Idolatry.
Tempting me to come deeper.
Into her-
Inseminatry.
To burn in the fire.
Rolling in forbidden desire.
In debted emnity, I remain Prodigal,
chasing the dragon's offspring and swallowing my own tail.
In a vicious circle.
Like a cursed marriage ring.