Long Unworried Poems
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Poetry was her best lover
Like no other
He loved her
Without restraint
She could be herself
And explore
And discover
Secret pleasures and fantasies
Naked above the covers
He let her lie
Exposed
As he slowly caressed her imagination
Making her flow
With the sweet essence of her soul
In waves of delirium
Flying free
He let her be
Unfettered
Unashamed
Unworried of how to please
Or how to tease
Just simply to be
A woman in a prelude
To ecstacy
Poetry was her best lover
Her escape from reality
In clandestine intimacy
He ravished her mind
Again and again
For all he wanted
Was for her to come
To experience
To taste
Every pleasure
He had to offer
Her insatiable appetite
He fed
With firm truths
That burst forth with wisdom
He fed her desire
To reach supremacy
He never betrayed
Or delayed
In pleasing her
In giving her just what she wanted
In different ways and forms
His creativity endless
Poetry was her best lover
The only time in her day
When she had her way
And could be free
To be the woman she was mean to be
Sensual and sultry, sexy and savory
Not having to hide
Behind the guise
The veil of culture
Or religion
Or misconstrued sexism
Or alibis
Being demure
And “sterile”
When she was fertile
Laden with passion
Poetry was her best lover
He adored her
For whom she was
And he gave and gave
At times
Leading her in submission to his will
Taming her
Training her
To live in the confines
Of his rules
For perfection to be reached
She had to follow his lead
To the pinnacle of pleasure
Where all was in rhythmic union and rhyme
The sublime
Tasted and lived and then to descend
To warm after glow
Basking in the satisfaction
Of a fruitful union
For beauty has been conceived
Waiting for delivery
Yes, Poetry was her best lover
And she
Came looking for him
Begging him
To take her
Again and again and again
To transport her to heaven from hell
Tasting eternity
Poetry was her best lover
And she
Had no need of another
To help her discover
Her own entity….
None other
But her best lover
Poetry....
Eileen Manassian Ghali
On a winter day,
in a sunny spot;
I found a snow flower beautiful and gay,
an unexpected display in a sunny woodland knot.
It was so sweet,
a vivid purple delightful treat;
unworried about growing in a cold icy retreat.
It poked its delicate head through the snow,
unmindful of winds whispering hello;
it really was a lovely show.
The depth of color was quite a display,
better than any flower store bought;
leaving snow flower was bittersweet,
but I knew all winter more would grow.
______________________________
October 29, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/Winter Snow Flower
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1100-363-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to Standard Contest 155
sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
I stare at dusk-tinged mountains to the east,
anticipating joyously the rise
of an old friend not pressured in the least
to meet my frantic schedule, I surmise.
I cannot rush the moon, although I reckon
that if I could, I would request she hurried.
Though "miles to go before I sleep" do beckon,
the Empress of the night sky moves unworried.
Some obligations elsewhere do await
my undivided interest to be theirs.
But if I linger for her, I'll be late
provoking shaking heads and unkind stares.
My heart of hearts desires to be unbound
from shackles of these deadlines and constraints;
to bathe in yellow radiance full and round
and gaze in peace at this still life she paints.
Debating thus, she crowns over yon mountains;
entranced under her beauty, I stand hushed.
Her rays are elegant, florescent fountains -
I'm thankful that the moon cannot be rushed.
Written May 2016
unknown distance luring incessant thoughts
sultry soul swims, an unseen green pasture.
mind breaks away, a mess of cluttered knots
gypsy blood in heart, breathes vintage nature
wild lands of freedom, where vistas rapture
in mystic woods crave, seamless adventure.
faraway landscape, beckoning beyond
an atlas horizon, sketched in colour.
drifting over mountains, brunette and blonde
a bird from cage, escapes to discover
unhurried butterfly comes to touch her
nightingale song, melodies her wonder
crumbling walls all around, falls a safe roof.
coherent like sky,... nomadic like sea.
inhaling blue....unworried and aloof..
a spirit drifts, amid quasar waves free
a galaxy of clouds, floating to flee
emotions stirred, in a carol of glee.
In nonrhythmic breath, of far wanderlust
Need a stowaway break, confess I must.
Dated 3rd May 2019
Urban Sonnet Contest
Sponsor Emile Pinet
10 syllables in each line counted in howmanysyllables
With Spring's gentle sway, my thoughts take flight,
As weather stirs our festive mood with delight,
Strong winds shake trees, leaves dance and sway,
Like late October's colors on a grand display.
As heaven stirs passions with its cosmic play,
And desire whispers as the world waxes away,
Our love moves on, my fairest maid,
Whose heart speaks the same words as mine conveyed.
God approves, as roses bloom with grace,
But some creatures may spurn love's warm embrace.
I confess, as clouds weep and roses grow,
My love for you burns with a radiant glow.
In humble sin, I confess my love with ease,
With unworried hand and lips, like pilgrims on their knees,
That touched a rough touch with a gentle kiss,
And found love's treasure, in moments of bliss.
Poetry was her best lover
like no other
he loved her
without restraint
She could be herself
and explore,
discovering
secret pleasures and fantasies
Naked above the covers
he let her lie
exposed
as he slowly caressed her imagination
making her flow
with the sweet essence of her soul
In waves of delirium
flying free
he let her be
unfettered
unashamed
unworried of how to please
or how to tease
just simply to be
a woman in a prelude
to ecstacy
Poetry was her best lover
her escape from reality
in clandestine intimacy
he ravished her mind
again and again
for all he wanted
was for her to come
to experience
to taste
every pleasure
he had to offer
Her insatiable appetite
he fed
with firm truths
that burst forth wisdom
He fed her desire
to reach supremacy
He never betrayed
or delayed
in pleasing her
in giving her just what she wanted
in different ways and forms
his creativity, endless
Poetry was her best lover
the only time in her day
when she had her way
and could be free
to be the woman she was mean to be
sensual and sultry, sexy and savory
not having to hide
behind the guise
the veil of culture
or religion
or misconstrued sexism
or alibis
being demure
and “sterile”
when she was fertile
laden with passion
Poetry was her best lover
he adored her
for who she was
and he gave and gave
at times
leading her in submission to his will
taming her
training her
to live in the confines
of his rules
For perfection to be reached
she had to follow his lead
to the pinnacle of pleasure
where all was in rhythmic union and rhyme
the sublime
tasted and lived
then to descend
to warm after glow
basking in the satisfaction
of a fruitful union
for beauty has been conceived
waiting for delivery
a poem child
Yes, Poetry was her best lover
and she
came looking for him
begging him
to take her
again and again and again
to transport her to heaven from hell
to wet her lips with the taste
of eternity...
Poetry was her best lover
and she
had no need of another
to help her discover
her own entity….
None other
But her best lover
Poetry....
Eileen Manassian
This is a repost of a poem I wrote some time ago. I felt the urge to repost it. I'm passionate about poetry.
I walk outside, under the darkening sky,
and contemplate this tumultuous past.
This rain has seen all that I have, all that's gone by,
witnessed me rise, watched me fall, and all so fast.
Rain has seen me on my feet, alone but unworried,
dancing to the beat of my own peculiar drum.
It has watched my first true kiss, perfect and unhurried,
the magic in its cadence causing our hearts' strings to strum.
There I stood, wind rushing down on our embrace;
basking in love's domain.
Rain has seen me in the air, up crying in my tree,
aghast at a love's loss, at what fate from me stole.
The cold turned it to frost, that then drifted onto me,
the solemnity of that moment forever etched on my soul.
There I sat, rain's partner snow caressing my face;
learning the truth of pain.
Rain has seen me on my knees, cast down and afraid,
of a life spent without purpose, a future alone.
It has watched me wander, from my path had I strayed,
the lyrical music following me into the unknown.
There I knelt, mist reminding me of absent grace;
struggling to survive the strain.
Rain has seen me in motion, walking off my history,
thinking of myself, of what lies ahead, not behind.
It and the darkness revealed some of the mystery,
of what, if I keep looking, in my future could I find.
There I walked, the moon my guardian, striding apace;
beginning to end a broken heart's reign.
Rain is watching me on my feet, once more,
ascending from the depths to which I fell.
It is watching me be convinced to no longer ignore,
my friend, the woman who had me under a spell.
Here I stand, yet weak but giving chase;
prevailing –
ever in the arms of rain.
One spring day meandering in a meadow,
I saw a butterfly whose beauty matched that
of May's azure sky.
With blue silken wings like that of a fairy,
she flitted here and there -
aimlessly as butterflies seem wont to do.
Oh, to be that butterfly,
alighting on any pretty flower whose scent delighted me -
unhurried and unworried.
I would be that butterfly breezing through the meadow
meandering . . . meandering . . .
to where – I did not know,
but soon I found myself beside a brook.
My heart became the song of blue bells
which danced with the wind beside the brooklet.
And as my little friend fluttered on,
I careened behind her with arms outstretched,
laughing as the long grasses through which I leaped
tickled the calves and shins of my legs.
Soon I was approaching a grove of tall green trees -
meandering . . . meandering.
I kept my eyes on the bright blue wings ahead of me.
Freely I flowed like the wind that swept through my hair
as it fluttered the leaves of the tall green trees
until suddenly – the butterfly
was vanished from my view!
I knew not to where I’d wandered,
but in my heart I had no fear.
All things come to an end eventually,
but also all paths eventually lead
to somewhere.
Turning myself back toward the direction
from which I’d come
and with my arms spread wide,
I let the butterfly in me
take me eastward -
meandering . . meandering.
Bagels have holes in, my garden has moles in
Some teeth have gold in and some text has bold in
Teeth, moles and text is a song no one sings
But holes must be some of my favourite things
Donuts have holes in, the ocean has shoals in
I’ve got a door that is letting the cold in
Seas, fish and doors to my life no joy brings
But holes must be some of my favourite things
Swiss cheese has holes in, a toy box has dolls in
It seems my TikTok has got many trolls in
Tik Tok, trolls and dolls do not give me wings
But holes must be some of my favourite things
When I get dirt
On a new shirt
Or when I’ve been had
I think about holes and the joy each one brings
And then I know I’m……. not mad
My hand was unhurried, I typed this unworried
Had I been fearful, I might well have scurried
But I shall accept any flak that it brings
When I say that holes are my favourite things
I secretly hope that I’ve driven you nutty
You only read this cos it might be smutty
Yet sometimes a writer has tongue-in-cheek goals
But I truly love to suck mints that have holes
I call them Polos; you call them Lifesavers
Mints that have holes in and candies; five flavours
When I feel nervous or fear what life brings
Those holes must be one of my favourite things
When I get dirt
On a new shirt
Or when I’ve been had
I think about holes and the joy each one brings
And then I know I’m……..
…………..
Not mad!
The psycho inside me will strike you when lively
the stupid inside you shines through brightly
you fully believe your actions wisely
never disguised or ghost but sightly
Believe the advantage
expert understanding
Deceive and be candid
ignorant standing
Don’t take in
no knowledge expanding
the stakes win
champagne downing
20’s lot try and play games
30’s lot a decade trained
20’s lot shall we explain
we’re grass you’re a grain
When we don’t care
you think we’re unaware
we see without stare
match you’re a flair
Lit up exposed
think no one knows
not just obvious
but fully glow
undersized psychology
sighted astrology
smiles and jolly
unworried to sorry
it’s an untraveled board
you’re yet to explore
of which we became bored
and will always no more