A tear on your cheeks that meets your lips,
A soft plight on sight, that seeks your taste,
Dance of your name on my bare tongue,
Wants me turn bare, into sweet summer love,
I know only your name,
And I dance on it,
My each cell sparks at your only name,
In my whole being, I, pertain to be yours,
No name to me, only yours, only yours.
Categories:
namer, dedication, desire, devotion, dream,
Form: Free verse
Adam
said,
Eve
that's what
i'll name it
now a her
since i'm a
he
and i the namer
of all things
see fit to
say so
so Adam,
said
Eve
i already know
your infidelities
with the she
before me so
eat
this thing
you called
forbidden
and called
it fruit
just eat
the damn thing
Categories:
namer, muse,
Form: I do not know?
Go saddle me the black black steed
For I am going on a long long journey
Go wipe away the tears that roll
Across brawny cheeks of gypsie lassie.
Fifteen well made men going on their steeds
To get their brides leap over the strand
The brunt hills in search of a namer
Drying fast to justify conscript of land.
Twilled with a broach and a ring wintry
The death stalks the hill with sickled moon
The leaden sheen on the steed’s back
Has turned the night’s face into a roon.
Late late yesterday I saw the moon
Full bodied like a new sickled maned
The death will stalk these streets tonight
And am afraid of downy owl’s nickled bane.
Come on fair ladies hang your hair down
Over the fair head over the abordour
The fifteen men have gone to castle waste
And along came the death to devour.
Go saddle me the black black steed
The merry castle keep has hovelled a cry
Though death stalks every haste and waste
And brawny cheeks of gypsie have gone dry.
Categories:
namer, angst, life, loss, lovedeath,
Form: Ballad
Go saddle me the black black steed
For I am going on a long long journey
Go wipe away the tears that roll
Across brawny cheeks of gypsie lassie.
Fifteen well made men going on their steeds
To get their brides leap over the strand
The brunt hills in search of a namer
Drying fast to justify conscript of land.
Twilled with a broach and a ring wintry
The death stalks the hill with sickled moon
The leaden sheen on the steed’s back
Has turned the night’s face into a roon.
Late late yesterday I saw the moon
Full bodied like a new sickled maned
The death will stalk these streets tonight
And am afraid of downy owl’s nickled bane.
Come on fair ladies hang your hair down
Over the fair head over the abordour
The fifteen men have gone to castle waste
And along came the death to devour.
Go saddle me the black black steed
The merry castle keep has hovelled a cry
Though death stalks every haste and waste
And brawny cheeks of gypsie have gone dry.
Categories:
namer, angst, imagination, inspirational, life,
Form: Ballad