Perspiring midst physical training best
my well-being jibes with Summer fun's zest...
here come my pets, dog and cat
pleading for my gracious pat
in God's warmth, we bask under sun for rest*.
*Matthew 11:28-30 Come unto me (Jesus Christ), all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
July 12, 2026
edited on July 23, 2026
3rd place, "A Summer Bawdy or Humorous Limerick" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin; judged on 7/19/2026
Do you want to see me sweat?
Would you like to know how to make
my heart race? I blur lipstick lines
with beads of water on a mocktail glass.
Poetic eyes and a melodic voice
may get me perspiring profusely.
Can you take it?
How hot of a whisper can you handle?
My promises hit like a Carolina reaper,
still my skin’s moisture is more piquant.
Maybe Mr Right also has a little bite,
if you’re reading this? Please write to me.
Hot saucy words that make me swoon,
I may get a case of the nerves for a bit,
it’s just the rush of not knowing.
Would you still like to know how to make
my heart race? I’ll weave emotions with
ink on a cocktail napkin.
So I’ll ask again,
Do you want to see me sweat?
Your beauty is almost blinding
as you glide across the floor.
Remembering our last embrace,
I ache within my core.
Its time to visit wonderland,
you know I have the key.
Whispering enchanted words,
I wish to set you free.
I'll raise you with my tender arms,
suspend you in my realm.
Quivering you'll enter bliss,
let passion overwhelm.
We'll dive into each other's eyes,
ignite the flame of truth.
Delivering love's scorching heat,
perfection sought from youth.
I'll break the chains that hold you,
bring ecstasy refined.
Devouring, bodies aglow,
our minds and souls entwined.
I'll take you to the mountain top,
together breathe the air.
Perspiring, we'll both let go,
undying love I'll swear.
The tempo of the music
adds energy to the rhythm of the night,
and the pulse of warm blood rushing through sinewy veins.
The mixture of perspiring bodies,
cheap perfume, and tepid whiskey adds a pungent aroma
that permeates even the tattered tablecloths.
The scene, obscured by dimness
and a haze that slowly envelops the dusty paper lanterns,
gives the room an eerie ghost-like glow.
Writhing, creeping forms
undulate, moving sensuously
to the repeated thumping of resonating bass strings.
The soulful melody of the saxophone
weaves its way over, around and through the crowd
as it playfully caresses the thick air.
Remote conversations and laughter
mix with bold encouragements from the crowd
as a lone dancer, with little effort, executes her sexy, sultry moves.
A breeze blows, ever so slightly,
as the door opens and more revelers enter the stifling room,
the lanterns swaying in the breeze.
A thin shaft of moonlight slowly creeps across the bare floor
as the aroma, the haze and the music
waft through the opening and into the rhythm of the night.
You have yet to see the bountiful ornaments in my orchard.
Perspiring perfumes of the passion we play and preview,
Weaving wonderful whispers of the wishes we ought to do.
Let me show you the silky thread of our poetry,
As I wear your handwriting all the way
Down to the very slopes you dare to kiss,
Demanding my eyes, to stay stoned into your hazel soul.
What my thoughts could do to your tempting traps, to your luscious lats—
When my lips could read the rhythms you bleed through your throbbing teases,
Braiding beautiful ballads on the nape of your neck,
Surely , an invitation for an appetite,
Oh, beauty of a beastly back.
He's been a ruler you
can't see
like a measuring stick
in hiding
He's been hiding the fact
he can see
but would you believe
his findings?
They've been watching
his back intensely
while he fills their heads
succinctly
Being light years ahead
is empty
guess that's why
they assumed he's ditzy
Couldn't be further from facts
he's shifty
while he raises the bar
he's shifting
On a whole other plane
he's flying
into spaces that match
his timing
Snuffing the wick of a witch
that's scrying
trying to see where his light
is hiding
In the dark many eyes
are crying
in disbelief of results
from spying
He just gives of himself
as tithing
is as natural to him
as rhyming
As for all of the ties
& bindings
it actually helped to
release the shining
Look to see what the All
is designing
it's unique dare I say
inspiring
They say the temp of
the earth is rising
so why isn't he
like the rest perspiring?
My hands in the autoclave
It is no disaster
No mistake
Complete sterilization
Not quite yet cremation
Free of my predation
I crawl through a cavernous cave
Its wet walls perspiring
Nooks like glands
Gulleted by the monster
Steep feet without falter
Skull space I foster
I lay in a shallow grave
No need for depth
In this loamy cradle
No longer death I seek
But whatever keeps me weak
Hyphae drink the fluid I leak
Protected; not me, but you
Dissected; they bore me through
An ending to my disgrace
Put me in my place
Which comes first?
asked Justice Sage
of Peaceful Muse
Divinely inspired Peace
or Humanely expired Passion?
For amusing organic bodies
inspiring sage minds
perspiring pronoia purposes
While DivineSage minds
worship HumaneMuse bodies
anticipating deep sacred meanings
Unveil organic unitarian Muse
purposes flowing toward
prevailing universal sacred Sage
meaningful peace forms
Pronoia Gaia's hypothetical paradox
Gnostic God's metaphysical orthodox
How could SageMind remember anticipating
organically resilient purpose
without MuseBody religiously conjoining
sacredly resonant meaning?
Why would democratically organic bodies
reproduce belonging
autocratically irreligious minds
seduce longing
For sacred AnthroSage inspiring Peace
love songs refueling
Organic EarthMuse perspiring Passion
justice dances restoring
Which sacred longing first
comes organic belonging last?
asked peace perspiring MuseBody
inspiring SageMind passions.
1.
quiet morning _
petals love the watering hand
2.
shadows of a tamarind tree _
your company
3.
jute bangles _
smell of perspiring hands
4.
light warmth _
cups love having tea from your teapot
5.
pale yellow hydrangea _
our moonlit evening walk
_____________
July 2, 2025
I
languish
beach side on
a blanket by
an azure ocean
perspiring profusely.
Then comes a soothing coolness
wafting its wonder over me.
It fans my sun-drenched face bringing me
refreshment and breathing sweet peace to me.
It whispers in my ear tranquility;
lying on my back, I’m so at ease.
Oh, gentle gust, you are my balm
on this sweltering day of
July. Oh summer wind,
with all the magic
you possess, please
linger long,
blessing
me.
Written, March 24, 2025
For Contest, Your Choice E sponsor, Brian Strand
******************
hands aegis
sculpting lullabies
cradling
warmed by
candlelight - wax
flesh
muscle
breath
zephyr
exhales
inaudible eulogies
exuding oxidation
of
turpentine
nectar
of
ebony &
onyx
varnishes in
liniment
to coddiwomple
fingers &
dactyls
tracking
ectoblastic
layers
labyrinth puddles
yen's fuel trigger
perspiring
bruised blooms
quivered reverberations
declining
blossom
obscured in
sunken strands
of
sprouts
&
burial site
effigy melting
Inside
silk gloves
They, who are readily and always available;
Checking if your vital signs are stable.
They work round the clock with lives in their hands.
Carrying out nature's most delicate command.
They go into the surgical room without an iota of fear,
Bringing the much needed hope and chasing away despair.
The surgical robe, a garment light as a feather;
Worn by the doctors, heavy as a boulder.
ECG steadily beeping, ECH continuously whooshing,
They are intricately focused, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they are perspiring.
The nasal cannal steadily pumping oxygen into the patient’s nostrils,
Leaving no room for disaster and peril.
They're racing against time, or rather, in a race with the Grim Reaper;
One trying to harvest lives, the other trying to preserve.
They deserve their flowers, a kiss and a thumbs up,
For sticking with us and never giving up.
By;
Solace.
A listless wall-clock tocks.
Pedestrians sleep-walk to their garages,
strung out nightwalkers arrive home
to unwind main springs.
Neighborhood cats want in and dogs out.
Pet-free I arise
to pee.
Hung upon marshmallow bones
I roll back onto the perspiring mattress,
Its pillows are still drunk on mind-fog.
The slamming of distant doors
tweaks fine ear hairs.
The clock stops to rethink the notion of time,
hands flop out of its face,
those hands will never reach the floor,
not until bare feet repossess the rug,
nor until my toes can hack their way through
its pile weave jungle,
only then
will the wall commence to tick,
and a thick-tongued world clock in.
Swaying Sensibilities
In the sultry summer nights, wistful waves weave a seductive spell, wet and wild, while whispering winds waltz with wistful wonders, writing tales of tantalizing temptations, tip-toeing towards a torrent of tormented desires.
Scintillating sensations serenade the soul’s sensuous sanctuary, stirring subtle symphonies of sultry seduction, swaying sexy sensibilities.
Climactic contractions culminate and course through our corporal connection,
Pent-up passions pour into your pulsating pelvis,
Powerful primal prowess, pervasive pain, provokes penetrating pleasures,
Our hearts pounding, peak pulse pressures, panting and perspiring; covered in coveted carnal contentment.
-Edward
Listen to the silence,
before the sip of this brewed potion,
an enticing concoction,
Do you hear the harvest ,
The songs oozing from the volcanic sandy loam,
perspiring earthy herbs that graciously glow,
sprinkling notes of the sweetest flowers,
the heavenly dark red golden lake that awaits,
in the ark of this marble mint mug,
For a minute, the rich roast takes hold on to these lungs,
Pulverizing every weight that rests on my ribs,
Singing songs of spring to my winter brain,
Have I been too needy,
for the touch of coffee to run down my throat,
hoping it would wipe away every artery clogging my heart,
Maybe I yearn for these beans way too much,
Or are they simple my subconscious crutch.
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