With my succulence, I can quench your thirst
hydrating well-being midst calmness-bliss
offering nutritious benefits
toward functional zest of vibrant mirth...
Yes, enjoy my refreshing presence
midst wondrous fellowship with loved ones
along rejuvenating laughter spree
ending in prayer, thanking God*... then have slurps of me.
Philippians 4:6 Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.
November 4, 2025
3rd place, "PERSONALLY SPEAKING" Personification Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Nette Onclaud; judged on 11/5/2025
Such an intensely rich indulgence.
A cream of so much succulence.
The 49er arrives with the virgin sunrise.
But the golden veins have long ago dried.
Pickaxe in hand, dynamite in his good eye.
He's the only one left of the calloused kind.
Back in spring, Blackjack the burro broke free.
Bolting for the last watering hole
Licking the salt from his reins.
Deeper and deeper the miner burrows in.
It's all about double blind commitment now.
The poison of pride over the succulence of time-
Willowy faith over the slag of good reason-
The gristle of isolation over nectar of companionship.
At the very edge of the dimming lamp light.
The black snake has all but tapped the vein dry.
A dusty angel sips the last of the moonshine.
The 49er rolls two stones over two black holes
that once were hazel stars on the rise.
Standing under the hot sun
The sand of the beach singing melodies of tingling to my toes
I watched your summer body as the sun kissed it
Running away from the waves of the ocean
Your curves and edges bounced
Speaking volumes of your succulence
You were happy and full of life
Turned a few heads in your direction
You became the reason for many erections
I didn't mind
None of theirs will feel your warmth
The sun can kiss your body
I'm the one going to kiss where the eyes of the sun cannot reach
Young Woman
You were not made
You were carved
You were not created
You were built
God had nothing to do with your creation
He is too conservative to create such a gorgeous weapon of mass ********
Damn!!!!
ABSOL
and then:
perhaps there is love
perhaps
where there is the shape of things
the majestic, the mystic, the mighty
the miniscule
that I have not been taught
altogether
to get her or him or them
or especially it;
with endowment
with succulence
with patience or prejudice
if only there were no
perhaps
PREFERENCE
the succulence
on display
arrestingly
different
a
timeless
exactitude
alongside
luscious
beauties
concoctions
of symbolist n
abstractions
simplified lines
emptily idealised
yet
authentically
expressed
& depicted
if
somewhat
in absurdity
of
an exploration
of the sensual
in
the of
conscientious
to make
a startling
masterpiece
illustrating
&
portraying
a naive
fantasy
MY IRRESISTIBLE BROWN COFFEE
I will drink to your love.
Start with my brown coffee some forehead kisses
just to show you my abundance of respect
till my lips hyperbolically becomes crested on it.
I will drink to your love,
Taste the pureness from your lips
just to show my thirst for my coffee
and unify our passion for each other.
I will drink to your love.
Caress the shoulders of my cup
just to make her feel my touch
as I feel her steamy warmth.
I will drink to your love.
Grapple like waffle the two points
where sweet signals strikes sensitivity
till I become hot or warm like my coffee.
I will drink to your love.
My tongue is made to taste it's succulence,
as I ravel in the softness of your heavyweights
until our souls come in twain and simulate.
I will drink to your love.
Reach down to the paths that leads to heaven.
And when I get to that heaven beneath,
I'll drink the oceans till we both run wild.
I will drink to the love of my Brown Coffee.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Cinq Cinquain
Copyright© 3rd January, 2023.
Be a "what if' being
a poet all seeing,
let your wishes
ride upon unicorns and rainbows.
Don't be typically cynical, be topically hopeful,
have faith in the ridiculous
the fantastical.
Le us not wait
let us be grateful,
let us not hesitate
to stare at our navel.
If the Mindful Universe
(that ever succulence of sprit),
can make an ape think,
lift it into the poetry of creative ideas,
it can change your heart,
it can make it bloom in much higher gardens.
You are the who-man, the walking womb,
what inseminates you,
what seeds your imagination
are the wings of an everlasting,
ever increasing wonder.
Butterfly dreams will learn to soar.
Unicom's will be a poem you have yet to write.
A rainbow looms outside the window
however, she lingers quietly
for the slight strips to portray twilight
as her predominant shrewdness
strive exegesis in the vault of heaven
and they retain the darkness
captivating promises flavor edible orbs
she is doused with succulence
soulful craving skin in hellish bliss
solely for squander
where there is crown motionless
is shattered by midnight rhapsody.
3rd Place Contest Winner
Written: July 07, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
What's cooler and juicier
Than a long-striped rime of green,
Whose internals are fortified with
An explosion of mesmerizing desire?
Or a total circle of green without stripes,
Protectively enclosing the best of eats,
Thoroughly permeated by the color of pure red,
And speckled throughout with seeds of black?
Or if you prefer, no seeds at all to delay your treat.
And what's more tastier my friend, than a softly textured cut
Of mouth-watering goodness bite after bite after watery bite?
An oasis of succulence and sweetness to the taste of healthy Goodness awaits our sense of taste each summer with nothing To prep; nothing to waste. A watermelon sweet and cold is Like A free-wheeling bicycle ride along the countryside.
070422PSCtest, Watermelon contest, Mystic Rose Rose
The grass is not greener on the other side.
Rather, there are things that love to hide.
We need to discern what's in disguise.
I wasn't looking
for it, but I saw it,
and for a season, I could not look away.
I felt it,
and was arrested by it.
I did not hear it,
but I could taste it,
and was captured by its succulence.
But it was a delicacy I could not afford.
I could touch it, but I dared not, because
To do so would have been a tragedy.
As you can clearly understand, all but
one of my five senses were engaged.
And such sensory inputs were far too many.
The entity that I encountered was a fantasy.
I was forced to come to the inevitable conclusion
that indeed, it was a mirage that could end in a casualty.
May we be aware of fantasies seeking to conceal realities.
From such, one must walk away, before we become a travesty.
052922PS
Sandwiches and soups for supper.
Rare privilege of such succulence.
The land suffers too much greening;
luxuriance froths to fever and glut,
birds cannot consume all the insects,
nor serpents eat the thronging flocks.
The soil hogs on the swill of decay,
drey and burrow are ovens
for a prowling pestilence.
There is no softness. The sun
bites the bloated and rancid,
a balance is tipped off kilter,
the climate repaints its face
more garish each day.
A little poverty is needed, a tax
on the riotous and abundant,
the sickly succulence of ripe sap
be drained and clarified.
We live now in the eyes of strangers,
hunters are maddened by the gnawing
of long fevered bones.
All around me the land suffers too much greening.
The luxuriant froths over into a feverish lush.
Birds cannot consume all the insects.
Snakes cannot eat all the birds.
The ground hogs on the swill of decay.
If this is natures wealth then a little poverty
is needed, a tax on the riotous and too abundant.
Death the reaper must rule his kingdom with more gusto,
both the prey and the predator sparring none,
the sickly succulence of overripe sap
drained and clarified by a cooler sunlight.
I was whelped in more temperate climes,
wolves died of hunger and age not heat stroke.
The rabbit burrows are oven gates
for marauding hordes and an avid pestilence.
The balance is tipped and off kilter,
The climate repaints its face more garishly
each day.
I hear the mandibles of ferocity, their
click and remorseless grind,
and there is no softness in the nibbling jaws
of those who rampage silently,
those, who strip the bloated and obese
to the dark and rancid bone.
I secretly journey now under dawn stars,
trace my way over cooling paths
before another fevered heat
force feeds the land.
The Mocking Face of Love
Oh, love, why is it that you mock me
Cupid’s arrows falling at my feet
flitting eyes that settle – always elsewhere
trembling hands that never reach to touch.
Why must you visit yet never stay
linger in scented memory
consumed in darkening shadows
pursued by memory’s melancholy.
Oh love, had I tasted your nectar
imbibed the succulence of your secrets
dined on the opulence of your beauty
sated myself on a moment of your madness
Would I then have known you well enough
to smile at the mocking face of love.
John G. Lawless
©6/17/2021
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