TACTILE
By Frank Daub
Tactilis – the Ancients said.
“Capable of being touched” –
There is a heaviness in this word,
That awakens the soul – too much.
Of lost proximity, hand
Touching – hand?
Or
Love
reaching the empty space
Of an unresponsive land.
She shared a tactile fancy
Explored the feelings of the world
Inquiries of subtle touch
Within her head vision unfurled
She visited a wooded glen
Saw through sound and scent and presence
That she could hold within her hands
By touching life – it’s very essence
Also hear within old cities
Oily boisterous tarmac tales
Hold still the warmth of evening's kiss
Amid the rows of brownstone vales
But most she cherished faces true
To who they are and what they do
Wrinkles, creases, stories told
Once her’s the only one she knew
John G. Lawless
©6/13/2023
Touch me, that’s
all you have to do;
Caress me with words
that raise goosebumps that won’t fade;
I’ll devour each and every one;
Let go only when I say,
‘Enough; I have no coherent thought.’
Enjoy the slow whisper along your skin,
marvel at the flames in my voice;
Powerless against your match
ablaze, captive to your energy;
Touch me and whisper,
hypnotize me with your fire.
Oh my
It’s an interesting world
So many stories
And smart people
I listen and read
All I can
Oh my
It’s a visual world
All this beautiful scenery
No time to
See it all
Oh my
It’s a musical world
Voices and instruments
From all round
No moment for
A quiet time
Oh my
It’s a tactile world
So much to
See an touch
It sends a shiver
Down my spine
Oh my
It’s a beautiful
World
bodies touching
ever so lightly:
wanting more
Messy moody mangled movements mull
Display dusty distant dream dull
Prime passionate purpose point
Jazzy jerky jumps joint
Seeker stacking soot
Break boosting boot
Time tracks toil
Sweet spoils
Cull
Leon Enriquez
10 November 2015
Singapore
(Note: This poem is a Nonet with Alliteration.)
Furry, silky, bumpy, scratchy,
Velvety or smooth –
Textures can repel, intrigue
Or comfort us and soothe.
Prickly, crinkly, soft and downy,
Sticky, cold or rough –
Some you can’t let go of;
Others – once might be enough.
Scruffy, woolly, stringy,
Slinky, satiny or sleek –
As we grow, so many textures
Lose their magic and mystique.
But just brush a pine tree’s needles
On a baby’s reaching hand
As you watch his face in wonder
And you’ll start to understand
There’s enchantment tucked in touches
And amazement we can feel,
Which a baby’s searching fingers
Can remind us and reveal.
On your face I see
That look, that brings
To mind an open
Sea in which I swim
And silky feel, in duvet
Sink and skin that’s
Flush a reddish pink
As warm as caramel
Scented soft and lavish.
In your eyes so bright
We smile, moments
True and pleasure
Keep , into your
Bosom pressing
Deep and tummies
Touch , we nestle
Just before we gently
Fall asleep.
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