Her winsome smile belied her secret essence
A temptress and siren
Given to saturnine quintessence
And I a man of placid and calm complexion
Became ever more umbrageous
With each stranger she offered affection
Ciara Cybelle chose to take her chances
Unconcerned by my mood
Continued her frenzied romances
She swooned at my charm
And laughed at my wit
And yet held to another man’s arm
Ciara Cybelle a nymph out of hell
Twisting a man
With her temptress spell
I had to make her understand
She simply had to see
I must be her only man
But Ciara Cybelle laughed instead
Eyes flashing fire
She brazenly said
The likes of me would never know
The deliciousness
Of the charms she would bestow
On other men she found fairer
Then in a rage
I struck in blind error
And carefree Ciara Cybelle
Lay shattered and still
At my feet where she fell
To the dark waters I fed
The alabaster body
Of Ciara Cybelle dead
Now benthic stillness of cimmerian depths
Disturbed by the pale lifeless limbs
Of Ciara Cybelle
Now tumescent and water pruned
The once sempiternal beauty
Forever ruined
I'm a flower; I stand tall and primp for the world to see,
As a blooming princess, I incur both acclaim and glory.
Shaking shyly under a whimsical sky in dull tree stumps,
Soft melting snow vacuums up my tumescent clumps.
Eastward, where the eagle's feathers spread for flight,
Glow magnifies, bidding farewell to the fading twilight.
Once the days lengthen, they grow rosier and warmer,
Wintry endless dullness for my darling little charmer.
Paving the way for brighter days and lifting the spirit,
Vivid illumination, glowing embers, ruby, and pure merit.
Vibe shone in dual heat, a starry sky coated in sublime,
As stirring winds sate the slight cold, of ululating time.
Awe-inspiring bliss at the first arrival of spring thrill,
The morphology of the blooms on the saffron daffodil
Ritzily jasmine, eerie whispers ripple across the woods,
Spring, my lover, spills my soul in its pacific moods.
Fields of color bloom with bright joy, in ribald delight.
Narcissus competes with tulips for greater height.
1st place contest winner
Written: February 19, 2023
In Bloom Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
.
Locked
Yes locked
her tumescent
to mine
I felt her rapid breathe
As
Mine dukes latched to her fundament
pulling her vibrate
'gainst mine wild
Ourn torsos locked
Her bulging eyne
brimming with love's wet
whilst mine
reaches hern depth
Ourn bodies yaw
loving each's sweat
Ourn maws exclamating
Vehemently
"yesss"
As mine lurch retreats
Ourn together watches
as the ebb from hern
glisters
Resurrecting Passion
by Michael R. Burch
Last night, while dawn was far away
and rain streaked gray, tumescent skies,
as thunder boomed and lightning railed,
I conjured words, where passion failed...
But, oh, that you were mine tonight,
sprawled in this bed, held in these arms,
your breasts pale baubles in my hands,
our bodies bent to old demands...
Such passions we might resurrect,
if only time and distance waned
and brought us back together; now
I pray these things might be, somehow.
But time has left us twisted, torn,
and we are more apart than miles.
How have you come to be so far—
as distant as an unseen star?
So that, while dawn is far away,
my thoughts might not return to you,
I feed your portrait to the flames,
but as they feast, I burn for you.
Published in Songs of Innocence and The Chained Muse
Striving & Stretching...
for dozens and dozens of years
without quite..., without thanks;
each tree, each branch, each leaf
strains to attain, the ever Vast,
the vaulting vault of their Heavens.
Interloping bipedal lopers
crash chattering their way through
on walks and hikes; tramps trampling.
Escaping the very world they've built.
A heavy presence, without exception.
Leaving ruts, and litter,
taking token totems.
Once gone, ghosts - echoing aching presences.
The Trees are the Heavy Presence.
The weighty towers, the tumescent trunks.
The gathering green, the sipping root.
They compete with one another and
cannot compete with us-
for sounds, for space, for life.
When in the woods
do be a
Light Presence.
Your in her trance
The attraction of Lil' Miss Scary
Dressed two sizes too tight, exploiting her gifts
The smell of enticing fragrant's
The smell of red wine on her breath
A warming sensation when she pulls you in
She places your hand up her skirt
She wants to be desired
To alleviate her pain from the past
Make her cum with every burning sensation
Biting, Licking, kissing, and loving
Tumescent intentions
Whispering in your ear
A voice like wind sending shivers down your spine
The sound of light rain against the glass
Adding a peaceful ambience
A dream of passion coming to life
Every thirty seconds on the news I see a new story about a murderer, a burglar, a child
molester.
It has been said that we cannot know the face of God/ess,
But using scientific methodology, I would
venture that this burning bush that we call earth was set ablaze by an omnipotent child with
a magnifying glass, laughing at the blackend husks of ants and dinosaurs, neanderthals and
Newtons.
It would be a foolish theory if you could prove to me that violence isn't cyclical, a cascading
and tumescent force which only gains strength as it moves along.
The bewildered tip of my pen hovered over the blank thirsty pages…
I thought expressing feelings is as magnificent as the sight of the sun’s birth
from the horizon’s womb...
Or as miraculous as a squeamish bizarre caterpillar's transformation
into an elegant butterfly…
Such a transcending experience still lingers within the facets of my subconscious…
As I limp through the days under the weight my tumescent thoughts…
With my weary pen, I converse the endless possibilities of a phrase, a word, a feeling…
How few ordinary words from countless pens became etched in history…
I’m hovering with my pen wondering about how to write and what to write…
Should I write about what was in the past; a past I long to forget…
Or about a present; a present battle I still haven’t won…
Or about a future; nameless, precarious yet an exciting adventure…
Should I give birth to what’s swelling inside or consider abortion…
My pen is choking…it’s time to end the turmoil and hesitation…
I’ll just press down the tip of my black pen on white paper…
And wait for a reaction…
Isn't that how it works anyway?
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