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Best Poems Written by Poetic Flame

Below are the all-time best Poetic Flame poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Woman, Devil's Body, Angel's Heart

Women are roses
Beware of thorns
With tactful maneuvers
Lest you get poisoned

Women are oars
They sail your boat, without roars
And, the calm waters
Conceal the abyssal horrors

Women are children
Give them big sweets
Hug them with heart beats
And show them trustful smiles
'Cause they sniff the wiles

Women are wireless spies
Aired through airborn flies
A mouth-to-ear news murmured
Faster than any transmitter

Woman are thieves
They steal your heart
They laugh when you grieve
And cry when you leave

Women are men
They do all they can
Go to war, hold a pen
But without men,
They never can

Women give all their heart
It seems they won't depart
Once real things are getting hard
They leave like never did start


But, We can't live without them
Life is duality, woman and man
Happiness and Sorrow
Let's share them life's joy and pain
Until we both, leave this Earth
To the Power '' Supreme ''

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Arabesque Whispers

Arabesque Whispers
       
       
To a flower        
You are the fragrance        
And for poetry        
You are the refrain        
                            
Something left from a dream        
Has taken time in place        
And the Now is only your face        
like a sea before my eyes        
         
Your beauty overflowed my thoughts**        
And wrecked my sails        
         
                
And then, i look at you.        
Big dark eyes, from Arabian Nights        
Serenading Muashahat of halcyon glories        
knights and queens' love adventures        
Love and sacrifice, and still your eyes        
hold undeciphered  charms, that        
I have yet to decode..        
                      
   
Every spot , every speck is a whole in all its integrity        
Your arched eyebrows have traced.a perfect bow        
And trimmed it with a painstaking care, and  genius hands        
No wisp of hair was left out of the range.        
was left out at random hands to alter its beauty..        
         
   
And the black hair that droops loosely        
Upon your shoulders        
And down to your hips where        
it lands gently in warm lap,'' i just imagine        
It with a wish this might happen...''.        
                        
   
Lines like an intricate Arabesque of a human design          
intertwined fibers not tangled in chaotic hustle        
or weaved with awkward beginners.        
Classy and tactfully polished......        
         
   
Then you smile with lips lightly pressed        
A mildly stressed corner of the thin sweet lips        
Shyly giving a hint of discretion        
A sign of reserve and self-containment.        
It's what makes the beholder get willing        
For a curious inspection, and poetic research..        
         
   
You look heavenly serene and blissfully Zen        
No care, no stress ever can a poet discern in all your lines        
You gently wave like the ebb and flow        
Of a Summer calm sea,,        
At even's quiet moments. you take my eyes        
Silently, as i sink blindly in your deep

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The Tongue of Beauty

Rain and water,
Sun and glitter
Dust and the Moon,
Birds and twitter

Clouds and mist,
Sky more deeper
The face of beauty
Peace and glamour

Stay by me,
watch the river
Listen to the winds
As they moan with fever

Behold the morn,
It's rise is better
Than any painting seen
In the treasury keeper
*********
And The sun smiles, with velvet lids
The moon winks through elegant reeds
The bird sings, with joyful springs
And the trees sway, when the wind sings

This is the beauty if you really do see
And if you don't; it's the same with me
And yet, i know that the world needs a bow
From the poet, who has much to know.

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Shakespeare's Cow

Did you mllk the cow juliet ?

Oh, my Romeo, not yet !

What about the cow ?

Oh, I don't know how

So, go milk Shakespeare's sonnets.

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Trains That the Words Forgot

Steam and smoke trains, dont fume anymore,lying like dead corpses or spare parts of what once was called the golden age;;
If they would fume, it would only be a plaintive sigh, about their desolate demise; forsaken and rejected........
Thought to have lost their charm, their romance:too much archaic and rusted for a modern glossary,
They don't whistle full-throated screams, when coming into crowded scene,
with travellers waiting with roses and flowers.....and home--comers long awaited return, from war, from places never before gone to....
Old smoking trains too much aged for a godspeed journey acroos the green lands, and winding between the grazing pastures and the flat plains and the  long tracks, thru' the gigantic mountains, and alongside the deadly cliffs,,
But, safety guaranteed and entertainment are additional bonus...........
 
They throng, now inside the old wood station, built somewhere at the fringe of the town, beside the pine forest..and the old cemetery........
 
Those archaic trains, on the dusty shelt remain,like outworn clichés rejected,. Art is antiquity enshrined...on Natural museums and open to air parcs...............
 
I don't cry over those dead entities which dont whistle, but i cry on Romance  missed and Beauty overlooked, In time of fast eating and fast breeding, and fast living; and fast death.dying, nothing doin !!!!

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Gypsy Caravanserai

Gypsy Caravanserai


In the scorching sun of the wild Sahara
Where the dunes shower like The Falling Niagara
And the black scorpion so eager for flesh
Roams the desert as though on African safari

The winds howling in the void wilderness
A dead silence fills the holes of emptiness
A tingling rattle is heard behind a dune
The stinging snake gives a deadly tune

From afar looms a misty mirage silhouette
Lumbering along with blaring clarinet
The music of which gives a poetic hint
That the desert is a sea of sparking glint

The flashes show and hide a caravanserai
Going through the wild in a lined array
Seeking an oasis to unload and sojourn
Before leaving the sands in the next morn

Again the convoy resumes the long voyage
A camel is known as the ship of the desert
Sailing through vast seas of golden sands
With light steps in resolute straight trends

The caravanserai passes and the sands move
The places change and the scorpion does rove
The winds still howl in empty space and loose
A ship has passed has left a wake after a cruise

The flock travels in never ending quest
For water for peace and for the best
Once there is an oasis there we shall rest
The sun of life is burning it is just a test

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The Old Child That Is Living In Me

The Old Child That Is Living In Me
When the Time was beautiful and Life clean and meaningful, we were those toddlers to waddle in shallow dirty swamps; run on dusty lands, leaving swirling winds in our wakes,

When time was beautiful and quiet, we'd sneak stealthily after midnight, looking for sleeping birds in eucalyptus trees, or stealing
unripe prickly pear from the neighbour 's orchards. and skip like little birds
into the darkest alleys to scare away the black ghosts.
When time was ripe and soulfoul, i'd take that beaten path bound for the shallow pond, singing sweet love melody of the girl of my dreams, 

as Summer sun would stay at zenith for hours. cast a little shadow upon my head, time was at vertical heat and no tough soul
dared show such boldness, except a romantic guy and some nasty innocent peers.And when time was so long and the muscles so strong, we'd enter fighting arenas, after a lost football match..win or lose the blood will gush forth no matter the score.....

It was when life used to really have the name of joy and delight, and the risks taken were driven by the thrill of living.,like young and careless spirits that were gone with the wind..........
.
As time is not child and wild, but old and wise, i look at those times buried in the back of my mind, as words i forgot to write; in that past, being too busy in plays in innocence and celestial existence !!!

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Fifteen Or Fifty There Is Always a Feeling

So little fifteen, and a small heart within a small body liable to crumble between my fingers..
She is fifteen with the age of wisdom that girl who claims to be living a joyous teen..

i've felt that little spirit that drives a big body. when all the X's and Y's  will never be bale to form such a complicated equation and make it stand erect.

She left me wonder in a maze, bewildered by her sworn claim to be just a little flower, that is just budding among her peers playing hopscotch, or hide and seek..in her mother's bower,..but she makes me think to even come closer. May be her spirit has seen more than a little age might suffer, might have have seen,or lived.........

And suddenly, i became nasty, wicked, disgusted, as she raged unexpectedly against my silence.The silence she translated as carelessness, meaningless poetry, she is striving to show...

but in that age, a woman can she have insomnia, can she speak about dopamine, words that only versed

and can use in a moment of deep insight.....deep meditation.what the little flower is plotting, no Spring breeze can ever hear its wind, no Summer heat can ever hide its sun, no season can postpone her mood, until a flower with her perfume will give her vernal life..

What the age of teen can do to adulthood make me bow in recognition to a great woman in her prime prosperity...........

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Tipsy With Gypsy Love

Ah!, the morning coffee, crosswords puzzle and a pretty face in the background;
That's my day starting with brain and belly when your guts say, Ping! then you can do anything.
 
And the morning mist lights up your heart, making the pulse more vibrantly voiced than before.....Nimble steps up into the rocky mountain and the pine forest at the fringe of the small village,
 
For an upward weary hike, my bike has taken a break, inside my house, saved her for a vernal stroll, on some shiny morning Spring.............
 
You are here on my mind, on my heart taking part in my journey, dancing on my crosswords and teasing my busy brain...You have taken my vocabulary with you, and Nature is now a second nature behind you..
 
The blue shade of you titillate my thoughts, thoughts i meant to paint with trees and birds,yet, they are jade and velvet and full of smiles and lustful looks..
 
 And your fleecy clouds lie safely on your chest, full of drizzle and warm embraces..That hilly body with vales and valleys; with curved rounds, with sharp steeps enhanced with a gazing eye full of temptation, of appealing charm.......
 
With every step i make mountain-bound, i see you with intermittent flashes in my mind; until i stumble against a hard bark of some old pine tree; there i rest for a while gathering all that you have inspired to my quill..

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Mystical Word

Mystical Word
     
'M a man of dust and water    
     
I live between sea and shore    
     
I face waves as they spatter    
     
And keep the earth in my core    
     
     
I am a Mediterranean stroller    
     
I saw the Greeks built their dome    
     
And the Romans strong conquerors    
     
Destroyed thick and thin in Rome      
     
     
     
Haunted by aching Nature's fever    
     
I roam hills, watch mountain scapes    
     
With morning rush into deep forest    
     
When misty sylvan spirits, awake    
     
     
     
I befriend the wind and the rain    
     
The dark and the morning light    
     
I read the trees when they shed    
     
On their leaves, my poetry, i write    
     
     
This is the poet i am, i live    
     
I think, i feel, i weigh my word    
     
And give free wisdom to humans    
     
I am eternal, when i leave a " Word "