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Monthly Archives: May 2016

O’, To Be Your Presence

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O’, to be your soft hand
that soothes a tremble,
whose mere faint touch
beckons unrivaled sighs,
quelling fingers that trace,
casually, wanton curves,
your palm that, absently,
finds rest on warm thighs.

O’, to be the sweet luxury
of each fold of your flesh,
the fragrance of your neck
that gives immortals arise,
the lush, bare vulnerability
of your wetted, wanton lips,
the ceaseless intense gaze
of your vast, unbridled eyes.

O’, to be the very breath and
the blood of life within you,
to taste ecstatic tears from
the stance of one who cries,
to see the universe in action
as your reflection in a mirror,
to empathize with the earth,
to know the reach of its skies.

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Posted by on May 29, 2016 in My Poetry

 

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Idyll

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Idyll hearts digress to feign,
just as roses wither ghostly,
unshed of their dying petals,
still sweet, but lost to beauty,
and left cold, of brittle thorns.

 
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Posted by on May 27, 2016 in My Poetry

 

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Woman, Thou Art Yet Untamed

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Woman, thou art yet untamed,
be it thy breast in wild of flesh,
or be thy heart as yet unmade,
woman, thou art unable to rest.

Woman, in thy fashion, be bold,
yet softened by a wilding breath,
in thy nature, thine eyes behold,
‘ere cascade, thy nurtured caress.

Woman, thou art glorious wan,
be it in basking glow of the moon,
or in thy gaze, the light of the sun,
as in thy hands, its fire, swooned.

Woman, thou art unwise to Wed,
be thy burdens unwieldy to duty,
for mere man, in his wildest stead,
cannot hold your weight of beauty.

 
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Posted by on May 26, 2016 in My Poetry

 

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This Earth, This Sky, This Night

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And how wide then is the sky
when I hold my eyes open,
and stars are painted tassels
of a moonless summer night;
and how high earth does rise
when my breath is of the wind;
and the horizon reaches farther
than the sweltered flesh of sky;
and how wild then is the night
when my dreams dare not fade,
and flowers that bloom in the day
seduce the air with sultry repose;
and how sweet the summer wind
when flesh is bared to its caress,
and night birds that hunt in the dark
bear silent, while a chorus of prey
sing hapless in ceaseless abandon.

 
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Posted by on May 26, 2016 in My Poetry

 

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To Speak Of Love

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Love is a fine assemblage
of base, wanton behaviors,
whether fashioned or bred,
either by will or by nurturing.

Yet to proclaim ‘I am in love!’
is but dispassionate mockery,
expressing ideals of beauty,
as written by ancient poets.

‘Tis an urgency to prove flesh,
as resigned to human endeavor,
yet to speak with more reserve,
spilling roses from the tongue.

‘Tis feigned as easily as anger,
but with gentle, precise fondle,
from subtle, deliberate hands,
’til thy intended swoons or errs.

Yet, I shan’t now debate love,
nor its need to sate reverence,
for ’tis but folly and flounder,
fair consequence of being human.

 
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Posted by on May 21, 2016 in My Poetry

 

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Let Death Tarry, That Life May Linger

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Let Death come with quiet footsteps,
stealthy, that it should be unfettered,
yet with precision, that it bodes firm.

Let Death take me in gradual stages,
in fade, as with the onset of twilight,
so I wield as a sword each final breath.

Let Death take from me first my eyes,
I no longer need to see the dying sky,
for in darkness, only then, am I aware.

Let Death take from me next my mouth,
I no longer need to speak to this earth,
for me, wordless, only hands may tender.

Let Death take from me then my ears,
I no longer hear the music of the wind,
for to swoon, I must know the serenade.

Let Death take from me last my hands,
I want to hold Life close as a plaything,
and with final wane, brandish it fiercely.

And when I am immersed into ground,
Let Death lay beside me to hold me dear,
and whisper my name as final contrition.

 
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Posted by on May 17, 2016 in My Poetry

 

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Illusions

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How the sun does rise,
albeit, perhaps unwilling,
as if given a choice,
to seed the horizon
with a form of fire;
tho’ it does not move,
but in illusory perception,
and for this vague illusion,
we think ourselves newborn
upon its perceived return.

Like the illusion of sunrise,
this kind of ill perception
is but vague and transient,
like the substance of a heart,
measured by vain standards,
attributed with human airs
for both love and disdain,
yet merely flesh and muscle,
unjustly held as metaphor.

And by what staid reasoning,
with idle minds unfettered,
shall we brave the question
of why we tremble at life,
instead of grasping firmly
the allotment of fortune,
this tangible course of us,
not perceived by the heart,
nor moved by illusory sunrise,
but held as human condition,
if only to act upon our dreams.

 
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Posted by on May 16, 2016 in My Poetry

 

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