Seeking Touch....
hands seem to grow
smaller with age.
the maps neath the eyes
go from destiny to love.
love that had no horse,
but worked a mule.
and kingdoms only thus,
manure, and sweat.
your body perfume,
rust of a moth's wings...
hymnals made of dust,
simple words, bent nails.
love's sap dried
on your thighs and lips.
no names, no images,
just small hands seeking touch!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Liturgy....
liturgy....
black coffee,
old hands opening boxes.
sweeping the floor
of the soul.
words shaped like photographs
made of wind and tears.
simple things...
simple doings!
the same shovel
digs the grave,
digs in the garden.
barefoot,
and half naked,
no need for words,
no fears to console.
live without regrets,
leave it all on the table.
do the work, and move on.
dont be the hollow religious image,
a body that has no love,
a love that has no body.
dont be so quick to wash your hands,
the dirt neath your nails
is your heritage!
liturgy...
black coffee,
and touching,
the shovel, and the axe!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lovers Meeting Beside A River
two lovers meet beside a river
they are on to something prohibited
but they cannot be stopped by your beliefs
dogmas and laws do not work for their love
so strong
so uninhibited
the feelings that gush like a river
flowing
naked they touch their bodies
their hands exploring all the possibilities
of love
they kiss, they make love
they lay their bodies on the grass
rolling, one on top of the other,
tight, and warm
sweat and salivations
until the apex is reached
the climax of love
the ecstasy
the fulfillment and then
the much needed rest
the other one sleeps
and dreams
the other one smokes
blows a breath
to the sky
makes circles
and plays with the
images of the clouds
at night
when the moon shines
so bright
and the star glitter
no one knows about this
except the river and the trees
the trees sing
the river flows
and then the sun shines
the morning after
the two shadows are gone
leaving some traces
on the grass
dried sweat
disturbed grass
some maps
without names
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Your Three Words
you write about
three words, and i predict
them from the
beginning,
i look at how your
name spells
letters arranged
so easy to remember
and you hint
about the three words
that i also know....
i know you mean
i love you..
cute, tickle me, like
high school sweethearts
you like it
giggling words
i love you
but grow a little
bit, grow the length of my arms
and muscles on my thighs
grow the nails
in my fingers
some dirt in there
some stains
in my hands
grow some more
yes, have white hairs
and wrinkled forehead
and trembling hands
and some sad stories
as you go along
some griefs
that you cannot contain
move on
with such words as
i quit
i am fed up
move on, grow, let time eat you
bloat in silence
store everything
inside your chest
and hit it with your
fists
do not cry
toughen your jaws
have a rope ready
loosen it a bit
for a while
on the benefit of a
doubt
something that
is reasonable
now, think deep
thoughts
and inhale more air
then exhale
tell me, what are those three words
in your throat?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Power of a Man
The power of a mam's eyes, how they pierce into my soul,
Which can make a love ignite, or tear apart something once whole,
The power of a mn's eyes, how they judge you with their stare's,
The pwer to degrade you, or foolishly make you believe they care,
The power of a man's lips, colliding together with mine,
Showing how much he loves me, as our tongues slowly entertwine,
The power of a man's lips, to cause me so much pain,
Curse words roll off his tongue, calling my hurtful names,
The power of a man's hands, how they caress my body and skin,
Luring me into adultery, oh, what a satifying sin,
The power of a man's hands, to painfully strike my face,
Blows go to the body, now he's fastening the pace,
The power of a man's heart, some big others small,
He who chooses to love, or not to love at all,
The power of a man's heart, from tthis his pride he gains,
The power to choose to hate me, or to love me just the same,
poem by Niakeva Thomas
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Dance of Love
I ride on your thighs and I embrace you with my both hands
The wind scraps our deep love dance off with the sudden gusts
Our swift flicks it several times, its tip just touching the wet sand.
The sky is blue and leaves of our tree are covered with orange rust.
My hands moved down your body before reaching your hips
The predation tremor in the early life dance of thrills flounder
Cradling my body in your arms my warm lips are against your lips
Your thoughts made me shiver as my eyes wandered endlessly over
You take small steps and make the turn into and become a part of my dance.
In the next instant an explosion of dawn light and the stirrings of happiness herald
You gonna take me to a place where I can shine, take me high feel so high trance
I keep the new world in the grain of green, I see love in your eyes of emerald.
You keep real close, lover whispers to my ear, I fly to the heavens’ high
You run your fingers through my hair, then dance your lips in orbital circle
Yet another rip in the space time continuum, and a return of perfect fry,
Our love makes slain the sentinel, a deity who is surrounding our crepuscle
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Horse Manure, A Pile Of It
horse manure
a pile of it
avoid it
and walk around it
spray perfume
to cover it
remove it
or complain about it
step in it
then curse it
shovel it
bury it.
Horse manure
a pile of it
collect it
grow flowers
horse manure
make use of it.
poem by Frances May
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That Much
That summer that field
and she saying to you
how much do you love me?
And you sensing her eyes
on you and the warm sun
and the birds in the sky
and you opening your hands
like the one that got away
say this much and she pokes
your arm and says be serious
how much? and you widen
your hands and smile at her
and say this wide or maybe
the size of a horse and she
pokes your arm and says if
you can’t be serious then I’m
going back home and she
moves to get up but you hold
her hand and say ok ok the
sky is not wide enough to
contain my love the heavens
to small and she says shut the
crap and say how much and
you kiss her lips passionately
with a wet red hot touch.
poem by Terry Collett
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Nature that Washed Her Hands in Milk
Nature, that washed her hands in milk,
And had forgot to dry them,
Instead of earth took snow and silk,
At love's request to try them,
If she a mistress could compose
To please love's fancy out of those.
Her eyes he would should be of light,
A violet breath, and lips of jelly;
Her hair not black, nor overbright,
And of the softest down her belly;
As for her inside he'd have it
Only of wantonness and wit.
At love's entreaty such a one
Nature made, but with her beauty
She hath framed a heart of stone;
So as Love, by ill destiny,
Must die for her whom nature gave him
Because her darling would not save him.
But time, which nature doth despise
And rudely gives her love the lie,
Makes hope a fool, and sorrow wise,
His hands do neither wash nor dry;
But being made of steel and rust,
Turns snow and silk and milk to dust.
The light, the belly, lips, and breath,
He dims, discolors, and destroys;
With those he feeds but fills not death,
Which sometimes were the food of joys.
Yea, time doth dull each lively wit,
And dries all wantonness with it.
Oh, cruel time, which takes in trust
Our youth, or joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave
When we have wandered all our ways
Shuts up the story of our days.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Picture of Love
If only I could touch your hands
Maybe you will rightly understand
Your own final destined place
And how I desire to touch your face
This is undoubtedly a picture of love
With your pink lips curled like a curve
Dust is to dust
As rust is to rust
Dust is to dust
As lust is lust
And I have found myself completely lost
Lost in an imaginary beautiful picture
Ready for you my love at any cost
I perceive this as a destined fixture
Trust is a must
As mistrust is disgust
Dust is to dust
And love is to trust
So let us adjust
Before the month of August
And I have found an entry
To your heart by pure chemistry
Your picture is the one of the century
And I will embark on this journey
A journey of curiosity
A journey of animosity
Because a picture is like a beautiful song
You can stare as you would listen to it all day long
Copyright 2007 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Simple needs
What do I need?
I need the words the most I think
I need some touch as well to live
I need a music around
I need some special climate
I need love, I think
Love in words
Love in touch
Love in the music
Love in the air
Love in your eyes as well
Love in many simple ways
You can give me your self
Love in the gesture
Love in your clothes
Love in your naked body and soul
Love in your favourites
Specialite de la maison
Love in your work
Love in your smile
Love in the way you speak
About everything around
Love in your mind
Love in your shopping tour
And I love to be in love with you
I love to share my life
With such a guy as you are
I love to give my self to you
I love to make love too
I love to do everything I do
And I love to live this way
With you.
poem by Anna Cellmer
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Taking A Glance At You
taking a glance at you
is poetry in itself, by itself and for itself.
there are words in my eyes
they speak in silence. They long to tell you what i feel.
there are hands on my lips. There are fingers there.
They long to go near you and kiss your lips too.
i see you as words too. Your eyes are images of my
own happiness. Your lips are shaping the shapes of ships
and they have sails to take me away to ecstacies.
i feel you as words of love, and lust and desire insatiable.
my fingers want to read every syllable in your face.
you have always been my poem.And there are so many of you
in all of them.
words, and images, and ecstacies. faces and compositions.
i love all of them. And this time i take a glance again.
at you. this poem. this is you. Believe me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This is my body
This is my body that you see
It is beautiful carved by God’s hands
Smoothened by His breaths
You will love it and want to have it
To touch and caress
To be feasted upon by the hunger
Of your eyes and thirst of your lips
To be rubbed by the coldness of your body
Seeking the warmth of my flesh
This is my body that you will first see
But there is more in me than my body
This soul that seeks your soul
This beautiful soul that seeks the beauty of your soul
The hands of my spirit reaching out to your invisible hands
They have all for years been longing to clasp
My soul longing to be with your soul
So they can be together
To be fused with each other as one
To be happy and calm and perfect
To that final place where this body
Shies away because something more beautiful
Inside it shines and glows and becomes
So beautiful in all eternity
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Hope You Remember Me
My love for you
will last forever,
Your skin against mine,
as soft as a feather,
This love can last
threw any weather,
Your hands in mine,
Fingers tangled like twin,
Hands running threw hair,
Trying to make u aware,
Of how much I love you,
You and me together all night,
Holding you so very tight,
When I'm with you
Everything seems all right,
Your beauty shines
Like the brightest light,
You made my heart soar like a kite,
And fly like a bird,
My heart so high,
But when you said those Words my heart fell straight outta the sky,
Why did you have to lie,
Why did you have to make me
Sigh, cry, and want to die.
My heart hit the ground,
pieces flew all around.
You smashed it to dust,
And left me to rust.
As I laid there bleeding, watching her get smaller and smaller till no more,
I looked down at my shattered remains, I saw a piece of her heart, and a piece of mine missing,
So we could remember
the Times we spent kissing,
I yelled to her hoping she would hear,
As 1 more hot tear,
Rolled down my check
Good bye my angel,
and good bye forever.
poem by Jacob Gifford
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You're Everything to Me
In your eyes I see the fire.
In your eyes I see desire.
When they're closed I cannot see
the eyes that mean so much to me.
In your hands I feel the love.
In your hands I rise above
all the things I've known.
Your hands have always made me moan.
Closer to you on every day,
your eyes and hands show me the way
that you will always love me
no matter where I will be.
There is no look I haven't seen.
There is no space that's in between
what I've felt in every touch
and every smile that meant so much,
For you're everything to me.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Oh How I love you!
My love I love you
I can't see anyone like you my love
You love is brightening my life
I love the way you look at me,
I love the way you care
My love I love you
I love your beautiful blue eyes
I love your soft lips.
I love you
Oh how I love you!
I do love you.
Love is emotion
Love is gentle
Love is divine
I love you more than words can,
explain.
I love you
Oh how I love you!
I do love you.
I love to hear your voice
I love it when your lips touch mine.
Love is passion
I need you my love
I love you
Oh how I love you!
I love you so much more,
Each and every day.
I love you
Oh how I love you!
poem by Maria Luisa Taylor
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Incandescent Moth (For Celeste)
the incandescent moth,
born flying with maddened joy
towards the light...
heart purified by weeping,
healed by childlike wonder.
mind searching every crevice
for every dram of truth.
soul bearing the marks of the whip,
childlike hands that dare to touch.
a river bent on giving,
the moth, closer and closer still,
till wings become the dust of angels,
spread at the feet of beginning and end!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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All White
All white, all light, all beautiful she stands,
Love in her eyes, a glory round her brows,
Blanched as the lilies chaste in her chaste hands.
Even so God's saints in their celestial house.
Red only are her lips, ay, red as those
Turned by the Queen, that happy day in France,
As yet unkissed, to him who made his vows,
Victor in fight, to her his soul's romance.
Idly she stands in dreams.--Ah, Launcelot,
Couldst thou but plead here haply and prevail,
Touch her soft cheek, draw tears from her sweet eyes,
Open her lips to passionate words unwise,
Receive her true kiss 'neath thy coat of mail:
In Love's name, I who love, should grudge it not.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Epilogue (Conclusion)
i am a child of weeping,
i cannot lie or pretend.
the voice of those that hunger,
the face of those in need.
the cry for justice amid injustice,
the stand for equality and fairness.
the torch of liberty and human rights,
that burns without identity.
the sweat of god fallen
on the dust covered road.
the whimper of the holy child,
held in his mother's arms.
the needle laid down,
the slave set free.
the prayer of urine and blood,
the common body of love seeking love.
the hands and the feet,
nothing more and nothing less.
and destiny, but this,
to paint with raw color!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Old Hands And Old Eyes....
old hands unbutton
the blouse of the day.
old hands make coffee,
open the dusty blinds.
old hands wash a few dishes,
make breakfast for the dogs...
old hands feed the stray cat,
make toast and wait.
old eyes caress the sunlight
as if an old friend.
old eyes see the work,
yet stop, to touch the morning.
old eyes kiss the trees,
the squirrels, and distant mountains.
old eyes ache with longing,
and amazement.
old hands and old eyes
begin the journey anew.
listening intently for the footfall,
for another candle, a hoe.
for the scent of nearness,
perhaps only remembered.
old hands and old eyes,
take the plow, the hammer,
and the nails....
old hands and old eyes,
waiting for love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Love-Lily
Between the hands, between the brows,
Between the lips of Love-Lily,
A spirit is born whose birth endows
My blood with fire to burn through me;
Who breathes upon my gazing eyes,
Who laughs and murmurs in mine ear,
At whose least touch my colour flies,
And whom my life grows faint to hear.
Within the voice, within the heart,
Within the mind of Love-Lily,
A spirit is born who lifts apart
His tremulous wings and looks at me;
Who on my mouth his finger lays,
And shows, while whispering lutes confer,
That Eden of Love's watered ways
Whose winds and spirits worship her.
Brows, hands, and lips, heart, mind, and voice,
Kisses and words of Love-Lily,--
Oh! bid me with your joy rejoice
Till riotous longing rest in me!
Ah! let not hope be still distraught,
But find in her its gracious goal,
Whose speech Truth knows not from her thought
Nor Love her body from her soul.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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