Leather and Silk
It was a dance
at least I think it was
the silk scarf
drawn across her face
til only her eyes were revealed
having in them that playful gleam
only love play brings.
She took the scarf
allowing it to play
across her hips
which moved unseen behind the silk
making the scarf move
buffed by unseen promises..
It slithered up between her breasts
languishing upon her shoulders bare
then suddenly twirling
about her head
her laughing
a crystal laugh
spinning
round
wrapping her self in the silken wave
a twirling dervish
of light and perfume.
I rise
my back straight
fixing her gaze
advancing
hypnotized by her eyes
fixing me
capturing me
inside her now close breath
exhaling;
scarf thin is the space
between
and we both breathe shared air
inhale and exhaled waves
mutually taken in;
we both now light of head
with heat
and intoxicating oxygens
diving deep with
lung cavities
where they dance and swirl
exhale
and set themselves to receive
new incoming
exhilarations.
The eyes now closed
the scarf comes up again
circling my neck;
she taking both ends
drawing me close
eyes never leaving mine
frozen time
her body
was now my body
and I hers.
We two
now at short scarf length
twirl
my belt
now in play
encircling her neck;
my leather;
her silk;
joined
as our hearts play.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Related quotes
Stormy Blue Sea
I cannot abide brown when
blue can be had, the irritation
of seeing the brown scarf with
glitter representing sea spray
draped over my coat rack is
immense when my blue scarf
is around my neck
Immediately the brown scarf is
replaced, now my office beach
scene consists of a stormy blue
sea with green patches of sea-
weed, the intense colour taking
the feeling of brown-induced
malaise away
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Kiss, Kiss
Driving down the highway,
In her brand new Porsche,
Big sunglasses on,
Her silk scarf blowing in the wind.
A bag of money,
In the back seat,
The zip is down,
She leaves a cloud of money.
Her jewelled hands,
Clutch the leather wheel,
Her big white teeth,
Grin through her big red lips.
The brakes malfunction,
And the car flips,
A cloud of dust and dollars,
Her silk blood stained scarf billows in the wind.
© Michael Moorcroft October 18th 2009
poem by Michael Moorcroft
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Fringe
There was something no poet could name for sure
no Shakespeare -
no nobody -
about watching the girl with the tiny hearts
glittered beneath her eyes
and the passionate curl of breath
passing from her lips straight into winter
while standing frozen
as she walked up and asked
if I was cold
if I was okay
if I was frozen
if I was perhaps
some sort of snowman
as she giggled and draped
a red fringe scarf around me
me - just barely a boy
a boy in a new red fringe scarf
a new body of red fringe
lips of red fringe
a new soul and mind of red fringe
with legs wanting
and warm pink toes curled
from wanting
poem by Michael Pacholski
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Layla
Sweet, smart Layla
Reading books all the time,
Won't your eyes look upon me?
Curse that lucky book
Won't eyes ever look upon me?
Your Lovely
With a scarf around your neck,
Curse that scarf
For my arms can keep you much warmer,
That bag you carry, Unnecessary,
I can hold your books,
And you can take me everywhere,
And those headphones,
Curse them too!
For I can sing you a tune in your ear,
Sweet, smart Layla
Can't you see?
Get you eyes out of that book,
All you need is me.
poem by Jude Ryans
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The peddler and the red scarf
In the sweepy narrow dusty road you sell candy
and I watch your beauty from afar.
I am scared of the street urchins.
My dear why don't you cover your face with a scarf.
Your laugh in a sweet manner is better than the candy.
I too a wanderer goes with the wind
and I sing few oldies on the street
with my old tambourine.
Hey! my black Mona Lisa if you don't shift
I'll promise you to bring a scarf tomorrow.
Yes, a red scarf my deceased poor mom's gift.
To the poetess Rebecca.Mbaye & Denis.Joe my poet friend who encourage me all the time.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Fresh New Feeling
What a surprise to come home to a bedroom
all light and airy with the promise of perfume
exotic delight in the flowers I put everywhere,
white sequined scarf draped artistically over
one chair, the pink scarf with silver lining
decorating the other one
My Malaysia bag with shiny purple sequins,
the pink pillow and candle holders you made
from rusted iron - suddenly the atmosphere
of the room is subtly changed, the black and
silver duvet a wonderful background - I love
the fresh new feeling it brings!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Tuesday 22 May 2012
Since the blue scarf was left at work
I wore my pink scarf this morning, in
the office I draped it around the blue
one, suddenly my coat rack scene is
bathed in the setting sun's pink after-
glow - a sunset scene on the beach
emphasising the pink of my imitation
orchids and roses, the contents of my
cupboard is slowly transferred to the
office, tonight I shall take the scarves
home, create a new scene tomorrow,
at least the white scarf with glitter still
is around my neck below my black
sleeveless camp top for the great out-
doors which I dream about while sitting
here in the hushed quiet of the open-
plan office where official complaints
about substandard IT services offered
break the tedium of a sad lament on
my desk by someone classified as a
schizophrenic - without his consent!
he adds, aggrieved, demanding the
prosecution of this offending doctor
threatening to write to the Minister
of Safety and Security - Oh MY!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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When We Dance
When we dance
I take your hand
and dizzy you round-
your eyes flash by-
each twirl a twinkle light,
now here
then round
and twinkle again.
When we dance
my hand settles round
the neck's nape
and gentle falls
to your shoulder blades
meandering then
to the magic
spot
in the small of your back,
where time stops
from that simple touch
and your twirl
ends
when your bosom breasts
make their touch;
my chest
heaves
like an ocean wave
which first retreats
then comes crashing back
upon your soft shore.
You breathe
lifting me it seems
with the shear
heat
your breathing brings.
When we dance
there is
too, too
much
to miss;
we do
it over
and over
again.
My leg
entwines
yours
for luck.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Terminal Silhouette
I know you not and in no way
I want to lose starry illusions
With such a face in worst confusion
People are loyal to a ray.
All that the fate has marked for grave
Have such closed-off face instead.
You are a page that was not read
And no, you will not be a slave.
A slave with such a face? Oh no!
There is no error here by chance.
Your slender figure and your glance
Will be secret to many, I know.
A heavy bracelet of your hair
Under the thrown-over scarf
(You'd do with guitar or a harp)
And your pale face, as pale as air.
I know you not. And possibly
You're kind and moderate like all.
Maybe! May these be ravings all!
For only raving ones may be!
Perhaps the day is not so far
When I will fathom what's unseemly…
But this to err - it is so relieving!
It is so easy yet to err!
Touching the scarf with a light hand,
There where the whistles shrilly blow.
This is the you that I will know
Where you just like a riddle stand.
poem by Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva
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The Blue Scarf
Pale, with the blue of high zeniths, shimmered over with silver, brocaded
In smooth, running patterns, a soft stuff, with dark knotted fringes,
it lies there,
Warm from a woman's soft shoulders, and my fingers close on it, caressing.
Where is she, the woman who wore it? The scent of her lingers and drugs me!
A languor, fire-shotted, runs through me, and I crush the scarf down
on my face,
And gulp in the warmth and the blueness, and my eyes swim
in cool-tinted heavens.
Around me are columns of marble, and a diapered, sun-flickered pavement.
Rose-leaves blow and patter against it. Below the stone steps a lute tinkles.
A jar of green jade throws its shadow half over the floor. A big-bellied
Frog hops through the sunlight and plops in the gold-bubbled water of a basin,
Sunk in the black and white marble. The west wind has lifted a scarf
On the seat close beside me, the blue of it is a violent outrage of colour.
She draws it more closely about her, and it ripples beneath
her slight stirring.
Her kisses are sharp buds of fire; and I burn back against her, a jewel
Hard and white; a stalked, flaming flower; till I break to
a handful of cinders,
And open my eyes to the scarf, shining blue in the afternoon sunshine.
How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
poem by Amy Lowell
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Hey, Mr DJ
Oh Backstreets,one time, here we go
I could tell when I stepped in the room
And I saw you standing there
By the way that your body moved
I couldn't help the way I stared
There was some mysterious force
Leading me here to you
So I stood there watching
And I was hypnotized
By the rythum of you body
And the music in your eyes
and I was lost inside your world with you
Chorus
Hey Mr. DJ keep playin' this song for me
Out on the floor in my arms She's gotta be
Let's get it on
Jam all night long
Mr. DJ Mr. DJ please play it for me
Now it feels like it could be romance
As we dance across the floor
Every move that your body makes
Only makes me want you more
And it seems like time's movin' fast
How can we make it last
(Make it last now) Make it last somehow
As we keep on dancing
I am hypnotized
By the rhythm of your body
And the music in you eyes
I was lost inside your world with you
Chorus
Close your eyes (close your eyes)
And imagine (just imagine) the sound
Let the music (let the music) Put you in a zone
I get lost Lost inside a groove
When you do the things you do
Come on and work you body, Work your body
Hey! Mr DJ, Jam all night long
Hey! Mr DJ, Play that song for me
Hey! Mr DJ, Jam all night long
Hey! Mr DJ, Play that song for me
Chorus
Keep it comming Mr. DJ
Repeat to fade
song performed by by Backstreet Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Loop
I heard from people after the shootings. People
I knew well or barely or not at all. Largely
the same message: how horrible it was, how little
there was to say about how horrible it was.
People wrote, called, mostly e-mailed
because they know I teach at Virginia Tech,
to say, there’s nothing to say. Eventually
I answered these messages: there’s nothing
to say back except of course there’s nothing
to say, thank you for your willingness
to say it. Because this was about nothing.
A boy who felt that he was nothing,
who erased and entered that erasure, and guns
that are good for nothing, and talk of guns
that is good for nothing, and spring
that is good for flowers, and Jesus for some,
and scotch for others, and “and” for me
in this poem, “and” that is good
for sewing the minutes together, which otherwise
go about going away, bereft of us and us
of them. Like a scarf left on a train and nothing
like a scarf left on a train. As if the train,
empty of everything but a scarf, still opens
its doors at every stop, because this
is what a train does, this is what a man does
with his hand on a lever, because otherwise,
why the lever, why the hand, and then it was over,
and then it had just begun.
Silk
Passionate touches
Chocolate kisses
Silk perfection
My body and soul on fire
My eyes glow incandescence
My mind and body sway and rock
You slip into my world
Breathing heavy and high
Fly
Bold and black connections
Silk and creamy perfections
Still life
Real love
Here we go
Lets ride
Lets dance
Lets play
Silk romance
You are my…
You are my…
You are mines
Worth more than all wealth
Greater than any king
Finally the real thing
Silk love
My skin
Milk chocolate
Your skin
Caramel
And we swirl and blend
How does it feel?
Silk feelings never end
His scent
My fragrance
Honeysuckle and milk
His power, my vulnerability
my push, his stroke, our affection…..silk…perfection.
poem by Danielle Beechum
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Move Your Body
Album: Eternal (2001)
I like you, Ronnie
Come here, shorty
Back it up right over here, baby
(Back it up right over here)
Right there (Yeah, slow)
Don't move (You got a body on you, baby)
Work your body (Work your body)
You got a body baby, see some things
(Can you do your thing, baby)
Lord, have mercy
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I like that
Right like that, right like that
Like that, like that
Work it, work it, work it, work it
[Chorus]
I like the way you move your body
So soft and so gentle
You're moving your body
I like the way you move your body
Move your body (Move your body)
Move your body (Move you're body)
You've got that thing that drives me crazy
Girl, can we go half on a baby
I'll be your freak, you be my lady
Cuz it's your hips, your thighs, your lips, your eyes
Girl, would you be my private dancer
You're all I need, you got the answer
Girl, you're my heat, you're my fire
Cuz it's your hips, your thighs, your lips, you're eyes
[Chorus]
Inside my mind, you got me trippin'
Inside my head, I see you strippin'
Tap it just right and I'll be tippin'
Your hips, your thighs, your lips, your eyes
You got that thing that drives me crazy
Girl, can we go half on a baby
You got me wondering who's that lady
Your hips, your thighs, your lips, your eyes
You know
[Chorus]
Play it, Earnie
Oh, yeah babe, baby
I like the way, sho' 'nuff I like it
I like the way, you know I like it there
I like the way, sho' 'nuff I like it
I like the way, you know I like it
[Johnson Sisters]
Dance with me, come on dance with me baby
Dance with me, make romance with me baby
Dance with me, come on dance with me baby
Dance with me, make romance with me baby
Dance with me, come on dance with me baby
Dance with me, make romance with me baby
Dance with me, come on dance with me baby
Dance with me, make romance with me baby
Oh baby, shake your body, baby (Whoa)
Come on, shake your body, baby (Whoa)
Come on, whew, shake your body, baby (Whoa)
Come on, oh shake it, baby (Whoa)
Come on move, move
Dance with me, come on dance with me baby
Dance with me, make romance with me baby
Dance with me, come on dance with me baby
Dance with me, make romance with me baby
song performed by by Isley Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cyclic dance of the entrance (Nafaka)
a silk made fabric beyond the arch
like a scarf made of stars
the smell of the snow through October and the wind
the street I live in smells of bad perfume
the house I live carries a damp smell
the treetops my birds live in
shoke all of their nests
will there remain any trace
the graves will sing the way the cradles can?
a silk made fabric beyond the arch
like a scarf made of stars
will be torn by night?
the moon will start dancing beyond the arch
the dance of love and hate
pain and bliss
cyclic dance of the entrance
nad svodom tkanina svilena
ko marama satkana od zvijezda
brise pred sobom
miris snijega kroz oktobar i vjetar
brise pred sobom
ulicu u kojoj zivim mirise na lose parfeme
brise pred sobom
kucu u kojoj stanujem mirise na memle
krosnje u kojima stanuju moje ptice
stresle su sva gnijezda
dali ce ostati tragovi
dali ce propjevati grobovi
kao sto placu kolijevke
nad svodom tkanina svilena
ko marama satkana od zvijezda
pocijepace je noc
nad svodom vec zaigra Mjesec
vjecnu igru ljubavi i mrznje
radosti i bola
ciklicni ples ulaska
vjecnu dramu ulaska
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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As Soft as a New born lamb
Snow, snow, snow has come
Now we can have a crunchy white day
Open, open, open the stiff door
When can we go out to play
Mandy, Mandy come and play
Earth is soooooo beautiful
Now you go inside
Alice I said go in
Never throw that snowball at me! !
Dancing, dancing in the snow
Snowmen making
Now and then
Oscar and Ollie thats wonderful
We helped aswell though
Black stones as dark as the night sky
And a hat and a scarf
Laughing, laughing Lilly and Lauren
Lilly don't worryit will come again.
poem by Rachel Buchanan
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A Poor Boy's Bagatelle
My birthday heralds my first decade of life
The air I breathe clings frozen like an insulting knife,
Icing the inside of the old snow white window panes,
The bed bugs do not stir snug under the iron bed frames,
Fattened in the still of the night by the handy supermarket of me,
I awake, my outside world not a single tree.
The winter’s dawn hurls her strength at the gates,
Of the batteries of terrace homes rattling slates,
Felling chimney pots, as the north wind doth blow,
Coating the cobblestones with sleets of snow.
I move the orange box my makeshift bedside table,
To exit the tiny bedroom, fly down the wooden steps quite able,
Still dark I pull the gas lamp chain and with match I strike,
A warm glow brings the only room old fashioned light.
On top a silk red scarf mum’s card sits
She knows my wish my teeth do grit
With no man of house three shillings hard to find,
But poverties life can sometimes be kind,
I pull the scarf off this oblong thing then well,
There it was this old well worn beautiful bagatelle.,
A few nails a miss with a shiny steel ball,
Some numbers askew where it would fall,
In lifetimes hindsight this was my plasma TV,
My i pod, computer, and mobile phone rolled into one.
I felt the luckiest boy under the sun,
I knew I could really really tell,
I would always love this wonder bagatelle,
What luck to live next door to old ‘Ned’ the ‘Rag an bone man’,
Who found my beautiful bagatelle and loaded it onto his
Wheeler dealer of a pram.
PS. A true memory from a page of my childhood
poem by Ken e Hall
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Retreat
I have abandoned the revelatory
Left the dated volumes and cluttered furnishings
Putting things in a cardboard box
the blue silk scarf of a vanquished lover
the green wine bottles throttled with candle wicks
I move into the sun room where warm winter light
through the window’s prism
explains there is feeling without reason
there are visions left in the senses
the only reality ever discovered
poem by George Murdock
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Upon A Harsh Environment
how can words be as soft
as flour
to make a dough
of bread that is hard
enough
to break your teeth?
for how long shall the sifting
be done
on such a very fine mess
soft rain on the rocks
silk scarf on the white slender neck
of a woman
waiting for her man to pick her up
along a dark alley
towards the city of
hope and dreams
i remember i once wrote
about a red rose
growing upon a crack on the wall
on such a rugged environment
and yet
this summer
blooms
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Janice and You and the Spider
You stood
in the playground
of St Jude's school
which was really
the basement
of a bombed out house
which had been gutted
and the basement tarmaced
and the walls
were still there
where kids climbed up
and around
the thin ledge
when Janice
put her hands
over your eyes
and said
guess who?
and you put
your hands
into the pockets
of your short trousers
and said
Miss Murphy
or Miss Ashdown?
no
Janice said
it's me
and she removed
her hands
from over your eyes
and you turned around
and looked at her
and she had
her red beret on
and a pink scarf
around her neck
to keep out
the cold
you must
have known
it was me
she said
who else
would put their hands
over your eyes?
her eyes were bright
and you thought
you could see yourself
in them
as if they were small mirrors
Jupp might do
or maybe Carmody
you said smiling
she didn't smile back
but pulled her lips
tight in a line
then she took your hand
and pulled you
along the path
that led
to the school toilets
and pushed you
inside a cubicle
and shut the door
behind you both
and said
don't you love me?
there was a large spider
hanging from
the cistern chain
close to
her red beret
and it hung there
suspended
swaying back
and forth
and you said
of course I do
right down
to your white socks
but there's a spider
above your head
and she looked up
and screamed
and a voice
outside the door
asked
are you all right
in there?
Janice's eyes widened
and she watched
as the spider
moved up the chain
and she said
yes it's all right
Miss Murphy
just a small spider
and you stood there
next to Janice
wondering what
Miss Murphy
would say
if she saw you
and Janice
in the lavatory
together
and the voice said
ok as long
as you
are all right
and the footsteps
moved away
and Janice took
your hand in hers
and you sensed
how cold it was
slightly blue
and it was just
9 year old Janice
and the big spider
and 9 year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
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