Just A Look

“Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand. WILLIAM CONGREVE, Love for Love

The plainest man who pays attention to women, will sometimes succeed as well as the handsomest man who does not.” – CHARLES CALEB COLTON, Lacon

 

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The attentions of a woman make me feel alive and vibrant with power. Like a crashing wave, her look and positive glance wash over my life leave me with a feeling of satisfaction. What curse am I under? The power in her movement captivates me and stops my whole world to see her for a moment on the miraculous hinge of change, all it takes is her reaction. If she likes me, pays me some attention, then peace and excitement in abundance. If she turns away, her rejection ignites a fire, inciting a riot of feelings in my body. Though heaven call and hell reach, nothing matters but her at that moment. There’s no end to the amazing things that I’ll put my body and mind through to see her smile. Not just a special her, but the one that has stopped my heart from proceeding with its mundane tasks. Dropped to my knees, not by an amazing model, rare and fleeting, but by that woman who holds herself with such confidence and sexuality that I find a smell of desire wafting across the room to bring me to my knees. I’ve stumbled down the steep paths of self-esteem, yet to know she’s there, watching with interest, gives me the most incredible lift. This hawk takes to an empowering thermal desire and rises to heights unreachable when you, sweet woman, give me your smile.

01242013

Princess of the Night

“Are you a princess?” I said. 
She replied, “I’m much more than a princess, 
but you don’t have a name for it yet here on earth. ”
themurdershewore
The wind took her hair, black and flowing, tossing and spinning it in the late evening breeze like a child with a favorite toy. With the ambiance of crashing waves, the night took on the deep color of a precious jewel, as each facet of the raw and innocent exterior of a man and woman were cut away to reveal the hidden colors of love. She had the regal features of an Indian princess, with a curious mischief and passion sparkling in her eyes, and a gentle voice that cut through my defenses, whispering my name with subtle beguilement. Possess me my native flower, let me breath your essence deep into my waiting abyss. In the giving there was as much pleasure as in the receiving, never before had I lunged so completely into the unknown. With her gentle touch guiding me through corridors of pleasure, I knew this flight of my soul could take me through the nether worlds of ethereal desire and effervescent delight. I only stopped at one point to ask myself, “do you want to love her?”. I felt the challenge to leave the pains and brokenness of the past to fly with her. With one decision, the natural way became a supernatural journey that would leave me wounded but happy with my sacrifice and let me spend the rest of my days listening for her siren song calling my name.

Waiting’s Close Lover When –

Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave.”  – Rainer Maria Rilke
“Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering.” – Paulo Coelho
Dressing myself with Waiting’s robes
looking in the mirror at When
Finding thoughts that without warning
haunt and scare my lonely Then
Question the mistress Waiting, again
to the end of never, When?
Waiting she dances, holding me close
and calling her lover Then
Her music of chance and sultry moves
under the covers of patient When
A cruel lover Waiting plays with me
as I grow old with desire Then
Teasing from me my passing youth
called Waiting’s close lover When
First Published in Opinions of Eye
01182013

Sentient –

“Touch comes before sight, before speech. It is the first language and the last, and it always tells the truth.”
Her name swirled in my mouth like hot chocolate on a winter’s day. If I took it too quick, it would burn in the fury of being rushed, so I breathed her in, slow and gentle, with little sips of desire and awe. She easily warmed my deepest parts, and very slowly, my chill changed to a spreading glow of warmth. The pins and needles of my deep freeze made her work an exhilarating passionate dance. Her touch needed no words as my mind filled with her tactile conversation and my replies, only soft tremors of appreciation. Closing my eyes, I lifted my head to the clear midnight sky, the stars seemed to stall their charge toward dawn to catch a glimpse of Sentient’s captive. My ears caught a hint of her hidden nakedness as I followed the breeze swirling its way through the tall pines then a tickle ran up my neck when she spun around to see me. Playing with me, the cool of the air countered the warmth of my body in a gentle tug of war, like puppies playing with a toy, first a gentle nudge, a pull, then a rougher jerk that foretold of things to come. She had all of me, a pleasure now, but soon, a curse for there are times when a man is better off to never feel again. 
…there are times when a man is better off to never feel again…
First published in Opinionsofeye.com

Love is a Tyrant

The following is an article by a talented writer, SZU. ” Love’s not a tyrant; lovers are; My heart’s a proof-with its shining scars.” Enjoy.

Recently an active exchange of poetic responses began between a friend and I. He wrote this beautiful one and sent it my way…and that’s how it began


When storms have raged and passed away
Can gentle calm succeed?
I sleep to ease a troubled mind
Sleep is the friend
that I need…
With these few words I speak my mind
You in this, a quest will find
My quest is clear…seek it out
Love is a tyrant…when in doubt

I got an instant inspiration; and i wrote down the following words in response:

This storm is here for eternity,
N
o trace of calmness can I see…
No sleep, no rest can soothe my mind
No friend can bring me glee…
This unending quest kills me everyday,
I can’t reach where I want to be…
This doubt can be tyrant I know,
Still this love shall be a part of me…

We appreciated each other’s work and then obviously forgot about it. And just today when I was having my lunch; I got another set of couplets from him in response to what I wrote a week back:

Your storm once raged and passed away,
And the gentle calm did succeed
You slept and eased a troubled mind
Yet now sleep is the friend I need
In those few words you spoke your mind…
…and yet I was so lost, dumb and blind…
Your love’s still a tyrant, there’s no doubt
I’m lost and confused; my soul wants out…

So I just decided to post all the three poems on my blog. But as i am typing here; I can sense the birth of yet another response to his (above written)poem…here it goes..

Why live in the memories of that storm?
That was
a reality once…but now its gone…
And why depend on a gentle calm?
And why not make your wounds, you
r balm?
Sleep- if dreams are where you belong…
Sleep – if that fake world makes you strong!
Don’t be lost,
because they won’t find you
Don’t think much
because those thoughts might blind you…
Love’s not tyrant; lovers are;
My heart’s a proof – with its shining scars.

Also published in Broowaha 
Also published in Opinionsofeye.com

09242014

The Dust – Apathy exposes your cracks

“Even when I try to stir myself up, I just get irritated because I can’t make anything come out. And in the middle of the night I lie here thinking about all this. If I don’t get back on track somehow, I’m dead, that’s the sense I get. 
There isn’t a single strong emotion inside me.” ― Banana Yoshimoto
 

 

 

You see beauty everywhere, your supposed to be happy. Your not.
You see people laughing, your supposed to be a part. Your not.
You see tears falling, your supposed to feel. Your not.
You see beauty everywhere, your supposed to be happy. Your not.
You see people laughing, your supposed to be a part. Your not.
You see prayers offered, your suppose to do that. Your not.
You see tears falling, your supposed to feel. Your not.
You see life passing, your supposed to do something. Your not.
And worst of all, you just don’t care. I mean you really, really, don’t care. About anything.
It’s death you feel in every little crack of your soul.
Like dust collecting, this death accumulates in the small areas of your life.
But wait you walking dead! Be encouraged!
There’s life again, a spring cleaning as it were, rising from the dust of death in your life.
You must quiet yourself and stop running to the next thing that will numb you.
You must quiet yourself and wait to hear the voice of your maker calling after you.
You must quiet yourself and pray to the one who has the love that will make you whole.
I’ve felt the death that living life can bring, and I’ve felt the arms of my Father,

Those arms have made me strong enough to live and be safe from the dust.

 

Also published in Broowaha Magazine
01082011

Never Forget Me

“I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”
Albert Einstein

 

fairies-mermaids-and-unicorns
Explore my world, many facets of reality
Explore my world, many inspired moments
Open my palace of imagination
Open my spontaneity of creation
Experience my ride in the heights
Experience my flow of movement
A sound will bring me to you
A breeze will bring me to you

You will never forget me

07012011