floatsamjetsam
Well-known member
- Joined
- Sep 26, 2012
- Messages
- 48
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When after I did smell my first rose,
love's first embrace, I felt pose.
Glide did she, to my edgy knee,
hands freely slithered, up withered spine.
May ask I to thee, what so sweetly I smell,
what discretely I taste, which thine have erased?
As you my nerve, inspire my will,
must I not follow you, and to your essence kill?
My nerves like biting thorns, stinging,
in bitter torment of touch,
pain of your thorns, your fingers as such.
Will you grant of me, lingering crutch?
May you stay with me, my nose's divine.
May you linger in ease, within my spine.
For this elegant taste,
my mind soon will erase.
And in place of your touch,
I'm left only a crutch.
What peculiar taste of almond, in my wine.
No truer taste, less bitter, more sweet may I find.
My friend what more succulent a taste so fine,
be fair mine palette not be displaced in kind?
But sooth, my body to your feet crawls,
as this almond wine too sweet calls.
To the end, dear bender of my health,
Mine dear friend.
To the end, dear render, of my wealth
soon lend.
Attacking the sea, butting head with mistress’s waves,
like towers they crash over mistress’s flower.
Lacking speed, this ship from land has been saved.
With each knot it reaches,
sees new captain’s speeches,
and another day nearer to stormy grave.
Cannons fire freely, biting holes in its foes,
the sweet smell of seaweed, be this maidens woes.
As the task was imposed, on the lovely Day Rose,
that she might find her maker, under mistress’ toes.
Allow divine scrolls of destiny peek,
long temptation, such faithless leap.
A grave error such contemplation,
a brave error for us to keep.
What in this moment we seek,
will ever we reap?
A mortal cry.
What in this moment we seek,
gives curiosity sleep?
A godly reply.
A new hunger arises under the Harvest Moon’s horizons,
to her eyes and her heart, our greed for her surprises.
Watching, waiting, wishing there, this man finds solace truly rare.
Playing, biting, holding her hair, this man finds redemption anywhere.
He harvests from life, a simple pleasure,
in a final stare, a measure of terror.
With his knife, stole from her all she could spare,
a gift for him of all he did care.
Stoked campfire, carved, crafted in leisure,
this man finds comfort in the warmth of a flame.
A light in the night, with darkness he will fight.
A flight in the darkness, eases his pain.
In seeking gain, for what we keep,
within our yield we must peek.
Sow crops in burning heat,
passion renders this field truly weak.
Life offers reward of bounty too few,
for our vision is gifted a blinding skew,
that even with the gifts we receive,
life’s colorless hue, will poison the eve.
Watching her child grieve over her corpse,
wailing and shouting, confronting her lies.
A promise was made, hoarse tone and all,
that mother would return to child at home.
The cries cast out all about orange hued fields,
to the campfire, sparking excitement in eyes.
An itch felt the man with blood on his hand,
a stitch sealed his sorrow, echoing cries of the land.
Tonight you’ve felt passion take rise,
as black ink lines your eyes,
past cheeks, trailing to where words release,
mouth tainted by black,
quivering lips where trails meet.
Lips once met with succulent grape,
violet gleams of juicy streams
tasting of your wildest dreams,
a comfort life offered.
Not good enough it seems.
Red torn seams, of Amethyst gleams,
pools of purple, highlight the scene,
a razor pulled cross your thighs,
free screams from black lips, in fearful cries,
as lips meet darkness, your final prize.
In a pool of your comfort, a harvest of choice,
you’ve stolen from life, your true gift of voice,
Reaped only to be sown, what in you was grown.
A part of you dies, and it dies alone.
Stolen from her child, to gift this man’s smile,
a child sees stolen all what was worthwhile,
defiled her corpse in a theft most vile,
this woman who’s life became just one to the pile.
Stolen from life, our most precious friend,
what in the end would already have seen lend,
Stolen a comfort, seeking to mend,
a pain that would for only a while offend.
Under Harvest Moon’s horizons, as was always fated,
to her eyes, and her heart, Harvest moon has been sated.
(This one is very special to me)
Will you meet me under chestnut tree,
Hadn’t been free to you my heart,
from the moment winged flutter reigned a start.
When once from the lonely day two pieces,
together became one to a part?
Will you steer me to where once we sat,
on my lap, heart buzzing, lay head and nap.
My fingers run your locks of golden light,
burdens my hands, not be polite.
We may have been invite to a fight,
though you, to my sight, queen of hearts delight.
Might you tell once more flight of fancy,
of leave right spent in German eve?
Will you spare my wrist your simple kiss,
in this moment we fight passion’s leave?
May lips caress bitterly, each our woes.
Received unto mine, as if script from a doze,
lipped in dream, my mouth by a rose.
And if done far tenderly, shall our pain dispose?
Be the inquiry bestowed too great a sum?
Should not lofty enough a goal that our love be won?
Surely this cannot be, as our whole became none.
And with entering shroud love failed without sun.
Won sadness from change, a bitter leaf hath fallen.
To yellow then, our heart’s turned from red,
dead, the turning leaves from fall, sickly paled orange.
Changing, rotting, where once we sat.
Time found me plotting against you my love,
I lay below your face though felt above, and
I failed to erase words venomous taste, or
the dove I defaced, of which I did waste.
Stole smile laced between tender blushing cheeks on
frost graced complexion, won true by angelic election.
A face that held beauty which gleamed in all direction,
which for my heart did race, beyond protection.
So raced you away to poisonous hate, on inspection
darling saw for me you’d not wait,
when saw you took leave, my haste was too late.
And dwindling speed saw stolen from you,
all good that I held, love’s perfect slate.
Eternally I should wait, as to regain trust’s affection,
for your words do berate my truer intention.
And redemption it seems, too late a trial,
should not for a while I feel fates misdirection?
Lit cobblestone paths of pale lantern stream,
confusion of mist, see’s largeness take risk.
To spread across wits, a million mile dream,
with no guide of your hand, alone it would seem.
Upon mine face, sensation writhes in cheek,
for within your breast, hide did I seek.
Weak slap for my efforts in your failure to retain,
what within my heart, for you remains.
Rebirth, I fear, in Pheonix tear.
on memory lane when lips first met,
Rebirth, I fear, did not appear,
when pain for you, I did let.
Should you decide to go home,
Would this end my poem,
Or shall you eternally in my memory roam?
And should my memory fade, with season’s aid.
Would you remain within, where once we laid?
Day for day, would you stay with me there,
where a token from cupid thought been saved.
Day for day, would you be there with me,
when the course of my life has seen paved.
On memory lane, in our eldest years,
should you ignore my wave, my pain appears.
Will I find my dear, on memory lane,
or shall I remain forever, in solitude's game.
Would you stay there with me,
warm upon my knee,
Would you be with me there,
Under our chestnut tree?
love's first embrace, I felt pose.
Glide did she, to my edgy knee,
hands freely slithered, up withered spine.
May ask I to thee, what so sweetly I smell,
what discretely I taste, which thine have erased?
As you my nerve, inspire my will,
must I not follow you, and to your essence kill?
My nerves like biting thorns, stinging,
in bitter torment of touch,
pain of your thorns, your fingers as such.
Will you grant of me, lingering crutch?
May you stay with me, my nose's divine.
May you linger in ease, within my spine.
For this elegant taste,
my mind soon will erase.
And in place of your touch,
I'm left only a crutch.
What peculiar taste of almond, in my wine.
No truer taste, less bitter, more sweet may I find.
My friend what more succulent a taste so fine,
be fair mine palette not be displaced in kind?
But sooth, my body to your feet crawls,
as this almond wine too sweet calls.
To the end, dear bender of my health,
Mine dear friend.
To the end, dear render, of my wealth
soon lend.
Attacking the sea, butting head with mistress’s waves,
like towers they crash over mistress’s flower.
Lacking speed, this ship from land has been saved.
With each knot it reaches,
sees new captain’s speeches,
and another day nearer to stormy grave.
Cannons fire freely, biting holes in its foes,
the sweet smell of seaweed, be this maidens woes.
As the task was imposed, on the lovely Day Rose,
that she might find her maker, under mistress’ toes.
Allow divine scrolls of destiny peek,
long temptation, such faithless leap.
A grave error such contemplation,
a brave error for us to keep.
What in this moment we seek,
will ever we reap?
A mortal cry.
What in this moment we seek,
gives curiosity sleep?
A godly reply.
A new hunger arises under the Harvest Moon’s horizons,
to her eyes and her heart, our greed for her surprises.
Watching, waiting, wishing there, this man finds solace truly rare.
Playing, biting, holding her hair, this man finds redemption anywhere.
He harvests from life, a simple pleasure,
in a final stare, a measure of terror.
With his knife, stole from her all she could spare,
a gift for him of all he did care.
Stoked campfire, carved, crafted in leisure,
this man finds comfort in the warmth of a flame.
A light in the night, with darkness he will fight.
A flight in the darkness, eases his pain.
In seeking gain, for what we keep,
within our yield we must peek.
Sow crops in burning heat,
passion renders this field truly weak.
Life offers reward of bounty too few,
for our vision is gifted a blinding skew,
that even with the gifts we receive,
life’s colorless hue, will poison the eve.
Watching her child grieve over her corpse,
wailing and shouting, confronting her lies.
A promise was made, hoarse tone and all,
that mother would return to child at home.
The cries cast out all about orange hued fields,
to the campfire, sparking excitement in eyes.
An itch felt the man with blood on his hand,
a stitch sealed his sorrow, echoing cries of the land.
Tonight you’ve felt passion take rise,
as black ink lines your eyes,
past cheeks, trailing to where words release,
mouth tainted by black,
quivering lips where trails meet.
Lips once met with succulent grape,
violet gleams of juicy streams
tasting of your wildest dreams,
a comfort life offered.
Not good enough it seems.
Red torn seams, of Amethyst gleams,
pools of purple, highlight the scene,
a razor pulled cross your thighs,
free screams from black lips, in fearful cries,
as lips meet darkness, your final prize.
In a pool of your comfort, a harvest of choice,
you’ve stolen from life, your true gift of voice,
Reaped only to be sown, what in you was grown.
A part of you dies, and it dies alone.
Stolen from her child, to gift this man’s smile,
a child sees stolen all what was worthwhile,
defiled her corpse in a theft most vile,
this woman who’s life became just one to the pile.
Stolen from life, our most precious friend,
what in the end would already have seen lend,
Stolen a comfort, seeking to mend,
a pain that would for only a while offend.
Under Harvest Moon’s horizons, as was always fated,
to her eyes, and her heart, Harvest moon has been sated.
(This one is very special to me)
Will you meet me under chestnut tree,
Hadn’t been free to you my heart,
from the moment winged flutter reigned a start.
When once from the lonely day two pieces,
together became one to a part?
Will you steer me to where once we sat,
on my lap, heart buzzing, lay head and nap.
My fingers run your locks of golden light,
burdens my hands, not be polite.
We may have been invite to a fight,
though you, to my sight, queen of hearts delight.
Might you tell once more flight of fancy,
of leave right spent in German eve?
Will you spare my wrist your simple kiss,
in this moment we fight passion’s leave?
May lips caress bitterly, each our woes.
Received unto mine, as if script from a doze,
lipped in dream, my mouth by a rose.
And if done far tenderly, shall our pain dispose?
Be the inquiry bestowed too great a sum?
Should not lofty enough a goal that our love be won?
Surely this cannot be, as our whole became none.
And with entering shroud love failed without sun.
Won sadness from change, a bitter leaf hath fallen.
To yellow then, our heart’s turned from red,
dead, the turning leaves from fall, sickly paled orange.
Changing, rotting, where once we sat.
Time found me plotting against you my love,
I lay below your face though felt above, and
I failed to erase words venomous taste, or
the dove I defaced, of which I did waste.
Stole smile laced between tender blushing cheeks on
frost graced complexion, won true by angelic election.
A face that held beauty which gleamed in all direction,
which for my heart did race, beyond protection.
So raced you away to poisonous hate, on inspection
darling saw for me you’d not wait,
when saw you took leave, my haste was too late.
And dwindling speed saw stolen from you,
all good that I held, love’s perfect slate.
Eternally I should wait, as to regain trust’s affection,
for your words do berate my truer intention.
And redemption it seems, too late a trial,
should not for a while I feel fates misdirection?
Lit cobblestone paths of pale lantern stream,
confusion of mist, see’s largeness take risk.
To spread across wits, a million mile dream,
with no guide of your hand, alone it would seem.
Upon mine face, sensation writhes in cheek,
for within your breast, hide did I seek.
Weak slap for my efforts in your failure to retain,
what within my heart, for you remains.
Rebirth, I fear, in Pheonix tear.
on memory lane when lips first met,
Rebirth, I fear, did not appear,
when pain for you, I did let.
Should you decide to go home,
Would this end my poem,
Or shall you eternally in my memory roam?
And should my memory fade, with season’s aid.
Would you remain within, where once we laid?
Day for day, would you stay with me there,
where a token from cupid thought been saved.
Day for day, would you be there with me,
when the course of my life has seen paved.
On memory lane, in our eldest years,
should you ignore my wave, my pain appears.
Will I find my dear, on memory lane,
or shall I remain forever, in solitude's game.
Would you stay there with me,
warm upon my knee,
Would you be with me there,
Under our chestnut tree?
You're definitely talented.
