Old? A poem.
I do not feel The age of oldInside outI am fit and boldEveryone alwaysTells me soSo I just don’t feelThe age of old For more poetry, click here. Continue reading Old? A poem.
Tag: passion
The Wait Outside. A poem.
The wait outside With city lights and vacant looks Of passers by and wannabes Perhaps the tune we’ll sing tonight Will change the course of mediocrity And reverse this season of discord With discourse so ebullient That fire and ice could not compare And could not even try For more Poetry, click here. For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print. Click here to find out how to get your copy. Continue reading The Wait Outside. A poem.
Road Song. A poem.
Your road sings to me And I whisper in return, And I drive until sunrise And don’t stop to rest Until you lull me to sleep. For more Poetry, click here. For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for … Continue reading Road Song. A poem.
#2ManyBooks. A Poem.
I have far too many books. Far #2ManyBooks Too many to read in one month, or one day, one afternoon a plenty, one year or decade. I read a few at a time: one here and one there; how many more, … Continue reading #2ManyBooks. A Poem.
Outside and In. A poem.
How I miss you Even when you’re here Prostrate beside me Worshiping rod and staff Valley and furrow Driven to excess And shaken to the core How I miss you Outside and in For more Poetry, click here. For more … Continue reading Outside and In. A poem.
My Lady Waits. A poem.
My lady waits in conscious thought, Precluded and abstaining, With fickle motions bought And sold in a moment’s notice. She stands and lies and shivers, Like summer rainfall or icy leaves At winter’s end, when all delights Must finally shake … Continue reading My Lady Waits. A poem.
Life, Finally. A poem.
My wanderings, part of me, intrinsically. My wonderings, ostensibly necessary. My heart and head, as one, not separately. My head and heart, all I need, invariably. My turns of phrase never lead me astray. My phrasing, beguiling, when it turns … Continue reading Life, Finally. A poem.
Steam. A poem.
Air currents Blowing the humidity Beyond mere degrees Fan blades Circulating hungry thoughts Along with captive desire Sweat and sin Recuperating In the steamy night To ply the gulf stream One more time For more of my poetry, check out … Continue reading Steam. A poem.
The Garden. A haiku.
Water flows freely In the garden of delight Washing you in sin What is a haiku? Glad you asked. Click here to find out more. Cheers Steve 🙂 For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely … Continue reading The Garden. A haiku.
Too Small A Word. A poem.
Love is far too small a word to express all the things I need and want and say and believe and feel and do when I’m with you. But then maybe that’s the point. For more of my poetry, check … Continue reading Too Small A Word. A poem.
Shiver. A poem.
This shiver, a sliver of ions up my spine, a delectable point of contention on my mind shaping continuities of ecstasy, baking hormones in my pituitary, activated by your touch in mine. For more of my poetry, check out The … Continue reading Shiver. A poem.
Twosome. A poem.
You creep up on me An inveterate stalker A ghostly presence A firefly somnambulist (Shadowing its prey) You wrap me up (A Christmas treat) In sunflower petals An itinerant limpet Squeezing me senseless You take me down And bleed me … Continue reading Twosome. A poem.
You and Me. A poem.
This touch fuelling DESIRE wanton and wastrel ECSTASY diamond moments of PLEASURE placating needs in FIRE that scorches earth THIRST no longer barren CARNAL swollen contempt SATED eventually and now just YOU and ME I write a lot of poetry, … Continue reading You and Me. A poem.
Keepsake. A poem.
I hear you, I see you; your mirror face tells no lies but hides the truth, like a waxing moon hiding the sun from the subtle stars. I hear you, I see you, I hold you; you are wine within … Continue reading Keepsake. A poem.
Half-light. A poem.
Sweat and toil and creaking springs, grasping fingers and the scent of hallowed limbs. Perfect and imperfect rhythms in motion, bestial howls and fire and tender susurration, collated in the half-light of a muted TV. From this vantage point we survey the hedonic … Continue reading Half-light. A poem.
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