…Is playing the flirt
To your coy
Secret smiles masked
Behind casual shrugs
Double Innuendo
With bold inclinations.
One hears the indifference
In the chat
One sees the fire
Of the eyes
Recognizable only by one
Who has long since given in
To the abandon of passion.
Can I but wonder
Do the heat of your eyes
Extend to your touch?
Tell me,
Better yet
Don’t tell me.
Let me feel for myself …
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You take me
With skill,
With strength
With the power of lust
Knowing what you want
And how to get it
To feel the power of your body
Against mine
Head thrown back, body arched
I feel your warm breath
Against my thighs
Just before your lips
Reach the ridge of mine
I watched you
gently blow
Like a too hot cup of coffee
Your hot breath sliding over me
Feeling like soft silk exposed
Making my body respond with abandon
I sense nothing
But you and the promise
Of your body to mine, taunting me
To think of nothing but
The moment
The moment when my body meets yours
In a crashing wave of exquisite pleasure
The kind that rips
The satiated breath from our chests
Sweet reminders
Of all that was said and done
Making us feel so alive
We could die
Le Petite Mort
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dVerse ~ Poets Pub : OpenLinkNight Week 74
He imagines
So many things
Cabbage and kings
Of shoes and ships
And with a wink
Easily slips
Poetic blips
Of the arcane
Rivers auburn
A mind insane
The odd bloodstain
Can sometimes scare
So he spins words
With utmost care
and takes me there
On crescent waves
Triumphant tales
From birth to grave
And each I save
I know their worth
It’s in his sphere
Of cosmic girth
Welkin and earth
The tales he’s had
And more to come
Verbal nomad
I call him Dad
And my hero
Household legend
But he does know
The seeds he sow
It’s my award
Gaze of rapture
He looks forward
To his reward
When it’s my turn
To tell such tales
Old or modern
Aubades, nocturnes
The moods I’ll bring
====================
Today’s Form? The Pathya Vat
I run my days in such haste
No one thought has time to land
Barely having time to care
I must start somewhere
A still pool of water calls
With a dare to simply glance
A tired me shimmers there
I must start somewhere
Natural needs pushed aside
My all to all but me
For the sake of my welfare
I must start somewhere
I free my mind of clutter
Donate a moment to peace
In awe find a moment spare
I will start with prayer
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Today’s Form: The Kouta
Kouta – KOH-OU-TA (Japanese: little song) A broad classification for several varieties of short songs from traditional to popular which is most often associated with the songs made popular in the pleasure quarters of Edo (old Tokyo) where they were often composed and sung by geisha to the accompaniment of the shamisen.
Kouta has two forms, both four lines. The first has a syllable count of 7-5-7-5, and the other has a count of 7-7-7-5.
When you cried I’d wipe away all of your tears
When you’d scream I’d fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me all of me
Evanescence – My Immortal / Fallen
In the company of heroes is how I often feel
Your lives forced into a world tipsy and surreal
A struggle from the moment your first breath premiers
Clotho’s newest thread in life’s ongoing tapestry
I ignore the naysayers of your tough chances to be
I’m among the first to get to know your excellence my dears
As I engage in the daily wait of a hope and a prayer:
For quick release from the terrors that constrict your air
Trying to balance a life already in arrears
When you cried I’d wipe away all of your tears
What the world needs now is to see you fight against death
See you working towards the next small but tantalizing breath
That every morning you live to see is a cause for cheers
All the world’s a stage and you are its most promising star
And my job is behind the wings to get you that far
For the world is a tunnel vision until your sight clears
You’re just too young to know all that you go through
That I’m there holding your tiny hand smiling at you
Or if in your vexing sleep, a nightmare appears;
When you’d scream I’d fight away all of your fears
Even in the quietest moments sometimes your bodies shake
The wretched fevers your young bodies try to break
Or in the wee twilight hours how your pleas reach my ears
I’m grateful for your screams, their justice I seek
The thousand of cries are promises of a life not weak
I like to think that some small value of my Zen adheres
Though it’s a wisdom felt with absolute prudence
Thus uttered only in moments of complete silence
Though gone from me, you’ll remember in life’s jeers
I held your hand through all of these years
I hide among the simple, among the small select
Just doing a job, my soul chooses to elect
Having a temperance for each and every special baby
But the generosity of my spirit is always short-lived
When unto the new guardians of you I must give
One way or another you’re taken away from types like me
My neonatal babies that fight just to survive each day
Your headlong courage always holding such sway
As you live you won’t remember any of this I now see
But you still have all of me
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Just a few days ago I was listening to Evanescence’s My Immortal from their Fallen CD and the refrain reminded me of an older friend of mine who worked in a neonatal care unit. She would occasionally speak of some of the babies that crossed her path. Holding their tiny, trembling hands. The ones that screamed until exhaustion took them only to wake and scream again. They didn’t all reach it, but the goal was always to help them survive to the point they can survive on their own. Every now and again she would be lucky enough to see them grow throughout their childhood years and on rare occasion to adulthood. Even though very few would ever know of her existence in their lives in those very early days.
My favored glosa form, designed to used the words of another, was the perfect vehicle for today’s prompt. This write is for her and all the countless others like her simply doing their job.
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Let’s all Waltz Wave
This form asks for a one-stanza titled poem, with nineteen lines; each line has a set number of syllables. Pattern: 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 2, 1. Words may be split into syllables to fit the pattern. This form seems to educe a soothing cadence as the lines gently increase and decrease, so it is suggested that topic chosen for this form also be soothing.
As I lay on my duster, watching the big Montana sky
Like I have so many nights before, watching the time carve by
I know that this cattle drive, was worth all the time of the run
But on nights likes these, no nights like these are never any fun
The ambiance of a crystal clear night, I cannot deny
As I lay on my duster, watching the big Montana sky
But all my thoughts now turn to you, as I watch the campfire
Each flame a flimsy copy, of you when filled with desire
Those jolts of emerald flashes, which herald your fluid moods
How well I’ve learned to read them, the bad, the ugly and the good
As I lay on my duster, watching the big Montana sky
My longing for your touch is so deep, I damn well want to cry
I squeak out a prayer to the heavens, that you still feel the same
Upon my return to you, I shall ask you to share my name
In the meantime, the thoughts of your dew soft skin just get me by
As I lay on my duster, watching the big Montana sky
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Welcome students! – Today’s form is the Quartern.
The quatern is yet another French form. It consists of four stanzas of four lines, or sixteen total lines. The quatern is a syllabic form, meaning that there are a required number of syllables per line. Traditionally there are eight (8) syllables per line (or tetrameter, to those who want to get all technical), but it does NOT have to be iambic!! (Yes, I took very creative license by using fifteen syllables in my example above.)
The other trait of the quatern is that there is a repeating refrain, similar to a kyrielle. In this case, the refrain is repeated one line lower in the poem in each stanza until in the fourth stanza it’s the fourth line, like below…
Line 1 (refrain)
Line 2
Line 3
Line 4
Line 5
Line 1 again (Line 6)
Line 7
Line 8
Line 9
Line 10
Line 1 again (Line 11)
Line 12
Line 13
Line 14
Line 15
Line 1 again (Line 16)
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I know some curse
This perverse form
dVerse I smile.
For all the while
Poets style, words
Beguile, they do!
Sweet Pub ‘tis true
My thanks due, yes
To you in verse.
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Because I just know the widget will expire if I try to wait until much later to post this, I do so now. My sincere thanks to all of you who attempted this week’s Form For All the Than Bauk. I have enjoyed these past two days reading all the fun, poignant, dark, wonderful and deliciously interesting takes on the form.
So, a friend posed an interesting query in one of my Facebook groups:
“So here’s the question. If you there was a button that you could push that would give you superpowers but would also permanently change you to the opposite gender – would you push it? Would it be a hard decision, whether your answer was yes or no? Or is it an obvious choice?”
My initial response was heartfelt No! I enjoy being female in this modern-day and age. For all the roads we have yet to travel equality wise etcetera, so many more have opened up for women just in the past hundred plus years alone it is a great time to be female.
But then I stopped thinking about me, and me being me, went and did what I always do and over thought the hell out of it in a generic sense.
In a transgender scenario, the flip to the opposite sex is obvious, having a superpower to boot is a bonus. This sex switch mostly becomes of interest for the cisgendered.
What of the woman who now has all the physical characteristics of a male, but her heart and soul would remain feminine? If the new body build is proportionate to the original (a tall, fat male becomes a tall, fat female etc.), I’d say that is going to make the desire to wear a dainty dress interesting. Is she in drag now?
Let’s go down to another level, sexuality. A hetero male is now in a woman’s body. His sexual preference is still for females – you just know someone is going to ask if this now makes him a lesbian. Yes, he can now teleport, but can he handle the perception of being gay?
And speaking of perceptions….
This is looking at it from the view of the person who chooses to push the button. What of the married hetero female, who did not choose to switch and power up, who now has to deal with having a wife? What if they live somewhere that does not recognize gay marriage? Hell, what if the husband, in his new bodacious female body, is even prettier than she? Trust me – some women are going to go there.
Oh, that rabbit hole is getting pretty damn deep there isn’t it, Alice?
Now let us swing that spot light from the generic back to specific -aka me- again.
Would I be willing to trade being a female to have the ability of flight, telepathy or telekinesis, shape-shifting or a myriad of other self-serving powers? Absolutely not.
However, what if with a push of that magical button I have the ability to heal?
I’m not a girly-girl. Never having to wear a dress (or bra), again would not hurt me in the least. I think I have strong masculine features in my face anyway, so other than a change of hair and not bothering with make-up would also be a bonus. My friends who know me well already say I think like a male in so many ways, personality-wise I do not think it be much different. And to top it all off, I do love my men and my women, so even sexually I’m still in a good place. At this stage in my life, I may very well be one of the best candidates for that particular button pushing.
Were I still married and raising my children, I know I would likely turn it down without a second’s thought or regret. However, I am not married and my children are very much adults.
So if I can heal others, would the adjustments to my new body, both physiologically and psychologically, outweigh the greater good of all I can eventually help?
In all honesty, once again, I have to answer Absolutely not.
As the TV show would ask – What Would You Do?
I walk the rows of the garden
Whispering voices the only sound
Passing by the stark white blooms
Rising from the hallowed ground
And I gaze upon all the blossoms
Row upon row to infinity unknown
Fingers lightly touch this newest bloom
Here in the garden, garden of stone
Each bloom marking lives young and old
Lives that eventually have stilled
Some blooms have seen many an age
Some are as fresh this grave just tilled
A flag waves softly in the wind
Today at half-mast flown
Standing for the one who no longer can
Here in the garden, garden of stone
Scattered about these many blooms
Are others who are here like me
Honoring their own seeds fallen
Into these blooms for eternity
Hand slanted to brow, we are all together
Hand held over heart, yet each all alone
In laughter and tears and memories
Here in the garden, garden of stone
For they are children far too short
To appreciate their own youth
Their spirits grow old far too fast
To live and die with that cold truth
Thus mourning comes, as sure as dawn
In the 21 guns of honor shone
For we who are left behind still grieve
Here in the garden, garden of stone
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Raivenne-lations 