massage of poetry

massage of poetry

The gentle scaffolding of her verses
Construct the sweetest inspirations
As goosebumps blossomed over me

Her words rubbed my hard muscles
Like an inspiring key that unlocked
Every hidden secret of my anatomy

Soft syllables stroked sweet sensations
Sending me to the point of no return
as her metaphors caressed me to ecstasy

My muse is a masseuse of touching balladry
For no man could ever resist her charms
After her sensual massage of poetry

our little secret

our little secret

My love
everyone wants to know
our little secret
can’t they see
you live in my poetry
For every beautiful word
every little inflection
is an alluring reflection
of you
For I never seek inspiration
in the birds or bees
or classic Greek tragedies
This poet writes
by inclination
Don’t tell anyone
of this little revelation
there’s no denying that it’s true
our little secret
My heart beats metaphors
just for you

my muse

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Grateful for all the warm messages and wishes.  Doing much better now.  Thank you.

Now, let’s get back to poetry………my muse deserves that.

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my muse

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My muse
is a prism
for when she writes
I see the other side of light
As I read her words
I become an unraveling knot
That slowly comes undone
If she knew
how she brightens my darkness 
with her inspiring poetry
my muse would understand 
she is a prism
illuminating a spectrum of love
deep inside of me

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a barren world

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On Thursday, after completing my volunteering gig, I hopped into an Uber to partake in my Thanksgiving meal.  There was a small accident. Spent the night in emergency.  MRIs and x-rays show no damage.    Just very sore.

I will be slow answering comments.  And I am trying to catch up on blog reading. Hope all are well.

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a barren world

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a meteor shower

of disillusion

have battered her

until she has

eclipses in her mind

craters in her soul

 

her desolate universe

is so dark and lonely

her aching heart

has become an asteroid

a barren world

devoid of love

the infinity of you

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While sipping wine and listening to soft Latin jazz and samba, I thought of the great love women/mothers provide unselfishly with no boundaries. Sadly, it often goes unappreciated. I truly believe it is difficult for any man to truly reciprocate the endless love & warmth their lady truly deserves.

This poem evolved from those thoughts.

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the infinity of you

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The little boy in me
stands before the immense
universe of your poetry
Where metaphors are constellations
and your deep verses
are remote galaxies
Your words travel beyond
time and space
forever eclipsing me
like a lonely particle of love
For you are my sun
I, your loyal moon
a small bewildered child
forever admiring
the infinity of you

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This Thursday I will be volunteering at a local Soup kitchen helping to feed the homeless for Thanksgiving. Thus, I needed to make my second post of the week today..

my confession

Prayers

Last week, my dear friend G. of Short Prose challenged me with the prompt of using the word “confession.”  When you have a moment, please read her beautiful poetry and/or wonderful excerpts of her manuscript Glass Lovers.

https://shortprose.blog/2018/11/13/i-miss-you-poem-poetry/

Here is my submission…..(of course it’s about love, when isn’t it?)

my confession

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Blessed are those
who read your poems
For I am one of those
who was baptized
in the cathedral
of your words
You rescued me
from the apocalypse
resurrected me
from the dead
Now I give you my confession
etched in stone
Adoring your poetry
is my penance
Loving you in silence
is my sin

 

love hung in her closet

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love hung in her closet

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Love hung in her closet
like a lonely dress
no longer in style
If I told her
that dress was made for her
would she wear it
one more time
She looks beautiful in love
She wears it well
One day I may tell her
Perhaps, I never will
If I don’t
it will always hurt
to know
Love hung in her closet
it was never worn
for me