lighthouse-poety
lighthouse poety
wickie and the mermaid
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they dream big and want some sun
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You are tired, (I think)
You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.
Come with me, then,
And weâll leave it far and far awayâ
(Only you and I, understand!)
You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, andâ
Just tired.
So am I.
But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heartâ
Open to me!
For I will show you places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.
Ah, come with me!
Iâll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
Iâll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.
- e.e. cummings
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When we were words
When we were words
We hadn't felt the perfect fit
Of our spines
In the morning light
After sleeping the night.
When we were words
We didn't know the sound
Of each other's laugh
Or that sharp gasp
Of the arched release.
When we were words
We hadn't had hands on feet
And eyes across tables
As we taste the world
One shared plate at a time
When we were words
We hadn't climbed fences
To catch the light
On a ruin
Before dancing in dust.
We are still words
In motion
And sights and hands that touch
There is so much to yet be
Write it, write it with me.
#daily poetry#love poems#poets corner#short poetry#my writing#poem of the day#original poem#poets on tumblr
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Dionysus and Sea Nymphs ~ 1853 ~ Sir Joseph Noel Paton (Scottish, 1821-1900)
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Morning LightÂ
A poetry comic from my new book The Art of Living: Reflections On Mindfulness and the Overexamined Life.Â
Find it at your favorite local bookstore or online wherever books are sold. Available with free worldwide shipping here.Â
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âKnowledge is freedom and ignorance is slaveryâ
â Miles Davis
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The Kiss
The kiss
Becomes deeper
And play
Becomes passion
As tongues seduce
And dance
Like the ripples
On a pond
With nowhere
To hide from rain.
Breath caught.
Fingers
Locked,
As lips
Trace the shape
Of the nape
Of your neck
Your back beckoning
And bodies stretch
To make the shapes
That connect.
Moments stretch too
As my mouth
Traces the silhouette of you
The soft geometry of
Shoulder
Hip
Nipple
Then finding
The sweetest silk
Parting with
A writer's
Uncalloused
Hands.
Breath hot.
The spot
Where my tongue
Connects
Makes you rise
Arching and clenching thighs
As tongue and lips
Glide over the
Sweetness of you.
Fingertips restless
As they seek
To make you
Ache
And
Spark.
Pleasure seekers
Finding ourselves
In each new
Embrace.
The tender and
The urgent,
Finding pace
And desire
Rising
Like waves
Upon the changing tide.
Inside.
From tentative touch
To the painter's release
I learn your body
And mine.
We refine
By letting go.
Sex cartographers
Tracing sense memories
Without maps
Of the pathways
That lead
To bliss.
Kiss.
#daily poetry#short poetry#love poems#mermaid#original poem#poets corner#sensuality#passion#eroticism#touch#kiss#longing#desire
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âsometimes a poem is just a poem and sometimes a poem is actually a confession and sometimes a poem is a person and sometimes a poem is a cardinal. sometimes art is just art and sometimes art is actually therapy and sometimes itâs a pipe and sometimes itâs also not a pipe. sometimes the text is âgot home safe!â and sometimes the text is actually saying i already miss the way your hair feels in my hands and sometimes the text is a warning and sometimes the text is thank you for caring.
sometimes the song isnât a song sometimes the song is a manipulation and sometimes the song is just bad and sometimes the song is stuck in my head from you singing it in bed and sometimes it is âi listened to this so i could learn what you likeâ and sometimes it is âi showed you this because i want to also show you my palm lines and my heart and the inside of my head. sometimes you are dancing alone but you are not dancing alone because you are picturing seeing her in a green velvet dress across the room from you, and sometimes you are dancing with ghosts, and sometimes you are dancing with your motherâs voice. sometimes it is not a dance it is a walk and sometimes it is not a walk it is lying in bed and sometimes it is not lying in bed, it is not-dying, which is often good enough for survival purposes
& sometimes you say âoh, take a cookie with you when you goâ and you mean that i should take a cookie and sometimes you mean - take me with you, also. sometimes it is just burning something and sometimes it is burning something and sometimes it is burning a lot of other things first. sometimes it is just a shirt and sometimes itâs what you wore when you kissed her and sometimes itâs what you wore when you didnât kiss her
& sometimes the poem is just a poem and sometimes the poem is my earring in your hand and sometimes the poem is your smell and sometimes the poem is calligraphy and sometimes the poem is good lord you are addicting and sometimes the poem is a poem and sometimes the poem is unfiltered yearning and sometimes the poem is an anvil and sometimes the poem is - can i write a home, can you crawl in, can we be like little ferns, all curled up in bed. sometimes the poem is a poem and sometimes the poem is a dance and sometimes the poem is saying - no, i will skip showering, if you need me there, iâm coming.â
- Inkskinned
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The roses are still blooming in autumn
Between seasons there's a chill
But still the blooms arrive
Like overnight fireworks
That hang with their beauty
Over the path
To our door
Leaving fallen petals
Under foot
As we come and go.
#daily poetry#love poems#original poem#poem of the day#poets corner#free write#my writing#mermaid#poets on tumblr#writers and poets#poems and poetry#seasons
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The wake
A flash of the tail
A glimpse of the light
The call of desire
The flight
Darting between
The solid shore
The dream becomes
A dream once more.
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Waiting.
#daily poetry#love poems#poem#poets corner#short poetry#free write#my writing#poem of the day#original poem
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