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t e m p o r a l P o s t u r e s
verdant blush
tender the hush
the pulse fleet
beneath fingers tip
glisten lip parted
breath
and the night wind
speaks
through chimes
and slender blinds
warmth and seasonal
embracing tension
brighter then stars
sparkling in its pain
and durations
wavelengths of glorious
hunger
spikes of pleasure
static and charged
the gooseflesh
response on reposed
arm
relaxed wrists scented
moonlight in a water
glass
dancing reflection
of light
with each
and often
gust
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north ontario
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Comments
Geezer
Sat, 2016-01-09 11:04
Long, lazy...
summer nights, when lovers lie in each other's arms and vibrate with the aftermath of passion.
That's what I got from this! As always, you stun me with vivid word painted scenes. ~ Gee
There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.
Esker
Sat, 2016-01-09 19:45
Poetry is the magician of its art~ Esker
just made that line up
it is what it is
an illusion
an entire audience can grasp
and feel in its emotional
tempo
thank U!
author commentscribbler
Sat, 2016-01-09 22:02
Hi ho
Line 4...shouldn't that be either fingers' tips or finger tips? This reads like a list of snapshot title and in a good way.....stan
Eduardo Cruz
Sun, 2016-01-10 10:44
Esker,
I like the idea of the illusion that is translated in each of our minds as we read, creating our own perception of the event. Nicely done!
I wrote something of this nature a while ago;
Mercies of Satisfaction
Blinding darkness
Only seeing with the naked touch
That sends images to a fevered mind,
Fingers navigate every contour of a physical soul
Pleasure heightens with each new discovery
Of a erogenous zone,
Salty sweet sweat begins to pour
From the heat that rises on the surface of the skin
Breaths of air escape in fevered pitches
As if a beast emerged from somewhere deep,
Eyes now see the beauty of the aura
As conscience is loss of the outside world
And senses flare into universal oneness,
Temperature rises!
To the intensity of supernova
As two souls are lost beyond their known Chakra,
The weight of the world presses against them
As gravity takes its hold
Not a single silent movement is seen,
In the stillness of the aftermath
When all that's heard is exhausted breathing
All that is known
Are the mercies of satisfaction
Eddie C.
LIFE ISN'T ABOUT WAITING FOR THE STORM TO PASS
IT'S ABOUT LEARNING HOW TO DANCE IN THE RAIN.
VIVIAN GREENE
Esker
Sun, 2016-01-10 10:55
exactly!
when I lived alone for a time I watched a described video channel
background chatter while I made dinner or read books...
and I think of the tour guides I went on years ago
OR on line keeping up with the women whom I sextexted
all a matter of prompting
and I loved the racetrack announcers
the horses that is until the gov reducted all of that
their names were like poetry titles
hockey games
and church sermons on sunday
the radio that is
all of that is poetry
and the countless love letters
I recieved over the years
beautiful and crafted works
your poem is apt and well
written Eddie!
all these poems refer too Autumn
in my writing...the air clearer
the nights cooler
a potent time
I feel
thank U
author commentRoscoe Lane
Sun, 2016-01-10 13:57
The same as Gee,
The same as Gee, my mind was on lovers as i read your poem. But whoever else reads this, they will enjoy the imagery of your words. Regards Roscoe....
Roscoe Llane,
Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.
Esker
Tue, 2016-01-12 23:43
kay
it was about lovers..
but lovers whom have many lovers
so u work to soothe the lover beneath U whom is many lovers
Like a day whore works the nite whore
the hands feel the tension of its run on the body
and she can smell feel the women
scrapped like tug boat fenders I have pushed nudged
through the days run and cities backside
"Skankstank" she said...coming in low and rising up high
breast to chest....daring bright eyes!!
she just wanted to come up and see me up close
always the personal!!
hours long the work
then
who else would do this
no one
it was an eighties thing
my mind lost in the translation of work
busy
free of my ghosts I would face in sleep
come the next hours
somehow if they would be soothed
by the magic of my work
then I could absorb its peace also
fall into the tempo of the rythym
of sleep and heartbeat
it worked!
while it lasted
but the whole time I was working
I was thinking of much times
many others
an emotional storm
driving the strength in my fingers
and arms
and often
the weather was charged
..
full moons with cold fronts arriving
seeping in through the window cracked
or a storm once
the tempest before and during and after
like an opera
a classic moment forever embedded in my
mind!
the distant flare and then thunder as it closed
in and was overhead crashing and thrashing
and the rains falling eventually soothing
its slow and steady pulse beat
tempo.
nothing else matches the memories
I have
I make it thus
and they..the muses know it
thank U
,,
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