Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

23.9.13

Feverish Kisses

By Charles Moffat

I dreamt of her again last night.

When we first kisses it was sweet and tender, almost by accident.

But every kiss after that was more feverish than the last.

It had been so long since we had last seen each other.

We have both changed so much since then.

But the old flame still burns strong inside us.

I cannot change the way things are.

Nor can I change the way I feel about you.

The brief moments we are together, even in my dreams, make it all worthwhile.

Mayhaps you are dreaming of me too.

The same dream. The same feverish kisses.



12.6.13

Blossoms of Love

Blossoms of Love
 
Nay shall people say that your love doth not shine
For it shines like all the heavens after a glass of fine wine

Nay shall people say that your love does not blossom
For it has already bloomed and that is totally awesome

Nay shall people say that your eyes do wander
For your eyes have become blind to what others have to offer

Nay shall people say that your love is whimsical
For your love shows true character and has grown full circle

Nay shall people say that your love shall be nevermore
For your love shall grow thanks to the fruits of your labour

12.1.12

Salsa Suite


Salsa Suite by Gail M. Murray, circa 2006.
Member of the Toronto Poetry Club.

It begins
slowly, easily
as friendship.

They meet in salsa class
over hardwood floors, beads of sweat
and sensuous latin music.

The students dance in a circular rotation.
“Switch partners” the dance instructor calls.
He’s coming towards her
She looks forward to dancing with him.
He makes her laugh,
teases incessantly
witty repartee and latin rhythms.
She flushes, eyes averted.

Then one night after class
his impromptu invitation
“Would you like to go for coffee?”
to his place.
She trusts this one
his passion for photography and artistic city scapes
let her in a little.

Again, spur of the moment
a Lennon tribute night
bohemian poets and coffee house cappuccino
more stories, histories
conversation easy,
getting to know each other.

Then he tempts the traveler in her
“Will you go to Cuba with me, leave Boxing Day?”
That’s a week away
She doesn’t know him
He’s still a mystery, pieces she’s putting together
so they watch the DVD
of forbidden lovers who share dance and each other
Havana Nights she wants to live with him.

Still, no touching
that’s only safe on the dance floor

At salsa class it’s always there
the verbal banter, constant flirtation and comfort.

What is she to him?
seems more than friendship
not so easy now.

Phone calls from the road
from Edmonton and Vancouver
He travels with his work
tells he’s been jogging,
describes his business dinner.

Victoria Day weekend
his unexpected late night call
he’s en route from a family function at the Falls
good thing he owns a cell phone.

He arrives unshaven
toting vinegary wine
to catch up on her recent trip to Arizona
or flame surfacing desire?

He’s at ease in her recliner
massaging her taut shoulders
taking her to a different reality.
He plays with her long hair
such an erotic thing
a man’s hands stroking your hair.

Sliding into his arms, she curls up
‘His gentleness came down upon her’
Kisses, tender kisses
sweet surprise from a jock
who keeps a gym regimen
races dragon boats and kick boxes.

He transmits tenderness
“It’s you” he whispers
“You bring it out in a man”.
“Did you think we’d….?” she asks
“There’s always been something between us”.
They’re crossing bridges.

In summer sunlight , arm in arm
strolling cliffs along the lake
still easy.
Until he says “there’s good news and sad news”
“You’re moving” she senses it
all this work related travel
Two hours away
difficult, not impossible for a man in love
He’s fast tracking, climbing corporate ladders
Different dreams.

Why did he start crossing bridges?
‘Her blue eyes could melt his soul down to a place it longed to be.’
Dancers spin to a pumping meringue beat
“I thought I’d surprise you,” he says a little cocky
Since the move, she hadn’t expected to see him at salsa
“I can come for dinner next Friday, I’m in town.
Is that enough notice for you?”

Twilight approaches
her garden blooms soft rose hues
He’s only two hours late
driving across the city through rush hour
Is planning in his scope?
He’s missed business flights before.

Scents of vanilla and wild salmon mingle on the patio
It’s dark, chilly now
Time to venture indoors
Kissing, stroking, crossing further….
He’s behaving like a lover
He asks her to dance
Not latin music this time.

Slow, close, not like dance class
More Bridges of Madison County
Is he sensitive to her or does he know how to play her?

He’s good with romantic gestures
as he sweeps her into his arms
carries her upstairs
crossing the threshold.

This lover awakens with tender sensuality
at dawn they stir, his arms enfold

He plants a single kiss on her shoulder
They drift back to sleep
then he’s in her kitchen making breakfast.

It’s her turn to drive the distance to his salsa barbecue
“It’s so far” she sighs
Is this a message she’s trying to deny?
Tiki candles, latin music, dancing with the gang from salsa class
mastering new dance combinations
though she wants to dance with him, solo.

His new house has five bedrooms.
“Which bed has my name on it?” she asks coyly.
“Mine.”
“Where are you planning to sleep?” she blushes
“With you.”
“Not if the party goers drink too much and stay over” she says.
She has her reputation to think about.
She still attends dance class.

Candlelight, blue sheets
piped in music from his laptop
Poet meets techie.

He opens to her
thoughts, feelings
in this dawn pillow talk.
“Her blue eyes melted his soul down to the place
where it longed to be.”

14.12.11

Unapologetic Love

By Charles Moffat, Canadian Poet.



Love and affection
doesn't have to be erotic.
The joining of two minds
is much more romantic.

People who love only sex
are really just pathetic.
The virtue of karma in relationships
is such that it makes justice poetic.

Finding genuine love and kindness
makes two lovers positively magnetic.
Lust is the mere byproduct of affection,
but true love is both prophetic and unapologetic.

ALWAYS FOLLOW YOUR HEART.

5.5.11

The Sensual Eroticism of the Song of Solomon

By Charles Moffat - May 2011.

If you've ever read "The Song of Solomon" you might have asked 'What is this type of writing doing in the Bible?' Most people would not expect to find such explicit, yet highly poetic, descriptions of a sexuality and lovemaking in the Holy Bible.



Depending on whom you talk to "The Song of Solomon" is literary smut but it is also one of the greatest examples of historical erotica. As a book in the Bible it celebrates sexuality as the most beautiful act a husband and wife can do together, a celebration of "God's Creation". In that line of thinking, eroticism itself (if done with poetic finesse and imagination) can be seen as a celebration of "God's Creation".

"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine" says the female poet. Later she says "bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts."

If you read between the lines of The Song of Solomon you will notice that in Chapters 2 to 3, oral sex appears to be described: "the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste."

The male poet, Solomon, says, "Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.... Thou has ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou has ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.... Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue."

Solomon describes his beloved as "a garden", presumably a reference to her bushy pubic hair and her fruit-like breasts.

His female lover writes "Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat its pleasant fruits."

Its pretty obvious then they're meant to enjoy oral sex.

These poetic and metaphorical descriptions of intimacy lead us back to the question as to why this type of writing is in the Bible? The answer is because mankind is supposed to be "fruitful and multiply", because marriage isn't just a symbol before 'God', because marriage is also a sanctuary for lovemaking, and this lovemaking is both a celebration of the human body, and an act for creating children.

It is presumable that 'God' would wish children to be born from lovemaking, and not from rape or rampant fornication.

At the time the Holy Bible was put together it was previously just a collection of stories. Evidently the people deciding which chapters should go in it had a lengthy discussion about how prudish a book they were making. They wanted to off-set some of the more anti-sex ideas in the book with a chapter that celebrated sex. This was a conscious decision to endorse lovemaking and eroticism.

It also says something about the nature of sex of lovemaking. The moment of ecstasy is a moment wherein the whole body, the whole mind, is caught in rapture. It is perhaps no surprise therefore that many people in the moment of orgasm cry out "OH GOD!"

We should note that at the time the Song of Solomon they lived in a fairly liberal culture where both common peasants and the wealthy ran amok having sex with one another. True, they knew the dangers of sexuality, like pregnancy and the STDs of the time, but it was not a 'wholly anti-sexual culture'. Rather it was surprisingly knowledgeable about what causes babies to be born and had learned methods of effective contraception (likely finishing with oral sex or pulling out at the opportune moment).

At such a time we know that prostitution was a constant and that it was also vitally important that sexually transmitted diseases be kept to a minimum which may explain the many warnings in Proverbs and other Biblical passages against fornicating with "the strange woman" and "the harlot".



But while fornication was frowned upon, lovemaking within the sanctity of marriage was actually encouraged because it increases the chances of faithfulness and reduces adultery (which leads to other problems).

Eroticism therefore was not feared by ancient cultures but celebrated for increasing fertility and faithfulness between lovers. The Song of Solomon however is not about fertility of faithfulness however. It is a celebration of lovemaking's ability to give pleasure and to enrich the lives of those we love. It was created by and for people who savored the pleasures of the flesh and was meant to be enjoyed within marriage.

The Song of Solomon can also be appreciated as a larger metaphor. Some people see it as symbolizing the relationship of God to Israel, of Jesus Christ to the Christian Church, etc.

In the end The Song of Solomon is enduring testimony to the pleasures of lovemaking. While it is said that poets make good lovers, we can only assume Solomon was a great one.

(This essay is from the website The Song of Solomon and is courtesy of The Religion eZine, an online magazine which discusses religion, philosophy, atheism and mythology.)

23.6.10

Lust and Failed Trysts

Poetry by Charles Moffat - June 2010.

I slide my hand down your back and cup one of your buttocks, pressing you closer to me.

Our hips grind together rhythmically, drawn together by wild lust and rampant desire.

Your lips are like water to a man traveling the desert sands, never quite quenching my thirst.

Amidst all these wild emotions, the letting go of barriers inside my heart I question:

Are you the one? Will this lead to love or just another failed tryst?






See Also
"a dream of unfettered roses" - A Selection of Poetry by Charles Moffat

18.2.10

When you touch me

Poetry by Charles Moffat - February 2010.

When you touch me
I feel the temperature change
When I touch you
I feel your heart quicken

When we are together
We abandon loneliness and doubt
We forget time and lose ourselves in sensual flesh

When we aren't together
Our minds wander to each other
We lose ourselves in lustful daydreams

When we come together again
Our joy overflows as we surrender to pleasure
Our flesh joined as we become one

Our time together is fleeting
But in those moments we find passion and meaning
We are more our true selves
We release our energies into each other





See Also
"a dream of unfettered roses" - A Selection of Poetry by Charles Moffat

13.9.09

life sometimes
gets too
overwhelming
that i just want a man
to rain upon me


Pamela A. Babusci
pub. in Notes from the Gean
2009
blood-red stilettos
the power i feel
in them
the power i surrender
when removed


Pamela A. Babusci
pub. in Notes from the Gean
2009

16.3.09

Even long after my death

Even long after my death
Long after your death
I want to torture you.
I want the thought of me
to coil around your body like a serpent of fire
without burning you.

I want to see you lost, asphyxiated, wander
in the murky haze
woven by my desires.

For you, I want long sleepless nights
filled with the roaring tom-tom of storms
Far away, invisible, unknown
Then, I want the nostalgia of my presence
to paralyse you.

Maria Martins

Campanha, Brazil 1894-Rio de Janeiro, Brazil 1973
From the book: Surrealist Love Poems 2001
Edited by: Mary Ann Caws

3.3.09

Wild and Unrelenting



I still borrow your image in the darkness
laying it across the proficiency of my fingers
weaving a fantasy with the loom of longing.
A wild and unrelenting storm I am
in the quiet that awaits dawn.
Satiated with satisfaction ;
a spent frame quivering like a bow. You
play me to perfection with my own touch.
In spellbinding creating you wave your ebony magic
across my ivory intention and I spill the rain
of long overdue tears.

Trembling I am
calling the black hand from the lake of midnight.
Moon shadows and mad meanderings
awaken dark mysterious depths,
prying open my yesterdays
with the creeping hand of secrecy,
crawling along the flesh of my imagination ,
the rawness of my need.

Come, I call you, come to me, my hand is waiting.
Wild and unrelenting fingers aching.....
Let me borrow your image in the darkness
One more time.

24.2.09

Ovid's Amores

Book I Elegy V: Corinna in an Afternoon
Trans. by J. Lewis May [1930]


'TWAS summer, and already past the hour of noon. I flung myself on my couch to rest my limbs. My windows were but half open. The light of my chamber was like the light of the woods, or like the glow which follows after sunset; or father, like the twilight that comes between departing night and dawning day. Such is the light that is befitting for young women of reserve; in its mystery their timid modesty may find concealment.
Behold Corinna cometh, her shift ungirdled, her tresses hanging loose on either side her snowy neck. In such guise did the fair Semiramis offer herself to the caressesof her spouse, and thus did Lais give welcome to her many lovers. I raised her shift, which withal was of so fine a texture that it was but a flimsy obstacle. Howbeit Corinna was not willing to be deprived of her raiment. She strove, but not as one whose will it is to conquer. Soon she gave up the struggle and consented to be conquered.
When, her apparel laid aside, she stood naked before mine eyes, not a blemish was to be seen on her whole body. What shoulders, what arms it was my privilege to behold and to touch. What bliss to press a bosom shaped so perfectly for such caresses. How soft and smooth her skin beneath her lovely breasts, how divine her figure, how firm and plump her thighs. But wherefore should I here tell o’er the number of her charms? Nought did I see that was not perfect, nor was there aught, how thin soe'er, between her lovely body and my own. Need I tell the rest? Wearied, we rested from our toil. May many an afternoon be thus sped by.

The Love Books of Ovid
. Translated by J. Lewis May [1930]



Align Center
Aestus erat, mediamque dies exegerat horam;
adposui medio membra levanda toro.
pars adaperta fuit, pars altera clausa fenestrae;
quale fere silvae lumen habere solent,
qualia sublucent fugiente crepuscula Phoebo,
aut ubi nox abiit, nec tamen orta dies.
illa verecundis lux est praebenda puellis,
qua timidus latebras speret habere pudor.
ecce, Corinna venit, tunica velata recincta,
candida dividua colla tegente coma--
qualiter in thalamos famosa Semiramis isse
dicitur, et multis Lais amata viris.
Deripui tunicam--nec multum rara nocebat;
pugnabat tunica sed tamen illa tegi.
quae cum ita pugnaret, tamquam quae vincere nollet,
victa est non aegre proditione sua.
ut stetit ante oculos posito velamine nostros,
in toto nusquam corpore menda fuit.
quos umeros, quales vidi tetigique lacertos!
forma papillarum quam fuit apta premi!
quam castigato planus sub pectore venter!
quantum et quale latus! quam iuvenale femur!
Singula quid referam? nil non laudabile vidi
et nudam pressi corpus ad usque meum.
Cetera quis nescit? lassi requievimus ambo.
proveniant medii sic mihi saepe dies!

Publius Ovidius Naso

3.11.08

In Spooned Satisfaction

by Pam L. (aka mysticgamekeeper)

He nudged against me with remembered movements,
sliding himself unto my small frame
fitting perfectly into the familiar spaces
on my receptive skin.
Awakening me with the warmth and the weight of his need.
Heartbeat to heartbeat
as mine sped up to catch his galloping rhythm;
flesh to flesh
he pulls me from my midnight sleep
with a white hot hand of slippery heat...
Motion melds me to the sheets,
need pounds itself against each crease.
Spent
we rock each other back to sleep
in spooned satisfaction.

copyright 2008 Pam L.

30.10.08

Tanka


Dusk, the green valleys,

your cello bows to the moon,

and with each note

my breast too, like the strings,

stirs with longing, for your touch.


©2008 Beatrice van de Vis 

12.10.08

Tonight the Moon

tonight the moon
is devoid of lovers
to view it & fall in love
with it's pure
white moonbeams

and, i am lost in a
past reverie, lost in a
hurricane of kisses
like a beggar craving
longing starving
for violet intimacy
for blue dangling
love juices

i go down to the river
of pastel passions
flowing with the current
flowing against the current
i ride the rapids
like an expert who
never falls off

i see him on the riverbank
waving his hands
begging me to swim ashore
he wants to enter me
like a vagabond
in the silent, ebony night
without thought
without guilt

yet, no matter
how far & how hard
i swim, i can never
capture him
never
overlap him
on the shoreline of
our stellar bodies
i am left naked & exposed
on the sea of unrequited love


Pamela A. Babusci 10/12/08

2.10.08



a mouse

clicking on the inbox


speaks of love



inside the box


thoughts of love


-turn to lust



at the cybercafe


she writes giddy verse


lust- moist



©2007 Beatrice van de Vis 

13.8.08



counting the colours

of the rainbow, I stop at red,

pomegranate dark and wet

-fiery imprints on your skin

of last night's lipstick kisses
 ©2007 Beatrice van de Vis 

9.8.08



Pomegranate

Stained lips on billet-doux

Red suffused screen


A wanton dream

Parades undressed, proud.

How it weeps, the dark


Sommnolent at dusk

Scent of succulent red fruit

0h.... how hard we are!



©2007 Beatrice van de Vis


25.7.08

Two to Tango




plucking her eyebrows the crescent moon

a myriad of stars he brings her day-old flowers

two to tango her rhinestone ankle bracelet shatters

the feel of stain sheets his roughness

whispering sweet nothings a note in her journal

morning breaks he leaves via the fire escape

winter wind airing out his left behind boxers



Pamela A. Babusci
First published in Raw Nervz Haiku VII:4 2001-2002

Wet Moon French Kisses




wet moon french kisses

room service for two strawberries & whipped cream

do not disturb sign foreign maid enters anyway

painters on the seine trying to imitate monet

still hungry for each other we feed croissants to the pigeons

back at the hotel a sprig of lilacs across my breast

french kisses wet moon





Pamela A. Babusci

First published in Raw Nervz Haiku VI:3 2001