Her heart strums, like the quiver of a violin bow,
Words escaping her lips with ease.
Warmth enfolds, spreading across cheeks aglow.
His delightfully torturous words tease,
Inundating her with the play of imagery
Dancing across the imagination, set free
To thrill and inspire.
He always captures her in his poetic scripts
Placing her in gardens of metaphorical rhyme,
With the scent of roses, and poesy on her lips.
Drunken with sweet wine of memories penned, sublime.
Epodic reflections take her on journeys to distant places,
Enchanting seascapes and exotic faces,
The hint of love forever in her mind.
Immersing herself in streams of verse
Wandering through paths divined by his muse,
Left breathless, reeling, senses coerce.
Her spellbound heart quickens, as his words suffuse,
The spell is only broken, by the sound of a clock
Ticking slowly, tick…tock…tick…tock
Her heart remembers to slow.
A lackluster, granite ocean of mist
Engulfs the expansive skyline.
Somber, unstirring ashen seas persist
As mental faculties decline.
The drab-thickened air cries sullen tears,
Its apparent depression matches mine.
Gray-infested weeks resemble years,
As constant as Ponderosa needled pines.
Powder-blue cracks begin to form,
Taunting with shallow peeks of azure bliss.
The precious respite calms the inner storm,
As mazarine waves wash away the cloudy abyss.
Dreariness no longer dooms.
Ode to the Unknown Poet
He captivates with words sublime,
Rivaling the likes of Yeats and Frost.
An understated method of calculated rhyme,
With nothing in translation lost.
His lack of eminence, a literary crime.
And though his status goes unknown,
Poetic genius of this sort can only be homegrown.
Graced with a sundry life and gentile demeanor,
A childhood absorbed in the arts.
His erudite mind a metrical garden galore.
If broadcast throughout would capture hearts,
At least this heart I’m sure, could only adore.
His gift, no fame or wealth could hold.
The unknown poet, penning verses worth gold.
I pulled up behind a brightly colored old bus,
and the little tree-hugger in me just had to cuss.
That ginormous jalopy was puffing out his rear end,
sending ozone-depleting toxic crud into the air to blend.
I leaned back in my environmental friendly Smart car,
mentally giving my energy-conscious self a big gold star.
But while I was beaming proudly in my glorious Green,
fumes wafted through the vent, I think I coughed up my spleen.
(This was summited in a contest using the picture prompt above)
What’s a Girl got to do to Relax?
I could seriously use a drink,
Kick up my feet, not have to think.
Is it five o’clock anywhere yet?
Nothing dry, just sweet and wet,
A nectarous Riesling would be nice,
Or a Raspberry Margarita on ice.
Rum-laced Buttery Nipple shots
Put me under the table, I think not!
A lavender-scented bath would be lovely,
Sipping a glass of strawberry bubbly.
I’d love a fruity Sex-on-the-Beach
With my favorite schnapps in peach.
I think I’m feeling kind of frisky,
Just give me the bottle of whiskey,
I’m no can’t-hold-her-liquor rookie.
What’s a girl got to do for some nookie?
What awesome wonder fills my sight.
Bathed in the glow of morning’s first light.
Trees catch fire in Sun’s effulgent rays,
No adequate speech sufficient for praise.
Lambent shimmers of gossamer light,
Stream down like tails of a child’s kite.
To play on reflections in the looking glass,
Forest scape echoes its dreamy mass.
Through mossy thicket and over ridge,
Skipping gleefully across a whimsical bridge.
Nature paints resplendence, this masterpiece,
A wondrous dream, let never cease.
A Little Sin
Must one always place nice
Dull and boring if you ask me
Why not add a little spice
Splitting hairs now and again
Prim and proper is so humdrum
A little devilry now and then
Bland routines are so tiresome
Say something for shock value
You can play coy later
Go ahead and let it spew
Why must one always cater
Life is too damn short
Not to go out on a limb
The ball is in your court
No worries, it’s just a little sin