Category Archives: poetry
Wicked heat in an icy town leaves her lying restless.
She’s eclectically quirky, with cotton pyjamas, hair tousled & large framed spectacles.
Huffing and frustrated she rises and stares at the clock: midnight.
Pacing and thinking of the errands ahead leaves her slightly crestfallen.
Candles now alit; the prickly flame leaves her agitated with remembrance.
She stares into the mirror, her reflection and shadow dancing in the flame’s light.
The wicked heat leaves her standing restless, watching herself.
She is a darkened beauty; tousled hair & large framed spectacles.
She sheds her clothes and smiles at the curves of her hips and the way her breasts stand perfectly upright.
Growing older but nothing wanes.
Lines stretch across her hips and she laughs while remembering moment when puberty introduced herself.
New hairs took her by shock, and a heavy chest left her self-conscious at 13.
Yet now, she stands – ungracefully posing & smiling, making funny faces to the naked adult body peering back.
Crawling into bed, she releases a passionate sigh at the meeting of the sheet with her skin.
Young skin, smooth, soft, taut, nothing has waned.
Hair tousled & a large smile, she delights in the rising hills of her thighs, and the trough of her slim waist.
She sighs, rolls and falls off her throne. Naked on the floor, she feels 13 again – only with a more bouncy anatomy.
Tousled hair & darkened beauty, she relaxes and enjoys her own company.
Heat rises from her zones, but she cools it with a touch.
Growing older, pleasure never wanes.
“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect – you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can.
She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break – her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.”
I’m in love with words.
Every writer adds essence and character to a piece. I have met writers who add revolution and a striking need to be wiser, better, more human with just words. I wanted to start featuring writers I admire: whether up and coming or already established on the Poetry front. Maybe I’ll through in a little Plath every now and again *sullen smile*
So here is my first writer: Hezron Henry
Restoration: A Tarnished Jewel
There was once a woman who felt so vulnerable
That she felt she needed to build walls impenetrable
‘Cause men before have used and abused
This treasure of such great magnitude would be priceless in any sheik’s harem
That would be the diamond encrusted crown of pure and un-matchless gold on any king’s brow
A treasure that would turn any frowns upside down
In a world full of maybes
She “would be” that “can be” in a man’s life
She said she can be the sanity in his world of insanity
She would be his trust in a world of “In God We Trust”…but just can’t say the Lord’s Prayer in an institution of education
And while we’re all slaves to our impulses
She admits she’s not perfect
But yet still a treasure
Pleasure not only of the passions of one’s carnal desires
But also of spiritual and mental upliftment
Well…that’s all she’s after…
Now I know your body is frail
And men have the audacity to call it a temple
But yet still refused to be baptised
But right now I wanna worship in your temple
Convert me at the altar of your soul
As I behold the light at the end of your tunnel
Got me 1 step closer to heaven
And I know that men have tried to GET into you
Bu I’m just trying be into YOU
So when we’re done I can reverse and take that time to converse
And expose our naked souls on the linen of ecstasy
Under the cover of a warm caress
Because you have chosen to bless me with your presence
And more even so….your essence
I want us intertwined
And braided like my hair
Meaning I want us to grow
Meaning I want you to stay…
In reference to what Lupe say
So if I cud speak into your soul until it becomes whole
Inspire me to do the impossible till I’m centuries old
And if two alternate realities were to collapse under our touch
Would you risk it all for 1 second’s rush
Or live a lifetime without
So I wanna voice my concern
For many brothers don’t wanna get burned
So if I step back and act all thuggish, ruggish and bad to the bone
Like a rapper without ice
Valuable enough to bribe a prostitute‘s panties off
You got me
You got me
Too young to understand, I stared at you with such intrigue and frustration.
You were effortlessly beautiful and difficult to understand.
Words hung between us with an air of passion and desperation.
You seemed to move seamlessly through the crowds; everyone admiring your grace and poise.
I imagine every way your words are repeated – beautiful, melancholy, and ambitious.
Rhythmically echoing your words, storming our brains in search of meanings; we were all too young to understand.
Your maturity, your inspiration, you are timeless.
Even these words feel inadequate.
I’ve grown and still hunger for intellect like yours, but could never reach it.
Through the ages, you’ve graced everyone with your profoundness and made men quiver to please you.
A love for Literature is never confined to one era.
I strive to be a poet and a writer, but there is so much depth in your world.
Our love started young, yet with age, I’m ever more mesmerized.
Painting: Girl Reading by Oliver Ray
I feel like being naked with someone.
Does that sound filthy?
I suppose it might seem so to some.
I miss a human touch. A kiss. A gentle stroke and an arm around my slim waist. Staring into eyes, and sweet kisses that seem to never end. The clock hisses and I’m still melting from a kiss.
It’s 4am and I’m still giggling from your tickles. Biting my lip to not give in. But 30 minutes of giggling and talking turn into moaning and a desperate need for your body and spirit to never leave, to stay intertwined with mine.
Does that sound needy?
I suppose it might seem so to some.
I miss poetic love. We exchange bitter, love-filled melancholy words of missing and hoping. We rub our noses together and I bite my lip not to sulk.
6 Years pass and I can’t seem to trust again. Broken words, guarded castles and a black heart.
I’ve yet to forgive. Writing memories to blacken memories from my mind. I tear pages out of photo albums and curse the dark silence. Moving on, and having you re-appear. I curse myself for giving in. But you have me blind, handing you my all – purse, power, panties. I can never forgive you.
Close the page, I’m sick of remembering it all.
When I love, I love immensely, passionately.
Yet when I love, my love seems to go unnoticed, untouched, futile emotions into a sea of pre-occupied thought and deception.
When will my love return such passion? When will He touch my heart and kiss me with fervour?
I long for his grasp; my body in his arms, our bodies writhing in ever rising heat, indulging in each other’s needs.
My heart feels hollowness. My soul feels a gnaw. My love is far, searching for me, and I him.
Concentric cosmic circles play with our sense of direction; eluding us of each other’s position and making us the ever hunting fool.
This world was made for our love, yet we go on, painfully so, at lost for each other’s mesh of love.