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Old 10-12-2013, 06:31 AM   #81
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Default 03/16/2006

"Cyrano Reborn"

Using methods of spinning words and syllables into liquid silk
I spend countless hours writing unending declarations of love
Is but nothing to come of this?
If I were a man of revenge, I would confess the deepest secret of my soul
I would risk the world turning on it’s axis, and everything becoming awry
To tell you that these words are not hys, but in fact mine.
Ahh but to risk the recoil of such actions, such thoughts.
I do not dare to render myself wounded with the fall out of such.
So here I sit, body bent over the page creating images of scenic beauty in soliloquy.

And as I watch from darkened shadow
I watch this charlatan, this jester, play the part of King to a willing and blinded audience.

But if given the opportunity
Would I step from the shadows embrace?
Would I take your hand and lead you off to dance?
Would I be able to serenade you with the music of my words?
Could I dare steal you away, you the belle of the ball?

I answer my own question.
My own musing as I make my way out to stand under the bright scrutiny of the moonlight.
The sounds of muted whispers, the rasp of silken skirts float on the wind from inside to me.
And I damn myself for my cowardice.
If I had half the nerve I shall dash out my own heart lest it betray me again.
I should retreat forever from the cruelty of this world into permanent hermitage.
Yet, transfixed, I remain riveted to this spot, a masochist for the maker of my own demise.

If only I could air the desire
If only I could adore her, my lady in the open.
And not be confined to the sidelines.

I lift my head and gaze at the stars
Damning the gods for their tormenting games
Since when had it become sport to leave the hearts of the faithful broken?
Since when had it become commonplace to fall prey to the sting of loves nine lashes?

Oh but to embrace the sanctuary, the reverie of fantasy.
There could I hold her
There could I profess that in fact it is I who love her
That the words of devotion hy speaks are truly mine.

And as I draw my jacket tighter against the chill from within
I damn the fire of my Cajun blood, and the passion it births.
If only I had taken the path of the prophet rather than the poet.
I could then be the restless walker, and not have to linger here slave to my own passions.

And yet I wonder
Perhaps one day could the balance be shifted?
Could the fates decide in my favour?
Could my luck possibly change?
And if that day should come about would I know it in it’s coming?
Would I know the time, would I know the date?

And with the sound of a lonely bird’s cry.
The haunting lilt of the loon;
I am struck with the mark of genius
The lightning strike of epiphany
That I will never stop my yearning for her.

And with heart pounding like rain on tin
I turn and make my stand.

And with the bravado of beloved Cyrano
I step onto the battlefield.

As I take her into my arms
And my love for her profess.

I know that if all else
I may have lost the war.
But the battle has just begun
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"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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Old 10-12-2013, 06:49 AM   #82
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Default 03/22/2006

"Bondir"

Diving into the abyss
With eyes wide shut
I bring forth
Radiance
Light
Love
With the touch
Of compassion
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"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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Old 10-12-2013, 06:54 AM   #83
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Default

I want you,
With such intensity
Right here
Right now.

My fingers tangled in your hair,
the colour of the finest French cognac.

I see in my minds eye
Your eyes the darkest brown,
so like the ink in the inkwell
as they look to me with fire,
with passion.

My fingers insist on touching your skin.
So much so that my palms itch from the want.

I long to clasp you to me fiercely, taking you right here.
Bending you over the desk.
Having my way with you until you scream and beg me not to stop.
Until both our knees are weak, and our breathing laboured.

I long to be your vagabond,
Your rogue
Your dirty little secret.

As in turn you become my little whore.

The lines becoming fuzzy between
Reality and fantasy.

And as we wait to write our own history in grunts, growls, moans, and screams.

I claim forever what is rightfully mine.

Your body,
Your, heart,
Your soul.

In silence
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"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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Old 10-12-2013, 06:56 AM   #84
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Default 04/11/2006

"Opus of Existence"

I feel the music pulse through my veins
Every cell becoming engorged with a rush of fluid

This same music can also enrage me or invigorate me
For it is the essence of who I am...it is in my very make-up

I am the aria, the operetta, the composition of each striking note

These instruments endeared to me for they are my fragile skeleton
They are the end result of a fusion of passion, drive, creativity and consumption

My only enemy, the silence that threatens to wash me away
Notes of my existence lost to the tempestuous winds

So here I write my final opus
Kept within the enclosure of parchment and pigment
Thus enabling one to know that I even existed at all

And when time is forgotten, and civilization gone, these notes will remain, carried on the subtle breeze
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"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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Old 10-13-2013, 02:25 PM   #85
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Default 09/28/2013

Written for the 9 Word Poetry Thread

Pea-coat collar turned up
His footfall
Echo soundless
Upon
Wet pavement
He'd give anything
Everything
For dryness
A warm place

Into the diner going
Nearly colliding
With her
Eyes meet
Electricity
As he takes in
Autumnal tresses
And cerulean eyes

Sodden apologies
Repeated
Exchanged
In passing

At the counter
He sits
Awaiting
That warm
Decadent
Cup of coffee

Pulling a journal
Battered
Worn
From his pocket
Opening to
Painting after painting
Sketch after sketch
To the floor
Falls a napkin
Upon it scrawled
"Call me sometime."
Followed
By a number
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"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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Old 10-21-2013, 03:28 PM   #86
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Default 04/15/2006

Angels and Devils rapt in a tumultuous embrace
Saints and Sinners look on with envious eyes
While at the same time
Their gazes are filled with suprise and shock

Mankind labels them all Lunatics, Heretics, and Blasphemers in their confusion
But what do they know of the affairs of Elysium?
What do they know of life itself?
A life in which they merely exist, yet never live

It is here, that even the Gods have leant themselves to the foray


The Aurora Impetus illuminates the sky of nightfall, brightening the horizon
Lending an ethereal backdrop to the sensual dance of the seraphim and the succubi

This IS the battle between heaven and hell

Waged with
Touches
Warm embraces
Kisses
Sighs
Moans
And whimpers

Laughter and tears of the sweetest release
Echoing through the early morning skies
Like the crack of thunder
The flash of lightning

This is the "voice of god"
This is the language of desire
This is the sweetest Ambrosia
This is the essence of dreams

This is the the eternal dance
Passion and pain all in one
Brought forth in the arch of a back
The uttereance of a breathless sigh
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"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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Old 10-21-2013, 03:30 PM   #87
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Default 05/14/2006

A second's respite
As I look for my soul's anchor
Attending and arranging my personal state
Emotions in an uproar, raised to a dangerous level
Yet the lesson learned
Though lips may lie, actions do not.
Passion is no replacement for Reason
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"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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Old 10-22-2013, 09:25 AM   #88
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Default 05/04/2006

Repeat upon my skin the touch of leather
Stinging
Biting
Caressing like only a lover could

Touch the cool blade to my skin
Cool as Ice
Sharp as a razor
Cutting away the inhibitions of a lifetime

Leave me with shallow breath
And quaking heart
Leave me wanting your tyranny

Bind my wrists
My ankles
My heart
In a firm embrace

Pinch my skin
Pierce my soul
Make me more than just your slave, your bottom, your submissive
Make me YOURS

Leave marks upon my skin in vibrant hues of red and purple
Showing the world the honour you pay to my gift of submission

Take me to the edge
Take me to the brink
And push me to break form
Push me to defy you
Test my devotions
And my servitude

And make me all the more stronger
All the more complete for this trade
This exchange of power
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"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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Old 10-22-2013, 09:27 AM   #89
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Default 05/14/2006

Do not presume to assault me further
With word, gesture, or deed

Do not torment me with your false promises
Those words hollow and meaningless

Do not presume to tell me what I must feel
What I must think, what I must be
For those things are not yours to determine

Do not try to persuade me into that trap again
For I will not be blindly lead

Do not push me, pull me or prod me
For you do not control me

I am my own soul, my own being, my own man
I will abandon your darkness to step into the light
I will awaken from the sleep that consumed me
And I will become whole
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"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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Old 10-22-2013, 09:30 AM   #90
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Default 05/14/2006 ....written through a femme's eyes

I studied you for countless moments as you slumbered, your short brown hair tousled from sleep.

I looked to the hardened and chisled features of your face, looking for the secrets they contained. The hint of a laugh, the shadow of a smile reflecting your love for me.

Here you lie on my sheets, in my bed, so far removed from the asphalt warrior that the world has forced you to be.

The world always viewed you as the "odd one out" The woman trying so hard to be a man. The fool in drag.

But I instead looked at you as the normal one in a world of oddities. The handsome amongst the profane.

I wonder as I look at your sleeping face, softened in the grip of slumber and wonder when did the hardening begin.

When did the stone form?

When did the gentleness take leave, only to be seen in rare glimpses on rare occasions?

And as I continue to peer at you, the answer comes to me.

It was when you first loved me.

When you first knew that you would have to fight with every breath to be able to love me in a world that doesn't allow for our kind of love.

And at that thought, my heart swells.
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"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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Old 10-22-2013, 09:33 AM   #91
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Default 05/14/2006 "The Thief Of Time"

The hour foreboding
The sand slipping through the embrace of glass

Promises lost in the fray
Memories too

As the sand moves to it's own beat
It's own rhythm
Cool and unfeeling

Moves made that were meant to last
Gone before the last breath is drawn

So hold fast
Enjoy faster
Make each moment yours while it lasts

Before the thief of time steals away with it
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"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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Old 10-22-2013, 06:12 PM   #92
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Default 05/14/2006

Open my reason
Open my passion

Assume to insinuate yourself
Upon my skin
Upon my heart
Upon my soul

Delight me with the subtle nuances that are you

Writhe with me
And under me
Into the wee hours of morning

Then promise me
That you will not destroy me
Like all the countless others have before
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"Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark." ~ Henri Frederic Amiel
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