Happy Father’s Day – a message to Heaven

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My dad passed away over seven years ago.  I miss his smile, I miss his laugh and I miss the good times we used to have.  This is a poem I wrote when they dedicated a freshly planted tree and and a plaque to him in our new community park after his passing.  Happy Father’s Day to my dad and to all the dads out there.  I hope you are able to create memories with your kids that will last a lifetime.

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(my dad)

~

We give these gifts of nature in your name,

To forever keep you near.

To take root in a place you kept close to your heart,

And represent the things you hold dear.

Your rock will remind us to always be strong,

And to remain solid in the lives we love.

And follow in the examples you gave us in life,

As you look on us from above.

Your tree will remind us to accept the changes,

Of seasons that come and go.

As the tree becomes bare at times in our life,

New leaves will blossom in time to show.

That nature is beautiful and life has a season,

but all things do come to an end.

And with each change and leaf that is lost,

Family and friendships help mend.

Branches sway in the winds of time,

And your whispers will be heard in the breeze.

Your memory lives on in the nature around us,

The air, the rocks, the trees.

Under the cover of night – Romantic Monday

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The canopy of stars hung precariously,

while the fire licked the air.

Frogs serenaded the romantic night,

as his hand ran gently through her hair.

She turned to face him in the moonlight,

her reflection held in his eyes.

Her portrait etched in a sea of deep blue,

encircled by sparks, like fireflies.

The night air hovered around them,

warming their skin with its trace.

His grasp on her skin was electric,

 as his fingers outlined the curve of her face.

Her instinct was to move into his body,

and his reaction followed her lead.

She could feel the energy building,

his want, his desire, his need.

The beauty of the night was unequaled,

the passion they felt was intense.

The night slowly swallowed their surroundings

leaving passion to hang in suspense.

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The blanket of darkness surrounded them

as the horizon fell out of sight.

His body became her protection

under the cover of the night.

~

This was written for Edward Hotspur’s Romantic Monday.

Laying in Wait

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Spring wanted to escape the clutches of winter,

it was waiting for its turn.

Through the clouds, touching the trees,

the sun had started to burn.

The opaque blue of the February sky

embraced the ball of heat.

Branches stretched to feel its warmth,

longing for a chance to meet.

Buried under mountains of snow,

blades of grass strained under its weight.

Buds of lilacs hidden in their shrouds

longed to achieve their beautiful fate.

But winter in its fit of rage

took hold of the sky again.

Suicidal snowflakes fell

and cloaked where spring had been.

Mercury fell and icicles formed,

the promise of warmth was gone.

Spring would have to lay in wait

to sing its beautiful song.

Draped in his fabric

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Another post for Edward Hotspur’s Romantic Monday

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he covers me like a blanket

he wraps around my heart

as much as I pull and stretch his fabric

it never falls apart

he drapes over my shoulders

shielding me with his presence

warming every part of my being

comforting me with his essence

I fall into his softness

I feel safety in his shroud

I feel the heat beginning to burn

my murmurs breathed aloud

his touch rubs gently on my skin

every time is like the first

his voice falls like music on my ears

his groan a staccato burst

we lay together, wrapped again

his arms provide the veil

keeping me warm, keeping me safe

his blanket will never fail

 

A Piece of Her Heart

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Edward Hotspur’s Romantic Monday always seems to bring out the poet in me.

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The heat of his touch sent shivers as he traced the curve of her spine.

The lasting sensation of the tingling desire,  never would leave her mind.

The softness of his lips on hers, the warm sweet smell of his breath,

the longing look in his deep blue eyes, the sensual feel of his caress.

He moves with her in a rhythm like the waves upon the sea,

seeming to be one, and yet, what one can never be.

He explores her soul, for which it seems, is paired with his alone,

on a journey of erotic pleasures, to a destination unknown.

The intensity of his closeness, the gentle stroking of her skin,

she feels an energy like never before, releasing from within.

She is his tonight and his alone, for now, for tomorrow, for time.

The love they make, the tenderness they share, will forever be their bind.

As the sun awakens to extinguish the dark, she clings to the memory of the night,

the feeling of togetherness, the feelings they share, the feeling of being so right.

He is a part of her now, a piece of her heart, beating in time with her own,

he is the wind in her hair, the sun on her skin, her music of beautiful tone.

Never will she feel alone for he is living inside of her heart.

His gentle touch, his wink, his smile reassure her they never will part.

Spending the Night

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A poem written for Romantic Monday ~ thank you again, EH, for the inspiration.

As dusk envelops the clear blue sky, and stars begin to shine,

The pale moon glow and the black of night, give heed to the ebb of time.

A sense of urgency, a passionate kiss, lead inhibitions to take flight,

Our eyes are locked, I’m in your arms and I’m eager to spend the night.

 The lights grow dim, the air is electric, you take me by the hand,

Without a word I follow, mind and body understand.

My heart beats rapidly as I begin to feel your hot breath close to my ear,

My legs weaken, I fall to the bed, I draw you to be near.

Bodies intertwine under a blanket of heat and the dusk gives way to dark,

Passion churns and hunger flames, causing energies to spark.

The sense of desire, the animal need, the cries of pleasure and pain,

The intensity ends, we lay spent, I’m cloaked in your arms once again.

As I fall into sleep full of dreams and desire, I feel you close to my skin,

Your breathing is heavy, your mind is at rest, and a contented feeling is within.

The night quickly passes to the breaking of dawn and together we welcome the day,

I awake in your arms, to the warmth of your kiss, and it’s there I want to stay.

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My Wish

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I wish, oh how I wish

that I could open up your heart.

I want to get to know you

but that’s the hardest part.

I know you from the outside,

your voice I recognize.

But the real you I’m looking for

is always in disguise.

Sometimes looking into your eyes

I can read what’s on your mind.

But then you turn, you look away,

afraid of what I’ll find.

I want to know what makes you tick,

what makes you run away.

I’d like to understand you,

there just seems no easy way.

My empty heart beats for you,

it wants us to be one.

It wants to heal the scars you bear,

to have the knots undone.

The seconds move, the hours wane,

and still you turn from me.

Still I wait, I keep you close,

awaiting what may be.

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The revenge of the rhymes

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This was written several years ago, but I have been thinking about it lately for some strange reason.

Rhymes of Passion

When inspiration urges my thoughts and feelings hidden within,

I’m overwhelmed by the beauty of words and ideas that begin

to flow forth from the keyboard caressed gently by my hand.

Such a spontaneous collection of flowing phrase and rhymes that I command.

I understand a passion that’s not easily defined.

Only when my keys are idle, imagination is confined

to whimsical thoughts of whirling words trapped in such small space.

Only when I script my rhymes, my thoughts have found their place.

For passion seeks to free itself, the means are not rehearsed,

The many ways it manifests, the many different verse.

I accept the visions I have not seen, I am blind from word to word.

But when I read my thoughts aloud, what imagery I have heard.

The splendor that is created, the feelings that I may share,

when poems, dreams and promises, magically fill the air.

I open my soul for all to see when my prose is read,

and allow the rhymes to define the words that could never before have been said.

I am a prisoner of my passion, a victim of its grace and style.

Spoken words will never fulfill, they last but only a while.

The rhyme flows on and with its touch, embraces a gentle whim,

and embarks on a journey of bringing forth, creative thoughts from within.

A poetic interlude

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I used to write a lot of poetry.  It was one of the original demons that stole my sleep.  Now it has epic battles with the monster that is helping fuel this blog.  Although both are headstrong and very willing competitors, the poetry demon won today.    This was the result of the battle.

Under a Blue Moon

I fit my frail hand into his as we gazed upon the moon,

the beauty of its reflection, comforting like a warm wind in June.

As the pale blue light enveloped us, we stood as one, unmoving,

engaging in a silent vow of love that would never need proving.

The stars returned our glances, embracing a life of their own,

smiling upon us as a distant loon lent music of eloquent tone.

A blend of harmonious voices, echoed the cry of the loon,

as we stood fixed, ever enchanted, by the intensity of the moon.

The night air swirled around us, laughing as it tickled the leaves.

The song of the frogs was found in the night and carried upon the breeze.

The rippling of the playful waves as their longing to touch the shore,

gave voices to the rhythm of sounds, sharing a tranquil rapport.

The magical songs in the blue moon light quieted ever so slightly,

as the glow of the moon and the array of stars ceased to shine so brightly.

His grip on my hand remained tender and sweet as he turned to look in my eyes.

A night of feelings shared by lovers under a blue moon and starry skies.