Concede on bended knee
I bear the burden of the rod
and feel the sting of every blow
and every poke and every prod
that served, in time, to lay me low.
I bear the burden of the rod
and feel the sting of every blow
and every poke and every prod
that served, in time, to lay me low.
The first thing I notice is your warmth.
But long before I even take note
of your smooth skin under my fingers,
I feel the longing in my cold side
and the satisfaction in my warm.
Next, I take in your scent,
sweet and somewhat salty;
drawing it in with
a long smooth breath
followed by my satisfied murmurings.
I hear you murmur in response
and feel you shuffle close
while I listen to the sound of
you sleepily wetting your lips,
dry from the night.
I peel open one eye
and see you radiant.
I close that eye
content in knowing
that I am home.
Racing through the woodland trails
following the green eddies
deeper into the verdancy
with the sound of your footsteps up ahead,
with the sound of your laughter up ahead,
with the sound of you up ahead.
Your sound.
Your sounds.
Just up ahead.
I keep on walking
down that burning road,
the bag on my back’s
the sum of my load.
My baby lost it
a few miles back,
vomiting black smoke
from a heat attack.
I could hold out my thumb
and try to flag a ride,
but I don’t need pity
because I’ve got my pride.
So I keep on walking
burning holes in my shoes,
‘cause to get where I want
I’ve got to pay my dues.
I peruse, aisle by aisle,
and see the wares laid out,
splayed out,
crisp and clean
before my hungry, rapturous eyes.
A fire is raging in our veins,
while we wear a face confused as pain,
before spilling all over the place
leaving a rose upon our face.
For a moment on the day I met her
I was so lost in her eyes
I didn’t notice her literature
nor her shapely, exposed thighs.
This was a month where I tried to learn
how to write poems both silly and stern
and I found the tricks
to these limericks.
Next month I’ll let you take a turn.
The future doesn’t look so bright
but in time things will be alright
so reach for a star
‘cause who knows how far
all your dreams will take you tonight.
A rose for the bonny lass
on this, her birthing day.
A flower with a touch of class
for one who’s the same way.
A dress for the lovely girl
to compliment her eyes.
A gown for her to dance and swirl
and drift on through the skies.
Jewels for the sweet woman
that catch the moonlight’s spark
and burn quite divine when
she drifts on through the dark.
A crown of stars for the fine lady
to tug out her sweet smile
and show the grace that we already
were watching all the while.