His Cupcake

I am no cupcake
no pink frothy frosted thing
bland and sugary
with no surprises
just
sweet
upon
sweet
upon
sweet

perhaps
a pineapple
upside down
cake
tart
old fashioned
classic
homey
her world turned on end
revealing delights
underneath.

haiku villanelle - by PL

I have turned away
From love and its games, and now
Thorns grow around me.

My first love I loved,
But she turned away, and so
I have turned away.

Loves come and loves go.
The game can get rough, and so
Thorns grow around me.

I know how to act,
So from anything inside
I can turn away.

My garden thrives, and
Every day I tend the thorns
That grow around me.

No-one can touch me,
No-one can find me.
Thorns grow around me.
I have turned away.

Dirty Hands

The angry lash over now
The guilt descends like a cloud
I wait and writhe in my own failing
Once there before you, lowered eyes
I show you my dirty hands
I felt your disappointment; I am unworthy

Striking a contrast between good and bad
So that I know where the lines stand
Tears of pain and sorrow litter my face
I plead for mercy denied and state my place
A little more just to be certain all is purged
Disobedience, distrust, guilt, all deserved

Washing my hands with a good clean soap
I lay there and become clean with restored hope
Your little girl, your pride and joy, my face wet with regret
You tell me no more fears, no reason to hide
Cleaner than a virgin I rise from my penitence
You tilt my chin, restored; I can meet your eyes

It Comes

It comes like a freight train
rushing through a mountain pass
unstoppable like a hurricane fire
reducing everything to ash

the rush of adrenaline
the power of its pure force
undeniable with all its intent
leaving no remorse behind

no stone unturned in it
nothing left to question
words unspoken still
heard nonetheless

heart to heart
beat for beat
racing forward l
ike the dawn

come on love
come to me now
bring all you have
take me down

its coming my release
from the prison
from all the pride
from all the weight

it comes sure and real
like the burning of the sun
you come for me slowly
stalking your prey

bear down upon me
wash it all away move
me to tears
show me how to pray

ill breathe you in and out
and breathe you in again
the age old connection
has come again

Contributors wanted

A little poetry is good for the soul....

or -- in my case -- I alwasy say -- "better out than in" -- Poetry releases the pressure -- brings the world back into balance.

If you would like to contribute to our poetry blog -- email me at yourpeacefulone@gmail.com

You may send me your poem -- or become a regular contributor where you can post directly.

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sfp

The Art of the Kiss

At times

I've thought that the art of kissing

moving close

a hand caressing a cheek

that tilt of the head as your eyes flick from his eyes

to his lips

and back again

leaning in as lips graze lips

and you trade breath

and taste

until you to lose your bearings

I thought this was lost

but the kiss -- like anything else worth doing

is art

and must be practised

and perfected

and is better with a muse

Taken

I am hungry

for just a taste

of everything you are

and all that is left.

I press your lips against mine

hard enough to taste you in your absence

I squeeze your fleshy breasts

with lust you will see tomorrow

I reach inside you

pulling your soul out on the tips of my fingers

to hold and caress

while you weep for me

softly

because you are mine.