Poetry dances.com

Great Poems and Great Writers Discovered Everyday..

submitted poetry  

 

shelf 7

 

Based on information provided to us the poems below are the copyrighted property of the individual writers shown. Please see our disclaimer and terms of use document.

  • Harmony                        Crystal Dawn
  • Pleasure's Face           John L. Snook, Jr
  • River of Passion            Shana E. Purves
  • The Player               Crystal Dawn
  • Silent Voices                 Claudia Anne Krizay

Harmony               by    Crystal Dawn

         

Twilight mist drizzles dewdrop kisses upon clay—
as forlorn creaking of tattered limbs thirst new life,
and frosted green blades beneath oak's canopy lay

dormant...

Night prowlers fall victim to ravenous birds of prey—
as hollowed trees echo crickets' combative chirps,
and frosted green blades beneath oak's canopy lay

dormant...

Croaks repulse serpents while in shadows they stay—
as forelimbs swoop on wind's wings marking echoes,
and frosted green blades beneath oak's canopy lay

dormant...

Sunlight's affection kisses dawning eyes with warming rays—
as songsters twitter a melodious symphony, arousing dance,
and spirited green blades beneath oak's canopy begin to play.

Harmony: nature's fury—nature's dance—begins with a kiss.

 

_______________________________________________________________

 

Pleasure's Face          by John L. Snook, Jr

 

 

 

A smile from ear to ear it’d have, if pleasure had a face.

The muscles, sore from too much joy. No frown, you’d find no trace.

The eyes with brilliant colors shine and lead you to the source.

The soul so overfilled with love would keep you well on course.

 

A fragrance, unlike any flower, if pleasure had a smell.

Would draw you in and hypnotize and put you in its spell.

The brain would open up past thoughts and dream of yesterdays.

When love was pure, forever yearned, and built on better days.

 

If pleasure had a taste the quest for food would surely end.

For nothing in this simple world would taste as good again.

The tongue would surely go on strike and cease to taste mere tastes.

The body with out pleasures taste would simply fade and waste.

 

A voice of Angel choirs, it’s true, if pleasure had a sound.

Would wrap you in your mother’s arms and hold you in its bounds.

Then cradle you in thoughts so pure you’d never wish to leave.

And close your eyes and sing to you like only make believe.

 

Like holding clouds in out stretched arms, if pleasure had a feel.

Like barefoot days in long cool grass your soul begins to heal.

Your skin would ache to touch the touch the touch that pleasure brings.

Like lying here with you tonight my heart with pleasure sings.

 

 

 

 

_______________________________________________________________

 River of Passion       by Shana E. Purves

  

There is a raging river that flows inside of me.
I'm living for the moments that release and set it free.
Buried for so long, no light for it to shine
You are a magical mystery, the key to my desire.
Unlock this door before you and feed the flame of fire.
Definite intrigue, it's your spirit that I seek.
Passionately I feel, for you I'll live and breathe.
You're beautiful inside and I just wanted you to know.
You give life a meaning, with you I long to grow.

 

_______________________________________________________________

 

The Player               by Crystal Dawn


Rhythmic impulse
inundates her
senses,

lyrical whispers
tantalize and
tease.

Lighting
upon her,
the final
act commences.

She is, but one—
this player means
to please.

Dulcet vibrations—
his touch strums
a chord.

His fingers
smooth lines,
he melts as
she quivers.

Hollow, yet full—
her sensations
have soared.

Beneath his
soft touch
she yields, he
maneuvers.

'Tis a pleasure
to present—

The Player,
and his
lovely
lady,
Cello.

 

_______________________________________________________________

 

Silent Voices    by Claudia Anne Krizay

 

Snowflakes have been arrested in a frame of time;

Rivers are now frozen still,

 Ice-clad inlets

Consume the reflection of the full moon at twilight.

 My eyes

Control the hands of time.

. The light of the stars

Refract against this mysterious

Pathway that

I walk everyday

Without freedom or direction, towards the home of the angels

 That had been forsaken?

Every time I capture a shooting star,

And hold it within my hands,

It burns out, and then dissipates.

Voices unobtrusively

Tiptoe past me at times

Whispering their innocuous words to me,

Moments of reality have become

  Flurries of confusion and

Shattered moments of tranquility.

I am searching for that

Quiescent land of eternal sunshine

Where shooting stars never burn out,

And the moon remains forever full.

Tomorrow I shall find my rainbow

Before a storm begins again,

And seize it within a net of gold

Bask in all of its glory until

The snow begins to fall again.

 

________________________________________________________________

 

we're Now 

Page 1

on 15 of the

Top search sites-

(for standard

poetry-related searches)

more

< Bookmark and Share >

 Poetry Dances's Facebook profile