Most Liked Free Verse Poems (29,543)

"A gift is not to be commanded"
--Robertson Davies

It is too easy to
pretend coolness.
Keep the mind holy
and anesthetized.
Lock down the chariot of the mouth
in its endless poverty of always wanting.

Ignore the whirring
tick of the heart.
Hide the urgency of the body
beneath buttons and zippers
and forget that we are made up
of elements that spark volcanic eruptions.

Until you came the Bedouin taming
the desert of my body teaching me
that we are all things natural.

The skin only sand.
Taut and delicate as glass
and the eyes flint igniting on contact

I have all but forgotten the seismic madness
of it the cataclysms collisions
and rhythms of:
bodies that must.

The act so primal
so violent
so deliciously raw
it was the subject of the first poem
scrawled across cave walls

But the cognate need always
comes back with your searching lips
the touch of tongue
the incantation of your hips
and in your wake
the scent of earth
and taste of ocean.

We loved each other so hard
we altered the landscapes,
sandcastles with my breasts
and temples at my womanhood
and learned what it meant again to be animals.


`SAS

Upon lifting her dress
revealing such a sweet flower
red as a rose, her face laughed
her dark eyes blacker and softer...

And on this night of summer madness
she blinded her eyes with black hair
a grimace of pleasure wielding her lips
showing her bright ivory teeth!

Never a warm reproach or bitterness
she gave me all because she wanted
and the burnt roses in her garden with sun
were adorned with the gold fragrance of her fatigue...

He was only going sixty as he headed down the highway
Sadly he looked in the mirror and saw his hair with more gray
Memories took over his mind and tears made his eyes a blur
He was only going sixty and starting to lose his nerve

As he came up the drive,the birthday party had begun
They all had planed such a great surprise
And he took out his sunglasses to cover over his eyes
He wanted no one to know he was missing someone

He was thinking of a lady from not so long ago
Then they placed candles on the cake and set them all a glow
And soon another year would come and sixty one would be heard
He was going sixty and starting to lose his nerve

Through the months
and the miles
I have learned
to accept my pain

Though my heart
has been broken
there is sunshine
through the rain

A tiny little pin light
leads the way to you
so now, I kiss you,
my sweet, goodnight,

and oh, I Love You Too!

Call upon the hurt and joy to strike at the rock,
To apply the details needed onto the canvas using the chalk.
Written throughout are life lessons which are far from subliminal,
Yet looking for a hidden message is much more criminal.
The truth to the point applies meaning the any life,
Even as you carve out the details with the edges of a knife.
From beneath the dirt and ash is an item where the light can release,
One which some call perfect while others call it a masterpiece

looking towards
a misty mountain
jewel fingers
paints your vision
into thoughts
i just
cannot princess
for the life stop
thinking about
you baby

one cloud eclipses
a sun
warm deep rays
glows inside
the very heart
of this mountain
sweeping warm
love weeping
willow leaves caressing
falling drops
of dew

missing you
like crazy
colouring rainbows
feelings fall within
endearing emotions
sings sacred
unto these eyes
speaking from
this soul

in bowling
a heart over
lifting one host
bewitching with wings
enchanting beauty
floating magic
outside in
this world

kisses deeply
lips wave
inside an ocean
salt of the earth
whispering whistles
silent winds
landing on
a treasure

Feel how the earth moves
shakes rattles and rolls
Is nothing firm beneath my ground
Only where the waters soothe
a tired soul that travels alone
Searching a beach of understanding
Next to the ever changing tides
Are those cycles we call life
that washes and wears us down
So it is each day like each tide
becomes a little more worn down
washed smooth through
over me and you

You and me against the world...

So many roads heading in all directions
Another purpose to find.
I will take to the sea shelving all apprehension
I search the absolution in the sky
I have stood in sorrow like many other
Let me stare this fear in the eye
Break throughout this fire
Let my conviction now be questioned
I hope the bowman knows how to shoot his arrows
At least I will no longer be in the dark
So shed your light because on near night
I will be coming home
No rain can wash away direction
Someone above is looking over me
I pray the love she will see

The quiet of the evening is reflected by the books on the shelves,
rows upon rows of this merchants offerings
a trace, a scent of exotic coffee lingers
I know not of what I seek, but I sense it near.

It is music, of course, that I explore first
in one hand I hold Verdi’s “ Rigoletto”
the other, the Doobie Brothers
Deep in thought I feel his eyes
questioning this simple woman.

Distracted I briefly turn and look to him,
he holds Etta James and Yanni.
A smile and raised eyebrow reflects my response
politely, softly, I speak, introducing him to Kitaro
and I leave to find that of what I seek.

I find myself again in solitude before the words of poets,
browsing Frost I taste his candied words
closing my eyes I see his Birches sway
I reach for another and my hand is met,
he also reaches for his offerings.

It is but a moment that our hands are joined.
Yet in that moment I feel the fire of Pompeii,
the burning awareness of a moment in life,
I shake, I tremble,
I turn to look at this soul known stranger.

In the eyes of others he would seem plain,
limp straight hair that falls untended down his back,
eyes in an unremarkable countenance,
clean, yet tired clothes hang upon his frame
speaking not of the hunter, instead the secure.

Ah but his eyes, his eyes that sparkle with the reflection
of many lives lived,
wisdom born of the suffering of passions known and lost,
eyes that are but a reflection of my own
for they do not turn from my gaze.

Only poets are foolish enough to believe in words,
being not a poet his eyes speak to me
and mine to him, Oh blessed moment of peace,
of beginnings, safe in the knowledge that we have met before,
it is then that we realize our hands are again joined.

Oh brave Ophelious lend me your strength,
for we never truly know if what we feel
is returned in measure by the other,
chancing the retort of slap upon my face
He reaches and gently brushes the hair from my eyes.

With gentle smile I lays my head into the cup of his hand
a sigh if offered by my soft lips
an invitation greater than any known,
He pulled me towards him,
eyes close as our lips are joined.

Ah, illicit kiss that last a thousand lifetimes
stirring passions long silent
hands explore unfamiliar curves
the scent of his arousal is equaled only by my own.

Frantic passions search for a vacant corner
where buttons are released
and intimate secrets are offered for the touch,
the taste, of the other,
unashamed exploration, unabashed offerings.

And it is the lovers circle that we are joined,
in flesh, in spirit, in sweat
as the words of Plath, and Joyce, and Yeats
become as voyagers to our passions
their words unable to convey this moment of lust.

Sing silent muse who guides our lives
and carry this passion to new found heights,
for love that is born by the chance that is taken,
is the music of Gods in lives no longer vacant


~SAS~