What is life without adventure, I can’t imagine being unable to enjoy Mother Nature, What would life be like without her, I can’t imagine being unable to hear the birds sing in there lofty trees.
Tag: poem
APPLE PIE
Slice, slice, slice, Apples plopped into a bowl, Cinnamon and sugar, spice, All mixed up nice, Poured into the awaiting crust, Baked up nice and tender, Crust golden and crispy, Taste buds yearning, To taste the sweet apple treat.
HAY STACKS ARE FOR OLD LOVERS
Her hair grey like an overcast day, Enchanting me with her sly smile, As we hide away in the hay, Like young lovers on the sly. We huddle in a pile, Carressing each other, Hushing our whispers, As we enjoy our secret smiles.
RETURN TO MOTHER EARTH
Cast away into the field, I lay here decaying, My life expectancy long past, Yielding my flesh to Natures grasp. Stripped away of my newness, That my old owner so adored, I knew my usefulness wouldn’t last, And now, as predicted, I lay here dying under duress from the wind and sun. Here my grave…
DESIRE
Tender fingers caressing the sensual points of our bodies, Yearning heat building in our tender most spots, Longing to fulfill the deep needs that attract us to each other, Fulfilling that deep seated desire to be wanted and to want.
HOT LOVE
Those passionate moments shared with a new lover, Overtake the heart and fill me with day dreams of the future. Love has embedded itself in my heart again, Filling my introverted self with dread and excitement.
HER GAZE
She caught my eye with her beautiful eyes, Ablaze with the fire of life, Her ambition glaring through those deep brown eyes, Catching my spirit in her snare.
HIS TOUCH
He touches my chest, My heart spurns for him, I yearn for his kiss, Longing to feel his five o’clock shadow on my cheeks, I passionately pull him in, Intertwined we kiss, Rolling in bed like young adult lovers, He rests his head on my hairy chest, Running his fingers through the thick fur. He…
(CREATIVE WRITTING PROJECT: HENRY – CHAPTER 2)
Reviewed July 8, 2020 Chapter II Their order came out while Betsy and Henry’s conversation moved forward as a spark began to ignite itself and they slowly found each other’s company comforting. “I doubt that the Irish team will win the cup this tournament,” Henry said to Betsy’s bold statement that the Irish…
INSTABILITY
Where do American’s turn when censorship hover’s above them, Afraid to say words like boob or suicide, When they are so important to the conversation. How do we wade through events and situations if we cannot express ideas, Even if those ideas may be askew? People are dying, sickened, and darkened, by how the bug…
