Category Archives: Poetry

Three sides to a Coin

Poetry

Where there is darkness,
there is also a light
shivering somewhere
alone in its fright.

Where there is warring,
there is also a love
hiding alone in a corner
within sight of a gun.

There are always two sides
and a ridge to a coin.
We can be right or be wrong
or teeter between the goings.

Where there is rain
there is also a drought
delivering to the faithful
such withering doubt.

Where there is hope
there is also despair
smiling at some hopeful
young heart fair.

Where there are dreams
there is also a waking
wisping images into memory.
Interpretations for the taking.

There are three parts to a coin.
Not just a trick coin in play.
There is always the black and white
but life exists more within gray.

©June 28, 2008 Lori S. Maynard

cantos for mad men(candice nine)

Free Writing, Poetry
Unsung lamentation, love you are.
this measurement of my lonely erotic life.
my rage against passion
you are my poems my broken pieces of art
you are the Darkness that is beginning.
that light that descents to void hearts
two rivers we are in one
like blood sprouting in our atrium of soul
that becomes lust in the senses
and gleam in your eye- tears
in the azure murals angel of sleep
among gold tapestries of flesh
and you breath into my mind holy smoke
behind your eyes fixed like ivory holy ghost
like the memory of
dreams of flesh in the harvests of shadows
I blame you you blame me
with  instincts of love all given inside the white linen
The glittering of the moon in your stoned face
virgin as the flower of the holy rite
your body like an antique statue crying
a wreath of porphyry rose in your hair
blue touch sanctuary lust and breast bare
snake eyes resembling a ray of light
mystic you lost love and I the darkness of night

cantos for mad men(candice eight)

Free Writing, Poetry

fiery red lips enslaving my mind
the gates where
porphyry milky-light
draws me in authorial mother of night
bound goddess line
of the flaming-sky
from the honey of figs of August
my phantasm creates and opens veins
hanging breast and moving hair ladder
climbing for the early kiss of madman
taking her breath of love play as
aromatic blowing oil
she enters my bed of circle coil
searching for the significant other
the beholder the poet and the lover
I embraced her curvature landscape where
the books of love are vanished
in the dreamscape of creation
i found my old remembrance in the rooms of the heart
voices of tenderness and unending pain
why my lord and destiny have you forsaken me
i have slept with the serpent and was thrown to the lion
and ihave sacrificed my genesis to the lover of the lesser god
memory stricken and catharsis bound
i bend with the wind of bitterness and the kisses of the sage
in the course of nostalgia about their ikons of youth
night by day they become incandescently impersonal
an endangered species non svelte lovers
confessions is the discovery of their sins
that comes under the mask of banal holiness
at the first level they lay your origins and sex roots
pretending to be innocent and non receptive of ecstasy
a spectrum of mimic mannequin passions
that fall as the veils of desire
the sweet gender is to be explored as orgasmic pyre for progeny
slow and cerebral writing the cuneiform of life
in the gardens they still gather apples for their defence of their redemptive aesthetic beauty or as blessed victims of
their carnal pleasures

candice seven

Free Writing, Poetry
i will never escape from your shadow
transparent your eye erotic
space offered as fountain of youth
cut out of clouds in the dusk without faith
forgetting the movements of my soul
your path  now that corrupts
my vision images of the vanishing,
surrounded  by foreign hands and your new lovers
rustic light the rising suns
winds and tides your figure
a carnal alchemy of hands into your depths
like a blossom in the field, more beautiful
than the firmament
a seed in which is encoded with many angularities
eyes that blossom also look more reflective
for i hold the vault of your mouth’s desires
not spoken kisses not forced touches of consummation
the other is touching your hair
and i kiss you alone in my dark dreams
i will never get over you you will never get over me
my other self always antithetical
to your moves as wishes overflow
why is passion always the murmur of groves
and why my hand ever trebling to execute
a simple order of my heart?
why is your lips as flowers
and i a snail eating fallen roses..
blinded by a marble-silk touch of muse
with blood’s light secrets
upon the stroke of  my pen
and digital eyes thirsty of doves
and fragmental passions into wine presses of love
sailing and dreaming my dreams to come
i never will get away from your erotic shadows

unseen hands(for Candice)

Free Writing, Poetry
unseen hands
pain not spoken not written.
tied up in the dark i saw from the coast
that i was drowned behind the paper moon
Scores of dreams
to show to light
like the calm reflections
that land the sinners in the hills of silence
the wind was mine only
i reached the lines of winter
till your gaze was dripping with tears
reflections of lover ‘s harvest
of her color_ full breasts
bathed melancholically
in my spiritual veneration
as gifts of motionless soul
oriental serene beauty
full of scent salient
passionate like a fragrant
burning
path into my skin
this grasshopper butterfly linen where in a moist shadow
carnal ruptures occurred

Candice (beauty revisited)

Free Writing, Poetry
————————
she looked like island in high seas
like a barrack that the soldiers used and abused
she meditates on dirty stigmas on the wall
now her shades of pale radiance
barren visuals no sense of calm
eyes communion of oval openings
promising the art of erotic escape
her eyes now changed filled with fury
a very incarnation of soft and wild beauty
like sea in tempest
beauty
skin silk like woven yet diaphanous
emitting light and shadow
she is my heart of everything
the main core of my poetic images
once you have it  you can not give it  back
It is beauty
she is beauty
her visual opulence must be revisited

an abstruct season

Poetry
it’s an abstract season
like nomadic wayfarer i explore your soma
your cries and whispers have no orthography in the sexual grammar
Still naked still idol of many trade winds
breathless
i write with broken silences ..
my pen drips blood into your amoral heart
your blue lustre made of sweat and
pearl. your face:
an Indian moonlight of Ithaca
i repeat the ritual
Banished from sin and the sacred
your eyes blue are the veins
of the Aegean stream of consciousness
as black breasts pillows of atonement
your wave of desire come and go
glinting the foam’s long gray frieze
hands are made of broken corrals
arms the coves of false confessions
Give me the shadow of a purple kiss