I would like to be a writer. I began this site with amorous intentions, and over the course of time, I hope to have evolved as a male in an ever changing society that is today, recognizing the true beauty and elegance of woman. I am also into writing poetry. Come along for the ride.

Posts tagged “man

there is softness in her beauty


In woman,

in that we recognize beyond the physical pleasures,

there is a softness,

one meant to be honored,

not arraigned,

yet, so often in the throes of our personal passions,

we forget to take homage in their own gentle offerings.

 

In woman,

we attach sacrifice,

to suggest she is meant to be privileged,

at the expense of man,

without realizing her own contributions,

are meant to be the truth,

not a fantasy,

but a spiritual guidance in the heart of all Man.

 

In woman,

I know she is beautiful,

and I relish the opportunity to tell her so,

when in her eyes, I see magic, I see the sunrise,

and I do as evening pulls often feel the sunset,

in her demeanor when a peace,

a needed vacation from all of the torment,

might become her personal homage.

 

In woman,

I see her.


Man Loves A Woman


Man loves a woman, smiles,

her eyes sparkle,

a stir, sweet gasp.

Man wants to hold her, gently,

she allows,

he defends her honor.

Man loves a woman

a fire within his body ignites,

she compels.

A man feels a woman’s love,

she is unable,

he feels tears forever, his own.

A man hears a woman tell of love,

he listens,

she cries the same.

Man loves a woman,

a woman loves a man.


When A Younger Man


When a younger man,

I had these notions about love,

seemed to me,

the word could manifest itself,

in a red bikini laying next to me on a beach near a man-made lake.

 

At fourteen, I could see her nipples through the sheer fabric,

the lower garment-like a drape,

covering some aspect of woman

I would later only cherish as my spiritual mecca.

But I’ll never forget her breasts in red velvet,

at least that was my impression,

at fourteen,

a hot summer day,

my erection buried in the sand.

 

See the reality is I was afraid to look,

and yet she was delighted to feel so beautiful,

to know eyes would glance,

and all I wanted to do was

just tell her,

just find the right words to suggest how wonderful

she made me feel,

buried in the sand in a safe sort of adolescent scream.

 

When I was a younger man,

I began to love woman,

not women, but the essence of her being,

and I would imagine the travels,

my lips, my fingertips,

my journey to bring only pleasure to her eyes,

at fourteen,

with my head buried in the sand.


Questions Delve Deep


I think there is a reality we all imagine,

when simple is sufficient,

we sort of bowl over the remainder,

the mystery of being.

 

If to suggest lives matter,

is it as important to recognize honesty

attached to our integrity,

or are facades the true meaning.

 

We must be conscious how lost

begins the circle of unwarranted deceit

when lacking in interpretation,

the eyes need offer swift hesitation.

 

While further the exploration

begins to parlay the genuine nature,

in a gradual manner

speaks idly of conscious respect.

 

Oh, for my words do matter,

so careful I am to avoid such hindrance,

creates a vacuum in the greater schematic

playground of our heedless humanity.


Adjusting My Self


Because that’s what we do,

men,

adjust our selves,

physically,

without a flinch, grab and rearrange,

walking down a city block,

standing in a room of peers,

grasping with petulance upon that external

metaphor.

 

So why all the self-importance one might ask,

for those of you still

hanging around.

Call it the self-deprecation of the ability of man,

to justify their reason for being,

to make light upon the external nature of our intrusion,

perhaps I only want to apologize for my anticipation.

 

The real reason though will play itself out,

in that most delicious and sensual manner,

for it is that love of ‘woman’

the essence of elegance, beauty of her mystique,

it is the man in me that must always realize the gift

is woman

in all of her sinewy swoon,

that dazzle toward unraveling my mind at the sight of

*gasp*

 

And why man,

why can we not simply allow our lives to believe

in cherishing and honoring the natural Grace of woman.

I say this from the bottom of my heart,

because I have been allowed to know,

the true muse, the mysterious delight of woman,

and I am sated by her lovely enticement.

 

So, let’s make the adjustment one last time.

Be a man.

 

 


Self Loathing in Dependency


Oh it is a harsh reality I speak of today,

rather than soft colors and accentuated melody,

I would that my broken heart might say,

how much I do truly love her sweet deity.

 

In ancient verse a fond escape we choose,

to lose our own reality of course as concept.

We might rather think to openly amuse

than  face the truth we can no longer accept.

 

In knowing love, I did forever touch eternity

in her grace, sweet smile, a tear in eye I mellow

to the innocence of truth she display in civility,

while I the man, demand and certain do bellow.

 

I found myself today standing at the edge of time,

knowing that I took for granted her love, sublime.


When Love is Real – A Sonnet


love

Is it always this way when crying, say,

I mean I love, I did, I, can I stay.

The last time we touched, we kissed each other

That same yearn, became again our fever.

 

The rain gathered pools, you said it was right

To have sweet symbolic skies before night.

My hand does cradle your cheek, dry your tear

In quiet passion never is there fear,

 

My lips meant forever to touch your heart

Lose my way in your hair, is where we start.

Her urgency caress my mind sweet eyes

Search with me inside your dream, now my cries,

 

Oh to know the key to your love I please

My soul search, sensual delicious breeze

 

* picture found on Pinterest