Fairer the Tree

This one was inspired by a song I heard a long time ago, by Echo’s Children. It was inspired by books in David Weber’s Honor Harrington series, and though I enjoyed the song, what struck me most was the final line. I always thought it’d make one hell of a love poem, so here is my attempt at it.

Young love blossoms quickly but fades away fast.
With petals down falling, so short do they last.
But flowers, when picked, handled gently indeed,
As they drop petals might also drop seed.

And from that small seedling our lust can take root,
When tended and cared for in passion’s pursuit.
And there, in the springtime of lover’s delight,
True love can spring forth in flowers, so bright.

And as the years pass what as seed once began
Will spread in its reaching, forever to span.
To grow up much stronger, a sapling no more;
Instead, there’s a tree where but flowered before.

And the tree, it will blossom and always renew
The passion and love that I first felt for you.
And I hope that when others look on us, they’ll see
That fair was the flower, but fairer the tree.

“Revenge Served Sweet” – Turn-A-Trope #5, #WOEGTTT

Better late than never! Here is my entry for Turn-A-Trope #5, Opposites Attract Revenge!

“Jack! What are you doing…”

Jack walked past her before she could finish, his palm raised in defiance against her words. He glared at Susan, his ex-girlfriend, then over to the guy he’d just caught her kissing. Doug Harlen, football star, athlete, and in general, complete jerk-ass to anyone who didn’t play sports or drive a really nice car.

Jack did neither. He wasn’t a jock at all; his skills were far more brainy. A computer whiz, a Grade A scholar, a musician. If you could call playing the tuba music. And his car? A beat up old pick-up truck he’d inherited from his mentally deranged uncle. He wasn’t the lamest kid in school, but he wasn’t far from the bottom, and guys like Doug couldn’t be more different.

He had to laugh. It was comical, really. When he and Susan had started dating, no one talked to her but him. She was in that awkward stage that some girls hit, a late bloomer who had yet to bud but desperately wanted to be with someone, anyone. Jack never let himself believe that he was her first choice, but he wasn’t bad looking, truthfully, and he was kind to her. And honestly, she hadn’t been his first choice either, but they’d been friends since the start of middle school and had always gotten along.

That is, they had until she’d finally blossomed.

They hadn’t seen much of each other, that summer. She was away on vacation for a month in the middle, he was in camps towards the end. When they finally got together, man, how she’d changed! How was it possible that in three short months, she could develop so quickly? Gone was the flat chested, doughy girl he’d been dating. In her place, a real stunner. Curvy, fit. Even her hair seemed wavier.

Of course, it became immediately apparent that she was no longer interested in a boy like him. She began flirting, heavily, with every guy she’d see, where she used to never make eye contact. She became rude, dismissive of him, where she used to be sweet and a little clingy. Yeah, she’d blossomed, alright.

Blossomed into a real asshole.

Not too long after that, she’d dumped him. First for a higher chair band geek, then working her way up to the penultimate opposite of all that was Jack. Doug Harlen. At first, Jack had been hurt. It wasn’t so much her dumping him that stung. Well, maybe a little. in truth, she really wasn’t his type, and he had been realizing that more and more every day. What stung, though, was her choice of guys. Doug freakin’ Harlen. He ached for justice. For revenge. So Jack went to ground. Started to plan. He was nothing if not a thinker, and a skilled one at that. And after a while, it became clear. Perfectly clear. A path to revenge so sweet, he could almost taste it.

It took work, of course. Revenge wasn’t going to be easy, not this one. He started working out, getting fit. Talked his mom into getting him to a good dermatologist. Got a haircut, some nicer clothes. Fixed up the beater truck, did some bodywork, gave it a paint job. Looked nice, real nice. And he did a lot of reading. A lot of research. A lot of investigating. Soon, Jack was turning heads himself. A slew of girls who never would have given him a second glance were all but throwing themselves at him, but he didn’t care. His focus was singular. Images of Susan and Doug swam before his eyes, and he refused to let that go.

Susan noticed. He could tell. Could see the way she started looking at him, that same look of desire and ambition that had bloomed in her eyes when she left him. Her glances towards him became longer, more flirtatious. She made sure to bend over near him, showing him her now ample cleavage, or the curvature of her feminine rear. He pretended not to notice, and that made her all the more flamboyant in her attempts to get his attention. Of course, it is no doubt what led to her being “accidently” discovered by Jack, in the back of the band room, with Doug. It was time for his revenge. Stalking past her, palm raised. He stared intently at Doug. He could see her face flush with desire, the thought of Jack ready to fight Doug for her affection. Doug got to his feet, his eyes narrowed, his hands clenching and unclenching. Jack walked right up to him, nose to nose. Breathing hard.

And then they kissed. Long, deep, passionate. Doug’s hands sunk into Jack’s hair, as his own found the football star’s impeccably tight end, and drew him closer. Susan let loose a confused gasp, stumbling back and falling to her ass on the band room bench. Doug and Jack broke their kiss, and turned to her.

“You see, Susan…you weren’t my first choice, either. Doug was. He always was. So when you dumped me for him? I felt terrible. Decided to try out this dating app…for guys. Who like guys. And who should I see there? Turns out, Doug’s been tired of living a lie for a long time. And I’m just his type.”

Doug blushed, and shrugged bashfully. Jack leaned in to him, pulling him close.

“You may have dumped me for the football star,” Jack said, as they walked to the door, “But you? You got dumped for the band geek.”

It’s All That You Are

Woke up to find it was a dim and dewy morning
Slipped out of bed still in a haze from nightly dreaming
Broken by reality with very little warning
But one bright image still before my eyes was streaming

It was you, all that you are,
All the little things about you
That bring a smile to my heart.
It’s how you look, it’s how you think,
It’s the endless combinations
Of you that brings the light into my day

And in the hazy gray of overcast ambition
That others find so grim it tears their souls apart
I found that happiness became my disposition
Dark as it was, there was a light within my heart

It was you, all that you are,
All the little things about you
That bring a smile to my heart.
It’s how you look, it’s how you think,
It’s the endless combinations
Of you that brings the light into my day

I found the smile there, in waking thoughts remembered
Of passing dreams of you and love that we have shared
And be it sunny June or overcast December
No matter what the mood, my heart will be prepared

Because of you, all that you are,
All the little things about you
That bring a smile to my heart.
It’s how you look, it’s how you think,
It’s the endless combinations
Of you that brings the light into my day

Rescue on the Sea of Love

He bids you adieu as you slip beneath
The waves of the sea that love has made,
Too frightened of what he’ll find underneath
The waters, and thus, his vision fades.
But I will catch you within my arms
As you slip below the surf and tide
And keep you protected from hurt and harms
And promise that you’ll never be denied
My heart, for e’en if we drown and die
At least I shall go with a smile on my face
As the last breath escapes on contended sigh,
For I’ll know I have gone in your sweet embrace.

But one wish…

Oh, give me but one wish and I would ask
For no great wealth, or earthly gotten gain,
Nor servants that would do my every task,
Nor power over sun, or wind, or rain.
For all these things, I truly would replace
To pass the night within my love’s embrace.

For wealth could not my passion’s fire sate;
No price is there to stay my yearning heart.
No princely sum could ever compensate
For time that she and I must spend apart.
And thus, no fortune had, I wish to see;
Instead I wish with her to always be.

And servants to obey my each command
Would idle sit, a wasted wish to be.
For there is not of them I could demand
To set my soul’s desires flying free.
Nor could a harem ever dare compare
To her, my sexy darling lover fair.

The sun may try to slay me with its heat,
Its rays are dim next to our passion’s flame.
The wind and rain may in a tempest beat
Upon us, but will die away in shame.
No force of nature ever could prevail,
Or cause my need for her to ever pale.

In dreams, when I am held within her arms,
And soft caresses dance across my skin,
Away fall troubles, all the worldly harms,
Removing all my woes, my fears, my sin.
And bolts electric leap through out my form
When laying next to her, so soft and warm.

And when she pulls me close, into a kiss,
I am the beast enchanted by the song
Her siren’s tongue, it weaves melodious,
And leaves me tamed, no fear of right or wrong.
Her lips with mine, a lover’s tango dance,
As we give way to simple, sweet romance.

Then soon, we are consumed by our desire,
And frantically, we strip each other bare.
Like panicked fauna fleeing from a fire,
We rush, and at each other’s garments tear,
Till free of those constricting bonds are we
To press together, naked, warm, and free.

And what delicious warmth in her I’ve found
As, hardened from our rush, inside I slip.
My heart beats furious with every sound,
Each sigh of passion that escapes her lips
As rhythmically, we two begin to move,
Our burning lusts together there to soothe.

With perfect thrusting beat our bodies slide,
Enveloped in the passion that we share.
Orgasmic pulses build as we collide,
That wash away our every worldly care.
We feel the pressure building deep within,
With ecstatic release soon to begin.

My hands across her body freely roam,
To touch her milky flesh, each curve to feel,
Each breast a perfect pliant pleasure dome,
And each caress is dreamlike and surreal.
And then her breathing quickens, ‘neath my form,
As tightening, I feel her body storm.

Then thrashing like a ship tossed by the sea,
Orgasms overtake my lover sweet,
And soon I join her in her ecstasy,
We draw together, fully and complete.
Our voices join, and moans, they fill the air,
As I explode within my lover fair.

Exhausted then, together do we sleep,
Still locked together in a tight embrace.
And in our slumber, comforting and deep,
Within our dreams, still passion do we chase,
Till waking, when we start all o’er anew,
To once again such ecstasy pursue.

So give me not of riches, this I plea,
Nor servants that each want may then obey,
Nor power o’er the elements that be,
There’s but one thing I wish for every day:
And that’s to live the waking dream so sweet
Of being next to her, whole and complete.

Lust tapers? Not! (NSFW, AC, Sexual content, be warned)

You must forgive my needs, my dearest love,
For how can I not want you all the time?
Of all the things this poet can think of
To set to meter, fancy up with rhyme,
There is not one that even can compare
To you, my love, my dearest lady fair.

I know, at times, it seems that all I do
Is lust for you, like some demented fiend,
And when I cannot have you, it is true
I tend to get quite grumpy, dour, and mean.
How can I not? For you are like the drug,
And I the fiending, desperate, needing thug.

I long for you with every single ounce
Of passion that I can within me find,
I see you, and I feel that I must pounce
Upon you, feel our bodies intertwined,
But since we can’t, oh, torturous the fire
That burns within me, fueled by this desire!

And soon I find that every waking thought
Is filled with dreams of you in wicked ways,
Till nothing else could penetrate the knot
Of fantasies, and nothing else could faze
My sheer desire, my throbbing, aching need
For you, that you alone could quench, could feed.

I want to feel you, soft, beneath my hands,
I want to squeeze your breasts, to hear your sighs,
I want you to give in to my demands
With giggling lust, and willful spreading thighs,
I want you to want me how I want you,
As evidenced by wet and wanting dew.

Ah, to feel that wetness as I spread
It all across your wanting, waiting flower
With playful teasing from my other head
Till both of us are drunk upon the power
That mutual lust inspires in the heart,
And makes it hurt to ever be apart.

And then, to thrust into you, to combine
Our bodies, to give in to utter bliss,
To see you flush, as red as any wine,
To taste the need upon your flowery lips,
To take you and to love you, hard and fast,
Such are the dreams that build, endure, and last.

And oh, when you are wet like that, I joy
In ways no simple words could dare describe,
For though my carnal nature may annoy
At times, I’d love if you could but imbibe,
And drink full well my lust for you, and take
All that I have to give, our lusts to slake.

I do not think I ever could relay
How powerful my need for you has grown
With every passing hour, every day
That you and I have one another known,
“Lust tapers” – no, least not for you, from I,
But burns like sun and stars within the sky.


A Crayon in the Sun

I’ve always fallen for mean ones,
Whose words cut worse than any sheet
Of fine paper, on which there runs
The blood of poets; thick, replete
With red regrets, but freely shed
With tears of masochistic joy.
But how long can a man be bled
Till those same wounds seek to destroy
All confidence he may have felt?
His microscopic sense of will,
Like crayons in the sun, will melt
And puddle; useless, muddled swill,
To cast away with shredded bits
Of wrapper, which could not prevail
Against the fire of her tongue…
And so, as meek protection, fail
To block the heat, and thus are flung
Into the refuse, like my heart,
That with a final beat, departs.

This is an older piece that I’ve always been particularly fond of. Written about my ex. Glad to say that I repaired that attraction to anger and venom and did not make the same mistake with my second wife! :)

My Lust for Her…

A difficult form tonight. The ballade (not to be confused with the ballad) is a form of medieval and Renaissance French poetry

The ballade as a verse form typically consists of three eight-line stanzas, each with a consistent metre and a particular rhyme scheme. The last line in the stanza is a refrain. The stanzas are often followed by a four-line concluding stanza (an envoi) usually addressed to a prince. The rhyme scheme is therefore usually ‘ababbcbC ababbcbC ababbcbC bcbC’, where the capital ‘C’ is a refrain.

The many different rhyming words that are needed (the ‘b’ rhyme needs at least fourteen words) makes the form more difficult for English than for French poets.

 (See wikipedia for the full article on the form.)

My lust for her…

I see her form, and much to my delight
She’s unadorned, no trinkets to display,
No clothes about her wrapped to bar my sight
Nor anything but what she wore the day
She came into the world, but more risqué
For all her shapely curves, her woman’s claim
That fuels this man to passionately say
My lust is hers, and hers alone to tame.

And oh, the wicked smile that takes its flight
Across her face might lesser men dismay,
And cause their weaker passions to afright,
Their doubts and inner demons to obey;
Not I, for my desires are not allayed
By such a thing as doubt or fear or shame,
My flames go stronger, rather than decayed.
My lust is hers, and hers alone to tame.

And thus, my need her own seems to incite
As we embrace and with each other play,
As lovers, twisting, writhing in the night
And long into the breaking of the day.
And yet, unspent, our urges don’t away
But grow in power, glory, and in fame –
And as each other’s passions we essay,
My lust is hers, and hers alone to tame.

Then finally, we crest, we rock, we sway,
To rest and comfort in each other’s frame.
She knows it was the truth when I did say
My lust is hers, and hers alone to tame.

A villanelle…

I kissed her on her alabaster skin,
Where sun-sent bronze had never staked its claim,
And marveled at the joys I found therein.

She did as well, as evidenced in grin.
And as a blush spread quick throughout her frame,
I kissed her on her alabaster skin.

Her form, less hourglass, more violin,
I stroked, love’s melodies seeking to tame,
And marveled at the joys I found therein.

Though ne’er a great composer have I been,
When played on her, a symphony became;
I kissed her on her alabaster skin.

With every cobbled note I did begin,
An aria of lust from out her came,
I marveled at the joys I found therein.

And then the great crescendo of our sin,
She shuddered, and as dully grew her flame,
I kissed her on her alabaster skin,
And marveled at the joys I found therein.

(About this poetic form, from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia: A villanelle (also known as villanesque)[1] is a nineteen-line poetic form consisting of five tercets followed by a quatrain. There are two refrains and two repeating rhymes, with the first and third line of the first tercet repeated alternately until the last stanza, which includes both repeated lines. The villanelle is an example of a fixed verse form. The word derives from Latin, then Italian, and is related to the initial subject of the form being the pastoral.The form started as a simple ballad-like song with no fixed form; this fixed quality would only come much later, from the poem “Villanelle (J’ay perdu ma Tourterelle)” (1606) by Jean Passerat. From this point, its evolution into the “fixed form” used in the present day is debated. Despite its French origins, the majority of villanelles have been written in English, a trend which began in the late nineteenth century. The villanelle has been noted as a form that frequently treats the subject of obsessions, and one which appeals to outsiders; its defining feature of repetition prevents it from having a conventional tone.)

My first…

Her name was Ellie, and she was my first real crush.

She was taller than the other girls her age, a little plump, with shoulder length natural red curls blooming from her head, eyes of pale blue-green, and a speckling of freckles that dashed from cheek to cheek and over her nose like a playful flick of tannish paint against her pale white skin.

She was a tomboy when we first met. She didn’t have a lot of friends because she had always been the rough and tumble type and other girls picked on her for her weight, and I didn’t have a lot of friends because I was new to town and not into typical boy things like football or soccer, and I was, perhaps, a little immature for my age – more concerned with playing games and imagining then sports and girls and wishing I was old enough to drive. At first, our friendship was totally innocent – playing tag, hide and seek, going on adventures through the woods near our houses, playing at being knights (she didn’t want to be princess), and things like that. She liked to hit me a lot, not violently, but often would punch or pinch or tackle me. Looking back now, as an adult, I realize that this was her way of flirting, much as young boys often do to young girls, but with the genders reversed. As the year went on, the teasing and chasing continued, with free periods involving her chasing me all over the school grounds, until I finally ran to and climbed a tree to “escape” her.  She’d climb up, we’d sit together on a branch, and talk.

She had a lot of daddy issues, that one. Her dad was in the military, like mine, and was often away.  When he was home, he was often drunk and belligerent, and so she spent more and more time with me, wandering the fields and woods when she wasn’t chasing me around the yard. Summers came and went, and then came again. One summer finally came, and for the first two months it was awesome – we saw each other every day, played constantly, and spent more and more time wandering the fields and forests. During one such excursion, I had made some joke or another to her, and as usual, took off running with her in pursuit, her fists clenched and ready to fight. I dodged bushes, ducked under branches, jumped over creeks, and she kept on me as doggedly as any person could. As we burst into a small clearing, she bounded forward in a dash and leapt for me, knocking me to the ground.  She quickly climbed on top of me as I rolled to my back, pinning my arms and legs with her own, both of us breathing heavily as she sat firmly on my pelvis.

And that, silly as it sounds, is when I first noticed she was not so much a girl any more, but a blossoming young woman. I don’t know how I had been so oblivious to the fact before – perhaps it was because I had just started blossoming as well. As she sat over me, her breathe heaving, her shirt hanging low, I caught a glimpse of the perfect half orbs that hung beneath that shirt, and for the first conscious time in my memory, my loins stirred to the calling. I know she felt it, because the instant I hardened, I heard her breath in sharply, but there was nothing I could do but blush.  She blushed as well, but did nothing…just sat there as I came to full hardness beneath the heat of her body, the press of her skin.  Our eyes found each other, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. The birds of the forest ceased their calling, the wind slowed and died, and it was just her, me, and the warmth of an early summer day. For the first time, I saw how incredibly beautiful she was, how soft her pale, perfect skin seemed, how dazzling the gems that she called eyes were. And I could see in them that, for the first time, she saw (and felt!) that I was a young man, and that she was as amazed as I was at the discovery.

Then, slowly, she leaned forward, her mouth parting, her eyes closing. I remember how she smelled faintly of artificial strawberries, one of those “kiddy” perfumes that girls would sometimes get and pretend they were grownups with. I remember how insanely, almost unbearably hot she was, like she had been set afire in fever, especially where her thighs parted and pressed against me.. I remember the delicate brush of her hair against my face as its curls fell about me, and the sweetness of her lips when they finally met my own…ah, strawberry lip gloss as well. We kissed, soft and sweet, timidly at first, then deeper, more passionate. Her tongue and mine touched, and I remember it felt as if my heart might explode. Her hips ground against me, harder and harder, and she pressed herself closer, the soft orbs of her breasts pressing tightly to my chest.  She rocked and moaned as her tongue darted into and out of my mouth, and I could feel my own passions growing to maddening levels…and then she began to shake, her body tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing.

And then it ended.  The world came back to life, her lips parted from my own. She pulled away, and I saw that she was crying. One of her sweet, salty tears fell into my mouth, wetting my tongue. She got up then, suddenly, and took off running, leaving me there, hard and hurting from a buildup with no release, confused and exhilarated and yes, a little bit scared.  I finally found my wits, rose with a bit of a struggle (thanks to still being quite, um, intrigued down below), and went chasing to find her…but she had run somewhere I couldn’t find. I didn’t see her for a good week after that. I worried to death that I had done something wrong or bad, that I had scared my friend away. But even with that guilt, I thought about her constantly, the feel of her grinding against me, and as I closed my eyes I remembered her taste.

Then, the next weekend, she came over again, and it was as if nothing had happened. I tried at first to talk to her about it, but she never wanted to, and instead tried to chase me and punch me as we always had.  So I resumed the game, though I will admit, I made it a bit easier for her to catch me. For the rest of the summer, we repeated that first moment over and over again.  We never actually had sex, but the kissing, the grinding, the eventual groping (when she finally relented to giving me the use of my hands) lasted the rest of the summer.

Alas, she moved away that summer, when her mother finally left her father for good. There was no warning…I went over to see her, and she was gone, and her father was cussing and yelling at me for reminding him of the fact. Eventually, I moved on.