Category: Poems

A Dream of You!

Image via

Image via

I roamed in gossamer dreams
of your Chantilly face,
which smelt of lilies gone wild,
on a purple Moon tide.

I dreamt of a sin,
so soft, it melted saints.
who, saddened, but gladdened,
blessed us in vain.

I lived in a love so sublime,
the Garden was opened anew.
because of you, yes, you…
for the gift of this bliss.


About these ads

Beautiful Words From Christopher Poindexter.

From Word Porn:


Silvery Majesty.

Image by

Image by

Staring in you beauteous eyes,
I sometimes spy an older you,
in a mellow future dream,
of utter trust and silent understanding.

A vision of silvery majesty,
luxuriating in spent urgency,
as need blossoms into sharing,
along ages of lilting laughter.

A lake filled with tears of joy,
to relax our still-smiling bones in,
with the beat of our contented hearts
singing lullabies to one another.


Embrace the Love.

Image by

Image by

How could you be alone,
when your every thought and feeling,
your every action or inaction even,
reverberates throughout the universe!

You are supported,
from every angle,
by every single being,
that ever was, is or will be!

You are loved,
by anyone who ever loved,
as love is ever-expanding
and never exclusive!

Join Me!

Afraid to love,
cause some ass broke your heart?
Afraid to care,
cause some jerk used you hard?

Afraid to live,
cause you’ve died yet again?
Afraid to be happy,
cause you doubt now is when?

A million reasons
not to let go of the fear?
When one is enough:
that you’re loved and I’m here!

In love with the blues,
when the Sun shines so bright?
Let go of your pain,
join me here in the light!

But As One.

Image by

Image by

A fair flower was born,
from the womb of the World.
Her dark hues were such,
that they shone in the night.

A beacon of might,
of the might one calls love,
sent for those without sight,
by the Ones up above.

One look in her eyes
could mend broken souls.
One touch of her lips
could drive angels insane.

Yet still she was sad,
this creature of light,
for who would dare love her,
of the dazzling flame?

But one who’d been seared,
struck dumb and extinguished,
did go without shame, without fear,
to share in her pain, to help her burn.

Embracing they’ll stand,
as a timeless testament
to the strength of two souls,
who can endure but as one.

Never Stop!

My love, she fills me up with gladness,
so much, it’s like a moaning madness.
Overflowing, brimming, swimming
on an ever-changing tide of raptures.

She captivates me all the while,
beguiles me softly with her smiles,
enunciating each smooth endearment,
till it’s crystal clear and well-received.

Her soul, it whispers to my spirit,
of a myriad caresses still to come,
and I, lost in her, beg of her, urgently,
to please not tease and never, ever stop!

A Farmer I Would Be!

MDG : Seed and GM in Africa : Plowing a field and sowing seeds in Ethiopia

When I grow up,
I would be a farmer,
who sows seeds of light
in pockets of sorrow.

Who cultivates smiles
in moments of distress
and listening ears
for those in need of one.

Who shares what he reaps,
with every living being
of the land, sea and air.
Will you meet me there?

Oh, For to Meet in Her Eyes!

From The Organic Witch;


The hand of Mother Nature…

Image from Andrea Velame

Image from Andrea Velame

The hand of Mother Nature
cradles her many children
in the gentlest of ways,
to keep them safe from harm.

Nimbly and sure-footed,
across intersecting tightropes,
she balances our greedy needs,
against the greater good of all.

Like all good mothers would,
she protects her flesh and blood,
who by their mindless straying
would surely come to fall.

Let us walk Up to the Moon…


Image from Sin Madison

Let us walk up to the Moon…
it’s not that far away.

I’ll see you soon,
in days and dreams
and in the flesh,
to celebrate our union,
to hold our love communion.
To feast and revel in one another,
to finally discover,
what it means
to be alive.

(A-) Wake!?

Dancing under the moon

Dancing with the deaf
to an emerging loony tune,
played by a lonely angel,
in the eye of the Moon.

A heart beats the drum
of its insane longing
for the silence after death,
the release from clamour.

A soul holds still and waits,
for the shedding of matter,
a reunion with the source,
from whence it gushed forth.



Falling water,
twists around itself,
to catch every minute ray,
and stare dumb and found
at the rainbow
it creates.

Water still and mute,
entices mighty Moon,
to enter its hallowed being,
for to whisper secrets,
as foretold by the heavens,
of the weaving of time.

Water rushes onwards,
screaming mad with fury,
at the injustice of it all,
to eradicate the slate,
and start anew and wait,
limpid clear as before.

The Monthly Climax.

Image: Note di Emozioni

Image: Note di Emozioni

The blood Moon rises,
full-breasted and aglow.
She stands tall and stares,
never once blinking.

Forever bound to Earth,
in a rhythmic dance,
with mesmerizing tides,
of longing and of sharing.

Pulsing, thrusting, needing,
until the monthly climax
brings forth the miracle
of her children’s dreaming.

Image: Deepak Vermamonu

Image: Deepak Vermamonu

At last the end’s in sight,
the hurt is gone,
the purpose found.

The light is seen,
now follow through
and start anew.

Darkness withers,
love has come,
alone no more.

Deep satisfaction
of sacred trust,
given and received.

We have found home,
here or anywhere,
in each other’s arms.

I Remember.


I remember feeling young, so young it feels like yesterday, when I would feel so lost that lost was home and a place where no-one could ever find me, ever, never.

I remember feeling so alien the Martians felt like family, for surely I was not meant to be here, in this place that seemed so very wrong and sometimes it still does.

I remember asking other boys: Why do you hurt me? What have I ever done to you? And they themselves, they did not know the answer, but continued anyway.

I remember loving with a desperation that went so deep the earth would surely shatter, if it mattered, but I guess it did not, for it, it is still whole and in one piece.

I remember hating both my parents for having dared to put me on this clump of rock, where the mere fact of being hurt so much it made me bleed, from unseen wounds.

I remember every single brick of that shaky wall I finally built for myself to ward off any and all evil, to protect and keep me out of harms way, perhaps until this day.

But most of all I remember dreaming, ever dreaming of a world where love would reign and everyone would be my friend or lover, no need for wall or cover there.

And thankfully I do remember finding my first soul-mate to share this private world of mine and then of ours with and being born anew, a member of a kinder race.

My Love’s Eyes.

By Ralphie:

Image from

Image from

Each pore of my love’s gorgeous skin

makes love to me in a most peculiar way.
As if saying: stay, please stay.
As if I were going anywhere, but there.
Her liquid, loving eyes, they scare me,
for turning plain, little me
into a giant amongst men.
What if she wakes up, what then?
What if she sees the broken husk,
the crooked tusk, the gimpy leg?
What if she hears the throaty whisper
of a silly twit, a long-lost git?
Can I ever live up to her expectations???

Turning the Tables.

From Ralphie:

My demons are back, yes… again!,
but instead of fighting them,
I hugged them instead,
thereby turning them into friends,
which surprised them no end.

Gone is the enmity, gone is the fear.
Surprising, what a change of perspective can clear.
Kindness is a way of life, a way of being,
especially gentleness granted oneself.


A thousand books my library
And all are primed, it seems to me
With brains.
Mine are so few I scratch in thought
My head;
For just a hundred of the lot
I’ve read.

A hundred books, but of the best,
I can
With wisdom savour and digest
And scan.
Yet when afar from kin and kith
In nooks
Of quietness I’m happy with
Sweet books.

So as nine hundred at me stare
In vain,
My lack I’m wistfully aware
Of brain;
Yet as my leave of living ends,
With looks
Of love I view a hundred friends,
My books.


For Rose.

Image from

Image from

My sweetheart paints
a picture of magic,
with her body and face,
on the canvas that is me.

With tender feminine grace,
her strokes, they redefine me,
transforming my separate entity
into the best part of her world.

Her world, which is now ours,
is an elongation of time,
where one single kiss
may last a lifetime.

The Joke.


The harridan who holds the inn
At which I toss a pot,
Is old and uglier than sin,–
I’m glad she knows me not.
Indeed, for me it’s hard to think,
Although my pow’s like snow,
She was the lass so fresh and pink
I courted long ago.
I wronged her, yet it’s sadly true
She wanted to be wronged:
They mostly do, although ’tis you,
The male bloke who is thonged.
Well, anyway I left her then
To sail across the sea,
And no doubt she had other men,
And soon lost sight of me.
So now she is a paunchy dame
And mistress of the inn,
With temper tart and tounge to blame,
Moustache and triple chin.
And though I have no proper home
Contentedly I purr,
And from my whiskers wipe the foam,
–Glad I did not wed her.
Yet it’s so funny sitting here
To stare into her face;
And as I raise my mug of beer
I dream of our disgrace.
And so I come and come each day
To more and more enjoy
The joke–that fifty years away
I was her honey boy.

Tick Tock.

From Lieven Grillaert:


How can i tell what is in your mind,
the twisting of your thoughts
has left me wandering in the dark
has left me searching for an answer

its cold and lonely in the dark
where even silence makes a sound
and danger lurks around the corner
and no answers can be found

so tell me please where do i go,
what roads i have to wander
to find that little spark of hope
to find that wanted answer

what keys are there to open up,
the hidden doors to your heart,
so that i can find some needed peace
so that i can finally sleep

Sharing Me.

imagesI left tiny particles of my being,
scattered around the world,
attached to kindred souls I’ve met,
to form a forever-bond.

Connected till infinity,
with those dear to me,
whether here or in the beyond.
Of this thought I’m quite fond!

For My Friend: Paul Davenport.

If you wish to know the real me,
you should see me with my friends,
my family, my brothers from the street,
those who have seen it all,
and still came out laughing!

Yes, you, you do not see me or them,
you judge, you ignore, you do not know,
what went on before.

My friend Paul, who is no more,
who planted forests in his days,
who had property in Belize,
was found dead and took away,
for stinking up the neighbourhood.

Why did he drink, you ask yourself,
as did I, who drank aswell…
Well, not until my lady died,
did I understand, what he was about.

I came told him the news,
and he hugged me, as friends do,
and told me: “It will pass!”
Then my friend, whom I thought I knew,
told me a snippet of his tale:

“It happened to me aswell, and more than once,
my friend, five times was I to be wed,
and five times they were lost,
to me, the world and their family.”

I queried: “How in the world do you endure?”
He answered: “One day at a time, me boy!”

And now, my friend, dear Paul, he is no more.
No more kind words from his smiling face,
but Paul, you still are here,
for not in a zillion years shall you be forgotten!

“No!” to Darkness.

indexThrough multifold layers
of shame and deceit,
darkness beckons,
to swipe me off my feet!

Down into the pit,
for yet another hit,
but ‘no’, such a simple word,
is quite an effective remedy!

Putting memories of misery to rest.
They be best in the grave,
where, no harm done,
they may lie safe.

I’ve no need of pain, no more.
I cut the bonds of these old sores.
But still, somehow,
the emptiness remains.

My Sweet Rock.


I hurled my searing pain
at the nearest rock,
and, the sweetheart, it wept!
I embraced it instead.

I begged its forgiveness
and swore nevermore,
by my selfish inattention,
to cause it heartache nor sore.


I saw your soul and fell in love.

One naked glimpse of your feminine perfection

has changed my world forever.

You can not unrock my universe, ever!

Even though you choose not to be in my presence,

your presence will always remain in mine.

Words Are Not Me!

downloadWords are not me,
they detract from the value of me,
I am ‘me’, not this or maybe that,
I am ME, can you not see?

You would persist to give me form,
to conform to your norm,
but NO, I am but me, just me,
I wish you could see, just me.

To call me a poet, to call me a cad,
is an injustice to me, me old lad.
For to add an adjective to a soul
is an insult to the being.

I do not need your perspective
to exist, for I merely AM,
yours, ours , but mostly just mine.
I wish you were blind!

For to see is an illusion,
to hear is a betrayal,
I am pure energy, I ‘am’!
NOT your opinion, so sorry, but NO!

The Sick Rose. By William Blake.

From Wikipedia:


O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 2,161 other followers

%d bloggers like this: