Quotes about massage, page 4
The Angry Crowd
Peck, peck, peck,
Judges all
A chorus of tuts
The stoniest of wall.
I told you so's
A squadron of guilt
Shaking of heads
Scorn to the hilt
Inside I hear nothing.
Just faces around
Fingers all pointing
Without any sound
For I am away
To hill's in the mist
To tallest of grasses
That dew slowly kissed
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poem by Dave James
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Hope And Truth
pain is not your true friend
it does not stay long
it looks for another
faithful company
that is hope
and so is happiness
that knocks once and like pain
enters your door
sits on your chair
and dines and drinks with you
but only for a while
you want it to stay some more
you pamper it with scrubs
and foot massage
a very soft bed and
a bear hug and a french kiss
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Daughter on her Thirtieth Birthday
A naked girl in the bath
Suds floating, eyes shining
A BIG girl riding Mr. Horsy-bike
Birthday party, green balloon
A special girl grooming Sheike
Sweat streaming, cheeks flaming
A Co-op girl in the kitchen
Baking sponges with her friend Rosie
A magic girl playing Ariel,
'Merrily, merrily shall I live now'
A gentle girl at my bedside
When I was sick with pneumonia
A grown-up girl working hard
Errol Street, massage
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poem by Alison Cassidy
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Whenever Challenged
Are they out of touch?
Not really.
When have you known ego maniacs,
Not willing to massage themselves?
And if they can afford to do it publicly,
They will throw in a few dollars...
Just to prove they have one concern.
And that has nothing to do with other people.
Or the faking of a sincerity that is quickly erased.
And whenever challenged they will place a bet,
With a vying to get attention and doing that at their best.
Just to make it known and clear what they enjoy caressing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Poets In Danger
While i was on stage,
I received a wonderful message,
long enough as a passage,
saying that poets/poetess in danger.
why?
As they think too much,
nothing they can match,
problem solvers of every each,
Finding, calculating and revealing problems.
they forget themselves,
for the World to save,
looks crazy the way they behave,
finding solutions for the World mistakes.
That massage came from me,
the inner part soul of me,
telling the poets and poetess,
your efforts won't die in vein.
poem by Dickson Mseti
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Finger Trips
finger tips
massage caress
circuitous
nips
eager edges rounding
reaching aching
outer lips
master baits
feline fetish fish
dragonfly dancing
on feather-landing
gasping, grasping
grips
Satiate
stroke tip slips
under cover cooing, crying
lower stiff upper lip;
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poem by Randy Resh
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Wait Until Tonight
Babe don't frown it'll be a while
It's ok I can't wait to see your smile
I don't want to go but I need to
but love don't worry tonight it will just be me and you
I will massage your body
Feel your curves
Love you tonight
and relax your nerves
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poem by Nicholas Smith
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Rocks And Skulls
It was like spidural
dry crumbs of silence descending,
a still born sun popped out
through a raw hoematoma:
mountain was guilty of something,
it changed its mood and started
talking to clouds until the sky
turned crimson. The fountains had
a question for the bald owls, who under
the lidless eyes, always carried a massage
of colossal waste after the unholy
dinner. I know your glory was beckoning
to unflesh the bones in mass grave
of winged seeds who died in unsewn
pods of violence. I have still not come to
terms with the neck high milkless gaze.
poem by Satish Verma
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Kiss Away My Tears
Stranger
Take me out of danger
Be the rearranger
Of my torn down life
Stranger
Burn incense in the room
abolish my impending doom
Release me from my tomb
Massage me with ointment for years
Kiss away my tears
Stranger
Take me out of danger
Be the rearranger
Of my torn down life
Run your fingers through my hair
Write futile notes that say you care
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poem by Beau Golden
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Looking For Stones
He is in a forlorn setting, the gender of the place
Is unknown, as a gemstone is situated in it.
He is a glutton for excessive moods,
The moods are foreshown by the surroundings.
The stones became glutinous to the soul,
With the use of hackneyed phrases.
One day he was feeling glum,
The other day, the next day, he was a heap of bad luck.
Then it was hair care, not the massage of precious stones,
But the minatory speech of his hunters
Ready to see him from the minarets.
He was an antithesis to a peaceful setting,
Affected by a communal gathering in the past
That convened in a corridor.
poem by Naveed Akram
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