Quotes about massage, page 8
Lotus Notes
I sit composed.
Lotus in position.
With a disposition relaxed.
After my senses have been taxed,
By routines of a life I allow to attack!
But once I 'want' to shed...
All that noise that others attract,
From a constant rat race
I'd rather pack in a sack.
And leave it behind where it was at!
I sit in quietness...
To get myself on a silent track!
Soaking up a peace that comes to stroke...
With an ease to my body, mind and eyes!
Energized I become inside.
Receiving a comfort that invokes,
A calmness within that arrives to free.
Just for me as a mind 'massage'.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Am I Relevant?
Am I relevant?
I am not afraid to keep current.
I am not worrying about any egos to massage.
Or pretenses to keep hidden.
Am I relevant?
Well...
I am not trying to keep reality,
From intoxicated surburbanites!
Doing their best to smile through their agonies!
Am I relevant?
Should I care to be?
And who's life would change if I wasn't?
If I should stop being topical...
Would that mean I would prefer cartoons,
Over current events?
Would that mean I would ignore,
The time I've spent...
Watching others pollute minds,
As I sat on my behind...
Complaining 'why' someone can't find,
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Date In Cyberspace
would a date in cyberspace
acceptable to you? my body is taken,
but my heart is still in the power
of my hands, and it is beating
like a ball of fire, the sun, shining
with its rays, prepared to hold
anything that is cold and weary
and lovely still to behold.
are you one of those colder planets
out there waiting for the warmth
of my distant heat?
let me caress your face
let my rays run like thai massage
to your weary flesh
let me kiss you lips
let me in on a hot noon day
affair on valentine's day
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Spit Sucker
Spit's her burden, her work,
she aspirates it all day, sucks it up.
Of course she does other things,
but you won't remember her for those.
You'll remember her for her hose.
the pipe she sticks in your mouth.
You don't know she did two years college,
studied nights, languished over books.
You don't care, she had to learn anatomy,
and how or when to offer what or why
to a puffed up dentist that looks down on her
for being less qualified.
It doesn't matter to you that she knows canulation
anatomy, or cardiac massage.
No - you don't know, because to you
she's just the spit sucker,
the pretty thing that soothes your brow while you
muster up the courage to have a crown.
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poem by Ruth Walters
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She Glided Through The Doors
My young love said to me as she glided through the doors
'My mother would mine and my father showed a lack of care for your kind'
Then she stepped away from me and then she did say
'it will not be long love until the wedding day'
She stepped away from me and she glided through the doors
And finally i watched her with the need to massage away her sores
And she made her way forward and stopped to find her reflection floating on a nearby lake
As time ran away from her mind - i stood in front of the church and wondered was she purposely making me wait
Last night she came to me
She glided through my door
So lightly she came with the moonlit glow in her eyes
Then she laid her hand on me and then she did say
'love, we can't hold off our wedding day'
Still i wait for my swan at the head of the aille
As the silence grew tense i peeled away my smile
Then when it was past four- the rushing wind came speeding in
And finally where my bride stood - she glided towards me
poem by Tamisha Bellamy
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Time Has No Room in My Mind
Lay your head and rest it on my shoulder.
Feel you can deeply breathe and free yourself
From tensions I am here to help release.
Together...
Let us bring to each other peace.
At least,
We can try to cease discomforts.
There is no time when my love has no time for you.
You are the light that ignites my joy.
There is more hope and faith when safely placed.
You and I are together...
In this escape we choose.
And feel sheltered from stormy weather,
Together.
Lay your head and rest it on my shoulder.
Remove your shoes and I will massage your feet!
Shower in our nakedness...
We can and should,
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Retirement Sometimes Comes...
On a cold winter night
she sits by the fire-place
nesting her frail frame
on grandma’s rocking chair
listening to the burning wood
the crackling sound of embers
tickle her ears like a lover’s tongue
her brooding eyes focus in deep study
she is reading Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code
unmindful of Angel taking a nap
by the lamp post
with her cute manicured paw
balancing her milky face
empty of purr and punishment
ears twitching like a disturbed twig
on a potted plant
in a moment of broken silence
my padded feet screeched across
the oak-finished wooden floor
proximity of distance where she sat
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poem by Leonard Dabydeen
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Between Pain And Happiness....
there is always that pain
that instigates you to write
the one where there is no cure
although many are telling that
you have become one impossible
piss off,
you leave the place,
take a boat and settle in an
island where
you can talk to the moon
you do not sleep
because you can't and the
moon is one avid
listener of your woes
it does not talk of course
and then faces away
like a hand that caresses
your hair and then
you feel that faithful warmth
that makes you write some
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Kiss
Exiled on the isle of passion and shackled in the prison of craving.
Bottled up emotion - screaming and shouting and searching for an escape.
Like a dehydrated deer tracking water -Like a desert hunting an oasis.
Deluge of flames enrapture my being with the fervor of a thousand fire.
Tranquillized by cloud of restraint yet burning with the inferno of love.
Raining from the sky of my being- cascading from my connubial essence.
Sunshine from the hub of my heart, moistens my lips in the dew of desire.
Pregnant with the passion of the sun and birthing the beauty of a rose.
Visuality captures my appetite like predator pouncing on prey.
Tenderly touching - meticulously massage like a cool breeze in summer.
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, lips of my lips, tongue of my tongue.
Giving and receiving, urging and merging, tightening and heightening.
Sugar cane and honey splashed together-overflowing into a river of release.
Floating on ecstasy, as time stands still to salute the creation of art.
poem by Howard Simon
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Renewals
I place my hands on you
feeling your body stiffen from anticipation
unused to warm hands probing
yet hesitantly hoping
that Body would come alive again.
I let my fingertip glide
along your shoulders
electric skin explodings
collar bone stiffening
mouth pouty
as I kiss
your nape
settling there like home;
you exhale
as I
surrender to your heaving front
leaving no part of it untouched
in its quivering quiverings
in its exploding satiations
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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