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Purple Silk

Purple silk caresses my skin like butter,
It is like the richest, darkest chocolate,
Wicked, yet magical, touches that soothe,
My skin soft to the touch,
As purple silk lets you win,
For you are like the sweetest candy to me,
You are like sugar: so sweet,
And every night, I wait for your return,
Myself having worked my fingers to the bone,
But you are my only one,
You matter more to me than the summer sun,
Because it doesn't matter to me if it is winter:
All that matters is that you are here,
Keeping me in your heart and me keeping you near,
I just know we were born equal,
For this is our spirit and our destiny,
A magical, flower filled path that we are walking along,
For together we are one: we are strong,
And we brave those storms,
That threaten to take us from the warm,

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poem by Paula Glynn
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Silk

Passionate touches
Chocolate kisses
Silk perfection
My body and soul on fire
My eyes glow incandescence

My mind and body sway and rock
You slip into my world
Breathing heavy and high
Fly
Bold and black connections
Silk and creamy perfections

Still life
Real love
Here we go
Lets ride
Lets dance
Lets play
Silk romance

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poem by Danielle Beechum
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf XV. -- A Little Bird In The Air

A little bird in the air
Is singing of Thyri the fair,
The sister of Svend the Dane;
And the song of the garrulous bird
In the streets of the town is heard,
And repeated again and again.
Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.

To King Burislaf, it is said,
Was the beautiful Thyri wed,
And a sorrowful bride went she;
And after a week and a day,
She has fled away and away,
From his town by the stormy sea.
Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.

They say, that through heat and through cold,
Through weald, they say, and through wold,

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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Treasure Of Abram

I.
IN the old Rabbinical stories,
So old they might well be true,—
The sacred tales of the Talmud,
That David and Solomon knew,—
There is one of the Father Abram,
The greatest of Heber's race,
The mustard-seed of Judea
That filled the holy place.
'Tis said that the fiery heaven
His eye was first to read,
Till planets were gods no longer,
But helps for the human need;
He taught his simple people
The scope of eternal law
That swayed at once the fleecy cloud
And the circling suns they saw.
But the rude Chaldean peasants
Uprose against the seer,
And drave him forth—else never came

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poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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The Child Of The Islands - Spring

I.

WHAT shalt THOU know of Spring? A verdant crown
Of young boughs waving o'er thy blooming head:
White tufted Guelder-roses, showering down
A fairy snow-path where thy footsteps tread:
Fragrance and balm,--which purple violets shed:
Wild-birds,--sweet warbling in commingled song:
Brooklets,--thin murmuring down their pebbly bed;
Or more abundant rivers,--swept along
With shoals of tiny fish, in many a silver throng!
II.

To THEE shall be unknown that weary pain,
The feverish thirsting for a breath of air,--
Which chokes the heart of those who sigh in vain
For respite, in their round of toil and care:
Who never gaze on Nature fresh and fair,
Nor in sweet leisure wile an hour away;
But, like caged creatures, sullenly despair,

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poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Marriage Of Geraint

The brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur's court,
A tributary prince of Devon, one
Of that great Order of the Table Round,
Had married Enid, Yniol's only child,
And loved her, as he loved the light of Heaven.
And as the light of Heaven varies, now
At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night
With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint
To make her beauty vary day by day,
In crimsons and in purples and in gems.
And Enid, but to please her husband's eye,
Who first had found and loved her in a state
Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him
In some fresh splendour; and the Queen herself,
Grateful to Prince Geraint for service done,
Loved her, and often with her own white hands
Arrayed and decked her, as the loveliest,
Next after her own self, in all the court.
And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart
Adored her, as the stateliest and the best

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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Spider Silk

Its lining is that of silk,
Like a from a spider,
For it their spiders are webbing
To determine for the workers to liven their salary.
To test an exam for the student,
Who lightens the silk for the dress he was given
By the tailor.
He exchanged the silk of a spider for its spit.
Spit has venom.
Student is dead from silk.

poem by Naveed Akram
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A Visit to Victoria's Secret

I made a left
and pulled into the huge
Staten Island Mall parking lot
my sister and Nancy hopped out
racing into Victoria’s Secret
store packed
noticed a small carpeted section
motioned to my sister
sat down
watching women
examine racks and racks
of skimpy panties, silk slips, push-up bras
et cetera, et cetera
also four Transvestites
well, we all want happiness
I said to myself
no harm in a few accouterments
to help
in such a valiant effort.
Suddenly my sister appeared

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poem by Charles Chaim Wax
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Sik Road for C.P.Sharma

Silk Road.

I will remember ‘til I die,
the crowded caravanserai
Where weary travellers spent the night
and tried to sleep until day light.

The camels voicing their complaint
would try the patience of a saint.
Our journey started in Cathay
we very slowly made our way.

With bales of silk we would exchange
for foreign treasures rare and strange.
A camel driver’s life is hard
we risked our lives for small reward.

The greedy merchants stayed at home.
It’s only fools like me that roam
and dare the dangers of the road

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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tell me what am I?

Sometimes I get tired too
Asking some philosophical questions about
My existence, purpose, and life becomes like one
Security guard asking me a lot
As I am about to enter a building

What floor?
What for?
Whom would you want to see?
Your ID please
Leave it,

And I pretend I have a very important purpose in my life
A very important vision for a very important mission
And upon a certain arrival
On the topmost floor
I end up, so this is the floor,

what for?

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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