LEAVE ME FOR HER

LEAVE ME FOR HER

Leave me for her
Go be with her
She that:
warms your bed
when I turn my head
even as I stare
The One who makes you
Not sure about me again

Leave me for her
Have dinner with her:
The dates promised
But went with her
Special moments created
But molded with  her
The One who makes you
Not sure about me again

Leave me for her
Go on holiday with her:
plans made for me...

" Whilst I was vulnerable; wishing for home "

...but fulfilled with her
The honeyed words
You Spoke but felt by her
The One that makes you
Not sure about me again

You left me for her
And I knew:
the
Moment your words
Became lesser and less,
harsher and harsh,
When your kisses
felt ice cold
And touch Left me
bruised,
But I wish you luck
happiness too
With the One who
Made you not sure
About me again.

                                                       the lovepoet
                                                 edited by the cocktailpoet

hello and Goodbye

Time to say Good bye:

Good bye

To memories

Good and bad

To love

almost bloomed

To emotions

Dug deep

Your words warmth

Your hugs lie

Your frost kiss

Good bye  to  You

to the aged me 

that loved you

to us which never

became, this is me

saying hello to  

Good byes

                                                            from deep within the heart

                                                                     the lovepoet
                                                             edited by the cocktailpoet

the Good byes and not goodbyes have a deeper meaning, that says it all ends on a good note but at the same time, there is no going back to what used to be or what could have been.

Withered Rose

Petal Drop/ withered rose

I am a withered rose

Dying as each red petal falls

into earth and becomes no more

once a seed that blossomed into

the red rose of everyone’s desire

they looked, stared in amazement

adored my beauty and elegance.

but each night my red petals

begin to turn black and fall

as I let each one of them pull

me off my stem and rub me

in their arms by letting them

slide between my thighs

my ever sweet wet thighs

night after night we exchange

more than body lubricant,

more than sweat, we exchange

our souls, our spirits, our stories and

I let them take every bit of innocence

Left in me,  I let them take my precious

Treasure and before the sun rises they leave

Leave me in my own pity, my sadness

Leave me with memories of when

He used to come to me late at nights

Until he decided I was grown enough

To be ripped off my virtue

And he forced his way into me

And I cried and cried cause I knew

I had begun to wither

My first petal drop was by my father

And many led after that  

I am a withered rose

Dying as each red petal falls

 into earth and becomes no more

for every girl, lady, woman, daughter, sister, wife, aunt, grandmother who has been raped 

              

                                                  the lovepoet

POEM OF THE DAY

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

       THE SECOND COMING

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Women

"Contemporary French feminist Luce Irigaray has suggested, the act of writing remains attached to the expression and manifestation of woman's many desires. Irigaray like Cixous, invites woman to explore her sexuality as "plural' and located "everywhere" so that she may release herself and her many selves from a system that objectifies woman as exual and lingustic commodities fixed, written about , and traded among men. "

Looking For Love In Paris

He saw me sitting and gazing out the window on the night train to Paris. “He must be exceptional,” he said, “for you to think deeply and intensely about him .”I laughed, and as I was about to speak, he said, “you don’t have to tell me you have a boyfriend. I know you do.” I laughed again. “Hi,” he said, “my name is Ade .”“Hi,” I said back, “my name is Lola. I’m guessing we are both of Nigerian descent.” “Yeah,” he said. “Can I sit?” he asked; I nodded and gestured with my hand that he could sit. Then we began talking about everything from family to work to education and the weary state of our home country. Next, he began to talk about love, and my face dropped; I hate talking about love. How that topic depresses me. He told me the story of a young French lady he had fallen in love with. She was fair and slender, with thin pink lips and long black hair. She was the most beautiful girl, and her beauty was a manifestation of the gods. He compared her beauty to the goddess Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, and Dione, the roman goddess of glory, love, beauty, and sexuality. He loved her, OH how he loved her, but alas, her family would never agree for her to marry anyone, but a French man talks less of a black African man. He was so in love with her that only eight months after dating, he proposed to her at the famous Tuileries Garden in Paris. “I was so in love with her,” he said, looking out the window, but the night before they eloped, she sent him a letter saying she couldn’t go through with it. She couldn’t betray her family name and legacy. His eyes became teary, and his face very blue. He turned to me and said, “have you ever been in love?” I was silent, and he asked again, “have you ever been in love,” I laughed, and when I could laugh no more, I said, “no,” and shed a tear. “I have never been in love.” At first, he looked at me in disbelief, then with pity, he felt so sorry for me, and he said so. “Though I have been heartbroken, I have been in love, and it was one of the most beautiful things I ever experienced,” he told me. Then I cried, a cloud of sadness began to rain over me, and despair took over my soul. I told him I was going to Paris on holiday, but I was really going to look for love in Paris. He laughed, and then I joined him. “I’m so silly,” I said. He answered, “no, you are not,” you are a risk-taker and brave. I asked him if he would search for his fair skin lady to rekindle their romance, and he answered, “no, I’m also going to find love again.” I laughed, and so did he, and we continued our conversation into Paris and longer, and that is how I met him, how I met my husband on the night train to Paris. Looking for love in Paris

Shade´

Shade´

Shade´

It is the way every man stops

 and stares as she walks

the way her ever evolving

hips sway to the right and

the left and her butt jiggles

to the stamp and stomping

of her feet as she moves

shade´

it is the way everyman moves

forward to the edge of their seat

when she begins to talk as

the sweet melody of her voice

soothes their ears and as her

words reveal knowledge

shade’

it is the way every man looks

deeply at her when she smiles

or as her brown eyes squint

as she laughs or how she

seductively moves her hand

across her laps summoning

you to take a look at the forbidden

shade´

it is the  way she  tucks

her hair behind her ear

signaling that, that is her

most sensitive spot or

how she licks and smacks

her lips telling you how

soft, tender and juicy it is

or is it the way  she slightly

touches you, your fingers

saying  I'll give you a little

feel of how sensitive my skin is

shade´

young, innocent, seductive

evil fucking bitch who's 

purpose on this earth is

to bring men to their knees

the lovepoet