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legalpoet · 3 years

Photo

A Lovers Prayer In my daily prayers, I pray that you will be mind for ever. I say your name each, and everyday with a thousand kisses, and a thousand whispering wishes that you will forever be by my side. Just missing you, oh God I missing you!!! Leegal Poet © all rights reserved @ copyright BOOK: ISIS AND OSIRIS POETICA https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewBook?id=1548055682 www.staticpoetry.com https://www.instagram.com/p/CKlmQFKHaIh/?igshid=r1ue98oqnrf8

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poetalegalis · 3 years

Text

EROTIC INDECISION

Yet another lonesome day,

she sits on that lucky park benchh

that mocks me with a piercing smile.

With inviting eyes across the fishing pond

under the shade of a ‘want to be’

giant crooked bonsai tree,

she seems to call...

Playing proxy lover’s chess,

watching each other’s next move

in the middle of a cold concrete city park.

so near

but yet so far off in the dark.

Salivating in anticipation

for an impossible amorous encounter.

Tantalized by her fat,

blood engorged lips,

setting off a firestorm

within my love starved heart.

Jealous of the warm grinning bench taking my place,

gently holding her above her curving waist.

Voluptuous,

sultry,

beauty in a never ending dream,

that could not possibly be real.

But she tickles my heart,

while playing proxy lover’s chess

in the cold concrete city park.

There he sits across this wide abyss,

but he does not bark?

Yet another lonely day sent adrift,

pushed apart

by towering concrete prison sticks on the march.

Handsome,

so fine a man to spend his time fondly staring...

Loving me with his hungry eyes,

sending me passionate love letters on the silent wind.

I reply with my best fragrance downwind.

To steal his fate,

I bat an eye,

with a few dribbled drops

on a wet bitten lower lip.

But I grow tire and I am old,

and must now be bold…

Legal Poet

BOOK: ISIS AND OSIRIS POETICA

https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewBook?id=1548055682

#https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewBook?id=1548055682

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legalpoet · 3 years

Text

An Artist Endeavour

She died,

and no one cried.

Not once,

but twice

in selfless sacrifice.

To create her masterpiece,

but still was not appreciated in the least.

Although her most beloved legacy

was carved from her living soul.

That flow like the Nile

at a high price

from her very eyes.

Awash with bloody golden tears

frozen in time without fear.

The artist is undervalued!

Some say that it is the large cerebral cortex

that puts us at the top of the food chain.

But I beg to differ,

for the Oceans have active big brains.

Others say it is the use of tools

that make us more superior

in the survival game.

But I still beg to differ,

for other creature genetically grow the same.

I do claim,

it is “An Artist Endeavour”

that makes us animals human beings.

Which suppress

the beast,

and cause the climb

of the inverted evolutionary tree.

It was the intimate romance

between the potter and her clay

that developed a craft,

and forced use aboard the civilized raft.

Preparation for one’s interpretation

of an artistic rendition

born from a coming storm

is everything in this illusionary game.

The medium,

is only an inadequate mediator for the articulation

that acts as a container

for the priceless experience we sustain.

Watch the horizontal,

vertical,

and angled lines.

The warm rays from the source

casting the beautiful shadows,

and patches of reflecting light

that dance on the subject

like theariatrical moving beams.

Intelligent illumination is essential,

to balance the presentation,

and following the rules of the ancient schools

to set the mood.

Carefully plant the painted spells.

Weave your colour potions mixed with passion

to harvest your subject’s soul,

and vanquish the stagnant cold.

As the gentle press brush consume

the spirit of the vision

penetrating the empty virgin cotton veil.

Extracting the essence from

from nameless comrades floating by

in the running stream of life.

Exciting the white fabric slate

with rhythmic eruptions

of titillate painted poetry.

Spreading a rich seductive rain

on the flat sterile desert plain.

A breathing form takes shape

in the chaos of the erotic storm.

For an artist does not

paint

break

make

or create.

But is one of the actors

in an amorous ballet,

participating in the ritualistic orgy

of a lover’s play.

The sensual caress

of the voluptuous curves of the stone.

The tender massage

of the texture patterned medium.

Until the perfect piece is orgasm

into a climax of existence,

and is now complete.

Binding a small enchanted world into an instant

upon a canvas screen.

They are lovers you see,

helpless romantics,

and each ingredient must sincerely play it’s part

to secure full marks.

There it is!

A void euclidean shape

cut from a silent empty geometric plain.

The paint sings it’s ballad,

with each and every brush stroke,

waltzing with the choreograph

manifold of colour acrylic lines.

The water colours

flows

swirls

curls about it’s bending on the pitted page

like growing fractal lines.

The oils dance

with a rainbow

in refracting sparkling angelic light.

The talking rock

crumbles and falls apart

leaving a godly image

that could be no other form

in the chaotic storm.

It is the purpose of the art

that make us different,

and also make us human.

To record our humanity

preserving our sensibilities

wrapped in dignity.

Historical indexing of our earthly mark

creating the art that record our part.

“Listen… to the silence”

while the rock screams!

Borrowing a single picture

from the continuous movie of human existence.

A small sliver from homosapians collective unconscious,

bound by a cyclic synergy of art,

and humanity reinforcing itself symbiotically.

It is this vanity

that spawned the same humanity,

and evolved one of many intelligent beast

to inquire why?

Think twice before taking a bite

of the forbidden fruit,

to reverse and return to paradise.

Art breed science

and forces the question of intelligence.

“Listen… to the silence”

while the canvas speaks!

Once the picture poisons,

there is no cure.

Be careful and precise,

less your audience gaze falls off the precipice

of your magical slice of life into the abyss.

See over there,

upon the single painted page

from the pantomime on centre stage,

and to the left.

The primary,

and just above

the face that acts as the secondary.

A dramatic performance of

lights

shadows

objects

space,

and the intermarrying of straight and curved aids

is the painter’s baited page.

That springs the trap,

to secure the unfolding story line

reeling you in like a seduce victim

wrapped up in silken twine.

Forcing you to stay for awhile

in one frame of her paradise.

Leegal Poet

BOOK: ISIS AND OSIRIS POETICA

https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewBook?id=1548055682

www.staticpoetry.com

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legalpoet · 3 years

Photo

EROTIC INDECISION Yet another lonesome day, she sits on that lucky park bench that mocks me with a piercing smile. With inviting eyes across the fishing pond under the shade of a ‘want to be’ giant crooked bonsai tree, she seems to call... Playing proxy lover’s chess, watching each other’s next move in the middle of a cold concrete city park. So near, but yet so far off in the dark. Salivating in anticipation for an impossible amorous encounter. Tantalized by her fat, blood engorged lips, setting off a firestorm within my love starved heart. Jealous of the warm grinning bench taking my place, gently holding her above her curving waist. Voluptuous, sultry, beauty in a never ending dream, that could not possibly be real. But she tickles my heart, while playing proxy lover’s chess in the cold concrete city park. There he sits across this wide abyss, but he does not bark? Yet another lonely day sent adrift, pushed apart by towering concrete prison sticks on the march. Handsome, so fine a man to spend his time fondly staring... Loving me with his hungry eyes, sending me passionate love letters on the silent wind. I reply with my best fragrance downwind. To steal his fate, I bat an eye, with a few dribbled drops on a wet bitten lower lip. But I grow tire and I am old, and must now be bold. “Why don’t you come inside?” “Have some hot cocoa, black cake, and a bit of delicious palm wine on the side.” Don’t be shy!” “Your long awaiting paradise is all warm, comfy, and bubbly inside.” Leegal Poet BOOK: ISIS AND OSIRIS POETICA https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewBook?id=1548055682 https://www.instagram.com/p/CLuGz0sMNuS/?igshid=dpzi9mb0znv8

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legalpoet · 3 years

Text

EROTIC INDECISION

Yet another lonesome day,

she sits on that lucky park bench

that mocks me with a piercing smile.

With inviting eyes across the fishing pond

under the shade of a ‘want to be’

giant crooked bonsai tree,

she seems to call...

Playing proxy lover’s chess,

watching each other’s next move

in the middle of a cold concrete city park.

So near,

but yet so far off in the dark.

Salivating in anticipation

for an impossible amorous encounter.

Tantalized by her fat,

blood engorged lips,

setting off a firestorm

within my love starved heart.

Jealous of the warm grinning bench taking my place,

gently holding her above her curving waist.

Voluptuous,

sultry,

beauty

in a never ending dream,

that could not possibly be real.

But she tickles my heart,

while playing proxy lover’s chess

in the cold concrete city park.

There he sits across this wide abyss,

but he does not bark?

Yet another lonely day sent adrift,

pushed apart

by towering concrete prison sticks on the march.

Handsome,

so fine a man to spend his time fondly staring...

Loving me with his hungry eyes,

sending me passionate love letters on the silent wind.

I reply with my best fragrance downwind.

To steal his fate,

I bat an eye,

with a few dribbled drops

on a wet bitten lower lip.

But I grow tire and I am old,

and must now be bold.

“Why don’t you come inside?”

“Have some hot cocoa,

black cake,

and a bit of delicious palm wine on the side.”

Don’t be shy!”

“Your long awaiting paradise is all warm,

comfy,

and bubbly inside.”

Leegal Poet

BOOK: ISIS AND OSIRIS POETICA

https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewBook?id=1548055682

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legalpoet · 3 years

Text

Vagina Dialog

Excuse me,

I am not trying to be rude

or acting obtuse.

But bear with me for a short little while,

and hop along for a common sense ride.

If you love our woman,

it will fill you with pride

despite my vulgar tide.

One cannot hate any woman

without hating oneself.

Just because we are kicked out of paradise

does not give one the right

to call a woman…

These vile decrepit names

our beloved woman are forced to bear

by knaves

without shame

in ignorance and self hate.

No sense or sensibilities

of wherefore they came.

I cannot repeat or remake

or else I will be branded

an ignorant angry disgusting mate.

I will be banned

from the poetic distribution stand,

and it is not because I am a man

The shameless conversation about

rape,

gang banging,

and hate.

About heroines we should appreciate

for our community sake.

It was a woman

who squeezed us from between her legs

after her vagina;

swell,

erupt,

rip,

then pop.

Shooting us into to society's shop.

We came into being

in the womb of a woman.

Our first lesson we partake

in a pre-baby state

resonating through the hallowed halls

of her living uterine walls.

We heard her angelic voice

pervasive like a goddess

echoing all corners of the domain

in which she reign.

It is the closes thing to God speaking

that we can proclaim.

We formed and developed

in the bowels of her flesh cave of refuge.

She persevered and persisted.

After having her lips

stretch,

and tear;

wrapped around her hips

then forcing out a crying basketball

from a small folded hole

the size of a very tiny bowl

beyond her sensitive vagina hall.

After eighteen hours

of excruciating rhythmic screams

no one could ever miss.

Heart wrenching howls

of unstoppable pain.

To gain a small piece of eternity,

and to be counted as a link

in life’s continuous chain.

Everyone experienced the first sensation of light

after being pissed out of a female's crotch,

and emerging from a mother’s heavenly gate.

Birth from a cervical cavern

to experience a spiritual metaphoric transition.

Breathing the first breath of life,

then cut the lifeline

to the only heaven we new,

losing the umbilical cord as we grew.

Savour the first smells

after her pussy exploded,

and pushed us from her blessed well.

Spend the rest of our life

trying to re-enter paradise;

as though the mating ritual

was a repetitive religious right

performed each and every night

in dim flickering candle light.

The path to heaven’s door

is a long double twisting spiral ladder

each mated pair

must claim the journey they wish to share.

The farther we go,

and the higher we climb

is the closer we get to the coveted prize

for there you will find “Nirvana’s Grove.”

Where milk and honey flows

from twin mountain peaks

not far beyond our reach.

Just across the savanna,

down and up a small concave valley,

then over a hilly hump

before reaching the promised land.

Where a

single

solitary

hooded guardian stands.

To enter this forbidden land.

Where silken non green grass grows wild and free.

To savour the flowers from Eden’s secret garden,

and pluck the forbidden fruit

while fully ripe in due season

for loving a woman is pleasing.

A place where angelic songs from a divine maiden

falls like persistent rain in all seasons

perforating the air for a noble reasons.

Calling back home to her lost symmetric half’

like a lost key finding his respective lock,

to enter her heavenly clock,

and partake of womanly treasures,

making the rivers of life to come alive

for a very long time.

Causing her tick tock

to strike nine many many times.

But don’t forget a deep gaze

into her two oval eyes,

and be lost in her paradise,

for this is where we belong if we be strong.

Leegal Poet

BOOK: ISIS AND OSIRIS POETICA

https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewBook?id=1548055682

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legalpoet · 3 years

Text

LOVE DELAYED IS LOVE LOST

Walk with me.

Talk with me.

For love delayed,

is love lost.

Walk with me.

Talk with me.

In deep deep,

deeper love;

vale in a field

of blooming flowers.

Walk with me.

Talk with me.

In seductive blissful joy,

with smiling oceans of greens,

inviting sunflower fields,

and erotic opening daffodils.

Walk with me.

Talk with me.

My deepest of loves,

underneath the warm setting sun

in the mid summer’s eve, please.

Walk with me.

Talk with me.

My wet dripping Love,

amongst the swimming

goldfish rainbows,

and deep

french kissing orchids.

Walk with me.

Talk with me.

Amongst dancing pink flamingos

in impossible rivers,

and teasing hibiscus,

with crimson flower skirts,

and salacious emerald blouses.

Walk with me my dearest of love.

On this here valentine’s day

my dearest love;

in the deepest

love,

honour,

and devotion

without witchcraft or potions.

Just let us walk together,

hand in hand without any plans.

In spiritual ecstasy

like love was meant to be.

Sharing our sorrows,

and hopes for this very hour

for far far better brighter tomorrows.

Legal Poet

BOOK: ISIS AND OSIRIS POETICA

https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewBook?id=1548055682

www.stacticpoetry.com

©

0 notes

legalpoet · 3 years

Photo

A Lovers Prayer In my daily prayers, I pray that you will be mind for ever. I say your name each, and everyday with a thousand kisses, and a thousand whispering wishes that you will forever be by my side. Just missing you, oh God I missing you!!! Leegal Poet © all rights reserved @ copyright BOOK: ISIS AND OSIRIS POETICA https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewBook?id=1548055682 www.staticpoetry.com https://www.instagram.com/p/CKyap1THvgl/?igshid=8oltliajtchm

0 notes

legalpoet · 3 years

Photo

An Artist Endeavour She died, and no one cried. Not once, but twice in selfless sacrifice. To create her masterpiece, but still was not appreciated in the least. Although her most beloved legacy was carved from her living soul. That flow like the nile at a high price from her very eyes. Awash with bloody golden tears frozen in time without fear. The artist is undervalued! See over there, upon the single painted page from the pantomime on centre stage, and to the left. A dramatic performance of lights shadows objects space, and the intermarrying of straight and curved aids is the artist baited page. That springs the trap, to secure the unfolding story line reeling you in like a seduce victim wrapped up in silken twine. Forcing you to stay for awhile in one frame of her paradise. Leegal Poet BOOK: ISIS AND OSIRIS POETICA https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewBook?id=1548055682 www.staticpoetry.com © Wayne Ferron : All rights reserved @copyright https://www.instagram.com/p/CKlUOHrB9YP/?igshid=oi9ebdhk7nfu

0 notes