Scenes of passion in literature, on the stage, and on the silver screen, have captivated audiences for years. How about spicing up some poetry with a soupçon of sauciness and savagery (tastefully done, of course). Choose a scene of fevered passion from a favorite novel, play, or film, bring it to life in a poem and post it in the comments below. I had huge fun composing this poem. I look forward to reading yours.

Susan Jarvis Bryant



“O, beware, my lord, of jealousy: It is the green-eyed monster  
which doth mock the meat it feeds on.” —Shakespeare’s Othello

By candlelight he crept with thudding blood
To take his white-hot harlot by surprise—
That slut who’d rutted with her hungry stud
Had sucked the sun from dark, Venetian skies.
How devilishly delicate she looked,
Sprawled beneath the sear of fever’s glare.
Her silken-rosebud wonder had him hooked
Forever in a sorceress’s snare.

He burned for sweet release—that luscious rush
Of peace to ease his scorching ache and swell.
He shuddered as she gasped before the hush…
He stole her breath and damned his soul to Hell.

The fiend beneath his skin had tortured trust
Then laced his racing heart with viperous lust.



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88 Responses

  1. rohini

    Oh my soul! That is utterly, fabulously brilliant. I shall try, but not today. I need to revel in the magic of your sonnet.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Thank you so much, Rohini. I thoroughly look forward to reading yours!

      • Bruce Pearl

        The son for which you weep may still be saved.
        I thought I brought but hatred to this place:
        Look now, finally, at this sorry face,
        And tell me if you see a ruthless judge
        Who would not, for love, the life of your son begrudge?
        Why do you compel me to betray you?
        For what: pride?
        Or must I beg for him on my knees?
        I know the solemn vows I break for you,
        The hatred I shall reap therefrom as due.
        I’ll send her away and, careless of the result,
        Put upon your head the crowning insult.
        But this is an end that cannot be denied.
        I tell you this: you shall rule here or die.
        My heart, desperate after a year of spite,
        Can no longer linger on love’s uncertain requite.
        I’ve lived, threatened and cried too long in hate:
        I die if I lose you, but I die if I wait.
        I leave you now, but know, I shall send for you
        Directly, and there, standing at the altar,
        Where your little son waits for us,
        You shall find me meek or furious:
        For you shall be crowned, or I’ll kill him
        In front of you.

  2. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “Life is made up of many comings and goings and for everything that we take with us, we must leave something behind.” ― Herman Raucher, “Summer of ‘42” (Book Version).“

    By Roy E. Peterson

    There is nothing so soft as a girl’s skin.
    Tender to the touch, sets the mood within.
    Pure pliant putty quivering beneath
    Compliant skin; forsooth my fires seethe.

    A hint of cologne masking manhood musk.
    Holding her close since day was turned to dusk.
    Lack of body hair, nothing to impede
    Fingers feeling silk, fancy feeding need.
    Kisses on her lips; kisses everywhere
    Time standing still as such moments we share.

    Tremulous tumult there’s a quickening;
    Miraculous results, love thickening.
    Naked as a lamb that is freshly shorn.
    Sighs the silence splits in the early morn.

  3. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.”– William Shakespeare, “Hamlet.”

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Fervent flames of fire flickering in place,
    Cast candescent light on her pretty face.
    Poking embers, I add a log or two.
    Nothing is warmer than a love that’s new.

    My cabin is filled with a pine wood scent
    Sharing happy hours that’s how night is spent.
    Time suspended, we left the world behind.
    No worldly devices here to remind.

    We share our love along with future plans
    Singing love songs while we are holding hands.
    Winter winds have frozen the countryside.
    Love for each other is what we confide.

    Tonight is the night we will consummate
    All our intentions for our future fate.

  4. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “The beach is a happy playground for these mermaids, alluring like the sirens who enticed Ulysses. Romeos, beware these Juliets!” – “Amalfi Way” (Short Film, 1955).

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Take one tanning girl and some tanning oil.
    Rub it on her body so she won’t spoil.
    Then take a dive into the swimming pool.
    Pretend to save her acting like a fool.

    Hold her in your arms while you kiss goodnight.
    On the small of her back, press and hold her tight.
    When you are in public, then hold her hand.
    Whatever her feelings, you understand.

    Flirt with her every day of your life.
    Get on your knees and beg her, “Be my wife.”
    Tell your girl you’ll love her forevermore.

    Take your sweet girl to a jewelry store.
    Diamond rings put a sparkle in her eyes.
    What she may choose will be your big surprise.

  5. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.”― Charles Bukowski, “Love is a Dog from Hell.”

    By Roy E. Peterson

    I’m blessed with riches and with untold wealth.
    I will play the cards with which I was dealt.
    I have a lady with whom I am blest.
    She’s my crown jewel with a treasure chest.

    Eyes of sapphire. Lips of cinnabar.
    Breasts of ivory topped with a bronze star.
    Carrera white marble for legs and arms.
    Hair of golden wheat like one finds on farms.

    A maven model sitting in repose,
    Clutching in her hands stems of yellow rose.
    What a perfect sight they’re ready to paint.
    Artists must have to practice self-restraint.

    When the portraits done, how lush look the curves.
    I write the beauty the artist observes.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Roy, what a passionate poet you are… thank you for embracing the challenge with gusto with some breathtaking poetry!

      • Roy Eugene Peterson

        I am honored by such praise from one of the greatest poets of our time.

  6. Joshua C. Frank

    I never read or watch that kind of scene… instead, I wrote about how modern poets have a particular obstacle in having this kind of poetry accepted.

    by Joshua C. Frank

    I know a poet dealing with derision
    For writing of a woman’s supple skin
    Whose hue he hopes will fill his field of vision—
    To say what color’s now a racist sin!

    For when he praised her cherry-blossom pink,
    They cried white privilege, said it’s lacking grace,
    Yet when it’s skin of maple or black ink,
    They censure him for fetishizing race!

    Alas, a man can’t wax poetic when
    Her skin tone is the trait he dare not name.
    I miss the golden, olden days when men
    Wrote brazen praise of women, free of shame!

    At least the man who loves a girl with freckles
    Can rave about her pretty little speckles.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Josh, thank you for this… some very good points made… beautifully. Shakespeare is full of love, lust, malice, and murder… he’s a great go-to source for inspiration on passion.

    • Julian D. Woodruff

      Fine poem, and good point. Even to admire the suppleness of muscle or speak of “skin like a baby’s” may get you in trouble.

  7. Roy Eugene Peterson

    You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.” – Jane Austen, “Pride and Prejudice.”

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Hair down to shoulders mesmerizing me.
    Eyes glow like sapphires fascinatingly.
    Shape like two snow globes tantalizing, free.
    Strong legs are supple like a firm ash tree.

    She is as fresh as a pussy willow
    Lying with me on an eider pillow.
    Moody are the moonbeams through the window.
    Winds on the waves reach our bungalow.

    Nights nurture love that cannot be denied.
    Echoes of passion that come at high-tide.
    Cares of the world have all been set aside.
    Paroxysms collide in a riptide.

    Soft is her silk skin to my tender touch.
    I am in love, perhaps it is too much.

  8. Joseph S. Salemi

    Men don’t make passes
    At girls who wear glasses.

    — Dorothy Parker

    An Answer to Dorothy

    You’re wrong — we’ll make passes
    At girls who wear glasses
    As long as they’re lasses
    With cute, curvy asses.

    — Joseph S. Salemi

  9. Shaun C. Duncan

    This is a piece I wrote a while back. I’ve cleaned up the language a bit to post it here, but hopefully I haven’t sacrificed too much pungency in the process.


    The time has come, my work is done,
    My one and only choice is clear:
    Tomorrow I will bring a gun.

    And if those bastards think I’m one
    To eat abuse with grace and cheer,
    Their time has come. My work is done;

    It’s over now, my race is run,
    But I won’t shed a single tear.
    Tomorrow I will bring a gun

    So I can have myself some fun –
    I’ll wear a grin from ear to ear.
    The time has come, my work is done,

    And once the payback has begun,
    Those pricks will piss themselves with fear.
    Tomorrow. If I bring a gun.

    The chance I will is next to none;
    I’ll tell myself the same next year:
    The time has come, my work is done,
    Tomorrow I will bring a gun.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Shaun, I love these passionately savage thoughts conveyed in a masterly villanelle. The subtle changes in the repetends are the golden touch in a poem that I am certain many will relate to. Thank you for rising to the challenge. Very well done indeed!

  10. James A Tweedie

    Of Aucassin and Nicolette

    Infatuation, lust, and love, desire—
    Above all else, desire!—I wanted you,
    Both flesh and soul, the whole of you entire
    To urge and surge, to meld and merge into

    A unity so deep and so complete
    That none, not even God could make undone
    Or put asunder. Thunder-drummed the beat,
    The cadence of my heart that bid me shun

    My faith, my birthright-destiny
    And throw it all away for you! So let
    Us become one, set free at last to be
    No longer Aucassin or Nicolette.

    Beyond mere lust or love, one flesh made new;
    Forever you in me and me in you.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      James, WOW! This poem blazes with passion wrapped up in a love that transcends the earthly and has made me want to familiarize myself with ‘Aucassin et Nicolette’ – thank you very much for rising to the challenge!

  11. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “Everybody’s got to have a party girl to be with him when he’s feeling wild.” – The song, “Party Doll,” as sung by Buddy Knox.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Primping at a party. Glad I came.
    Voluptuous vixen, Venus by name,
    Fantasy fixation, feeling mighty fine
    Eyes of eerie emeralds ensnared mine.

    Beware sinewy sultry s-shaped curves.
    Serving sweet spiked cider, watched how she swerves.
    Lavendar lipstick covered luscious lips.
    Happy place hidden between her hips.

    I ambled o’er and kissed her on the cheek.
    Lust would have been lost if I had been meek.
    Primal palpitations pulsed through my vein.
    My imagination drove me insane.

    I invited her to another feast.
    We left for nether realms to calm the beast.

  12. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “If we both were born in another place in time
    This moment might be ending with a kiss
    There you are with yours and here I am with mine
    So, I guess, we’ll just be leaving it at this
    I love you. I honestly love you. I honestly love you.”
    Lyrics to Song, “I Honestly Love You,” as sung by Olivia Newton-John.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    There is a song I think you ought to hear.
    Olivia Newton-John causing tears
    In her voice sings, “I Honestly Love You.”
    The words of this song are meant for us, too.

    “There you are with yours,” if we meet again,
    Is the status quo that we both are in.
    If we could go back to one place in time,
    It would be when I thought you could be mine.

    Time waits for no one. I found out that’s true.
    My love was secret. I did not tell you.
    I poked around and heard you were engaged.
    I should have been bold, but I was teenaged.

    That is no excuse, but that was way back then.
    Now I wonder about what could have been.

    Poet Note: I was twenty when the one for whom this was intended and I first met.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Roy, thank you for the poem and the beautiful footnote, which adds greater depth to your words. This song is one of my favorite’s… it’s sung with such honesty too… that’s what makes it so special.

  13. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “ “It’s a profoundly strange feeling, to stumble across someone whose desires are shaped so closely to your own, like reaching toward your reflection in a mirror and finding warm flesh under your fingertips. If you should ever be lucky enough to find that magical, fearful symmetry, I hope you’re brave enough to grab it with both hands and not let go.” ― Alix E. Harro,. “The Ten Thousand Doors of January.”(Book)

    By Roy E. Peterson

    What’s this strange feeling that’s come over me?
    It feels like fever of a high degree.
    The doctor told me I should stay in bed.
    “That’s where it started, doc,” is what I said.

    I met a veritable love machine.
    Her love was something I had not foreseen.
    She opened my heart. Then she came on in.
    She loves my loving. I enjoy my sin.

    There’s nothing better than agile lasses.
    She’s the teacher. I am taking classes.
    She is my book while I am her lover.
    I thumb through my book beneath the cover.

    Tenderness is what sets our love apart.
    I can’t tell where I end and where she starts.

  14. Julian D. Woodruff

    Gad! A lot of reading above to do. Here are three on Puccini:

    La Bohème
    Consumed with shock and sharp recrimination,
    Rodolfo stands aghast beside the bed
    of his Mimi. He cannot wrap his head
    around Schaunard’s “Coraggio”— exclamation
    that signals to the poet that Mimi,
    his true love, lives no more. What can he do?
    Those months of illness … if he only knew …
    Heartbroken, he confronts the irony:
    You spent the winter with some other guy
    (no doubt some gentleman with well–lined pockets—
    the type girls like to gift with pictured lockets).
    And now, Mimi, you’re back, but just to die?
    Both of this flawed pair’s partners gets our votes:
    These lovers bring a lump to all our throats.

    Her lover’s life’s at stake. For it her honor
    would soon be snatched. Thus Scarpia thinks to con her—
    that odious, rapacious, drooling bully
    who would presume her chastity to sully.
    But ah! His letter opener is at hand,
    his vile blood is the prize it will demand!
    She’ll bathe the villain’s corpse in candlelight
    before in futile hope she takes her flight.
    Beleaguered Tosca’s nearly off her rocker
    at scene’s end in this “shabby little shocker”
    (Joseph Kerman, Opera As Drama).

    Timur is left alone to contemplate
    the hour ahead that will decide his fate.
    He knows that Turandot is on the ropes,
    and so is confident in his high hopes.
    We listeners never bother to ask why
    he treasures Turandot so. We just eye
    that tenor as he belts out “Nessun dorma,”
    operatic heroism that’s pro forma.
    We love it, for (or though) the song demands a
    fine set of lungs, like those of Mario Lanza.
    Yet such belong not just to stars, but ringers,
    as has been shown by certain country singers
    (Austin Brown & Rob Lindquist, available on YouTube).

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Julian, how magnificent!! Opera is a great source of inspiration, and your poems reflect just that. You have inspired me to write a poem with Carmen in mind… Bizet’s opera swept me off my feet many moons ago when it was performed in Greenwich Park in London… it was in the maritime building’s courtyard, and the acoustics were sensational. Julian, thank you very much for rising to my challenge!

      • Julian D. Woodruff

        Thank you, Susan. I often need something definite & immediate to get me off the ground with writing, and you certainly provided it.
        Carmen is definitely worth a go. Good luck with it! (Re Kerman on Tosca: at least the “shabby little shocker” has the heroine doing instead of being done to, as in Carmen, Pagliacci, Wozzeck.)

  15. fred schueler

    here’s one about the indelicate way British Columbia’s forests are courted (Social Credit was the governing party of BC from 1952-1991, MacMillan Bloedel was the dominant logging company in the province in those decades) – TAKING SOCIAL CREDIT FOR THE CYCLE OF VIOLENCE

    Oh, Forestry Resource Base, come to me,
    And let me liquidate your old-growth stands
    (if under-utilized resources all are free,
    We haven’t any need for marriage banns).
    Since we are all resources, so must you
    As inventory lingers, wasted, on the shelf,
    Now find extraction comes; it’s nothing new –
    Resource to me, resourceful to myself.
    We must be quick, it will not hurt your pride,
    A thousand like you wait across the hills,
    The chains and cables, roads and soil slides
    Are only there to emphasize the thrills.
    Be still Resource, and let me Mac and Blo,
    From this clear cutting new resources grow.

    Tlell, Haida Gwaii, 11 April 1989

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Thank you, Fred. A most unusual reaction to the challenge… though I’m certain it was written with a great deal of passion.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      What power indeed, Mark! I particularly like the closing stanza – it reminds of the Eduardo Galeano quote: “We are all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine.” Thank you for rising to my challenge!

  16. Mia

    Dear Susan, you’ve set the bar so high!
    what’s that saying, aim for the moon you might reach the stars
    mm, more like fall in the mud in this particular case .

    To Her Coy Date

    We’ve been dating for a week
    Am I not the one you seek?
    You enjoyed yourself today,
    And you agreed for me to pay
    But we haven’t hit the hay
    As you haven’t made a move
    Even though you’ll pass out soon.

    Take your shirt off, don’t be a goon
    Come sit here get close to me,
    That’s right , don’t be so ill at ease
    So we women have our needs…
    Now don’t tease, rip off your jeans.
    Look I promise I hardly ever bite
    (Only if you ask me to, I might)

    I may no longer be twenty-two,
    But I’ll make your dreams come true
    Feel this, my body clock is ticking
    And if I don’t have much success
    I will have to freeze my eggs,
    I’m mad, do I really need a brat,
    But it’s my body, my choice in fact.

    Oh what’s the point of being coy,
    Life’s far too short not to enjoy!
    Ok, I give up, why do I bother,
    Leave you plonker! Sad, misogynistic,
    Miserly, freeloading, frozen todger.

    • Joshua C. Frank

      Mia, was this the one you were talking about that was inspired by my poem “A Modernization of ‘To His Coy Mistress?’”

      • Mia

        Yes! but I wasn’t confident enough to post because I thought it would ruin your page. Obviously I am making fun of what I think of as modern day behaviour and your poem is so lovely and right and hopeful.
        And the part about my body my choice is definitely influenced
        by some of your posts and concerns
        This challenge made it easier for me to spruce it up a bit so that helped. Even so I can’t believe I actually posted.
        it would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.

      • Joshua C. Frank

        Mia, don’t worry about “ruining” my page. I’m honored that one of my poems has inspired another, and that my poems and posts have influenced you and your poetry as well. Please feel free to post such poems on my pages anytime.

      • Mia

        Joshua, thank you, I really appreciate your encouragement .

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Mia, thank you! I love the fearless passion of your writing and the wonderful use of the very British ‘plonker’… I also love the angle you’ve approached the subject matter from… through the eyes of the predatory feminist. All is fair in lust and war! 😉 Great stuff!

  17. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “In time, the hurt began to fade and it was easier to just let it go. At least I thought it was. But in every boy I met in the next few years, I found myself looking for you, and when the feelings got too strong, I’d write you another letter. But I never sent them for fear of what I might find. By then, you’d gone on with your life and I didn’t want to think about you loving someone else. I wanted to remember us like we were that summer. I didn’t ever want to lose that.” ― Nicholas Sparks, “The Notebook.”

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Once when grace and beauty adorned thy youth,
    Within my heart my feelings churned forsooth.
    You seemed to float somewhere above the ground.
    Thou art still that rare diamond which I found.

    And like that diamond, mists cannot becloud
    Thy light within that shines beneath the shroud
    That elements of time cast over thee,
    As it cast its own shadow over me.

    Forever young thou dost in memory
    Float through my dreams into my poetry.
    I stopped counting years a long time ago,
    But your love still burns in my heart I know.

    I hope this sonnet someday you will view,
    And you will know that I wrote it for you.

  18. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” – Lumiere in the Disney Film, “Beauty and the Beast.”

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Ladies go in hiding. Tempt not your fate.
    Danger on your doorstep. Don’t stay out late.
    Lock up your windows. Bolt down your doors.
    The beast is about. Hear his feral roars.

    Gossip knows no bounds. Gossip plays on fear.
    Hear now the gossip, as the beast draws near.
    Some men call him drunk; some call him insane.
    How much hateful bile can a heart contain?

    Beauty had returned to the castle town.
    Who could be the beast, she asked with a frown.
    He was once her playmate when both were young.
    She sang once again the old song they sung.

    Hate dissipated. Like meat for a feast.
    Love changed his heart when beauty tamed the beast.

  19. Paul Martin Freeman

    Hello Susan. If you will allow me to interpret “favorite novel” as referring to my own book, here, for general entertainment, is the final chapter in my tale of The General and Mrs P.

    The story so far. These two, whom we can presume to be in their later years, have become an item. Sadly however, things have not worked out on the general’s part in the bedroom. Dejected and depressed, he’s been to see Mistress Whiplash, a lady who helps out on these occasions. Now we find the general on another bus with Mrs P.

    For American readers, in the UK, the bus route 111 would be read “one-one-one”

    The Number 111: A Happy Conclusion
    A charge worthy of Balaclava

    But who’s that couple having so much fun?
    It’s General Wilfred Sloane and Mrs P.
    They’re sitting laughing on the 111:
    It seems that all has ended happily.

    He’d parleyed under truce with Mistress Whiplash;
    The terms of their engagement were agreed.
    Before she could then bat a coloured eyeless
    The General had advanced at lightning speed.

    With sabre drawn and cries of “Tally-ho”
    And memories of glories in the field,
    He’d summoned up the fires of long ago
    And found again that will to never yield.

    He’d thought of Waterloo and Balaclava;
    Of Blenheim, Agincourt and Omdurman.
    He’d thought of Oudenarde and Talavera
    And felt that certain pride in being a man.

    He’d overcome her token coy resistance;
    Her token underwear he’d quickly breached.
    And with the help of some adroit assistance
    A furious charge the General had unleashed.

    And so he’d found an answer to his trouble;
    His weaponry again performs its best.
    No longer does his valour fail in battle,
    And chivalry has passed its highest test.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Paul, I love this bit of side-splitting fun with plenty of saucy, thigh-slapping innuendo. Excellent! Thank you for rising to the challenge with poetic aplomb and a huge grin.

  20. Mark Stellinga

    Susan, not the scorcher you requested, I save those for Connie –

    The Lip

    Surely before I have felt as though heaven
    were pressed to my lips such as this,
    Yet touching your smile is so sweet I imagine
    there never has been such a kiss.

    Riv’ling the ruby, cottony soft,
    as warm as a slow summer breeze.
    The ultimate passion…love – at its purest –
    thrives upon lips such as these.

    Oh how they beckon, though ne’er do they speak,
    The coldest are warmed…the strongest made weak.

    Slowly they render, ‘til all strength is gone…
    each kiss, like of wine, a new sip.
    They capture…consume…and completely control…
    What power doth reign from the lip!

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      What power indeed, Mark! I particularly like the closing stanza – it reminds of the Eduardo Galeano quote: “We are all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine.” Thank you for rising to my challenge!

  21. Monika Cooper

    A Kissing Book

    Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure: this one left them all behind. The end. (Grandpa, “The Princess Bride.”)

    “Since the invention of the kiss…,” he read.
    “Oh I forgot, you don’t like mushy stuff.”
    The nine year old, no longer mostly dead,
    Admitted sheepishly, if slightly gruff,
    “I guess I don’t mind that much after all.”
    So Westley, Buttercup, succumbed to bliss
    And leaned into the sun, to all but fall
    Into that purest, most impassioned kiss.
    Through sword fights, torture, shrieking eels, they’d paged,
    Through dark disguises, poison, and changed names.
    The sick boy caught the fever from the aged,
    Thrilled to the book and ditched the video games.
    When Mom looked in, she found him on the mend,
    True Love’s newest initiate. The end.

      • Monika Cooper

        Thank you, Julian. Enjoyed yours too and I will have to look up those country singers.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Monika, thank you very much for this beautiful response to my challenge. I love your inspiration – one of my favorite films! I believe that passion born of true love cures all ills… a scorching kiss of the purest kind is the best medicine.

      • Monika Cooper

        A fun and irresistible challenge, so thank you, Susan! I belong the cult that counts Princess Bride a classic.

  22. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “It was an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini that she wore for the first time today.” Song, “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini,” as sung by Brian Hyland. (1960 Pop Song).

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Scintillating swimsuit sitting on sand
    Closely clasps the corpus I think is grand.
    Racily revealing one who is tanned.
    Reaching out to touch is what I have planned.

    Salacious swab of sunscreen on my hand.
    She nods her noggin. She must understand.
    My massage makes headway to her waistband.
    My heaving heart half-obeys my command.

    Frivolously feeling with my freehand,
    Stirs something special. I am in quicksand.
    Bikini beauty, body on the strand
    Smirks and smiles, and then skips over the sand.

    Diving in deep water drowns me in dreamland.
    Thus sank sunny Sunday in the Southland.

  23. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “All things achieved and chosen pass,
    As the White Horse fades in the grass…”
    “Ballad of the White Horse.” G.K. Chesterton

    By Roy E. Peterson

    While I was pacing myself back and forth,
    She came riding a white horse from the north.
    Festooned with garlands of yellow flowers,
    She dismounted and stayed several hours.
    Unbridled the horse lay down in the grass.
    I was beset by a lady of class.

    My world was changed in the blink of an eye.
    A heavenly body from head to thigh
    Arrived at my side from the Pleiades
    Like a star brought by the autumnal breeze.
    The face of an angel, voice of a vamp,
    The fire flamed higher within my camp.

    If ever such star befall me again,
    I would count myself a Prince among men.

  24. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “Only with the wings of love can you fly.
    Only with the light of love
    Can you see the star in a moonlit sky.”
    ― Debasish Mridha, “Verses of Happiness.” (Book)

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Day wanes as shadows are cast from the west.
    The world’s shutting down. Earth prepares for rest.
    Light that’s reflected from the moon above
    Paints the pathway for those who are in love.

    Flower scented lanes increase love’s desire.
    Hearts in secret burn with a flaming fire.
    Heaven’s fire must flee to a brooding realm.
    Captain of the sun has taken the helm.

    Peaceful night descends into darkened grave.
    Lovers walk about in the starlit cave.
    Hand holding hand feels the warmth of the heart.
    The moon’s reflection makes a golden art.

    As the nightingale sings into the night,
    Hurry then, sweet love, to our wingéd flight.

  25. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “But could youth last, and love still breed,
    Had joys no date, nor age no need,
    Then these delights my mind might move
    To live with thee, and be thy love.”
    – Sir Walter Raleigh, “The Nymphs Reply to the Shepherd” (Poem)

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Nymphs in the forest dancing all around.
    Naked bodies gyrate by firelight.
    I’m in the bushes making nary a sound.
    I could watch forever on such a night.

    Maybe I’m half-wishing I would be found.
    I have never seen a sexier sight.
    Maybe they’d lay me on their dancing ground
    Making out with me in the bright moonlight.

    It’s hard for me on this eve to expound.
    Eyes like burnished bronze; bodies like calcite.
    Then they spied me; the effect was profound.
    That is when my face turned an ashen white.

    I could not imagine a much better night
    Than making out with sprites by the firelight.

  26. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “Well before the light—Hold me again with all of your might—In the still of the night.” Lyrics to the Song, “In the Still of the Night,” as sung by the 5 Satins, (1956).

    By Roy E. Peterson (August 17, 2023)

    In the still of the night, when passion comes,
    Our hearts are beating like two kettle drums.
    Passionate love is made after foreplay.
    All our bed covers are in disarray.

    Our naked bodies moving together
    Exploring secret regions of nether.
    If I hear some sighs, it is my reward.
    I may join with sighs of my own accord.

    I bury my face in her perfumed hair.
    Breath upon breath sucking down the night air.
    Timing’s important, when I’m in control
    With syncopation of my searing soul.

    Rapturous responses as echoes we throw,
    We revel at last in the afterglow.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Wow, Roy!! I am overwhelmed with your passionate response to the challenge… I thought I was a fast composer of poetry, but I think you’ve most certainly outdone me here! Thank you for your burning enthusiasm.

      • Roy Eugene Peterson

        Susan, I just saw your earlier note. I am hesitant to reveal my output, but the most poems I have written in one day is between 15 and 18 poems, as I best remember. If you refer back to the Russian/Ukraine War invitation to post in February 2022, you will find by my count 8 poems on February 26, with several verses in each in response to comments. Then if you go to my July 4, 2023 poem, “To All Great Eagles up on High,” I wrote several poems in a short space of time as answering comments. Today (August 21) I will post 3 more I wrote on August 20. Please forgive the output, but there are so few places to provide passionate poetry. I am almost done. I had not intended to write some of the spicier ones, but your initial poem opened my mind a little.

  27. Mia

    Her passion for cooking was legendary; their
    Memories of cakes, pies, stews and casseroles
    Made it difficult, placed them in a quandary,
    Couldn’t choose a favourite . Always making,
    They remembered with fondness her baking,
    Laughed when they said it wasn’t hereditary.
    She was always in the kitchen magically
    Creating delicious scents that would waft
    To awaken hunger pangs as they slept.

    How surprised they were to find her yesterday
    Living off tins of soup, sardines and prunes
    Obsessed with cleaning and with tidying up;
    How much she gives away, except what’s in
    The brown box that she keeps by her bed,
    Of outgrown clothes, that she takes out to fold
    And unfold, the blue, pink and gingham babygrows;
    Then when she’s done , she shuffles back
    To the yellow kitchen to polish the faded stove.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Mia, you have captured both passion and pain in this heart-touching piece. I am intrigued by it and wonder at the inspiration behind it. Thank you for rising once again to my challenge.

      • Mia

        Dear Susan thank you so much for your very kind comment. The inspiration was to get as far away as possible from my earlier poem! So I know I didn’t follow the brief exactly, with both attempts, but I know you are all great on this site and allow us to do our own thing. This one is based on memories of grandmothers, mothers and women who dedicate their lives to family. Thank you again , as far as poetry is concerned I have been inspired to try harder.

      • Susan Jarvis Bryant

        Mia, the mere mention of grandmothers stirs feelings of passion in my soul… I will feel eternally passionate about the wonder of my grandmother and what she gave me as a child and as a grown woman. As a new grandmother, I am hoping I conjure the same passion in my lovely granddaughter as my grandmother still does in me.

        The poem also serves as a lovely contrast to your first poem… the women of the world are made up of many different souls and you have managed to capture the good and the bad… a perfect balance. Thank you!

    • Mia

      Dear Susan, Congratulations,
      I think you will be the best grandma
      and one who is a poet as well


    Shakespeare is All Performance

    These acts mistrust his verse as true or clear.
    The lines they use have flattened sharper points,
    the poignant thrust, the kiss upon the ear,
    the cry “Oh, God!” that swells from throat and joints.
    Spirit wastes itself in shame, and lust,
    he knew — that bloody, cruel, and perjured thing —
    no sooner having had its end can trust
    itself to hate itself. That bait will bring
    you bliss — a moment, briefer than a dream —
    then beckons demons, feasting on your heart.
    Extreme in wanting, having’s less extreme
    than woe it brings when bodies push apart.
    Yet Hell’s mislabeled in the modern text.
    In Heaven souls are passionate and sexed.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Thank you for sweeping me up in the art of the performance. I too have been a captive audience to staged passion – emotions manipulated by twist of tongue and sleight of hand… that’s the wry wonder of drama… and the pitfall of trusting the interpretation. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this thought-provoking, well-wrought sonnet.

  29. Joseph S. Salemi

    From Molly Bloom’s interior monologue in James Joyce’s “Ulysses” —

    …yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.


    Blazes Boylan surely knew
    That Molly, with her clothes askew,
    Had learned a lot from lovers past
    In a sex life rich and fast.
    He came late to stroke her hips
    And smear the color from her lips.
    Rather, as a seasoned vet,
    Who’d been well schooled in how to pet,
    Molly knew the whole routine
    From foreplay to the Vaseline.
    Yet sometimes she recalled the day
    When she and Bloom together lay
    Nearby Gibraltar’s rockbound road
    With Bloom in full erectile mode.
    She figured “Now the naughty bits,”
    And pulled Bloom downwards to her tits.
    The kisses, perfume, and her blush
    All gave him an erotic rush,
    And that’s the lucky day you bless —
    When girls give in and tell you “Yes.”

    Joseph S. Salemi

  30. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    Joe, deliciously risqué – a postscript that highlights the well-practiced passions of Molly Bloom in “naughty bits” that have set the comments section of my challenge page ablaze. Thank you!

  31. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “The gods will always smile on brave women. Like the Valkyries, those furies who men fear and desire.” — The Seer, Vikings TV Series. “Unforgiven.” 2014.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Daughter of the Viking raiders
    And the Normandy invaders
    Golden red your tumbling tresses
    While the breeze your locks caresses,
    Thrill me with your warm embrace
    While I gaze upon your face.

    Well-endowed by nature’s wishes,
    Porcelain skin like eggshell dishes,
    Flashing eyes of emerald hue,
    Intelligence is shining through.
    Grant me audience your grace
    While I kneel upon this place.

    Born along the Ulster coast
    Valkyrie princess like a ghost
    Who chooses men for their death rattle
    Or survive to win the battle.
    Hear me as I plead my case:
    All my enemies erase.

    I pledge my fealty to you
    In everything I see or do.
    With this Claddagh ring I give,
    Promise me that you will live
    With me in my castle space
    And share with me my fireplace.

  32. fred schueler

    here’s one that fits this challenge, that I wrote for the wife on her 60th birthday in the “we need a sonnet” format:

    We need a sonnet about your breasts
    and how they mimic the old poem
    in one being a quarter inch
    more perfect than the other.

    We need a sonnet about the smooth soft
    sweep down across your belly to your crotch
    and then around and back
    eighteen times again.

    We need a sonnet about your inner thighs
    as fine as if they’d been drawn
    from a fantasy in a
    Margaret Atwood novel.

    We need a couplet about getting up;
    It’s you I want, not coffee in a cup.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Very passionate indeed, Fred! I like your style… and I must say, this poem is much more in keeping with the challenge. Thank you for sharing it.

  33. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “I’m thinking today of friends that I used to know Who lived and suffered in this world below They’re gone off to heaven, but I want to know What are they doing there now?- Raymond Rowell, Songwriter. As sung on the Gaither TV weekly program. Title: “What are They Doing in Heaven.”

    By Roy E. Peterson

    What are you doing in heaven today?
    Down here on earth it is cloudy and gray.
    Remember the passion that we once shared?
    There was no other with whom you compared.

    I bet your weather is sunny and bright.
    Are you my star that I see in the night?
    Have you ambrosia fit for the King?
    Have you joined the angel choir to sing?

    I know your family and friends are there,
    At least the good ones for whom you so care.
    I hope you’re having a really great day.
    I hope you hear me at night when I pray.

    Look down on me with love and affection.
    Soon I’ll be headed in your direction.

  34. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “Always!” – A frequent saying meaning, “I love you,” on the TV Series, “Castle.” The characters, Castle and Beckett, often say this.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    I watch reruns of “Castle,”
    ___on some of my days.
    They have a code for “love you.”
    ___That word is “Always!”

    Several years ago,
    ___my loved one and I agreed,
    That we would use “Always,”
    ___to satisfy our need.

    We believe no one has caught on
    ___throughout the years.
    We often use the code
    ___to calm our social fears.

    Our families and friends
    ___don’t know our love affair.
    Our secret remains safe
    ___in the postings that we share.

    I have written poems
    ___like “Always Means Forever.”
    That is my love for her
    ___no one can discover.

    Poet Note: The poem I mentioned in the end is in one of my poetry books by the same title, “Always Means Forever.”

  35. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “Young love, first love, filled with deep emotion.” – Sonny James singing, “Young Love.” (1956).

    By Roy E. Peterson

    In younger days all car seats were a bench.
    As we sat side by side , I learned to French.
    Petting like monkeys we saw at the zoo,
    That’s when I felt my first passion for you.

    I loved researching things I had to know.
    We soon forgot the drive-in picture show.
    Half of the cars there looked empty inside.
    We could lay down on my Naugahyde.

    Desert night air with golden moon above
    Put us in the mood for our puppy love.
    My first course in female anatomy
    Went far beyond my youthful fantasy.

    We were passionate for she was endowed.
    Thank goodness the speakers were turned up loud.

  36. Roy Eugene Peterson

    (Benjamin) “For God’s sake, Mrs. Robinson. Here we are. You got me into your house. You give me a drink. You… put on music. Now, you start opening up your personal life to me and tell me your husband won’t be home for hours.” (Mrs. Robinson) “So?” – Movie, “The Graduate” (1967)

    By Roy E. Peterson

    The voice heard on my phone was a lady neighbor.
    She asked me if I would mind a little labor.
    The lady asked me to fix something or other.
    I would tell you what but I cannot remember.

    She came to the door in something quite revealing.
    She was a young beauty and really appealing.
    I tell you now, I was innocent as could be.
    How was I to know the score? She just wanted me.

    I asked where it was, as I followed her perfume.
    Smilingly she led me then into her bedroom.
    What is a man to do when a lady disrobes?
    There I was in heaven staring at glist’ning globes.

    For the first time I learned ladies have passion, too.
    I hope I fixed the problem. What else could I do?

  37. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “ How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony.” ― William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    The sweetest song from heaven
    Is your whispers in my ear.
    It is less song, than a soft sigh
    That thrills me when you’re near.

    No earthly composer ever wrought
    Such heav’nly harmony,
    As we move in rhythm
    To a mystical melody.

  38. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “The Night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand;
    By the light of that yellow lantern I saw you stand.”
    – Frederic Lawrence Knowles, “A Memory.” (Poem)

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Listening to the radio
    Playing some romantic tune;
    Setting off the fireworks
    You took me to the moon.

    Though you come from Venus
    And you say I come from Mars,
    Take me to the moon again
    And lead me to the stars.

    The time has come for loving
    On a sultry summer night.
    Take me to the moon again
    And help me fly my kite.

  39. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “I’ve been looking for you since I heard my first fairytale.” – Anonymous Quote.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    You could be my Cinderella
    I danced with at the ball.
    I’ve been looking for you,
    Since you first fled the hall.

    You could be in waiting
    Like the poisoned princess Snow White.
    I want to be prince Charming
    To waken you from your long night.

    You could be Sleeping Beauty,
    Who for a hundred years was missed.
    You would come back to life
    When your lips I kissed.

    You are the perfect beauty
    I saw in my dream portrayal.
    I have been searching for you,
    Since I heard my first fairytale.

  40. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “But the echoes of our shared pleasure stole the words, and so I said it the best I could. ‘I love you.’” – Ilona Andrews, Book, “Wildfire,” Hidden Legacy Series, #3.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Tell me who shall strum the silent lyre.
    Please tell me who shall pluck the pretty rose.
    Wouldst thou lie with me beside the fire?
    Wouldst thine soft arms embrace me in repose?

    For songs of love lie dormant in my chest,
    As though ‘twere waiting for love’s melody.
    Roses wish as I, clinging to thy breast
    In sweet solitary melancholy.

    The hour has come now for thy decision
    As to what kind of love thou wist from me.
    No word needed to foretell thy mission,
    Just touch my hand and kiss me tenderly.

    We’ll let echoes of love we make tonight
    Reverberate until the morning light.

  41. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “A dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep.” Song from the Movie, “Cinderella.” (1960)

    By Roy E. Peterson

    If thou art a dream, please don’t let me wake.
    Let me slumber on in the misty deep,
    Out beyond the stars in eternal sleep,
    Where e’er you will be as sweet love we make.

    Such fervent love that in my bosom burns
    Is fed by thy beauty hovering near;
    That with my rapturous heart doth appear;
    And through the mists my surging soul discerns.

    Only love fulfills age old anguished need.
    The soothing care a lover will impart
    Removes the troubles from the human heart
    Like as the tares from gardens we must weed.

    Dream on my soul how paradise must be.
    In slumber let me only think of thee.

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Roy, thank you so very much for your enthusiasm with this challenge… you are obviously a very passionate poet who knows the meaning of love drawn from a beautiful and inspirational source. Thanks again.

  42. Evan Mantyk

    Witnessing Organ Harvesting in China, 1994

    (a triolet)

    He looked at me. He was alive.
    I staggered. They clamped out his eyes.
    We’d shuffled when his body arrived.
    He looked at me. He was alive.
    They cut into him with their knives
    And onto me small red hands fly.
    He looked at me. He was alive.
    I staggered. They clamped out his eyes.

    A true story: https://www.theepochtimes.com/china/he-was-alive-tormented-chinese-doctor-recounts-harvesting-organs-in-back-of-van-5455507

    • Susan Jarvis Bryant

      Evan, this chilling triolet paints a gut-twisting, heart-wrenching poetic picture of a macabre murder… cold and calculated and evil as it gets. The words are haunting and powerful. Thank you for drawing attention to barbarism swept under the carpet by those profiting from such horrors.

    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Evan, Dr. Zheng Zhi witnessed the absolutely barbaric nature of the CCP totalitarian state and a practice that must occur on virtually a daily basis. They are uncivilized in the midst of their self-adoration and material gains. This reverts back to cannibalism, human sacrifice, beheading, and egregious torture. Words cannot convey my dismay.

  43. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Pardon me, but a girl (now a lady) from my hometown, many years ago, told me on social media she loved me. That started a string of more love poems which I decided to share on this wonderfully opened opportunity. I believe they are fitting for this Passion Challenge.

    1. “How many roads must a man walk down before he’s called a man?” ~ Song with lyrics by Bob Dylan.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    How many roads must I travel in vain?
    How many dreams must I dream to come true?
    How many feats of grand legerdemain?
    How many ways can I say I love you?

    How many times have I yearned for one glance?
    How many nights have I wished on a star?
    How many days have I searched for romance?
    How many songs have I played on guitar?

    Each of these deeds are more than a thousand.
    The years without you have taken their toll.
    Misty eyes dim my sight at the brow’s end,
    Yet hope beats eternal deep in my soul.

    Love is worth all the travails I have known.
    Put thou that quote of mine on my gravestone.

    2. “Our love is a secret. Our love is a word. Something so silenced, yet perfectly heard.” ~ Unknown. (On social media as a quote. See: Search Quote.)

    By Roy E. Peterson

    My love for you is secretly
    Saved within my soul
    Like water that lies buried
    Beneath a sandy shoal.

    Hope giving, life transforming,
    Perfect portraiture of art.
    Fire flickering brightly
    In the shadows of my heart.

    Each time I think about you
    Adds another log to burn.
    I do my best to hide it
    Lest others might discern.

    Therein lies the paradox
    To hide and still extol.
    Secret love is difficult
    For my heart to control.

    3. “The eyes are the window to the soul…To thee I do commend my watchful soul, Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes.” ~ William Shakespeare, “King Richard III” Act V, Sc.3, Line 117.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    There are things that I can’t fathom;
    Miracles I can’t describe.
    I believe we’ll live in heaven
    Where you’ll always be my bride.

    This blue marble has a treasure.
    This blue marble has a prize.
    There is something I can’t measure;
    That’s the love within your eyes.

    All my life I searched for someone
    Who would never tell me lies.
    I don’t need to wait for heaven,
    ‘Cause I see it in your eyes.

    4. “ Forever my darling our love will be true
    Always and forever I’ll love just you.
    Just promise me darling your love in return.
    May this fire in my soul dear forever burn.”
    ~ Song lyrics and music, “Pledging My Love,” written and sung by Johnny Ace.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    I hope that you will read this
    On the grass beneath a tree.
    A pledge of everlasting love
    That I wrote just for thee.

    The blades of grass may hear it,
    If you read to them out loud.
    The world need never know
    That my love to thee I vowed.

    A pledge is more than promise.
    It is giving of my heart
    Scintillating sensations
    That my love soul can impart.

    Feel my longing fingers
    As they linger on your face;
    The warmth of blissful bodies
    In an emotional embrace.

    A kiss that lasts forever,
    I commit it to thy lips;
    Everlasting euphoria
    In an erogenous eclipse.

    Dream with me of Paradise
    Where souls forever live.
    Though we are yet mere mortals,
    This pledge of love I give.

    5. “All I have to do is dream, dream, dream, dream…” ~ Boudleaux Bryant, Writer of Lyrics and Music. “All I Have to Do is Dream,” as sung by the Everly Brothers. Song.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Every heart gets lonely
    Every now and then.
    Retreating in their minds
    To memories of when
    Love was new and innocent.
    The world seemed so wide.
    Little things meant everything
    To the beating heart inside.

    We once were attentive
    To every word and glance
    Wondering if we might go out
    And find a sweet romance.
    We checked our hair and brushed our teeth
    Before going out at night
    Wondering if our clothes were straight ,
    And everything looked right.

    Oh, for those days with fondness
    Held in our memory
    Looking to the future
    And wondering what may be.
    In high school and in college,
    Then in our first jobs
    We remember clearly those
    Who were our heart throbs.

    We winnowed down the field
    To the one we thought was best.
    We can’t help but wonder
    What became of all the rest.
    Did we make the right choice?
    It seemed the best back then.
    Would it be the same one
    If we could choose again?

    Things that were important
    To us when we were young
    Are stars with different twinkles now
    Than when they first were hung.
    Life is like a looking glass
    Reflecting what we’ve seen.
    Sometimes we can relive it
    In a pleasant dream.

    6. “…Lily Wellstone had the face of an angel, the body of a goddess, and the spirit of the devil glinting from her eyes. She was a woman worth losing his soul for.” ~ Carolyn Jewel, “Not Wicked Enough.” Book.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    You are my Cleopatra.
    You are my Juliet.
    You are my Bathsheba
    That I cannot forget.

    You beat the Mona Lisa,
    Marie Antoinette divine.
    Prettier than all the maidens
    Time has left behind.

    You’re my Helen of Troy,
    Who launched a thousand ships.
    I hope some day you launch me
    With one kiss of your lips.

    You will always be my goddess.
    I’ll call you Aphrodite.
    You are the Queen of Beauty,
    And I dream of you nightly.

    7. “Only do what your heart tells you.” ~ Princess Diana. Quote.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    What the heart proposes
    Can just be found in dreams.
    The mind becomes alarmed
    At the heartfelt schemes.
    How dare you think about it?
    The mind often screams.
    Yet nothing is impossible
    With the heart it seems.

    If you can dream about it,
    You can make of it a goal.
    Desire becomes the motivator
    Of your secret soul.
    The mind must swing to action
    And let the heart extoll
    The virtues of the enterprise,
    Since each must play their roll.

    It happened just that way with me
    While I was having fun.
    My heart proposed to my mind
    And told it, “That’s the one.”
    My mind asked, “Are you serious?
    Her beauty’s next to none.”
    My heart said, “Just have patience,
    We’ll work until it’s done.”

    My mind looked at reality;
    At the obstacles in the way.
    My heart said, “They don’t matter.
    I will make her ours someday.”
    That conversation happened to me
    Many years ago.
    My poetry discloses
    What the heart says so.

    8. “He was now in that state of fire she loved. She wanted to be burned.” ~ Anais Nin. “Delta of Venus.” Book.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    My hands began to sweat, my brow to perspire.
    The cockles of my heart had just been set on fire.
    I just saw a Venus! What more could I desire?
    Who could be so beautiful? I had to inquire.

    I lost my heart with “hello.” What a sweet surprise!
    With fervor in her face the sparks flew from her eyes.
    The burning fire she started, I could not disguise.
    I’d give my life to be with her in paradise.

    9. “I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.” ~ Pablo Neruda. “Sonnet XVI.” Poem.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    I have hidden secrets down in my heart.
    Much like the eight ball they are deep and dark.
    No one sees inside where I keep my light.
    There it shines while dreaming after midnight.

    Love I have for her the world does not know,
    Like a golden orb casting a bright glow.
    I can’t open the window that’s my mind,
    Or else the whole world my secrets would find.

    We have said the magic words, “I love you.”
    Though we’ve grown older our love is brand new.
    Oh, how precious will be our reunion.
    I pray we’ll have personal communion.

    I have given my love my heart’s golden key.
    It’s up to her to tell the mystery.

    10. “Tonight I will look up at the moon: and I will know you are looking at it too.” ~ Nicholas Sparks. “Dear John.” Book.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Every night I will look up at the moon
    Where stars are twinkling in a blue lagoon.
    I muse with moonbeams reflecting on dew,
    You are under dark skies looking at it too.

    Heaven has to wait while we’re far apart.
    You’re the only muse living in my heart.
    After I am through from my nightly stroll,
    I’ll write another letter; pour out my soul.

    I wish stars were eyes of my lady fair
    Looking down on me from away up there.
    The moon is her heart shining down on me.
    Imagination of my reverie.

    Fly away senses on a silver stream.
    While I think of you watching a moonbeam.

  44. Willow Hatch

    Blue Eyes
    By: Willow Hatch
    I saw you again the other day.
    As soon as I saw you our eyes met,
    Mine brown, yours blue.

    It’s like we were talking in our own language.
    One that had become so murky over the months,
    Neither of us could understand it.

    It’s almost as if we were speaking under water,
    Sending signs and messages that would only get lost in the waves between us.
    Never resurfacing to face what was unspoken.

    Sometimes I wonder what your eyes were trying to tell me that day.
    What questions had you hidden behind those windows I behold?
    But I could never know the full truth.
    Just the fragments of your presence you had left behind.

    Who knows?
    Maybe one day we will see each other again.
    Maybe our eyes will meet, and my questions will be answered.
    Maybe yours will be too.
    But till then I’ll only dream to see those beautiful eyes of blue.

  45. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “The white moth to the closing bine, The bee to the opened clover,
    And the gipsy blood to the gipsy blood Ever the wide world over.”
    Rudyard Kipling, “The Gipsy Trail.” Poem.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Come let us lay in fields of green clover
    Under the sun near the Cliffs of Dover.
    We’ll have a picnic upon a blanket.
    A soft wind will blow and we will thank it.

    We’ll challenge the birds with songs of our own,
    Some of them unsung and some of them known.
    Before the channel becomes overcast,
    We’ll share a love that forever will last.

    Forget about life. Forget about time.
    You are the chalk cliff that I want to climb.
    Sweet music we’ll make that no one will hear
    As over the edge of the cliff we’ll veer.

    “Come let us lay” is my invitation.
    I anticipate ev’ry sensation.

  46. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “This bed of Rose’s that I lay on where I was taught to be a man.” – Statler Brothers, “Bed of Rose,” Song.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Rose’s garden of roses enticed me
    To follow her and keep her company.
    She showed me the American Beauty
    Rose that won grand prizes nationally.

    The delicate petals looked as if kissed
    By Rose’s sweet lips squarely in their midst.
    Next came a set of crimson red roses
    With sensuous scent their bloom discloses.

    Around the fountain on the other side
    Grew the yellow roses of Texas pride.
    I asked to clip one to put in her hair.
    She nodded, yes; I cut and put it there.

    Can you guess what my heart proposes?
    At least one night on the bed of Rose’s.

  47. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where he ended and she began.” ―Leo Tolstoy, “Anna Karenina,” Book.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    The cloak of love descended like a shadow
    Protective and defensive in its enclosing.
    Shutting out the world with one small window
    Illum’ed with thy radiance disclosing.

    Am I worthy to glimpse such a goddess?
    Am I allowed to see my love renew?
    How precious to look upon thy bodice!
    Anticipating fates that may ensue.

    Where she treads, birds listen to her singing.
    When she walks along, roses can’t compare.
    For such love kings would gifts be bringing.
    I never dreamed of such a love so rare.

    Yet heaven brought me into her presence.
    My only gift is love without pretense.

  48. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “Love is the Answer…” Quote from multiple sources including Albert Einstein, John Lennon and Marvin Gaye.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Love was not the question.
    It was answer to my prayer.
    I opened up my heart and
    Suddenly you were there.

    I need no rhyme or reason.
    No explanation trite.
    Love replaced the darkness
    In my heart that night.

    It was not a candle.
    It was a burning fire.
    Flames consuming me
    With the ashes rising higher.

    Then love replaced the ache
    Deep inside of me.
    The star that I was following
    Became my destiny.

    My joyful soul was witness,
    As our love sighs filled the air.
    Two of us together composed
    A tune beyond compare.

  49. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “Devil or angel, dear whichever you are, I love you…”
    Ending to Song, “Devil or Angel,” as sung by Bobby Vee, Song.

    By Roy E. Peterson

    Are you a devil or an angel?
    I have got to know.
    When you are in my arms at night
    I can feel my love grow.

    Where did you get the matches,
    So my fire you could start?
    What about your pretty wings
    That fanned the flames in my heart?

    Where did you stash your halo,
    That gave you a golden hue?
    The emotions that you give me
    Are amazing and new.

    Are you a devil or an angel?
    Please mind let it go.
    I’ll just enjoy the moment.
    I don’t really want to know.

  50. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “In the aftermath, she (Misty) still felt as though she were floating and as Leone shifted back from her she leant over him, silver-grey eyes bright with emotion, and whispered, ‘I died and went to heaven the day I found you.’~ Lynne Graham, “The Disobedient Mistress,” Book.

    “Oh, almost paradise, We’re knockin’ on heaven’s door. Almost paradise, How could we ask for more? I swear that I can see forever in your eyes, Paradise.” Songwriters: Eric Carmen, Dean Pitchford; “Almost Paradise,” Song.

    Lyrics to a Song by Roy E. Peterson

    When I saw you and you saw me,
    It was electricity.
    The world stopped to my surprise.
    There was love within your eyes.
    Had to have a date with you.
    Nothing else that I could do.

    When you are in my arms,
    A dream keeps haunting me.
    When I kiss your burning lips,
    How far from heaven can we be?

    Our first kiss transported me
    To a place I loved to be.
    I never felt that way before.
    I only knew I wanted more.
    We wished on a fallen star
    From the seat of my old car.

    When you are in my arms,
    A dream keeps haunting me.
    When I kiss your burning lips,
    How far from heaven can we be?

    The wish I made I thought I might
    Share your charms with me that night.
    Fire deep within me burned,
    Then your face from me you turned.
    It isn’t right; it’s getting late,
    Though I love you, we have to wait.

    When you are in my arms,
    A dream keeps haunting me.
    When I kiss your burning lips,
    How far from heaven can we be?

    My dreams keep coming back to you.
    There’s so much we’ve been through.
    We each went our separate way.
    We may meet again some day.
    I have one question haunting me,
    How far from heaven can we be?

    When you are in my arms,
    A dream keeps haunting me.
    When I kiss your burning lips,
    How far from heaven can we be?


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