Thigh High....... adult nature
Is it ok?
To wrap myself
Around your self
To oblige our need
Of being
Is it's ok?
To ride on waves of passionate bliss
To wrap my thighs around your masculine hips
To share the skin and breaths
That we decide are ours to share
Is it all good?
That our primal beats crash the walled harmony for which we race
Pounding as the dead cert
A shared smile devide across our space
Whilst all stands proud and pert
As
We make
Love
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Melody of Love
Lay me
Amongst the melody that is Mozart
Weave his notes in my lank dark hair
Spirit me to a world of horses
Pacing
Triumphant trumpets fill the air
Heartbeats to thunder glorious
Harlequin with masquerade mask
Ostrich feathers to tease the breeze with
Smile on me
Is all I ask
Fill my sky with Michelangelo
Cherubs
Outreaching hands
Offer me spark filled lightening
Whisk me to foreign lands
Let my breath savor scents of lavender
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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China Dolls Dumping Ground
Hell sat on my shoulders as a stuffed parrot
Useless yet very apparent
And i ached and i ache
As I despaired that yet again
I
As a china doll
Im cracked un- repairable
Its never ever been me that marred all about me
Bruised lost tied to the mast
Useless me
Unable to sever the ties that bind
For pieces and dreading guilt
Im lead by the blind
Damaged goods stuffed in a box of cards- board
I gather in the crapster
It is my hoard
Where once i had hope a smile and a face
Now im a shadow of some obscure place
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Plateau de fruits de mer.....
At last....
Im free to do with you as my free will
So decrees
Dancing deep cognito upon one verde breeze
Harpoon thighs so masculine
So enticing
Just to fill my
Whole being ever needing
Your belle for which you toll
Lets race within one bracing sea
Lets crush upon the shore
Oh darling sea food platter
I need some relish more
Embellish me and lay me
Amongst your thrashing waves
Dare to gaze into my soul
Since when did i behave? ....
You sit upon my mind
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Final Door.......
Brown house
Grey smiles
Green green grass
Black shoes
Crystal tears with heart felt whispers
Hugs
Blue sky with cream teeth
Green green grass
(hold that thought)
Glassed water grasped
Taut innards
Flowers brought
White horses
Braided manes
White lilies
Window pane
White carriage
To carry forth
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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The Dead Swan.....
The swan did not die as elegantly as she had dreamed
Free willed mid-flight into waters rich serene
Lazing upon the bank sun stroking her plume
She did not pass away as she dared hope or assume
She died beneath the foliage of her most desired oak
A stifling long term within his ivy which choke
His branches entwined her intestines to core
A twist of the gut which he chose to ignore
He gazed across the waters assuming his role
Never stopping to observe the damage, its toll
The swan she did not die a last elegant breath
Her oak barely noticed, when her spirit had left
poem by Karen Sinclair
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Kitchen Pride....Adult Humour
Tickle my fancy as free as a bird
Stripped of her feathers, or so I've heard
Lace she in daisy chains and ring
'Er neck
With splintering smiles upon
Break.... fast eggs
(All yolks aside)
A messy contortionist has no pride
Twiddle your thumbs and smile at the mess
Feathers and flour upon my...
(oooeeer must i confess!)
Free range
Organically led
Steer well clear from the hospital bed
Skid pon the lino doused in Ribena
Then smile at her spirit
(my have you seen her!)
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Murmurs... Wanton Soup
Where once we floated, happy croutons.. in a hot and salted soup
Blissfully unaware of all but us...us desirous, two...
We bobbed... in self indulgence.. hot and sour..
Wanton
Wanderlust
Stew...
We sipped, we smiled, we whiled away many a handsome kiss
Planting selfish moments upon selfish lips
Then...
..(as it always does) ...
That wholesome bowl of adoration
Dried upon said plate
Cherished scent of wanton soup
Devoured...shame.... too late....
So now we pay the bills observing golfs monotonous green
Yet I can smile at
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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What For? ...
The vast emptiness, which engulfs me,
Is so persistently painful,
If I gorge,
Until overindulgence,
Greed and hatred for myself.
I still - feel empty,
Hollow,
Hollow to the core,
Shallow, hatred and empty - even more.
For food, I know - won't fill my void,
Just detract from my emotional emptiness.
Inside, I'm as barren as the Kalahari,
With an ache as persistent as time,
And a pain as sordid as childbirth,
And a mind as twisted as mine.
In my world, I'm no longer playing,
Just an observer, wishing for more,
In my head, I'm no longer needed,
And my existence - I wonder,
What for?
poem by Karen Sinclair
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Who'd be a Woman?
Who'd be a woman?
With hours of hair to dry
Chubby and insecure
Certainly i bellow
..........Not I! ...
Who'd fancy launching babies
As full as sumptuous ripe fruit
And listen to possible maybes
From hubbies in steel-capped boots
Who'd want to put on war paint?
Just cause the magazines push
Your ugly they say
Without hairspray
And a splash of red on your mush
Who'd want to be a women?
Certainly not I! ....
Im lumbered as the fairer sex
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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