An Alphabet of Feelings

A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z


Awareness is the echo in a hot pool – hushed mystique,
when heartbeats pulse a ripple to the rim.
Awareness is the whisper of cool vapour on a cheek
while warmth is wrapping water ’round each limb.
Awareness is the shadow of a contrast made unique.
Reflection freezes time as all else fades.
Awareness is the saltiness that dews upon each peak,
the sweetness of breath’s sensual cascades.
Awareness is the scented past that reaches out to speak
of memories that link with ageless youth.
Awareness is emotion interceding in the meek,
revealing a mosaic of the truth.


It’s Friday night and I’m
a stuffed potato, couched
in weariness and slouched
in stress-related grime.
My wine glass magnifies
a teenage mess that leaps
aggressively and sweeps
glazed shutters from my eyes.
Torpedo words are aimed
as peevish temper flares.
Retaliation swears.
All combatants are maimed.


The surface shimmers with reflections waiting for
my toes to merge with their own imagery,
then ripples wrap my aching arch before
I step into the womb of luxury.
A hedonistic lowering of limbs
is slowly escalated into bliss –
as water rises, reaching bathtub rims,
immersion aids seduction with its kiss.
My worry stains wash off and then dissolve
while warmth massages flushing, heated skin.
A careworn creature leaves as I evolve
into myself again, renewed within.
Such private pleasure is a joy sublime,
erotic moments soaking up the time.


Anticipation fondly curls the corners of my heart
in a reminiscent smile, like a connoisseur of art,
whose breathing staggers, stricken with enraptured memory
and I leave the day behind me in a dreaming reverie –
A fantasy exaggerated by a foolish hope:
the past suggests a future where lust and love elope.


The challenge of the chase
through a life where jungle chokes,
paints a purpose in rich hues
like amusing masterstrokes.
In the heedless rush for prizes,
whether matter, or of mind,
sacrifices are ignored
and supporters left behind.
When we follow in pursuit,
honing hunting crafts, we thrill
to a tutor’s guidance, leading,
in degrees, towards a skill.
When the hours are compressed
into moments while we strive
with intensity, we know
rainbow chasing is alive.
For the challenge of the chase
may be lust to consummate
but insatiable desire
can’t deny more targets wait.


Breathing an intoxicating
ozone lung elixir,
swirling sea aromas
like an ocean cocktail mixer…
Sinking to the toenails,
feeling suction on bare feet,
that kisses naked insteps
in a sandy massage treat…
Squinting at the blue-on-blue
where water laps the sky
and drowns all shallow musing
in a repetitious sigh…
This is when the dreamer
opens eyes that were resigned
and pushes back the cobweb habits
wrapped around the mind.


Guilt is a wind that whips up a fire,
feeding a secret, enflaming desire.
Guilt is a gust that flattens a dream,
echoing morals, a tormenting scream,
funneling fury of self-imposed blame,
condemning awakening joy into shame.
Guilt is a tempest, stirring up panic,
confusing, misleading, chaotic and manic,
savagely tossing all tender new growth-
excitement and terror combined into both.
Feeling all wrong and resistant within,
emotions so strong, a twister of sin,
guilt is a gale-force, internal law,
a cultural, crippling self-slamming door.


Happiness is having found a purpose,
a way to aim each day towards a goal.
Happiness is knowing through the effort,
that finishing shows who is in control.
Happiness rejects the limitations,
to spend more time indulging in success.
Happiness is facing every challenge,
hoping for perfection – more or less!


The morning saunters, free-lance, through your dreams
and sketches languid shadows on the ceiling,
as duvet-clouds are set aside, revealing
a day of frosted juice and soft icecreams.
A feline stretch and satisfaction gleams
in slitted eyes.  Awake… and you are feeling
like a princess, courtiers all kneeling,
presenting cushioned life in sunlit themes.
But self-indulgent moments are so rare
that guilt attempts to prosecute for stealing
this present, time.  There’s no deserving pleasure.
Be thankful while the Fates agree to share
a day of rest; no gift is more appealing.
Unwrap it slowly, savour at your leisure.


The woman found her place as caution’s tongue:
subservient, a minor part to act,
for “Think before you speak” was drummed-in young.
She offered an opinion based on fact
and couched her reservations in more tact
than any others.  Brushed aside, she tried
expanding consequences they’d implied.
“You think too much,” their bigotry announced
and hurt, her eyes withdrew while protest spurred
adrenal glands.  Emotions reared and pounced,
denial surged, reactions quickly stirred.
But these were thoughts that no one ever heard,
self-discipline locked feelings in a cage.
She’d ask and listen.  Men all crave the stage.


Close the lid on rational thought
wrought within a coffered mind.
Wind a way through acts untaught,
caught enchanted, lust inclined.
Find emotions that embrace
base sensations, pulsing flows.
Chosen pleasures blithely chase,
race with rapture in love’s throes.


All winding intertwining nether limbs-
the soothing slide of moving, rhythmic hymns.
All pendulous, voluptuous, he sips
while fingers mimic lingering of lips.
Suspended aching, waiting for each stroke,
immersed in heated pools where lovers soak,
until the pounding surf of drowning hearts
comes surging through them both – and need departs.


Memories, day nightmares,
re-playing to unlock
dark caverns in my cortex
where echoes howl and mock.
Infinity of worm holes,
a maze where I return,
a hiding place to cower,
enduring hellish burn.
Tunnels deep and lonely,
where spectres roam at will,
all feeding on my weakness
and savouring the kill.
Escape from life and living
to know this inner world,
means death to sanity and hope,
leaves souls all foetus-curled.


A flower wrapped within the bud
Holds hints of beauty yet to be;
A shattered heart is sealed shut:
An endless winter’s barren tree.
A baby curled within the womb
Holds trusting innocence when born;
A shattered heart is sealed shut
And can’t forget it’s ripped and torn.
Essentials crammed within a pack
Hold promises of carefree days;
A shattered heart is sealed shut:
A martyred pilgrim’s inner maze.
A moth-balled hoard within a trunk
Holds memories of days gone by;
A shattered heart is sealed shut
To mourn, unheard.  A silent cry.


The loaded dice of planned approach that we
acquire suggests some hazards in new visions.
We know established methods are the key
to less mistakes and more correct decisions.
Experience can only teach of past
effects. Things alter. Change a step and see
some giant moon-leaps reach a goal at last,
denied when thoughts were full of gravity.
It’s practical to be prepared unless
this limits us to paths somebody knows.
Discovery makes learning a success,
each difficulty is a choice. It shows
an optimist an opportunity.
(The pessimists resist this lunacy.)



When nightmares gallop over frozen thought,
a pounding heartbeat drones in false alarm
to paralyse a creature, spotlight-caught.
Disabled, I’m devoid of courage sought
in prayers; all fight or flight.  There is no balm
when nightmares gallop over frozen thought
to paralyse a creature, spotlight-caught.


A toddler brims with obstinate intent.
With sticks and carrots asses can be taught
to do what’s right but reason really ought
to teach concern before we preach “Repent!”
For children find the ways to circumvent
most trouble. Selflessness need not be sought
if no one sees. Too soon it’s only thought
of as a lesson -and the rules are bent.
A pedestal holds up a lofty throne
where halos can be polished all alone.
Below, aspiring fame begins to plan
some righteous self-improvement and it can
be certain no one utters a complaint:
It’s very tempting, acting like a saint.


His home is elegance defined, all curves and sparkling glass;
designer perfect, suavely shaped in simply stated class.
A genie promising romance and other, sensual themes,
yet filling rooms with memories – erotic, waking dreams
that parallel the fantasies he conjures. We embrace
his petal-velvet, lover touch; the rich chantilly lace,
the feathered silk in misty wisps, he wraps around our skin.
Our perfume is the artist who evokes Eros within.


Some moral fibre stretches in the dark
that offers us a cloak in which to stray.
Temptation circles, dolphin turned to shark,
as black and white merge into silver grey.
These shadows shine like treasures beckoning
but greys of in-between will only gleam
for tempting moments, then the reckoning:
when consequences shatter such a dream.
Beliefs are founded on a culture changed,
so many now pursue what once was wrong:
priority for choice is rearranged
in shady corners when the light’s too strong.
We weakly claim to satisfy a need,
betraying with a self-indulgent greed.


The nectar of emotion overflows –
her molten fears unfrozen in full force;
a tidal wave, then ebbing, as her woes
escape between damp lashes on their course;
A brimming sap, each seeping droplet lost
like precious pearls he’s stolen from her heart –
to live a life with passion there’s a cost,
when bonds of love and need are torn apart.
Remembrance of a thrilling timelessness
may temper tears as she recalls devine
fulfilment, such a flood of happiness,
that also lent her eyes a liquid shine.
To taste the wine of love needs sacrifice:
an altar will await the weeping price.


Her flesh is wrapped around her like a deep-napped velvet sheath
enveloping the naked spirit burgeoning beneath.
Voluptuous, her covering is modest, yet reveals
the promise of a rich, internal passion that she feels.
Discreetly self-reliant, strength is shrouded, yet it lends
her confidence; her values won’t erode with changing trends.
The image she presents is one of classic, timeless charm,
which veils private fervor with a chic and worldy calm.
Her beauty is enhanced by style, expertly designed –
a basic pattern altered with a subtlety refined
by passing time.  Adornment may distract with its allure
but inner, priceless virtues are the gems that will endure.


Yesterday I wished it over, having only just begun.
Today I wished my pruning task would finish with the sun-
set and that I had worn both leather gloves instead of one.
Tomorrow night I’ll wish for spring – each rose then set to stun.


A mermaid barely notices she’s wet,
immersed in water, just as I don’t feel
the atmosphere is false – there’s no regret
when I resort to letting words conceal
more truths, in decoy script, than I reveal.
I’d rather make you happy with a lie
than sink your fancies with an honest sigh.


My heart is swollen, bruised with tears
they fall, a private, masked ordeal.
They squeeze through wrenching, violent splits,
before renewed resolve can seal
the evidence.  I love.
There’s no escape, despite pretense;
the ache is like a hollow core,
expanding as I yield control.
I’m empty and I can’t ignore
the truth.  I need your love.
A lethargy imprisons me
in chains of hopelessness. I lie
in mourning, all defenses down
and face the feelings I deny.
Despondent.  This is love.


An apathetic person, one who sits upon the fence,
is judged as being selfish – yet aloofness may make sense:
A mind that can see both sides, while undrawn to either one,
will soon flee from that orbit, lured by some other sun.
Since problems in this world will only ever multiply,
if energy and purpose are within, why pass them by?
Society expects us all to fight another’s war-
are all the un-fenced there because they simply can’t ignore?
Or is it that some fill an empty life in such a way
because a person needs a cause to validate each day?
Not everyone seems able to respond to beauty’s muse
and passion may be found in fighting misery. We choose.
Whichever way is followed, each expresses living’s zeal-
subjectively compulsive, in selective realms, all real.
A person who’s creative may be sitting on a fence,
while in the mind, ideas evolve, inspired and intense.