Lines of Desire

Lines of Desire - WPress1

ancient Kama Sutra
intuitive Techniques

swooning Hearts
heaving Chests

pliant Earlobe
nuzzled Nape

supple Skins
huddled Hips

languid Lips
teasing Tongue

silken Shoulders
intent Fingers

fantasized Desires
harmonized Pleasures

brassy Buckle
lacy Gown

lavish Fingertips
vellus Hairs

limber Laps
fastened Clasps

musky Sweat
throbbing Pelvis

hidden Hairs
brazen Head

amorous Intentions
climactic Gratifications

fleshy Sack
engorged Shaft

limber Legs
ruddy Nipples

sodden Lips
elated Moans

braided Necklace
tensing Torso

lunging Buttocks
clenching Thighs

beeping Alarm Clock
vivid Dream
— forsaken.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2017 EWK

Poetic structure per stanza of ‘Lines of Desire’:

(verb or adjective) (Noun)
(verb or adjective) (Noun)

~ inspired by a vivid dream ~

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the Peach

the Peach Tricube - WPress1

©2017 EWK

(a Tricube poem is composed of 3 syllables per verse, 3 verses per stanza, and 3 stanzas in total)

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the Poet


the Poet

… does not have a vocalist’s melody;
to carry their legacy, standing alone on a nightclub stage.


… does not have a band of instruments; to strike their soulful innocence, upon a pulsing back-beated harmony.


… does not have a center ring, spotlight’s ellipse bright on a circus show of trapeze swings; under the big top on a warm summer’s night.


… does not have the celebration of skyrockets and bombastic flares; flung upon the sky of all other’s stares, with repercussive intent.


… does not build towers of steel and high spires; materialistic weight splayed in all desires, of windowpane’d reflections.


the Poet… does not see the world in narrowed intent; yet lives in correspondence of a limitless extent,
with a life
of pathways lit by words…

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2017 EWK

(a work-in-progress poem, critiques?)

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This Heart of Mine



The savior of others, I’ve always longed to be; never taking a moment to look at who’s saving me. Helping those who’ve never asked; nor know my soul, this is my heart aching burden.


To jump all in, or turn away?
This heart is broken, this is the way it is. And who cares? I’m not already so certain. What matters most? My mind decides with each new hope and person.

This heart of mine is all I have. Its warmth is felt from thoughts pulsing deep within.

When I gave you a piece of my mind and soul, my heart was so certainly broken. Shards of my love come scattering down cutting deep scars where we each have stepped and spoken.


I’ve caught the pieces of my heart before,
yours is not the first portion to be mistaken.
Shattered bits beat apart as this heart bleeds on. My love is often forsaken.

I’ve been lost, my burden goes on, blood stained dreams close around my heartbroken soul like a Broadway curtain.

An applause I have never asked; none that I shall ever receive. No praise, no not more. Not ever, for me. A new awareness I now perceive.


This lonely life needs none of this as I lift my head to cast away these tears. My burden gone, so goes all my fears. Simply toss my worries aside. To bathe in my cries. Drain me till dry.

I have come now to find. You are the one lost; even to me. I will stand naked, scars and scabs all exposed. Revealing this burden on me you have tossed and bestowed. I have come to discover and now we all know.

Certainly, no more need of your witty criticisms. I am stronger. A new me.


My heart has now spoken, as I have written.


~ an EWK Poe’em

©2017 EWK

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ignition starts
my key turns, a heart.

upright reclining seats
resonant radio, beats.

motor idle whirs
fluids warmed, swirl.

we ride as one
a moonlit, sun.

maneuvering swift curves
our bodies gently, swerve.

we never tire
our palms wet, perspire.

high octane fuel
pistons push, pull.

chromium hubbed wheels
ridged rubber treading, squeals.

exhaled mists dew in condensation
dashboard dials glowing rise, indications.

winding uphill road we climb
windows wide open, unwind.

turns approached with downward shifts
roadway lunging us weightless, dips.

tightened seatbelts hug our lap
crisscrossed tensions snug, relax.

pearly knobbed shift rod climax reaching
top gears now engaged, achieving.

mystical darkness of twilight parted
two hearts race on; in a romance, started.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2017 EWK

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‘Skip’ ~ an anticipation alliteration


our lips

our hands

our grip

our hips

our thighs

our hearts

~ an EWK alliteration Poe’em

©2017 EWK

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Poetic Lines


commonly subdued
thoughts with feelings are inscribed
in poetic lines

~ an EWK Haiku Poe’em

©2017 EWK

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wanting.                                    1


needing.                                    2


seeking.                                     3

naughty thoughts
lusty sighs
sweaty thighs

feeling.                                      4

pulse beats increased
fingertips touch
hairs entwined clutch

finding.                                      5

tingling head to toe
wetness drips from crotch
clothing coming off

reaching.                                   4

peaks of climax
entwined embrace
quickening pace

getting.                                      3

nipples stiff
taunting slaps
thrusting laps

sharing.                                     2


having.                                       1


                (syllables/line by stanza  ^  in parabolic pattern)

~ an EWK eroticized Poe’em

©2017 EWK

(inspired by a dream; a very good… dream)

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Sky Blue ~ a Haiku


sky blew from above
hear the whisk of angels wings
Earthly treasure found

~ an EWK Haiku Poe’em  

©2017 EWK

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Residues Unglued


R-E-S-I-D-U-E-S   U-N-G-L-U-E-D



~ an EWK Acrostic Poe’em  

©2017 EWK

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Hard questions with rounded corners…  

is… life a legacy?
is… death a destiny?
is… hope a habit?

is… church a choice?
is… religion a ritual?
is… faith a philosophy?

is… love a language?
is… war a weapon?
is… peace a promise?


Sure is.



//a reference of words:

legacy = anything handed down from the past, as from an ancestor or predecessor.

destiny = the predetermined, usually inevitable or irresistible, course of events.

habit = an acquired behavior pattern regularly followed until it has become almost involuntary.

choice = the act or instance of choosing.

ritual = an established or prescribed procedure for a religious or other rite.

philosophy = the rational investigation of the truths and principles of being, knowledge, or conduct.

language = a body of words and the systems for their use common to a people who are of the same community or nation, the same geographical area, or the same cultural tradition.

weapon = anything used against an opponent, adversary, or victim.

promise = an express assurance on which expectation is to be based.

/ Definitions by 

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My Guitar ~ Electric version


Metallic sheen of my limber cordage laid; tensioned and waiting your embrace, your hand grips and glides as fingertips press. Grasping me at length in just the right place.

Syncopated backbeats restless throb; my body hewn of firmly crafted curves with bright enameled knobs, wanting for you to rock as I want to roll. Pickups amped up and ready to lose control.

Volumes rise.
Intensity heightened.
Speakers tone hum a resounding reverberation.
Pedals mounted and plugged into various sockets.

Melodic tones you choose to instinctively override; your soul gathers the rhythm, as your hands strum and slide. Notes sound and pound our heartbeats pulsed beyond us now in pace and climaxed release.

Electrified cords plugged in and strewn along the floor; fingered chords of harmonic riffs, you play me as a song. So sensually shrill, so intense and so prolonged.

My tunes strummed and drawn out in amplified distortions; plucked passages and flicked frets compress, soaked upon your sweat soaked chest. Our performance defies all tangible proportions.

~ an EWK Poe’em  

©2017 EWK

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My Guitar ~ Acoustic version


Notes in tune as desired upon my strings; tightly bound in lithe response to your touch.

Flexing cords so sinewed and taut; songs uplift as strummed and plucked.

My lacquered body held upon your lap; a resonant source, our tonal emanations.

Fingertips on glistened inlaid frets; your tactile inclinations glide along my neck.

Tempos held to rhythmic beats; your tapping fingers instinctive grip and release.

Harmonic chords blend as climactic notes splay; improvised refrains of the passionate duets we have played.

~ an EWK Poe’em  

©2017 EWK

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PASSION by day & by night…


‘PASSION by day & by night…’
by Day…

Nonconformative necessities


by Night…

Nakedly nurtured needs

~ an EWK Acrostic Poe’em

©2017 EWK

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Morning ~ a Haiku


it’s morning again
sunrise comes but once a day
following the night

~ an EWK 5:7:5 Haiku Poe’em  

©2017 EWK

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The Right Stuff


So much thrust at twilight excites us.
The Right Stuff pushed upright ignites lust.

~ an EWK Tyburn Poe’em

©2017 EWK

(A Tyburn poem contains six verses of a 2:2:2:2:9:9 syllabic pattern. The first four lines rhyme and are descriptive words. The last two verses rhyme and incorporate the words paired of the first four lines as the 5th through 8th syllables.)

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©2017 EWK

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Geometric Growth ~ Haiku


~ an EWK Haiku Poe’em  

©2017 EWK

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Bound – Haiku


reeds between the twine
hayed stacks baled high in a barn
bound for Winter’s needs

~ an EWK 5:7:5 Haiku Poe’em  

©2017 EWK

(photo taken by me, on a scenic drive in the countryside)

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Time to Feed the Traps ~ Haiku


~ an EWK Haiku Poe’em  

©2017 EWK

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Harvest of Divorce ~ Haiku


~ an EWK 5:7:5 Haiku Poe’em   ©2017 EWK

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an Inoculation of Alphabetization Fantasization



Roll up your sleeve, a fantasy.

Kinky situation
Orgasmic celebration
Quiet meditation
Whispered admiration
as the termination of this alliteration.

[in • knock • you • lay’tion] n.
:to permeate (a person), as with ideas.

[al • fuh • bi • tie • say’tion] v.
:to arrange in alphabetical order.

[phan • tuh • sigh • say’tion] v.
:to create in one’s daydreams.

~ an EWK alliteration Poe’em   ©2017 EWK

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love imbued


skin dewed
ruddy hues
sultry mood
love imbued

lips hot
passions sought
limbs taut
naughty thoughts

looks glisten
kisses given
nipples stiffen
bodies pivot

feelings shared
fantasies bared
loving care
heartbeats paired


~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2017 EWK

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Just Looking ~ Haiku


©2017 EWK

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To the Point ~ Haiku


A new Photo Haiku poem.

(a work-in-progress)

The context here is intentionally heavy with ‘fusoku-furi’, or Japanese essense of metaphoric distancing; #1✔ …And syllabic structure of and respective of 5:7:5 phrasing (as in English); #2✔ …And there is a symbolic tension and tease to seasonality here; #3✔

So with the 3 of 3 Haiku values met, the moral of these 3 lines is: The contemplations of a writer or poet. Pencils as arrows, “getting to the point” introducing and stating the requirement of an archer of arrows (or as the writer equipped with pencils) must have their own tools ready when the moment comes; sharpened points. And furthermore; to actually take action, with much purpose. A line that is strung denotes the line of a strung hunting bow, a “bowstring”. Very necessary, full of tension and potential energy to have the arrow effectively take flight.

This second line of the Haiku similarly uses this context again to relate the tensions found by the writer to pull the energy into each line they must draw upon to have each “line” with the intentions they determine. If you see here at the first word of this second verse, it is also intentionally spelled as a personified “line’s”, to indicate the aspect of the person owning the need to use this force, using the inherent tensions it requires. And, to keep doing it, several times as each time is required.

Lastly, the final line in this Haiku defines a not particularly absolute solution to this context. It takes a priority to the “first” and also the “last” of this. So, that may be of two issues, yet also of just having one, the only. Imagine if you were the archer. You have, or are left with just one arrow to make your mark. You choose with even more considerable tension and consideration. The deer very much will run away from your one try if you hesitate, miss or not get the point to hit where required. As does a writer and poet considers their tool; the pencil, and is perhaps shown as these two as in the photo (both sharpened) one black, the other white… Yet, irrelevant in reality, it is the point that does draw on the experience and expression of each line to make the mark required. White of first starts and begins, black at last finishes, and ends. The choice made. It only takes one to get either done.

If you don’t draw back on your skills and let it strike a line of its own, no action nor effect of effort will ever be known.

~ Eric

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My Generation


my generation
varying shades of ages
autumn of our lives

~ an EWK 5:7:5 Haiku Poe’em  

©2017 EWK

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Nest Egg


Nest egg has been cracked
Holiday bills migration
Bank balance heads South.

~ an EWK 5:7:5 Haiku Poe’em

©2017 EWK

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Words that Cry


Words that cry for me
Tear stained in poetic verse
The rhymes of my life.

~ an EWK 5:7:5 Haiku Poe’em

©2017 EWK

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Waxing Poetic


waxing poetic
feelings softened as written
hard emotions drip

~ an EWK 5:7:5 Haiku Poe’em

©2017 EWK

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Discover her Story


She was like a book
Held deep within
Antiqued parchments
Inks impressed
Illuminated scripts.

Stories authored
And finely bound
With gilded accents
Embossed with filigrees
Dignified exquisiteness.

So subtlety
Self published
By her own discretion
Chapters enumerated
Appended in manuscript.

Her pages
With drama and mysteries
Shaded in solemn forbearance
Always and ever foreshadowed
In a definitive romance.

To have her now held
Is to behold a woman
Of ardent design
To have this chance to
Discover her story…

Is to love her,
— so sublime.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2017 EWK

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Turn the Page


Tick tock.
Time to check off another box.
Turn the page on another year gone.
It won’t be 2016 forever and even for long.

Welcome the New Year and ring it along.
Join along and sing your song.
Our future hopes enlighten.
Along our new horizons.

Flip the page on a brand new year.
Filled with desires and lessened fears.
So now is the passing of December.
I wish you a new year of joys and splendor!

~ Eric

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If I must Die


If I must die
With my final verse
In hand

Then let it be
A seed
Of inspiration

To other minds
Of youthful vigor
Whom might read

Of my life
And energies

For if I be known
Another day

I wish my fertile mind
To nurture the desires
Of poems not yet sown

Yearning to germinate
From the ground
I once found

My body
Fed upon

By the years
And flowing tears

The fields
I once trod
My dead poets’

Lived once
Now sod

– The end.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(my final verse of this year?)

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Royal Flush


on the throne
down the drain
clear the pipes
royal flush

~ an EWK Poo’em   ©2016 EWK

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Uphill Climb


Yes, you might risk dying, trying to;
Not climbing gets sighing, crying blues.

~ an EWK Tyburn Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(A Tyburn poem contains six verses of a 2:2:2:2:9:9 syllabic pattern. The first four lines rhyme and are descriptive words. The last two verses rhyme and incorporate the words paired of the first four lines as the 5th through 8th syllables.)

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Kissing cures our restless, breathless ways
Embracing our reckless fetish craze.

~ an EWK Tyburn Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(A Tyburn poem contains six verses of a 2:2:2:2:9:9 syllabic pattern. The first four lines rhyme and are descriptive words. The last two verses rhyme and incorporate the words paired of the first four lines as the 5th through 8th syllables.)

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’empathy’ ~ (words alone cannot describe…)

Far away?
Not so much.
Could be US.
No answer?
No question,
No reason.
Life changing.
Hear their pleas!
How do we?


~ an EWK Tricube (×2)+1 Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(a Tricube is a poem of contemporary style & composed of 3 syllables per verse, 3 verses per stanza, and 3 stanzas in total)

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A Crisscrossed Crush


He wished she could feel his crush
within his eyes.

She wished he could feel her crush
within her thighs.

Each wished the other could feel their crush within their sighs.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Kawasaki Kringle


Could a crimson caped & capped Kris Kringle carry considerable Christmas curiosities as he can while casually commandeering a chromed, classic ‘Kawasaki’ cruising cross-country to considerable consecutive criss crossings to console continentally covetous kids?

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2014 EWK

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Sad Santa Seized


Sad Santa seized since sleigh riding so soon since sipping cinnamon Schnapps.

Several serious certificates signed as so surely a shame since he was sighted sleighing so shifty & so speedily.

Sheriff Steven Sirocco secures silver shackles so suspected Santa stays soberly sequestered & seated in his solitary cell in the slammer so sobriety is surely sought.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2014 EWK

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Santa’s Swimsuit Sweethearts


Santa shown swiftly streaking shallow shorelines in soaked skivvies.

Stylishly slender swim-suited sweethearts seen sharing his stride surely starts his smile; so certainly stashed inside his silvery ‘stache.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2014 EWK

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Some Days


Some days are like an episode of ‘Jeopardy!’
With the volume played in muted silence.
All answers read on a blue screen.
Never a certain question heard,
just the often occasional
and questionable
static spoken
from within
your mind.
As if Alex

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(inspired by a game show)

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Held in a Clamp


Held in a clamp.
Body and brain quiet screaming ramps.
Migraine headache’s consuming hurt.
So much so that I just can’t stand.
This sort of pain is nature’s curse.

My mind becomes a radar screen.
Spinning strobe as the weather careens.
Surrounding silence around so golden.
A dark room cascades in visual sparks.
While this happens my moments are stolen.

Hot and cold with nausea aches.
Wishing the storm within would abate.
Always determined to push past defeat.
A pause of patience just to get another chance.
Another day comes to find some relief.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK
(inspired by a migraine headache)

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A Chill in the Air


A chill in the air at night does sting,
rain from above on a tin roof pings.

Flickering flames cast a shadowed eclipse,
candle waxes molten flows hot and drips.

Bellowing swift wind from outside blows,
smoky warmth of fireplace embers glow.

Old dog lays down in slumber and snores,
porch light sways and shines beyond the door.

Pot of hot stew on the stove top bubbles,
love is kept warm with our intimate snuggles.

~ an EWK Poe’em ©2016 EWK
(inspired by a winter night)

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A Moment too Late


when I first met you

my eyes looked into your heart,

a moment too late

~ an EWK Haiku Poe’em   ©2016 EWK
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Keep a stiff

times get
to be hard

you need to
dive in

on tight
in the night

you’re all

for it all

and out
all around

the bases

home run
every time


can do

go for what

~ an EWK (3:2:1) Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

Triple-lined stanzas with a descending & ascending (3:2:1) syllabic pattern.

Inspired by passion:
(Passion does not have a singular meaning, it must contain a duality of existence; its greatness occurs when these two senses merge.)



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We’re an enigma.
Passions change as seasons do.
Hot sweat drips from ice.
Emotions buried so deep;
smothering our heart’s desire.

~ an EWK Tanka Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(inspired by restless desires)

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Slightly Sway


Hold me tight.
Subtle moans,
throbbing tones.
Clasp your body to mine;
as we slip into the night.

Feel the pulsing beat.
From the dance floor,
to the bed boards.
As we slightly sway;
dance with me between the sheets.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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A Taste of Honey


a taste of honey
sweetened glaze of desire
tongue tip teasing lips

pearled grace enfolds
glistened dew of loveliness
fount of love’s rewards

~ an EWK Haiku (×2) Poe’em   ©2016 EWK
(inspired by a 1963 song by ‘The Beatles’)

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Happy Thanksgiving!

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Shadows of My Life


I have written my thoughts.
      Often as a feeling
      Inspired by the urge of subtle meanings
To give life to words.
After living and then soon afterwards.
      Will you sort through
      Stuff that holds certain value
The day I die?
Will you cry?
      Over thoughts and things
      Found there for you that bring
Emotion fringed with tenderness.
Time’s now gone of our togetherness.
      Loved was the life we led
      Discovered by us before we were wed
So many memories to comprehend.
Filled with assorted odds and ends.
      Junk drawers to suppose
      Assorted keepsakes all disclosed
Opened up in all sorts of fashions.
Rhyming of verse was once my passion.
      As I wrote these words upon my heart
      To this end I now impart
So my poems might speak as my eulogy.
I loved and lived with such integrity.
      A quiet man; I was, now forever more.
      Preach it once like Poe, then nevermore.
My words at my graveside; so ever solemn.

Shadows of my life… in worded columns.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK
(inspired by a funeral)

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A Stable Table


You sat there
As I sit on my chair
A setting just so for two
Served for us to dine so debonair.

The ambiance I find detracts
From this canted sway I counteract
Jostling of such formalities
Startling my senses as I react.

This place is set
Upon social etiquettes
An elbow upsets and dips
Tilting the hems of your linen dress.

Spilling of my wine
Once more this time
It’s the little ways
You are so inclined.

I’m seeking some stability
I must call the Maitre d’
You can’t keep me quiet,
“A stable table.” — “Please.”

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(inspired by a wobbly dining table)

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Road tripping sunsets
Tree lined streets staccato played
Shade : Sun : Shade : Sun : Shade
Evening comes as headlights due
Night arrives, I’m homeward bound.

~ an EWK Tanka Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(inspired by a road trip)

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Yo. Read some Poe.


Yo. Read some Poe.
Does anyone really read Poetry anymore?

We amp-up all info-rushed in blinking blurs of tapping texts of obscured austerities upon our digitized screens.

What of the classics, the poets of all-time?
Whose stage-showed verbiage taught the huddled populace to sight-read as a rhyme. When candlelit nights were all shadowed within mystically dramatized notions of commonplace wants and worries of calamity?

So what of reading Poetics in the days of Poe or Shakespeare with their soliloquizing ways? Once upon a time… was trending then. “Yo. Dat.”

Can we truly read between the lines of such legacies from good fellows, so long since; dead? What matters how now, what is; read? Parchment and pen once; bled…

Within these present days infused with instant messaging and a text-typed life blinked at a hip-hop techno tempo, what verse would ever catch our eye? Choose a font, use u for you, or smack an emoji for dramatic “emphasis of persona”. Perhaps?

Hmm?    😎

Work-in-progress. this.



~ an EWK “Go with the Flow” Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Spooky Spirits


Spooky spirits sweep several sooty stains of souls sent spiraling skyward since suddenly succumbing to silently suffocating subconscious séances.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2014 EWK
(inspired by a Halloween night)

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Emotion Contained


Just suppose we were to ask a sculptor; “what the clay knows”?, or ask a musician; “what the notes know”?, or the painter; “what the brush knows”?

The tools of the artist; yield to a part of the work, in the act of creation.

Is poetry a creation of art?
As if the forms of words and verse were a “sculpture of words”, a “melody of assonance”, or a “vision of figurative nuances”?

Are words the poets’ media; the tools of this creation?

Is the finalized verse the essence of expression; of and from the experience?

What then, is a “poem”?
As a sculpture on a stand, a song on a stage, a masterpiece of painting bounded within a frame?

Or a fleeting emotion, contained.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(inspired by a question)

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Hot Rod


Caution: slippery when wet.
Curves come on a wet night: ride. 
Shifting: gear shaft: fast.
Dare not follow a map: gasp.
Lean in and feel the grip: slip.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK


“It’s the shapes of the curves that matter, and not their origins…”

~ Kurt Vonnegut; author
from, ‘The Universal Shapes of Stories’


“I didn’t discover curves… I only uncovered them.”

~ Mae West; actress

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Calmed this Night


Daughter of the Dreamworld.
Mother of the Earth,
Sister of the moonlit sky.

Clouded airs above us
Ever changing silhouette.
Peaceful times and comforts.

Calmed this night at rest.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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this wind


this wind,

mills to
paddle and spin 
weather or not
in vane.

we feel the blows
turned perpetually
to its force
of nature,


gears winding
through years,

this wind.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK
(inspired by a breeze)

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We are Electric Addicts by Nature


The power went out as the storm came in
Stumbling in rooms so suddenly opaque
Uninvited nighttime enters within
Reaching blindly, attempting to locate
A candle lit or flashlight would abate.

Feeling this becalming intensified
Shun the days of old that has come inside
Life now needs lists of emergency preps.
Electric addicts we are, yet deny
Modern conveniences need an outlet.

~ an EWK ‘Dizain’ Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

/// Poetic structure & history:
A ‘Dizain’ is a poem containing 10 lines, with each line having exactly 10 syllables each. Each line must end with an end-rhyme pattern of ‘ABABBCCDCD’. The ‘Dizain’ poem style was first introduced into form by French poets of the 15th and 16th centuries. Written in “Français” Renaissance dialect, of course.

// Reference of my inspiration:
I feel I could certainly write more verse and expressions within this spontaneous inspiration I had regarding the concept of experiencing a power outage in a storm. The challenge to compose an modern consequence into an old-world ‘Dizain’ served as my initial inspiration. Since this is my first attempt at such an old structure of verse; I have respectfully contained my imagination, this time!

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Breathe Words


I breathe words.
To read is to inhale.
To write is to exhale.
Gone are the days,
of holding my breath.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Wanting This


Wanting of
her wishful,
teased-tough love.

Whispered kiss
taunted with,
her pout lips.

Hushed breathing
tempos rise,
hearts beating.

Finding bliss
two as one,
wanting this.

Clips unclasped
firmly held,
in your grasp.

Clothing strips
desired wants,
passion drips.

Glistened skins
are impressed,
deep within.

Tensed tongue licks
lapping up,
gnarled tips.

Gasping sighs
teardrops fall,
hazeled eyes.

Tightened grip
fingertips clench,
grinding hips.

Wanting this.

~ an EWK Tricubic (×3+1/2) Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(inspired by, the feeling)

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New Shoes


A boy’s new shoes
a pair,
So few.

What a blessing of care
how good,
So rare.

He kept his prayers just as he should
so long,
He would.

Old shoes tired as he played along
wartime stories,
Ragtime in songs.

His heart dreams of the Yankees glories
the Babe at bat,
No more worries.

News reports of continued combat
father’s goodbye,
Wanting him back.

Laces untied
big shoes to fill,
Daddy has died.

Remember him still.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

/ Reference of my inspiration for ‘New Shoes’:
This photo (by Gerald Waller) first appeared in LIFE Magazine on December 30, 1946. It features a six-year-old boy in the moment he had received a new pair of shoes at a post-war orphanage; as donated to him by the Junior Red Cross of America.

// Poetic structure of ‘New Shoes’:

4 syllables : Rhyme ‘A’
2 syllables : Rhyme ‘B’
2 syllables : Rhyme ‘A’

6 syllables : Rhyme ‘B’
2 syllables : Rhyme ‘C’
2 syllables : Rhyme ‘B’

8 syllables : Rhyme ‘C’
2 syllables : Rhyme ‘D’
2 syllables : Rhyme ‘C’

9 syllables : Rhyme ‘D’
4 syllables : Rhyme ‘E’
4 syllables : Rhyme ‘D’

9 syllables : Rhyme ‘E’
4 syllables : Rhyme ‘F’
4 syllables : Rhyme ‘E’

9 syllables : Rhyme ‘F’
4 syllables : Rhyme ‘G’
4 syllables : Rhyme ‘F’

4 syllables : Rhyme ‘G
4 syllables : Rhyme ‘H’
4 syllables : Rhyme ‘G’

5 syllables : Rhyme ‘H’


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End of Summer

Written by me just a year ago; at the end of Summer. As the approach of my favorite season of Autumn occurs it reminds me of the many sensations this time of year creates in our memories. Please enjoy! ~ Eric

Crumbs of Expression

Laying on my back-side at the knoll of a grassy hilltop. The sunlight streams at lowly shadowing angles from just above my ever-so-old, slate roofed, clapboard homestead farmhouse that sits along the timber-railed fence. This fence was built by my father with me. This fence runs between the long dirt driveway and the shallow stream where the many clusters of wildflowers of the surrounding fields have come to grow.

Firm and fertile northeastern soils are speckled with clumps of granite stone, speckled with glints of mica as the sunlight teases crevices of each to express dazzling multicolored hues as though the entire night’s sky Apple Orchardshown stars within the face of each and every rock. So many other stones as these will remain buried to sleep quietly below moss and brush. This land has not been plowed as so many rugged Yankee farms may have been. This land my family has…

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E Pluribus Unum



Cover ups.
Choices tough.

Reds or Blues?
Donkeys too?

Harsh insults.
Campaign stops.
Poll results.

In debates.

Hang on tight.
Voter’s rights.
All uptight.


Whom ever…

New Limo.
China plates.

E pluri-
Bus unum.
… History.

~ an EWK Tricubic (×3)+1 Poe’em    ©2016 EWK

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Solemn Autumn


Crisp, crushed, chaotic leaves,

My steps taken,

My feet; the mortar’s pestle,

Kaleidoscope of abstract art,

Nature’s unframed canvas; so infinite,

~ an EWK ‘work-in-progress’ Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Inside Out


I wear my shirts inside out.
My pants; I often do too.
Seams all exposed as sewn,
And those scratchy little labels;
All on the outside, shown.

It’s a habit of my expression
I often wear my clothes outside in.
Global destinations are tailor-made to my indiscretions.
To have my buttons held within,
Makes a wholesome fashion statement.

All I can say,
If you see me today,
My ties come from ‘Tahiti’, and
My shirt says, ‘Made in the Philippines’.

— As sewn on the seams, so it seems.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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A Leftover Limerick


I dreamed of sailing in a regatta 
In an ocean of cheesy ricotta
It was not as you’d think
I didn’t sleep a wink
Up at night with a plate of lasagna.

~ an EWK Limerick Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(inspired by a late-night leftoever lasagna)

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King for a Day


King for a Day.
All the Pawns would play.
Shape and stature,
White or black lacquer?
What does it matter,
if you strut along so dapper?

Take this moment by the horns,
Wearing that crown of gilded thorns.
Slide along this board of squares,
Woven hues of contrasted colors are so paired.
Should you dare take the Queen from her lair?
Perhaps one of us shall become the next heir!

Flaunting out our fantasies as us with blunt-faced heads.
Consider our each move, watch out to where you tread.
Others are watching and anticipate,
The big hand comes down to orchestrate.
        Play out this parade,
                as such is our charade,
                        make a move and act with haste.

As any Chessman knows,
from mere Pawns to the noble Knights.
We can’t stay too long; never in the same place.
When the voice from above shouts out loud;
it’s over and out right then,
back to the box once again,
when you hear the final shout, “Checkmate”.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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This Old Place


This old place has become a worn relic
Avoiding the urge to redevelop
Farms often sold with great haste
Seldom is this sort of place
Left alone nature’s charm can envelop.

~ an EWK Limerick Poe’em  ©2016 EWK

/// Irish Limerick line-style used in ‘This Old Place’
Verse #1: 10 syllable / A rhyme
Verse #2: 10 syllable / A rhyme
Verse #3: 7 syllable / B rhyme
Verse #4: 7 syllable / B rhyme
Verse #5: 10 syllable / A rhyme

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As Thoughts are Sentenced

As Thoughts are Sentneced - WPress1

Hostile words released.
One word follows another,
As thoughts are sentenced.
Both hearts burned eternally
In smoldering emotions.

Repression by words
Never polite; soon ignite.
Formed in passive-aggressions.
Time heals all wounds: don’t they say?

Much could be spoken,
Often too much is revealed.
Best to leave alone.
Seek out people who will feel
What you stand for; hope restored.

~ an EWK Tanka (×3) Poe’em  ©2016 EWK

(inspired with the hope that such maligned relationships would be revealed to have better options soon and certainly explored; Peace.)

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What Does?

What Does - WPress1

What does beautiful feel like in the dark?

What does sexy sound like in silence?

What does time look like without a clock?

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Story of My Life

Story of My Life - WPress1

Stacks of memories

Some pages stuck together

Story of my life.

~ an EWK 5:7:5 Haiku Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Pineapple Daydreams

Pineapple - WPress1

Pineapple daydreams
Potent yellowing within
Best eaten when ripe.

~ an EWK Haiku Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Scores with Tens

Sores with Tens - WPress1

A gold medal Olympics gymnast.
Scores with tens, no limits of fitness.

~ an EWK Tyburn (+1) Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Broken-down Chevy

Broken-down Chevy - WPress1

Everyone push, steady! — all ready?
This broken-down Chevy is heavy.

~ an EWK Tyburn Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(A Tyburn poem contains six verses of a 2:2:2:2:9:9 syllabic pattern. The first four lines rhyme and are descriptive words. The last two verses rhyme and incorporate the words paired of the first four lines as the 5th through 8th syllables.)

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Stir Vigorously

Stir Vigorously - WPress1

Life is bittersweet
Add spoonfuls of dreams per day
Stir vigorously

~ an EWK 5:7:5 Haiku Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Flexible - WPress1

Fold me here
Take this end and line it up
with that one
I’m flexible
I bend
Place your hand here
and press down
Slide it along
and crease me
Crisp edges
There you’ve got it
Tab A into Slot B?
I’m good with that
It’s all a matter
of whatever you make
of it ya’ know
All parts and pieces
Like a kid’s toy box
all tumbled around
with stuff
Or maybe a box
of assorted chocolates
If it encourages you
to just do your thing
Maybe give that part
a bit of a shove
Round peg in a
square hole
They sometimes say

Just remember
to unfold me
And leave me in an upright
When you’re done.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Tree of Life

Tree of Life - WPress1

The clouds of this life you see
Have passed us by in shape-shifted serenity
You don’t always look up, as it’s there I would be.

This tree of life has become your home.
It’s branches have grown with time
A century has passed since it’s seed was sown.

As you sat right there upon your chair
Sheltering weather, and winds, and rain
I’ve traveled not far from here or there.

My journey beyond this life’s mortal coils
Has returned me to you as now I’ve fallen.
Our love so firmly rooted within this soil.

If ever you doubted my existence
All fears were surely a fictional fantasy,
These clouds of doubts have all but cleared; you’re now honored with my acquaintance.

The eternal End.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Beach Water

Beach Water - WPress1

Brought her
As the beach got hotter I brought her
Boyfriend and my daughter iced water.

~ an EWK Tyburn Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(A Tyburn poem contains six verses of a 2:2:2:2:9:9 syllabic pattern. The first four lines rhyme and are descriptive words. The last two verses rhyme and incorporate the words paired of the first four lines as the 5th through 8th syllables.)

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Satin Sheets

Satin SHeets - WPress1

I don’t have a typewriter;
my fingertips on lettered keys,
the old fashioned kind of way…

I don’t have a pencil or a pen;
my thoughts I would inscribe,
my restless mind keeps dropping them…

I don’t have a sheet of paper;
simple and so smooth,
and laid out bare upon my stare…

I have these words;
said in my whispered breath,
nestled at the nape of your neck,
traced upon your skin,
my spoken wish begins,
transcribed upon your curves,
touching so many tingling nerves,
my message for you is now complete.

Written on the parchment of our flesh.

No need to speak;
as our hearts skip a beat.
Your hands plunging deeper,
beneath our satin sheets.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Spit and Polish

Spit and Polish - WPress1

Sailors aligned, in readied formation.
Standing proudly side by side.
Donned in white caps,
Poised for pending inspections.
As the threat of invasion looms near.

Many stand direct and true,
Others acquired a postured skew.
Some dappled with silvery medals,
A few tarnished with residues of the past.
There they stand – and wait for the attack.

From behind the enemy approaches,
Clad in untainted attire.
Brandishing various weapons of burnished steel,
As the advance is so surely made.
Beckoning to enter a reluctant gateway.

No where to go now,
They are all so exposed.
Steadfast sailors hold steady and stand fast,
The opposition is pressing the assault.
One after another are picked off and painstakingly ransacked.

Sounds of scraping as harpoons are flung,
Plunging and burnishing ensues in wide array.
Water flows and ebbs and floods away.
Not much longer can these warriors endure.
Do they remember the drill?

End to this torture is in sight.
The intruder has withdrawn in retreat.
A truce is called and hostilities cease,
“Rinse and spit please.”
Such fortunate results once again…
No cavities!

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Tour de France

Tour de France - WPress1

Tour de France
Road racing

Mountain course
Time trials
Village runs

Cheering crowds

Three weeks long

Team leader
Sprinter lead

Finish line

Maillot jaune!
(’yellow jersey’)

~ an EWK Tricube (x2) Poe’em   ©2016 EWK
(inspired by the tradition)

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Army Boots

Army Boots - WPress1

I once had a pair of Army boots.
They were tired and worn from so much use.
My mother had died,
She had them outside.
They’re mine; soon as I get the laces loose.

~ an EWK Limerick Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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‘Over the Top’ ~ Battle of the Somme

Last Post - WPress1

The bugle call had cried.

Men charged forward and there they fought. 

Serving for their nation, by the giving of their lives.

The Battle of the Somme.

Hundred years now gone in our past; on this day, the first of July.

Courage and honor contested, 7:30 that morning at dawn.

The Great War raged along evermore until the end was penned in Versailles.

‘RETREAT’! The whistle soundly resumes…

Politics of the world had collided as people were merely consumed.

Attacks drawn upon defenses of trench and barricades.

Scars cut into distant landscapes; with bloodshed of our mortal wounds.

Months of perpetual devastation spent as society’s legacy was repaid.

The bugle then solemnly replied.

The battle was then over, soldiers had given their utmost.

That moment stands in eternal glory, as our memories will always reside.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK
(inspired by an appreciation of history)

/// Historical reference:

> ‘Last Post’ bugle call (a video commemoration)

‘Last Post’ is a bugle call. Considered to have been sounded at the conclusion of battle as a calling of troops to resort to their posts for rest and for individual soldiers that may be stranded within the battlefield (‘No Man’s Land’) to consider this as a signal to seek aid, attempt to join their own defensive lines, or consider it as a homage to their suffering and final loss.

> “Battle of the Somme’ (a video documentary)

The Battle of the Somme was considered one of the most devastating battles of World War One. The initial battle charge of the British/French and Allied forces into the ‘No Man’s Land’ battlefront started promptly at 7:30 am on the morning of July 1, 1916. This first offensive attempt by the Allies was preceded for as many as 5 days of artillery barrage of well-over a million munition shells into the front line and surrounding trench fortifications of the German troops prior to the 1st of July. The Battle of the Somme continued on for 141 consecutive days, resulting in immense loss of lives and debilitating injuries in the millions. This event was neither the beginning, nor the end of the war.

The 1st of July, 2016 marks the Centennial Remembrance of this historic event.

~ Eric

Poppies - WPress1

The tradition and use of the ‘poppy of remembrance’ flower was initially inspired by the poem ‘In Flanders Fields’; written by John McCrae in May 1915, as a symbol of the sacrifices and loss of soldiers who fought in World War 1.

In memory… for eternity.

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Shaft of Light

Shaft of Light - WPress1

Shaft of light shines down
Without a shadow of doubt
Of nature’s beauty.

~ an EWK Haiku Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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RGB - WPress1

Colors of three.

Draw a line
And let it be
Colored with life,
Drawn by hand, from me.

A graceful curve
Splotches of sheen
A shadow’s darkened cast,
Brief glimpses of my own mystery.

Blank pages achingly beckon
Considering what might not be seen
Colored from living for life’s inspirations,
As only a Poet or an Artist can be.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

/// A revisional consideration:
Stanza 3 / Line 4, “Brief glimpses of my own misery.”

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A Circular Situation Alliteration

A Circular Situation Alliteration - WPress1

Camera captured convergent and congruent crossings containing combined congregations of coincidentally collaborative and conciliatory colloidal configurations.

Circumstances of suspended scattering of shimmering circular shapes circumflex and surround several situations of superimposed circumferential circumstances.

~ an EWK alliteration Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Turn the Gears

Turn the Gears - WPress1

Once your mind is turning and churning
You begin a yearning for learning.

~ an EWK Tyburn Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(A Tyburn poem contains six verses of a 2:2:2:2:9:9 syllabic pattern. The first four lines rhyme and are descriptive words. The last two verses rhyme and incorporate the words paired of the first four lines as the 5th through 8th syllables.)

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Do Drops Desire?

Do Drops Desire - WPress1

Can we recall the first time?
That moment of our realization; that initial release to these unexpectedly unexplored realms. Plunging freely within that moment; compelled onwards by our own momentum, a gravitational tug downward. Destined to become a fluid muddling of varied paths and memories.

For so long since that first time we surged along a common and collective path, held cohesively tight in a certain purpose; the familiar darkness we shared; as sent nudging along in a cylindrical fashion of common fluidity. Dynamic all together, pressed ahead to seek an open-ended purpose to pursue: to escape.

Our earliest memories had us cast away from the clouds of a storm. Formed as fallen teardrops into the midst of a wilderness to be found. Our first time: our falling, of release, and then our inevitable recollection.

The allure of this new escape; now found. As we are aware of any recognition to that primal, first freedom: we had now discovered, once again. Different; now so desirous, as a destiny. Spewed forth and free: just to be; this moment, this essential element… of life.

Liquid liberation. A deluge of dizzying desires, naive notions, formed to an ocean, castaway upon wetted crests: endless?

Soon restrained into the reservoir of repression, sent along for human consumptions.

Pipelined in perpetuity, for so very long.
Since now given a flight, into a dizzying delight.
Where had we been?
So suddenly sprayed.
Where had we gone from each other?
An awakened array.

I felt myself release!

Set apart, to myself in my most essential essence. A simple ball, coiled into a fetal mass of contentment. Me as one, for once in free fall, as a saturated sphere of self-containment. Self-propelled into an uncommon void as gravity surely claims us. This was one essential release of moment, not felt since first formed.

Having since been flung from a pricked open-ended spout with an indiscernible velocity. Cascaded into a curvaceously distended arc. Gravity’s choice of path and pursuit grasped us all; set to plunge and saturate ourselves entirely upon any exposed and receptive surface.

We had this journey; such a sensation of place; our path so certainty marked, leaving glistening remnants of our essential essences behind. So vivid and tactile; such a dream, a most delirious fantasy?

We found ourselves returned to a common commotion, in our communal motion having been sent along once more? Yet, all of us are back as though the same; yet so surely we had our moment of spontaneity, such a tease and a desirable treat!

Let’s hear each other.

If this was to become our dream, may we wish to meditate and summon it all once again? We have such a story to tell.

Let us all pay honor to this experience; this transformation of our second falling, our release…

The poet and prophet ‘Rumi’ once defined our reformations within his teachings since the 13th century:

“You are not a drop in the ocean.
You are the entire ocean, in a drop.”

We must continue this conversation, this awareness of our existence. We share a common essential element; we are water, born of Earth, and air and of the infinite sky.

Until this new day, I have not known such a pleasure. This newly found landscape of my latest reception, I cannot perceive alone of it’s entirety. Of all of its ethereal essence?

If I may start…
“As my stream of consciousness began to flow, I clamored for a sense of place, having no previous perspective of such sultriness. I found that span of weightlessness; as we have now commonly shared, to be so brief and serene. Only in the days of such free abandon I had recalled as I and we all were born from the sky, puddling amongst vaporous clinging to each other since our earliest creation. This plummet was felt with such contrast to anything since we had all been so confined before and since. And, yes ever so suddenly I felt myself met with a dynamic dance upon various determining surfaces. Dropping down this time felt like I had fallen upon the tall grasses that swayed about the storm of my first release. Sodden and tenuously soaked strands of bronzed-toned grasses caught my fall; as was similar this time. Oh however this time I glided! Clinging downward along sinewy pairings of final fibers to be found to the last just to find a barren slope as if a stone was exposed bound within the gilded furrows. Stone so warmed and tinged as if sun had shown and warmed its mass throughout. As then I glided more swiftly to entangle a while to a bristled crest. There I daringly dangled, as I envisioned crystalline pools of a captivating reflectance spun with a glimpse of luscious lapis hues. My vision then blurred to boundaries beyond with such a force then sent me further, to be teasingly grazed by an outcropping of ebonized plumes fluttering in a syncopated array along the rim of the twin oculi ponds. From this as may described as such, as I trickled along and leaped over a chasm bounded by most subtle crests, reddened blushes denoted the crevasse I leaped as I tumbled along my destined, flowing paths. I once again attained another descent, as my concerns for loss of further adventure to continue were so soon quenched as I suddenly plunged upon a most generously amassed pairing of precipices. These landmarks punctuated a glistening strand of the softest dew strewn as though each glance I made was a hypnotic oasis of my own wetness, a sodden dampening. I felt the intensity of warmth here as if the daylight had simmered the sands from the heart and heat of a sun buried as a treasure unseen, yet certainly felt. This passage was found so pristine and presided upon, my course ran too swift. Had I to choose to rest and cleave myself to mount either summit? I would have made such a pilgrimage! Yet, I am perpetually pushed among and fall within the furrows of this reposed ravine. I cling and lave to the slightest tinges of salinity that tends to emanate from these glistening contours, ever so subtlety accentuated with rivulets of taunt, undulated membrane. Cascading further along my experience, I swirl about a generous moment at the precipice of an rimmed crater whose eroded and gently rifted rim glances to an elliptical base so serenely gnarled and hewn to receive my arrival. Yet, as I enjoyed this coveted warmth of enclosure now found; my downward destiny was determining my departure. I felt my dewy and desirous path escalate as I persisted and plunged along, mingling with masses of other’s of our perspirative persuasion. Assemblages of fluids from above and about us now cascaded in common. Ebbing along varied contours we carelessly clung and rappelled rapidly as we taunted, teased and tickled. We trickled and glided upon wisps of whiskered plumes, increased en’ masse as we tended to mount a monumental mound. Gliding within flourishes of fluffs and feathering fleece. Slowing my pace as I arrived to this bristled precipice. Now nestled within a notched and supple crevasse. I was sultrily smothered and saturated within supple and sedimented secretions. Flourishing ever deeper into a variegated vestibule of furled nodules and nooks. Imbibing our essence with an exquisite and exotic intinction. Expelled from this enraptured exploration, I was jettisoned to journey beyond this landmark along the length of a limb evermore and delicately dowsed sliding along this slick and sinuous bough to furthermore and finally to the ground as I could consider. Hardened squares of multicolored patterning, sloped surely to surrender us to the distant drain.”

And you? Your story…?
“As far as I could tell, I fell from above and fell to below. I grazed the slopes of a pillowy hill. I clung to the tenderness of this terrain, only to slip from where I wished to remain. I then glided between and then beneath. I smelled a musky tartness just out of my reach. Puckered and potent; I must have seen, a rear view ride beyond to what was unclean. From this back slide so brief, I ended my drop to someone’s feet.”

Quite interesting. And your story to tell…?
“I dropped from drip to drain. Hit the ground below hard, and entered the same. No pleasures, no puckers, not even a sniff, my drop was all over and ever so swift.”

Aside from the last, could we imagine what could surpass? A land so revered, we could describe it for years. I’m not so certain we could return there in person. What ever it may be I will dream it more; if just once, for me!

Our legacy had come true, our exposure was something new. We first landed upon flowers; to arrive next… in a shower. Resting now in reservoirs and pipes another adventure out would be nice. Let’s all get some rest. Let’s make the most of our wet dreams, that we shall never forget.

~ an EWK eroticized Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

/// My inspirations of ‘Do Drops Desire?’:
1) The initial concept of this prose/poetic verse had to have been first formed when I was so young as to imagine the common routine of taking a shower as if it were an auto body (car) painting and polishing booth. Entering a shower and getting dressed again was a make-believe of stripping an old car chassis of its dirt and paint, to proceed with the process of arriving out of the bathroom with a new paint job (clothing) and detailing done.
2) Furthermore; as I matured and this youngest of childlike fantasies of a kid/car wash faded, I then wondered of high-tech data collection systems that the Communist Russian KGB would have deployed. Perhaps infusing our water supply systems with spatial-sensing water drops? The clouds over the Siberian Peninsula would be seeded with micro-cameras and multi-sensitive, location-positioning computer chips. Destined to be released and rained down across America; unknowingly. These drops would drop and soon cover and coat everything, including us naked as we even ever took a common shower, or even brushed our teeth. ‘They’ would even; soon enough, find out about every boat, fish in our lakes, and even the fillings in our teeth.
3) And; at last, ‘Do Drops Desire?’ had to come to an end… In my internalized search to select my title I found it teasing toward the intentional ambiguity of my contextual transformations. The photo found on that I soon did edit, spun and encouraged my first composition of this story. Taking the initial drop of raindrops to a release, slightly sexualized, more so romanticize. Self-realization, containment and unresolved destiny. The first paragraphs define simply an imaginable release of a raindrop. Some tinges of sexual metaphors of a first encounter, or a foreshadowing of a primal, nocturnal release. Then the narrative, reflective versing that continues depends heavily on the spokesman, ‘bard’ of the drops as he attempts to bring his fellow drops back into a contemplative acceptance of his own journey (or perhaps a dream?, and one he enjoyed exploring so much he desires to have again!) and the others to share their own stories (yet, not as eloquent as his own) to gain as much understanding of their existence as water drops. First from the cloud of their birth, to the maturing drops they are forming.

Thank you for reading,
~ Eric

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Nature’s Tinge

Nature's Tinge - WPress1

Autumn time
Sunlit veins
Nature’s tinge.

Amber glow
Maple leaf
Gentle winds.

Golden days
Summer’s gone
Gossamer fringe.

~ an EWK Tricubic Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(a Tricube poem has 3 syllables per verse, 3 verses per stanza, and 3 stanzas in total)

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Open at Both Ends

Open at Both Ends - WPress1

Tunnel carved from stone
One way in – another out
Open at both ends.

~ an EWK Haiku Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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At Night

At Night - WPress1

A sliver of moonlight scrapes along my windowpane.

Hurting my mind as these eyes wouldn’t see

These shards of my saddening darkness 

Silhouetted as outlines drawn

My curtains shut tight

At night.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Posted - WPress1

A new photo –
This blue shadow
A Heron posed

~ an EWK Poe’em & Photo   ©2016 EWK

(photo of a Blue Heron: taken along the Chesapeake Bay; Havre de Grace, Maryland, USA)

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Self Centered

Self Centered - WPress1

I’m a spinning top. Balance lost.

Arms and bits flailing
Stray thoughts and feelings
Commotion of every size and sort
Overspent forces in assorted directions.

Comings and goings
Often not returning
Distracted contributions
Fogs of confusion.

It’s not about me
Every time it comes down to you
For once in my life: and this is how
I need to become self centered.

That’s for certain. You know what I mean?

The balance has been swayed.
I’m all give and never a take
My days spent for you and others of like
All of your wants is not what I need.

It might be about our point of view
Some see others; others haven’t a clue
Set in a pattern of conditional response
You have lost me on the paths all led on by you.

I’m not one to keep this score
I’ve been here yesterday
To deal with you has been a real chore
You won’t recognize me as soon as tomorrow.

This is the new me
Letting go of all the use
Next time I spin around
I’ll be in balance.

I’m self centered. For once.

And now.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Ever Upward

Ever Upward - WPress1

Our lives are so received
Subject to a memory
The edifice of person.

Spirit of minds eventual uniting
Within the endless bounds of time
Eternities of sighs and disbeliefs.

Containment of desires
Eluded by weighted patience
Held to earthen legacies.

Lofty goals sought and surely seeking
Built ever higher beyond our reach
Carved from calloused hands own needing.

Ever upward
Symmetrical patterns celebrate
The solidness of life.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Slide Rule - WPress1


Sequential Lines
Lateral Indicators
Incremental Determinants
Decimal Exponents
Enumerated Ratios

Rails Unified
Uncommon Legacy
Logarithmic Equivalents
Enigmatic ‘Equationator’.

~ an EWK Acrostic Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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Here With You

Here With You - WPress1

Here with you 

      Teasing looks


Wanting it all
Here with you


      Our bodies

Revealing us
As we touch

      Breathing in
      Tongues slipping

Skins soft glisten
Arms embrace

      Grasping hands

      Eyes searching

Delicate strokes

      Heart beats

      Lunging thrusts

Minds meld as one
Time holds still

      Sweaty sheets

      Climax comes



Here with you.

~ an EWK Poe’em   ©2016 EWK
(inspired by a daydream)

// Structure of ‘Here With You’:

3 beats

3 beats
2 beats : Rhyme A (loose)

3 beats
2 beats : Rhyme A (loose)

4 beats
3 beats

Repeated in clustered versing.

2 beats
2 beats
2 beats

3 beats.

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A Haiku I Knew

A Haiku I Knew - WPress1

A Haiku I knew
Three verses to consider
Written on my heart.

~ an EWK 5:7:5 Haiku Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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First Date

First Date - WPress1

~ an EWK Quilted Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

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SOS - WPress1

Hot chipped beef with gravy, Navy chow
Served up on toast daily; coffee now.

~ an EWK Tyburn Poe’em   ©2016 EWK

(“S.O.S.” is a Navy term to refer to “Sh*t On a Shingle” as Creamed Chip Beef on Toast)

(A Tyburn poem contains six verses of a 2:2:2:2:9:9 syllabic pattern. The first four lines rhyme and are descriptive words. The last two verses rhyme and incorporate the words paired of the first four lines as the 5th through 8th syllables.)

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