Uh-Oh by Robin Lipinski


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Post August 14, 2012, 10:02:11 PM

Uh-Oh by Robin Lipinski

If poetry was as well respected, enjoyed and sought after as a means of entertainment and philosophical education, then surely Robin would be an international sensation. Monks would name their offspring after him (monks don't marry and they're celibate).

His world tours would be packed and Shakira would be his opening act!

This poem, as with many of his other poetry, shows an underlying Truth, that we humans have our priorities ass backwards. Living life to it's fullest should be our morning and evening thought. Majoring on the minor task we have allotted ourselves, steals from our joy and the meaning of our lives.

If a global disaster ended it all without warning and we had only a few minutes to prep for the hereafter, would we give thanks for our mates, families and the chance we had to do something important - - - like love on the ones closest to us and maybe - - - new people we meet each day.

Would we be thankful for what we had, or would the last words out of our mouths be curses.

Mark
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Post August 15, 2012, 02:36:41 AM

Re: Uh-Oh by Robin Lipinski

That, and he writes purdy, too!
KNEEL before Zod!

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Post August 17, 2012, 11:54:22 AM

Re: Uh-Oh by Robin Lipinski

Thank you both for the compliments and the inspiration fueling my addiction.
***

Shakira

Purdy woman she be,
dancing and weaving in my nightly dreams.

Squirming and writhing out of the sea,
or trapped in a cage like a wolf,
matters little to me,
rather...

An exotic form of beauty.
A poem visual and sound.
Standing.
Feet spread.
Breasts heaving.
Dancing on dusty books of Poe, Alexander, and time,
her beauty though, will never fade...

Unless,
one chooses to change the channel to view a politician babble,
"Vote for me!"

Master Critic

Posts: 3595

Joined: September 17, 2008, 10:10:20 PM

Post August 17, 2012, 09:00:47 PM

Re: Uh-Oh by Robin Lipinski

Lipinski wrote:Thank you both for the compliments and the inspiration fueling my addiction.
***

Shakira

Purdy woman she be,
dancing and weaving in my nightly dreams.

Squirming and writhing out of the sea,
or trapped in a cage like a wolf,
matters little to me,
rather...

An exotic form of beauty.
A poem visual and sound.
Standing.
Feet spread.
Breasts heaving.
Dancing on dusty books of Poe, Alexander, and time,
her beauty though, will never fade...

Unless,
one chooses to change the channel to view a politician babble,
"Vote for me!"

Bend To Me
By Lucky in Love, Unlucky in Words

Words dance before me, gyrating, pulsating, beckoning me to enter their ecstasy.
Scintillating come ons, gripping me in the way only she knows how,
With images I can see, but cannot touch or feel, that will not pass through my finger tips.
The aching is palatable, but she will not lend herself to my touch, my style of romance,
She will not bend to my will, if only to know positions of love that only words can whisper.
Oh, the adventures we would have together to distant worlds, exotic beaches, enraptured within sweat drenched covers.
But she will not be bedded...at least by me, for the words never come;
Only the knowledge of what could be, if only she would bend to me!

The End

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