Archive for November, 2009

Blowing Kisses

Passion of your lips on mine parched,

Opening an old wound and healing

All at the same time.

Memories of errors, nights, rough,

Dry lips, fists, elbows and feet,

Or the feeling there of when the past

Whips by my cerebral cortex,

Connected to the sensation,

But now all I can think of

Is your lips on mine and racing

Beautiful moonlit eyes,

The air that once dried now

Blows kisses in my direction,

Winds of time and destiny.

By Ryan Anthony Gibson

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And all is a metaphor

And all is a metaphor

For loneliness and the longing of being touched

Or to touch, a bit or a lot,

Back and forth, rubbing against,

Brushed or patted, scratched, bitten,

Licked even, to quench a hunger,

Salt of the earth, loves worth and weight,

Pressure and release,

Embrace, softly or mighty,

Trace contours and lines,

Crossing over to passion,

Feeling color, scent, and sound,

Breasts, liquid, luscious, slippery,

Think of the metaphors found,

In a hand, to give a hand,

To wondering states of mind,

A wondering hand you find.

By Ryan Anthony Gibson, November 28th 2009

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As Powerful As Her Touch

The agent was sprayed on the torso, on my chest,

A palm and hand print was clearly lifted,

The invisible presence of what was once recovered,

The hand was evident by the very lines finely etched,

Preserved the imprint of life that was in places

Some missing and blind where empty,

Unable to match the hand to the database of loves,

To the soft fleshy mass of sensation that outlined,

Over my heart the impression that I fell victim,

To die of love, for longing of sensation

As powerful as her touch.

By Ryan Anthony Gibson, November 28th 2009

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In Touch We Trust

My hand was not permitted entry for months

In the milky presence of her skin, no life or anything,

Not a single graze of the flesh to salvage in thought.

Station without a train or rail, no chance of going,

Isolated by the very arm it is attached to, chain

Voluntarily has no choice to move instructed by the brain,

Nervous system, tubes of blood, tendons, unjust,

Longing for the sensation, to touch it must,

In touch we trust.

By Ryan Anthony Gibson, November 28th 2009

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My Childhood Love

My childhood was often sitting on the corner,

Watching life go by on occasion sopping up,

A cup of cool-aid and or flat soda water,

That drains from my teary eyes,

Because I thought she liked me,

But she will not do it, she will not love me,

We both got in the bathtub and giggled once,

We thought this must be making love,

Then sitting on the porch we kissed,

I shared with her my fries and Big Mac,

And a little bit with a wild cat,

But now I sit on the corner, slinging for a buck

So I can buy her candy from the corner store,

The more I give her she loves me more,

But for now I am sad and poor,

For yesterdays chocolates I am broke,

Where now I need the time to restore.

By Ryan Anthony Gibson

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I quite enjoyed the Islay Mist  12 yr old Whiskey, so much that I decided to write a Haiku:


Peaty Islay Malt

Finishing sea return

Clinging to my mouth

By Ryan Anthony Gibson

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By Ryan Anthony Gibson

By Ryan Anthony Gibson

I think I can’t think about it,

I just need to close my eyes and feel it,

I will be rolling around all night

holding my sheets tight

twisting and hugging my pillow with all my might,

to close my eyes and think of the sight

of your lips on mine

riveting undulating motions of two lovers in time.

By Ryan Gibson to Evashni

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Skye’s Song

One amazing song resonates in the atmosphere,

Through clouds, light, depth of where we exist,

Full of life, in dusk or dawn we do hear,

Her majestic lulling wind whisper, a catalyst,

That whisks the very seeds of life from here,

Across the lands and earth she shall insist,

To where the land upon she deposits to bare,

The life on earth she ensures will persist,

The only sight, to look above and stare,

The Skye, the very nature of beauty’s air,

Of which there is no matter to compare,

For the only matter, is what she does share,

A song of life, love, and nature to compose,

From within her presence our love she sows.


By Ryan Gibson, November 7th 2009

To a loving person who has always found the way to show such a beautiful air to her presence, her essence, that she shares with her friends. Thank you Skye and Happy Birthday.


Written in Johannesburg South Africa

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The paradox of being mentally infinite in emotion,

But physically time destroys bonds which perish,

Its like a valiant ship of gold that sinks in the Ocean,

Little hope of recovery, but in thoughts we cherish.

By Ryan Anthony Gibson  to Laia Gibson

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A glance of monumental perfection,

A shape of undulating affection,

Her deep moving eyes,

So tender and wize,

Emulate, aura of passion,

If beauty spoke words,

Then from her I heard,

The angels, harps ringing,

Venus valiantly singing,

As a million men’s hearts were spurred.

Oh, from where was she created,

From Aphroditis she was elevated,

Fit to be a God’s bride,

By a man she stands beside,

The mirror image of Bouguereau,

For once I fear death that’s true,

Icon of imagination, a concept, a view,

An angel on earth before death, in lieu.

Or now, a Demon of Dante’s Inferno,

Divine beauty to falter human ego,

Exploit the man’s flaw

For what a vision I saw,

Her love is evidently pure

She lifts me, like near dead to cure.

By Ryan Anthony Gibson

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