Tag Archives: poems about unfulfilled passion

Fortieth Anniversary Addendum

Fortieth Anniversary Addendum

Although you pull the conversation back to matters topical,
I sense my feelings for you are becoming much more tropical.
Bounteous jungles teem with orchids sensual and clinging.
As you ponder politics, my hormones begin zinging.
I can sense you’ve zero interest, yet I ponder what
it might take for me to get you pulled out of your rut.
It’s true that we were married forty years ago today,
and it seems we should do something more to celebrate the day.

Dinner out and flowers have come to be the norm,
but I’ve planned a celebration that’s a bit more warm.
Champagne in a bucket on the bedroom floor
might, if all my plans go well, lead to a little more
than a heavy meal and flower petals falling to the rug.
A remembered twinkle in the eye? A heartstring’s gentle tug?
Of politics and prime rib, I’ve had my yearly ration.
Now I’d prefer to celebrate with a bit of passion!


Prompt words today are ponder, inflict, zero, bounteous and tropical.



The passion of the wallflower
pressed between the pages of
her garret room
may range farther
than the wildflower.

She hides it by day
under her mattress,
the only evidence of it–
ink bled into her fingertips.

Through the long night,
her pen spills her to infinity
with the wild stars
on the other side
of closed shutters,

immersed in waters
she has never stepped into–
plunged into by words
that she gives over to
night after night
after long year.

Words so sensual
that her father,
if he sees
from that dark Hell
any fair creator
would have sent him to,
must not be capable of haunting
or he would.

She imagines him
watching her submit
to a different lover
every night–
her back bleeding black
from the ink of the passion
he has pressed her to.

As if her submission

were the most dynamic
of all works;
as if no one
had ever said Yes
like that.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Third From the Top.” The Prompt: Go to your blog reader. Scroll down to the third post in the list. Take the third sentence in the post, and work it into your own post. (The line taken from my reader is the last italicized stanza of my poem. You can see the entire poem by Luci Shaw that it was excerpted from HERE.) And my poem is fiction, folks!

I woke up with the word “Silvestre” streaming through my mind. I knew that I knew what it meant, but in the end I had to look it up. Of course. It means “Wild” in Spanish. Even before I looked at the prompt, I knew this had to be my topic and as it turned out, it worked with the quote I was given. Thus, the name of the poem which might better have been named “Wild Words” but I like “Silvestre” better, and Patti, it is only coincidence that it is also our father’s middle name. I would never assign our father to Hell nor accuse him of the implications in this poem. Thus, this disclaimer when normally I feel no words should have to be explained.