Adult Poetry On Life

By Wolf Sherman

Foreword;

What Is A Poem?
I've heard some say it's a complete thought, separated by a number of white lines,
A multi-meaning riddle left behind by a past "us", meandering past the high walls we've built. Till it finds us, a different us, where we sit and dine on today's clock,
It's the addictive smell, they say, of an oil painting from the gallery of idealism, stroked deep into the stretched canvas of sanity,
Capturing those rare moments when we had braved questioning our reality,
I've heard others say, it's a complete one-way escape route reserved for a different us, a younger us, obscured by a veil,
That is torn as the other "us" arrives to imprint a recording of sorts - of many autumns past, to show the birth of order through chaos,
A sunrise painted with the slow sarcastic brush of irony and time, that in the privacy of the gallery of idealism,
When it discovers us, or us, it, we suddenly know what to do with ourselves, but not quite how..." - Wolf Sherman

Index:

Contains adult content. A collection of poems on life, loss, pregnancy, miscarriage, love, longing, romance, betrayal, erotica, and the few other things in between that makes up our dreams and nightmares.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wolf Sherman
• Release date: Jul 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370836369

Wolf Sherman

Biography - Wolf ShermanWolf was born in 1970, grew up in Pretoria and after school joined the South African Police in 1988. During 1993 he was transferred to Johannesburg. During his colourfully interesting police career he was attached to several specialist divisions that include the anti-vehicle theft unit, organised-crime-and-political-investigations unit, and the East-Rand Murder & Robbery unit. After his police career he successfully applied his experience in the corporate financial world as insurance investigator and financial planner.Wolf is 48-years of age, have been blessed with three daughters, and is an avid blood and blood platelet donor. He fills his time by weaving his unusual life experience and keen interest in religion, metaphysics, war and political research and that of his love for food and classical music - into his poetry, fictional short stories, and novels.“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, said Jojen. The man who never reads lives only one.” - George R.R. Martin, A Dance with Dragons.I'm always curious to listen when people talk about which book - ever - they'd first read. For me it was “The Man Called Noon” that was published in 1970. I suppose that it goes without saying the 1973 film directed by Peter Collinson - of the same name - as the 1970 Louis L'Amour novel, was quite a hit in the day.I was always in love with the books in which storytellers extended an invitation right from the word go, and pulled me in into a different world. The next early love for me growing up were bookshops and libraries. But I'd consider libraries had the first place. My love for both novels and short stories grew over the years, but somehow short stories found me more often. In part, I think because one can sponge it up in a single sitting, and move on to the next world, so to speak.On the topic of short stories, the storytellers in this instance tell how they see it - but being forced far quicker to relay that. I have no doubt that any short story can be stretched out and pinned down to become a novel - if one wanted to. Obviously there is no set length that a short story has to subscribe to, but I'd imagine anything from five-thousand to twenty-five-or-so-thousand words is adequate to save someone, murder a few people, get some revenge, use most of the rope in your boot, discard the spade when you're done, and go in hiding till the whole thing blows over. Of course, if there's a body to begin with... Which really stems from poor planning - I have always thought - in a story. Naturally. Of course, we also need to fall in love at some point and give our whole heart to someone special. It makes for a more balanced killer. In a story. Naturally.Look me up on:Pinterest @ Wolf Sherman BooksInstagram: @Wolf_ShermanTwitter: @WolfSherman2

Book preview

Spiced

Choose to let me undress your mind, and see you as you really are, let me cover you in a secret fragrance you deserve, please don't move a muscle, don't think,

Hold still your lips and hips, while I with cinnamon and sugar, to make my drunk love exotic, sweeter, please don't move a muscle, don't think,

And let me paint intoxicating turmeric on your neckline to push my deep long kisses ecstatic, please don't move a muscle, don't think,

Rub crushed flowers of lavender deep into your shoulders and all the way down your goose bumped back, please don't move a muscle, don't think,

Next let me powder the addictive aroma of sage and sandalwood on your inner softer trembling thighs, please don't move a muscle, don't think,

To aim behind your knees and oil fine mashed ginger down your calves, please don't move a muscle, don't think,

Eventually let me taste you when what's left; nature's finest mint leaves decorate you in a heart shaped tasty meadow, please don't move a muscle, don't think,

Let my blood rush insane to fill my pride while I clothe you in all these, please don't move a muscle, don't think,

Let me see you watch me, and smile over the crazy things I do before it's time we dress - for that pale-brained world's clothes we have to wear... please don't move muscle, don't think,

Eventually let me be, let me taste you in the spiced clothing I designed for you... don't think...

- Wolf Sherman

Lover's Sunrise

T'was always her feet first,

slowly up and down,

his palms burning hot...

T'was always her ankles next,

steamy lips running,

her stomach in a knot...

T'was always her thighs after,

kissing,

painting memories as he went...

T'was always her lower back then,

slow,

shallow as his thumbs in circles sent...

T'was always that way he summoned the sunrise,

always slowly,

always...

- Wolf Sherman

Tell Me...

Come closer and whisper and in turn let me share,

Hours of things you always wanted but never dare,

All those wishes that never were, lonely minutes with our desires..., gone,

Never to be repeated when we leave the cabin of that unassuming rocking ship,

Tell me some at least - and let me tell you some of mine that keep me up at night,

Every whisper leading to a climax, every climax to another whisper shared,

Listen then to mine, and me in turn to yours,

Lonely thoughts of mine, hugging lonely thoughts and wishes of yours,

Every crazed syllable of unspoken wants, unsatisfied ticks of the clock of life...

- Wolf Sherman

Sailing...

A good handful of cool ocean winds, blind desire, and a solitary indifferent horizon, I thought orange...

A slow morning sun, glimmering... kissing our nude perfection...

Hovering lazily to the left over there where only I can see, chopping waves, a lost sailboat and the image of your tanned reflection...

Alone with no cares, no land in sight, living out crazy fantasies from sunrise through to sleep-time for the sun...

No belongings we'll pack - but two items - caringly selected - just for us, a sunset, and of course, another after that...

Two items only, complimenting your presence on that fantasy sailboat made for two...

Each morning's rose-cented massage oil to watch you bask lazily after welcoming you to a pair of brand new days...

No one lives forever, so I considered that two days might just do...

Later, when it seems impossible to leave me alone, and me, you, maybe we can order more days... but I doubt...

As I ever slowly tie you lightly to that sailboat's mast... a golden scarf - which I packed, I lied about only packing a pair of mornings...

I do that, I'm honest that I have to lie on occasion...

To imagine more than a pair of days of that, would only hamper our creativity, I had thought...

Now about that scarf, that I lied about... What will you be lying about... Lover?

- Wolf Sherman

Unfulfilled Passion

There in the shadows where lonely you travel -

Will you find in the moonlight things to unravel -

...

Always just you and the swinging low willows -

Be weary as light from pandora's box swallows -

...

Something draws closer as you put out a hand -

We all have been there and frozen we stand -

...

Want to open the lid more just a brief feel -

To know what awaits you and forward you reel...

...

Try it just once! A voice far from the back -

Once becomes more and around you goes black -

...

With that, a wind and the box lid creaked clear -

Someone out there, followed you here...

By - Wolf Sherman 2014

All Else Is Madness...

Watching you sleep deep, laugh wildly, weep beautifully and cough properly,

Watching you cry hard, aim straight, sweat angelically and blink fast,