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Adult Poetry On Life

Copyright © -- Wolf Scherman -- 2016

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduce or transmitted in any form or by any means electronically, electrostatic magnetic tape or mechanically; including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author.

The author has a lengthy history with - and still has some affiliations with both the Finance, Banking & Insurance Industries, Safety and Security Sectors, where his activities revolved around Politically-Motivated-Crime Investigations, Pathology, Serious Economic Offences Investigations, Intelligence gathering, Riot and Crowd Control, Commercial and Military firearm, ammunition and explosive identification, and still acts as Ad-Hoc Consultant for Tax and Insurance related investigations. His passion for the mechanics of corporates and commerce, religious history, pathology and psychology are interwoven in his fiction.


  1. Spiced

  2. Lover's Sunrise

  3. Tell Me

  4. Sailing

  5. Unfulfilled Passion

  6. All Else Is Madness

  7. Complicated

  8. Silk

  9. Land Of Fantasy

  10. Polished Ship Deck

  11. Oh I Could Never

  12. Tomorrow's Dream

  13. The Old Monks

  14. Ancient Gown

  15. What Women Want

  16. Love

  17. Let's Be Clear

  18. The Grand Old Shop Of Lust

  19. Visiting The Angels' Library

  20. Babylon

  21. Stalling

  22. Love's Duty

  23. Medicine

  24. Blind Date

  25. "Say When...?"

  26. Three Chimes

  27. The Human Condition

  28. When You're Free

  29. Restaurant Of "Old Love & If"...

  30. Love's Purpose

  31. Frozen

  32. Revenge

  33. Treble Clef

  34. Catch 22

  35. Preferred Menu

  36. Time's Eternal Game...

  37. I Can Understand A Man Like That...

  38. What's Your Colour?

  39. "The Keepers Of Paris"

  40. France For God's Romantics

  41. Wake Up If You Can

  42. What Sound Will We Leave..?

  43. The Guide

  44. My Name Is...

  45. Capitalism's Rosy Stage

  46. I'll Be A Gentleman

  47. Just Shopping

  48. Loving Labour

  49. Muse

  50. Forgotten Art Of Watching

  51. Not Taking A No

  52. Slayer Of Reality

  53. Tomorrow's Ashes

  54. Lonely Loving Hand

  55. Complicated Smile

  56. Old School Sexy

  57. Smoking Hot

  58. Lace And More

  59. If She Was Mine

  60. Flowers And Sickle

  61. Passing Fashion

  62. The Poem With No Name

  63. Marble And Chalk

  64. Love & Art

  65. Sutra's Blush

  66. Axed Edge

  67. Men, Gentlemen And Wolves

  68. Coffee Or Tea...?

  69. So, Tea It Is

  70. Romantic Manual

  71. Missed Until Missing

  72. She Only Needs One

  73. No Apology

  74. Map To Getting Lost

  75. The Old Man

  76. Heads &Tails

  77. Relationship's Badge

  78. Last Prayer

  79. Baking For Keeps

  80. Call It What You Want

  81. If

  82. Date Night Vocabulary

  83. The Best Days

  84. Innocent Temptress

  85. I Beg, Please Control!!!

  86. 50 Shades

  87. The Lighthouse

  88. Please Come Back



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

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,

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

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

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

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

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,

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

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

Eventually let me be, let me taste you in the spiced clothing I designed for you...

-- Wolf Scherman --

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,


painting memories as he went...

T'was always her lower back then,


shallow as his thumbs in circles sent...

T'was always "that" way he summoned the runrise,

always slowly,


-- Wolf Scherman --

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 Scherman --


Cool ocean wind summoned from the horizon, a slow morning sun, glimmering... kissing your nude perfection...

Hovering lazily above patient chopping waves, a sailboat with you and nothing on my mind but the image of your tanned reflection...

Alone with no cares or 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 chosen just for you... sunset, following sunset and the ones after those...

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

Each morning's rose'd scented massage oil to watch you bask lazily after welcoming you to new days...

Later when we call the moon after a whole day's staring at you clothed in nudeness...

Later when it's impossible to leave you alone, and I'm powerless against your presence...

Ever slowly tying you lightly to that sailboat's mast... a golden scarf, preventing you stopping my hour long kissing your hips, as I circle my way around that mast painted with fantasies... by moonlight's brush...

-- Wolf Scherman --

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 Scherman 2014

All Else Is Madness...

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

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

Watching you bake expertly, write coded, fight fierce, and kiss passionately,

Watching you dress slowly, type fast, stare curiously and walk purposefully,

There is a particular order in the chaotic rituals you create..., I do love watching you..., all else is madness...

-- Wolf Scherman --


Complicated is when you think of love in the most erotic, breathless, steamy way,

And hell , when you dare not spell or paint or rhyme what you'd do to her today,

All those breathless moans to compose..., for her,

Needs you want her to spell out on a sailboat, on a summers day, on that deck,

To paint her as she advertises to the wind and sun, what and how and for how long,

Ecstasy just to watch her sleep and draw secrets on her back for hours,

Listen to her heartbeat...

Listen to her talking in her sleep...

Ecstasy is complicated when we're here, not yet on that far off sailing ship...

-- Wolf Scherman --


Cushions and whispers and anticipation smooth as silk, without sex...

Hands and lips and massaging and hips, and silk, without sex...

All part of the silk route... without sex...

Necks and palms and feet and rubs, without sex...

Toes and kissing and cushions and whispers, and silk, without sex...

Ears and kissing and hugging and hips, and silk, without sex...

Legs and massaging and ankles and kissing, and silk, without sex...

Legs and rubbing and backs and holding, and silk, without sex...

Ears and secrets and blindfolds made from silk... without sex... imagine that...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Land Of Fantasy

Candles, just two, lighting up the "us" the world cannot see,

Holding you close, counting your heartbeats, while we let each other be,

All or some of the things better left in the dreamworld we visit when we have to,

Nearer as I blindfold you, and you do me, allowing you and you for me,

To say and hold and feel a world never advertised,

Empower each other to remain there, a different "us", a hidden unsatisfied us,

Let the unsatisfied us just roam around each other's strange darker world,

Let the other "us" do unimaginable awesome things in quiet, slowly, over and over,

Empower the other "us", to be us in a stranger quiet awesome world...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Polished Ship Deck

Climax of the one way route we'll float into,

Hugged by wind as the stars the only witness to our crazy fantasies,

All alone, but never lonely on that polished deck,

Nude and comfortable in our tanned robes,

Travel and travel and never use the same map ever,

Ever getting lost in each other's fantasies, erotic, pleasing, rude, caring, needy,

Loving and loved by ocean air,

Loving and lost in erotic orange sundown glare,

Ecstatic maps to steer and memorise...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Oh, I Could Never

Oh, please no..., I could never be a religious man, a man of the cloth, a holy man. To burn those magic forests to ash, drown the good witches with the bad, and with ritual and logo, turn God's awesome love, for profit? I could never be a religious man...

Oh, please no..., I could never be a man of science. To dilute, weigh and to label; both angels and fairies, shooting star wishes of children and those in love, and the beauty of the stupid things a man in love will do, and explain all this away? I could never be a man of science...

Oh, please no..., I could never be law abiding man. I love the break-neck speed and painful hurt and thrill of imminent colliding love; as much as I love a healthy disrespect for authority, subordination and laws which ignore Marcus Aurelius and what he stood for. I could never be a law abiding man...

Oh, please no..., I could never be a soldier. To train and to train others like me to take the life of another me, from another mother like mine, while the evil on the stage steal both our taxes? We'd be better off burying our leaders before we bury each other. I could never be a soldier...

Oh, please no..., I could never be a teacher. I know that we all know nothing, and I've met three wise men who knew even less. Greed and revenge make evil men sleep snugger, but it's love that keep the good from dreaming on a colder night? I could never be a teacher...

A poet maybe..., to demonstrate with lack of judgement, that we're all those "other" people when challenging hours wait at destiny's door, that we're all equally diabolical and just as loving, every bit as needy to be loved back as to love, that there's nothing comparable to true love and quick flirts, and that keeping secrets, discretion, and losing track of time while we do all in the name of love, is really why we're here...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Tomorrow's Dream

Would ask you to join me where my mind travels to... when it seems I'm still here... but I'm not.

When my eyes go hazy, waxy, when I force a smile against my will and pause my feelings...

When for this world it seems overcast, foggy, end of reality, when it seems all is lost and in sharp shards on the ground,

I can spend three days planning tomorrow where I go... and how I'll react when I'm back in "your" five minutes.

So when I laugh or smile, when it's irrational, unnecessary or in poor taste, just hold me to remind me what's normal, your normal,

I'm addicted to my reality that everything has already been and passed us, and that what we have is a bit of now to hold onto, briefly...

Shock, fear, tears, smiles, giggles and hugs is how it feels when we're still tied here but already living in tomorrow,

It's all a dream really, but tonight again, when you sleep, my whispers will report how we we've already done it tomorrow, how you will still.

And you will smile and believe me... it's too much when you're awake...

When your eyes go hazy, waxy, when you force a smile against your will and pause your feelings...

And I'll remind you what's normal, my normal...

-- Wolf Scherman --

The Old Monks

I once told you of the company I once briefly kept with wealthy orange robed men, so let me tell you again,

Eastern souls, good men, celibate men, wealthy men with no regard for the weight of gold,

They agree on little we in the west have been conned into accumulating, they say we have back ache as it weighs us down,

So this what they said, in a matter of a single boil of a pot of tea:

Find someone to argue the heat of a sunset, but never let the heat of an argument spoil your lover's experience of that sunset,

Find someone who never says "I love you" in your ear, but whose deeds talk louder than a lover's moan,

Find someone who wakes up cold, who covered you and fall asleep, and forgets it's winter on their side too,

Find someone who wants you to watch them bath, in exchange for the pleasure to watch them sleep,

Find someone who shares unashamedly one route to their climax, but leave the rest for you to discover,

Find that someone and look at them, add forty years and a few pounds to them, if you don't, time will..., outwit time,

Find fault, find hate, find betrayal, find judgement, but most of all, find solutions to things that might find your lover unaware,

Find out together how sleep while hugging energises your minds, fall asleep together..., always,

Finally, they asked that I find them some good coffee, the teapot was to remind that nothing is what it seems..., ever,

If you don't find a good lover, make love daily with impermanence, nothing lasts, live for now... There have been as many yesterdays as stars if you care to look up now and then,

There will be as many tomorrows with or without you..., live and love for now,

Lastly, anticipate nothing in life, neither good nor evil, but one: to perfect the maximum amount of words your lover speaks when they don't make any sense..., turn that into a language...

By Wolf Scherman

Ancient Gown

Care if I demand borrowing just one orbit quick from you?

Hold still... pause, in the bright glare of a full moon, then let me be...

A little help? While holding the moon beams, an hour or for two...

Now count your breathing as I slowly with whispers cut from beams,

The only elegance I insist you wear, one size tighter round your curves...

Ever brightening your awesome shape in competition with the moon...

Little less talking, little more wondering of how perfectly you'll fit,

Little less holding, little more staring as I dress you in a moon gown lit,

Ever in tune, covered... in the time it taxes me, when I make you compete with that ancient moon...

-- Wolf Scherman --

What Women Want

To share a dark secret with tears on her cheek, and a close soul who shares back eager and keep...

Rewarding her upkeep, converted to a loving compliment and a whisper steep...

To be alone with her kind, but never lonely in the company of older wishes granted sleep...

-- Wolf Scherman --


If you could..., but you can't..., no one can teach us about love,

You can say it's beautiful, but that won't be teaching about love,

You could tell us that it's a "feel good" feeling, but that won't be teaching about love,

Tell us that it's being together, sharing moments so special, but that won't be teaching about love,

Say that it's the way; with lust, anxiousness and a hellish desperation, to look and hold your lover, but that won't be teaching about love,

Design and weave a re-make of the golden notes of "Love Is Blue", and if you know this you'll agree, but..., but that won't be teaching about love,

Paint the most life-like sunrise with that life giving eastern fireball, so real, and compare that to love, but that won't be teaching about love,

You can say it stands firmly in your holy manual, next to charity and hope, but that won't be teaching about love,

You can code it, rhyme it, sing of it and write ten thousand love letters, and kiss and perfume it, but that won't be teaching about love,

Hearing a birth cry, glimpse a new-born smile or feel a heartbeat of a child, but that won't be teaching about love,

You may kiss a scar to healing, hug a lover's bad day gone, even wipe and collect another's tears, but that won't be teaching about love,

We call love beautiful, rosy, smooth kissing, that it smells like nature, but that won't be teaching about love,

To teach of love, you must be a able to damn, and hate, revenge and blame and be a friend of fury, a close friend, then you will remember love,

To teach love, you must work tirelessly to feel it back, and if you do... or don't, then you'll remember love,

To teach love you must hurt, fall, and fall for another more times you can get up, then you'll remember love,

To teach love, you must understand that hate is not the opposite love, then you'll remember love,

To love you must pray to your God for love, and when you think He forsaked you, and you think you did it yourself, then realise He smiled and just boosted your ego, then you'll remember love,

To realise the system is flawed, flawed to the core, two was never meant as a couple, our inclinations make us vulnerable, then you'll remember love,

To realise it's only our modern egos that insist on faithfulness, for the most part women are women, and men are men, then you'll remember love,

Make one other friend, other than fury, that of impermanence, then you'll remember love,

Plan and test and experiment with this human condition called love, and if pain, even if only pain is what is left, and you can use that to be better at love, then you'll remember love...

People love once in a lifetime, love is too great to copy, make peace with this, but with love..., then you'll remember love...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Let's Be Clear...

When a migraine from hell can wait, it's 2 o'clock and cold and her baby is awake - and her lingerie morphed into a wrinkled tracksuit and T-shirt; let's be clear, there is no such thing as Un-Sexy,

When period cramps are the alarm clock, school lunches need be packed - and she's sexy in slippers and a gown; let's be clear, there is no such thing as Un-Sexy,

When bothered and tired and neglected her unshaved legs more - and still, her nails runs down from his chest slowly and improvise; let's be clear, there is no such thing as Un-Sexy,

When she travelled from a 10 to a 12, and all the way up the two's till Oh My G... - and she pulls the dovet over so he'd only see her face; ; let's be clear, there is no such thing as Un-Sexy...

... If it's love, there's no such thing as Un-sexy...

-- Wolf Scherman --

The Grand Old Shop Of Lust

Care for a "take your time..." stroll down these jam packed hidden shelves?

Hiding each other... and lose who we are till we'll never again find ourselves...

All the while unwrapping and over-pricing one another in an abnormal - normal kind of way?

Not once to pause to think of consequences and that higher price we would surely later pay...

To wonder still, what if the end price is higher... not to know if we lead one another all the way...

Ever wonder if those fitting rooms waiting, are waiting and curtained just for you?

Lower some lights or swap them for candles, and when it's quiet... to stare at me, and me at you...

Lower, maybe all, and swap for more candles, to feel me, and me just for you...

Ever wonder if those fitting rooms waiting... are rooms of wonder, waiting and curtained just for you...?

-- Wolf Scherman --

Visiting The Angels' Library

If there even is such a place, even my angels say, "nah, it's beautiful, but really, it's just a rumor..."

A handful of us keep the rumor alive, yes we need to keep it, "a rumor", So let me never admit even after I see you as you, as you see yourself when no one looks, when our empty wine glasses look down at where we lay and how we lay, shameless... Even then, I made a pledge, I will agree and say, "nah, it's beautiful, but really, it's just a rumor..."

When your body gleams in its total perfection, lit by a single softer candle, and your hands glide over my back and shoulder... Even then, I made a pledge, I will agree and say, "nah, it's beautiful, but really, it's just a rumor..."

When your mouth is dry and what you speak is foreign over and over in that same old room, and your words become mixed and you are incomprehensible but beautiful... Even then, I made a pledge, I will agree and say, "nah, it's beautiful, but really, it's just a rumor..."

When your soul leaves for a brief run among the stars and you don't want to come back to earth, and only our Creator knows, that to me is crazy beautiful... Even then, I made a pledge, I will agree and say, "nah, it's beautiful, but really, it's just a rumor..."

Let me never admit that I write down the language that I want you to be fluent in. The sentences I memorise when you're up there and I'm down here.

As I look at you speak the oldest language, the one angels speak, the immortal one, the one when at the end of your sentence, when you fall down tired and all you want to do is sleep. That one...

I'm writing a book to file? With the angels? "Nah, it's beautiful, but really, it's just a rumor...

-- Wolf Scherman --


Shall we travel there more often or just one more time?

Up the hill where we'll dilute judgement with much more wine...

That hilltop where we build from memory without a blueprint slowly up,

And misunderstanding's our preferred compass that spin and never stop,

Where No! mostly means Yes! and Please! often means More!

Beautiful addictive chaos where no one knows what's in store...

Where you know exactly what you want and I care less,

And my chaotic compass decide on a language that makes you care even less...

-- Wolf Scherman --


They say its raining, but I haven't taken notice,

For three days, pouring...

You're not going anywhere,

I'm not giving yourself back to you,

Forgive my selfishness, but I'm keeping you,

I'm not going anywhere,

Please don't give me back to me,

Let's just enjoy another selfish moment... in paused time...

Bewildered, breathless... till we run out of rain, or selfishness, or time...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Love's Duty

To travel in nudeness, till dressed in what's real,

Arriving each day, to protect and conceal,

To guard against great new catches, and trophies alike,

And teach about needs, to continue love's hike,

To hang in the night sky, new globes for new tasks,

And remove party dresses, and mirrors and masks,

To offer in private and public, those flavoursome hugs,

And not be the first, to let go while love is still snug...

-- Wolf Scherman --


Quick! Let's overdose together on a massive measure of "now",

Use all of it as if later wouldn't be..., no tomorrow,

Before that remedy of waiting arrives to grow,

Overpopulated with nostalgia of kisses gone... ones we can't borrow...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Blind Date

Slow sliding crystal glasses over ebony, separating two wants,

Copious semi sweet apetisers in between clanging silver cutlery and hasty taste bud chants,

Loud crackling orange tongues dining on shooting star embers,

Overwhelming steamed veggie flavours, pushed around by gravy'd aromas,

The feels of cotton napkins crumpled and slow motion released, over and over...

A menu of memories of giving and serving well pleased... over and over...

It really would be a travesty to spoil what's going on around us...

By opening each other's eyes to what's going on inside us...

-- Wolf Scherman --

"Say When...?"

Rather pour me your tallest glass of illusion,

I'd hate to get used to who you really are...

So pour some more to remind me in my next life how this all tasted,

So I won't sit at another table, asking another for the illusion of you,

It won't be fair to them, nor me, while I thirst for you...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Three Chimes

If we choose... had to... if we could, choose between three different loving selfless hands,

Which would better suit or hold us tight when making selfish plans?

Which was meant for us and which meant to take another lover to distant fairer lands?

Maybe all three... while we dine on time, and time on us... a magnificent meal like us,

Moving ticking love... doubt... regret... in three equal chimes,

And judgement, understanding and admiration in three more... If we choose... had to... if we could, choose between three different loving selfless hands,

Then seconds tick only for regret and loss and storms,

And minutes drag us by the collar teaching patience,

Then hours would be ours to realise, holding or let go... is a mere illusion...

-- Wolf Scherman --

The Human Condition

Oh, its out there floating, gently pushed and pulled by space and time's ebb and flow,

Souls escaping dark to a warmer hazy light, smells and sounds owned by later's sadder lazy distant whisper... "let go..."

One body, or two or three, or five or more, each getting used to time, when later greyer waves run flat...

Love like this, eat like that, kiss and wish, and pray for who knows what,

Birth forgets sixty years of heart-pounding romance from its yesterday,

Senility forgets a lover's mischievous smile, in sixty seconds, gone... just like yesterday,

All this, just to find ourselves in arrival's hall again... younger, looking up a lover,

And taste and smell, and touch and smile, and de-ja-vu's long lost wilder flower to recover,

Some predict harps in heaven, it's beautiful, I agree with them, with that relief,

But is it closure and ego, rolled up in a nervous argument, that we are more? With no one back, for a debrief?

-- Wolf Scherman --

When You're Free...

I can modify you, renovate you, and If you beg, I'll mould,

I can plan, and dream and engrave your name in gold,

I can pause your time, or slow it to a grinding halt,

I can blame and swing and design a lover's fight,

I can make you think slower, or rush your breath faster,

I can design on your behalf, revenge's ultimate disaster,

I can make and bake and give and take,

I can change and bleed, if for your sake,

But I cannot see what it is you see in me,

I cannot feel what you feel when you wait for me,

I cannot change the password you wrote for me,

I cannot plan or dream or modify only just for me,

I cannot bear tight shackles, unless you set me free,

When you sleep, I go to all those places you cannot see,

My time is free but limited... note my time's for free,

I'm your reflection in the mirror, waiting...

You can be anything, it's time you set me free...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Restaurant Of "Old Love & If"...

To visit the past again, page through a menu of fears,

Wallpapered with "if", and a tall glass with tears,

With soft background music, to the tune of "should've",

Just once to paged on, tasting the specials of "could've",

The venue's packed when we're alone, serving peace and quiet,

Some never come back, clinging to that addictive diet...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Love's Purpose

It misunderstands with a heavy frown, but listens with the smile of "tell me more....",

It locks judgement away with rusted keys, ensuring they're either bent or broke,

It's tone deaf to the beauty of jealousy's sweet notes, awaiting time's patient encore...

-- Wolf Scherman --


Love is a whirlwind frozen in time,

Tilting a war drum ready to chime,

Thawed by the absence of intimate's heat,

Drumming two soul mates, t'wards a fork down the street...

-- Wolf Scherman --


Its sweetness causes heartache,

Its bitter presents with joy,

Much warmer than a handshake,

Only for the patient to employ,

Capturing the beauty in a sunrise,

Framing "wide-awake" nightmares,

Treasured advice to the unwise,

Hiding the sparkle of cold stares,

A tool sharpened by a rock of bitter,

Who we become later that matters,

An ornate sword, an invisible older sister,

It's the colder serving on patient platter...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Treble Clef

Ego's piano announces when the audience heads out,

Rehearsed for "blind-ove" of soul mates devout,

A lingering longing between judgement and doubt,

It carries the tempo of tears drowning smiles,

It smiles at the tempo of tears carried miles,

It taunts lovers with longing and sugarcoated denials,

It's the music of "No!", when we're knee-deep in love...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Catch 22

When Karma and Love sit still for a while... as they do,

And decide on the time frame for a couple of two,

Karma would first choose a side, and be silent and wait...

When Karma and Love take a walk for a while... as they do,

And decide on the fate of a couple of two,

Love would first choose to wait, and be too silent to choose...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Preferred Menu

I once read attentively but aggressively, a story right to the end, even a fourth time, then again, but slower..., to the end..., Bit like me, as far as the author, new ideas all mixed with old norms, his', much like mine..., just as beautifully bent,

A short story with food and fables and myths, prologued, "What a blushing host should serve a hungry, picky conesuer, T'was the title's sharp kick in the shin, as I reached for "The Red Cookbook Dance", I'm not partial to facts, let me admit, thus a few thousand good books won't be company to my feast nor my glance,

So for many seasons my eyes didn't really dance with the alphabet on the higher shelves, only below,

I fed my eyes with the minds of long dead poets, master ones, the ones who knew how to correctly alphabetize and file a hard covered book deep,

Men who somehow acquired a love for a cuisine that became an two hourly almost..., well it could, an addiction, when acquired tastes meets lips' inclination,

Men for who, let's say, meat and potatoes was boring as hell, and..., not their taste buds' destination,

Not sure why these magnificently blessed conesuers ignored much of the menu, but when we dine, we do...,

Like I said, the one book seem too factual for my liking, I loved the other, it kicked me sharp, in the shin..., blessed be that day...,

-- Wolf Scherman --

Time's Eternal Game...

Sixty tiny fleeting feet per minute, sixty sleepy colic yards per hour,

And backstage, tall dark and with a handsome clockwise turn, ensuring our devour,

On our hands and knees on life's sturdy stage while our motto is, "hide and go seek..." - as we kill time,

Sixty puberty fleeting feet per minute, sixty curious yards per hour,

And backstage, tall dark and with a handsome clockwise turn, ensuring our devour,

And we kiss and laugh on life's slopy stage while our motto is, "seek and go hide..." - as we kill time,

Sixty sexy perky fleeting feet per minute, sixty lipsticked yards per hour,

And backstage, tall dark and with a handsome clockwise turn, ensuring our devour,

And we live and love on life's wooden stage while our motto is, "seek and go seek..." - as we kill time,

Sixty calloused shaky feet per minute, sixty cane ticked yards per hour,

And backstage, tall dark and with a handsome turn, ensuring our devour,

And we wait blind on life's creaking stage while our motto is, "wait to be hidden, wait to be hidden..." - as we kill time...

Sixty well laid platers of savoury snacks per minute, sixty teary hugs per hour, black's in fashion again, tall and dark and with a handsome anti clockwise turn...

Times had won...

-- Wolf Scherman --

I Can Understand A Man Like That...

A man that can walk ten scary miles in the dark, and know what light he harbours right in his heart, I Can Understand A Man Like That...

The worst that could happen on that strange day, is that he'd meet one like him, walking the opposite way,

A man that exacts his revenge in a particular way, with regard for another who could be him on a rainier day, I Can Understand A Man Like That...

The worst that could happen on that strange way, is that he'd meet one like him, walking the opposite way,

A man who is balanced holding an equal accord, with a left handed demon and an angel with a sword, I Can Understand A Man Like That...

The worst that could happen on that strange way, is that he'd meet one like him, walking the opposite way,

A man who teaches his young the value of meditation and pray, and that others out there value a G_d in a different beautiful way, I Can Understand A Man Like That...

The worst that could happen on their strange way, is that they'd meet one like them, walking the opposite way...

A man who loves more than himself a woman he met, like branches growing apart, then closer with twigs each forming half of a heart... I Can Understand A Man Like That...

The worst that could happen on that strange way, is that he'd meet one like him, loving the exact samest way...

I Can Understand A Man Like That...

-- Wolf Scherman --

What's Your Colour?

Could you choose from three feels, I with care and thought selected to end your tiring day?

Hold them in the light, feel with pauses between nylon, silk and cotton that I in a line display,

All for you to pull you from dreaded earth hours, from people with no appreciation,

Now tell, do tell, which colour would look good on you, while your ticket's book to that quiet destination,

Too late..., my mind's made up on how I'd like to view you under a full moon beam my dear,

End your search, deduct with urgent calculation the other newer shorter two,

Let me undo last weeks knots, yes..., the red silk was barely adequate for you,

Lets count as a choir, softly..., whisper, wrists and ankles lightly knotted each rewarded by knots times two,

End your tiresome toil, after foot and neck'd kisses for sixty minutes, to show why red's really the one for you...

-- Wolf Scherman --

"The Keepers Of Paris"

At four gates of Paris God placed winged men,

God had their swords taken from them,

Replacing with secrets the new way to fight,

Paris would now breathe a new life at night,

At the north gate a tall man dressed as a tailor,

Clothing the town folk from prince to the sailor,

His secret was weaving and cutting and stitching,

By teaching the beauty of clothing and matching,

The south gate was hotter an apron his attire,

While cutting and dicing and building a fire,

Presentation the secret for lovers of food,

The baker and chef selecting the mood,

The east gate hypnotic as all stood dead still,

The violin's new master selected God's will,

Their roads were laid out a long time ago,

The violin designed for the new road to go,

The west gate for sun-down for there they would meet,

To go on their knees and an angel they meet,

He handed a glass for laughter and cheer,

Instructed the lovers to hold each other dear,

So when next in Paris you ask where's the gate,

They'll look at you strangely? Clearly you're late,

Early to wake there's music to see,

Stay up late with your lover for thee,

In between your duty is to find the old tailor,

Listen very closely as he knows the Old Sailor,

Lastly the south gate if you love food,

That God made for lovers for setting their mood,

The Sailor on the ship comes closer to see,

Have thou found yet a match for thee?

Your match is out there listening to sunrise,

Your match out there it should be no surprise,

The gates are designed to keep until when,

Four angels all seem like ordinary men,

A wine merchant to bring cheer,

A Violinist to help find your dear,

A Tailor to cut out your match,

A baker to show which batch...

By Wolf Scherman 2014

France for God's Romantics

The light years across His massive old desk,

Were strewn with the plans as always the best,

Another sun and a moon the challenge the test,

Would He again built a heaven and rest?

Then Gabriel from searching came back one cold night,

His wings were aflame and weary of flight,

Out of breath angels followed with might,

But none could keep up with Gabriel's flight,

No need then for another heaven to make!

I found it! I found it! It's there for the take,

Designer Supreme then from Gabriel did take,

The layout of Paris in Europe that state,

Believe me it's perfect in Paris as here!

With art, violins, love and food just like here!

A legion of angels was summoned to hear,

The music by mortals to them brought a tear,

Across from the vastness of time and all space,

The music left earth and to heaven did race,

Then cover the place with more music and lace!

I found there on earth for heaven a place!

So then in Paris of all the Designer above,

Had then made a rule and His rule was to love,

At night and only at night He climbed down,

He left all the heavens to walk through the town,

His angels again a couple had seen,

Inviting God's love as in a beam,

Two lovers looked down from the bridge to the stream,

Their love so immortal now more than a dream,

He awaited the hug then the touch and the kiss,

Closing their eyes on that bridge of bliss,

Again passers by again they would miss,

"God would again make angels form this!"

So next time you're holding your lover so tight,

And footsteps draw closer on a cold night,

Keep closer your eyes and your lover the same,

Please think of nothing but only their name,

The Designer again search for lovers you see,

Using his violin a paintbrush for thee,

When after the first kiss the world is a blur,

When your mind and your heart and your speech is a slur,

If you can make that feeling you felt,

The hugging and kissing and touching all night,

Make it last longer and longer you might,

Meet the Designer of Paris that night...

By Wolf Scherman 2014

Wake Up If You Can

Don't ever miss a ticketed ride, the quiet reality train to sleep,

Fight her speedy coaches not, and blink long your sanity to keep,

Too many believe too soon the worry waking hours are for real,

Hard to escape the feel but sunny rays are sent here to steal,

To make believe what we hear and see, love and taste and own,

Wake, is merely many dreams when on the darker side of town,

From there we'll look, in awe the colours feels and smells,

The greatest lies taste sweeter here, this plain where all pain dwells,

Dream on poor soul, accustomed to so many heartaches grow,

It's only human flaw, to care a few minutes past your now,

Real is what you grow into, while you effortlessly choose,

And later as you climb aboard, a full train again to lose,

Reality waiting patiently, and presents again here soon,

Is up to you tonight, to swap your version for the moon...

By Wolf Scherman 2014

What Sound Will We Leave...?

How long the linger of what we leave behind...

When the Great Composer turns the last page kind...

Hammering low revengeful judging base notes slow...

Of sadder moments clung we can't let go...

Or higher upbeat ones that water hopeful smiles for listeners left behind,

When the Great Composer turned the last page kind...

-- Wolf Scherman --

The Guide

A few clicks more,

at break neck speed,

and sleep...

the ultimate intrusion...

Unwelcome hands,

of grey and aging,

and sleep...

that odder sweet illusion...

Unless you're "him",

pausing break neck speed,

with sleep...

and a measure of confusion...

You'll wake in lands,

without grey or aging,

with sleep...

that weightless destination...

-- Wolf Scherman --

My Name Is...

Both mired and mirrored in controversy, with great effort my back door to truth is forced open for a last time, before... you know...

Oh, nothing would give me greater pleasure, for your brittle mind to enter through my sealed front door, so slow...

I'd invite you, through the front, extend that gold framed invitation, to borrow me your "open hungry mind"...

It's alleged, I can't hand it back the same, yes, frankly I can't, and to be fair to you, like that, I'm not kind...

Come page the dusty pages, wipe the dust of ages from my visitors book, but wipe slow...

Their minds are still around, some upstairs o'er there, some here and some below,

Radicals, free thinkers and philosophers, all injured while they seek... holy men, seekers, tyrants, soldiers, atheists, they all came and never left...

Relieved from reality, uplifted from modern man's routine, Father Time has called it theft...

I am Suppressed History...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Capitalism's Rosy Stage

If flowers were allowed, if they dared to walk among us, wearing makeup,

If they had a choice to dialogue, if they acted "us" in theatre... when the curtain's up,

It would be a two minute play of bloody horror, before we all left or threw up,

Designing our greener thorned entitlement at sunrise,

Stemming from our "survival" need... our opposition's grand demise,

The softer petal'ed musky con that nothing's personal... cutting small steps business-wise,

Midday lunch with enemies, offering a lovely rose to keep,

Holding onto pettal'd kindness, passing thorned stems first... for them to keep,

And if the relationship isn't watered, that dried thorned stem cuts deep,

At bedtime later finding peace, in the lonely madder knowing,

That we're kind-of ethical and noble, our flowered deals bestowing,

Others got the shorter end of that thorny stem... all unknowing...

-- Wolf Scherman --

I'll Be A Gentleman, And Give You Some Options...

Was going to beg to let me have you like this and that for so long,

Should you decline...,

Was going to ask to let me have you like this and that for so long,

Should you decline...,

Was going to talk to you louder to let me have you like this and that for so long,

Should you decline...,

Was going to write to you to let me have you like this and that for so long,

Should you decline...,

Was going to insist to let me have you like this and that for so long,

Should you decline...,

Was going to wait till you sleep and make you dream to let me have you like this and that for so long,

Just to make it all easier and give you some options....

Should you decline...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Just Shopping...

We all queue every morning to buy from one another,

Are curiously picky shoppers indeed we all are,

All hungry and hasty to the bakery of misfortune, hoping to hear of a freshly baked steamy hot dozen,

Just a peek into the coffee shop of loss, for "Oh, awful, I know how you feel", which we don't,

Walking over still hungry to "She's wearing that again? To Church and to parents evening's?" shoe shop, just to count, nothing more,

Each new stem in the florist of desire has a turn for a speedy anxious flirt followed by a brush, of if business hours are ample, a rub under the throbbing flashing neon light of, "Damn, package that!",

Other shoppers get a turn to return what we now buy, and the ones in the coffee shop are saving for what we just returned,

Home of the "Did you hear what happened at convention?" is always a special treat, especially for the ones who didn't attend,

Over the road from "Would you do him, or her just for a challenge?", is a bitter man and woman who normally wouldn't have tea, but this morning the coffee shop is a bee hive, as stories of pollination are swapped,

And so we shop and shop,

Over and over and over as we count the first word only of every line of this wonderfully horrible shopping spree...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Loving Labour

Is there ever an ideal way to cook, to clean, to mop, dust and make a bed?

A perfect way to iron a heap to sleep, do dishes, draw curtains or open and vacuum?

What about folding clothes, re-packing cupboards, setting dinner tables, or those socks on the floor?

Like an appetizing starter, colourful, well spaced and anxious to be savoured for a while?

What if nothing was a chore, time consuming necessities, boring formalities to be filed and tagged "my job done"?

A world where couples do things for the sake of love, each a turn and share alike, together,

Just to be watched, in turn, adored, appreciated, to be stared at by our only love, shamelessly, dressed just in our beautiful skin,

Nothing else, just to remind us how we move, why we move, and who makes us move,

Nothing is really a chore... if we took the time to be watched, and watch...

Would that be too sexy to be filed in the forgotten, yet unattended corner of "my chore?"

-- Wolf Scherman --


Close that thesaurus, close it, actually, put fire to it..., but before the keepers of our "all purpose library" come, do it fast!

While you're at, pick a higher shelf, a nobler one, with the "politics of relationships", into the blaze... Cast!

There is no right and wrong nor "his" and "hers" just a needy lover's song taking turns, masked as his and hers,

And a muse..., there always has been a muse, r' else no ink would ever spill its guts as witness to how ones like us before us loved,

I've lined up some muses, different ones, all carry your name,

Sunrise, sunset, full moon, angry moon, lover's moon, all carry your name,

Do I sound intoxicated...? Well I don't have a lust to rhyme, just a drunken love scribbling without a filter....

-- Wolf Scherman --

Forgotten Art Of Watching

Not sure if you'd be ok with it, but I'd like to watch more of you dream of things that's none of my business, that is for later...

Not sure if you'd be ok with it, but I'd like to take walks in a dark forest, hold your hand, and look at you look around at things that's none of my business, that is for later...

Not sure if you'd be ok with it, but I'd like to walk into more shops, let you loose and try and purchase things, that's none of my business, that is for later...

Not sure if you'd be ok with it, but I'd like to lay you down naked after I shaved you, then kiss you and stall, and relive every fantasy, and see you smile like I'm not present, like it's none of my business, not even later...

Not sure if you'd be ok with it, but I'd like to watch you demonstrate how you please yourself, and let me say things to rush your climax, and let me be, like it's none of my business, not even later...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Not Taking A No

You're not in the mood tonight? Are you sure?

Well that's not very specific my dear, not at all,

Let's have a look at my list of things to do when..., "Not in the mood":

A forty minute foot massage followed by tea and a kiss before I cuddle you to sleep,

A forty minute back massage followed by hot chocolate before I kiss you passionately then you can go sleep,

A ten minute shower, nice and hot, let me soap you up and down, dress you in a toweling gown, and walk you to over to a warm waiting bed,

Some honey to sooth your voice, arnica ointment for your wrists, champagne later strong coffee on the brew, a candle and a lighter and sweet body paint and a toy... my treat,

What's the last item on the list? And what's the matter with your voice and wrists? Sorry, I must apologise, it's not even your birthday yet...,

Lets go sleep, I'm not in the mood either..., unless you tear a few seasons off the calendar and help me spoil your birthday surprise...?

In the mood for anything on the list...?

Or shall we just go to sleep..

-- Wolf Scherman --

Slayer Of Reality

Observe those golden minutes ticking past,

Time dragging for nothing's made to last,

How you spent what really was on loan,

Emptied your hourglass by happiness or moan,

And one day when you've emptied out all sand,

Stretch out the Reaper's ancient boney hand,

Our glasses are lined up ready for the tilt,

Reality of beauty ticking toward wilt,

Ever the best secret Time's Reaper keep,

Turning at random glassy vessels weep,

Forward to the next one almost time,

As we waste sand, ever on we whine...

By Wolf Scherman 2015

Tomorrow's Ashes

Build things...

Break some to make space,

Paint things...

Slash some to make space,

Write things...

Tear some to make space,

Draw some...

Erase some to make space,

There was only space for today, and it's in ashes on the floor, asleep...

Break rules...

Make some to make space,

Slash things...

Paint some to make space,

Tear things...

Write some to make space,

Erase some...

Draw some to make space?

There is only space for tomorrow, and it's knocking at the door, awake...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Lonely Loving Hand

Hand rubbing the emptiness next door-

Cold satin sheets perfectly pressed-

One hand searching an empty bed-

The other pulls shiny red fabric close-

Hot breath condensating a lonely pillow -

Hand flung tight restrictions to the floor-

Cold satin sheets exposing distressed-

One hand to "out of breath land" led-

The other hugs a moister wilder rose-

Hot breath condensating a lonely pillow -

Hand faster ushering dreams more-

Cold satin sheets noisily assessed-

One hand steering a runaway fire red-

The other gripping oxygen overdosed-

Hot breath condensating a lonely pillow...

By Wolf Scherman 2015

Complicated Smile

Can one at all separate one's mind from crazy lust and love, separate from blood rush moments, can one? To make another deserving soul smile that ancient beautiful smile? Just for that soul's satisfaction not one's own?

Hold that soul around human hips, lifted just right, and ask politely, not to do something... for a day or two? To watch her shave, getting ready? To colour in one rule, and only one single rule, the pleasure not for self but for that deserving soul?

All with no promises of after, of love of faithfulness, just to live in that moment, just to see that soul smile at confidence and beauty that should be painted permanently in the mirror,

No strings attached but one, that enjoyment reserved will be the strangest secret ever, the continued feed of an addiction... When sadness and insecurity knocks, to answer, "I'm not here...",

Tell the story over and over that it never happened, and that moment deleted from all the libraries of time, to have it again and again, as if the first every time,

Every drop of human sweetness drank, every swallow savoured never happened,

Let the universe smile on such a beautiful decision,

Let the universe smile on that right decision, or rather urge to make another smile many times,

Every kiss where it matters, serve as "you are deserving of this...", Life is wrong and right, light and dark, we may never know what moves a soul to smile, and that the reward, to make another smile..., even if only a few genuine smiles in an hour, or two hours, as long as smiling takes...,

-- Wolf Scherman --

Old School Sexy

Maybe that's the flaw in modern love's work of knitting,

A single missing stitch repeated as we keep on trying,

Couples page through ruder magazines a lil longer,

Hoping and reading for that single evasive answer,

The guarantee that a partner would never stray far, or at all,

That a spoon of this or cream like that would prevent love's stall,

That they are enough and always will be,

That a stranger; what we are used to and miss, with new eyes see,

What was the secret before when a candle and a stare was romance,

When ladies were ladies and covered from glance,

When all were dressed and tied and judged on stance,

When men's actions not debt was dueled with a lance,

The reference to this and the technique even said,

Has fallen away and covered and laid to bed,

Yes, we do it over and over like breathing all day,

We do it with colleagues and strangers all the way,

And then we stop when we gather as soul mates,

To explore each other even on our planned dates,

We well cover the beauty of our urges and spills,

Then wish another to slowly uncover our wills,

Why not do what lovers had done eons before,

It was sexy and old school a masterful explore,

Replacing at least some modern interventions for sure,

Pulling from love's archives, that illusive cure,

"The art of talking", aloud when a playful sexy spanking was called for,

The art of a well timed medium tone, "yes, right there, but slower please...", in store,

The art of a hot heaving out of breath, "...and this is, look..., all for you...", in her neck and ear,

The art of a soft whisper, "... I'm going to ignore when you say stop, and the time after that too... I'm sorry..."

-- Wolf Scherman --

Smoking Hot

Let her be and talk and eat and sleep

Her loneliness engulf her past that reap

Climax of her heat should never end

While your breath catch up and make her mend

You may want your need or lust to drown

Watch her faster sleep but never own

Hold her heart beats as you slowly count

Days to watch her as she curve astound

On a hilltop lonely just two souls bare

End of thought and logic just loving stare

Before sunrise calls make seconds count

It's worth your peace it's paramount

Your duty then to keep raising her value high

Turn off the music of your days gone by...

By Wolf Scherman 2015

Lace And More

For years it had been her choice to go lace,

And for so long no one ever saw a trace,

A name for every appointment and place,

To hug her beauty and snug in their place,

'Marni' for business the glamorous soft-cup,

'Chantelle's' French panache to keep them more up,

'La Perla' the redness that replaces makeup,

'Freya' for days a ribbon trim set would shake up,

For years it had been her choice to go lace,

And for so long no one ever saw a trace,

A name for every appointment and place,

To hug her beauty and snug in their place,

'Bordelle' for flatter and support a body suit,

'Fauve' the corset that present forbidden fruit,

'Panache' from D to K the Queen of the whole suit,

'Tezinis' the floral for the well-endowed fruit,

For years it had been her choice to go lace,

And for so long no one ever saw a trace,

A name for every appointment and place,

To hug her beauty and snug in their place...

By Wolf Scherman 2014

If She Was Mine

Caringly I would hide her from the ugliness that rules the world by day and blackest night,

Help her, armour her and in her stead her battles fight,

A full moon now and then and only then, to have my twisted ways with her...

Never too often, not to use her only for my sexual nightmare,

To keep her rolled up in loving arms, tied with seven red roses,

Each rose for each day of the week we encounter and live and pass,

Let her be who she in the dark really is, not to judge, treat her like crystal glass,

Leave a lovers note each morning next to the sweetest cup of tea,

Every night to kiss and love and hug, and for good measure for better full moon sex, an innocent little fight...

-- Wolf Scherman --

Flower & Sickle

Life is a demoralising, bloody, energy sapping fight and cruel,

If I manage it's scars long enough I temper my mind a tool,

To fight back with prayer and patience based on hope a shield,

Deflecting burning arrows while wounded on my knees downward yield,

Down in agony on the battlefield I lay still and wait and wait,

His shadow grew longer and behind him again slammed the heavy gate,

"Why do you smile why don't you die?", asked the Shadow with a sickle stretched out,

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