You might find many of these pieces amateurish, and I won’t begin to deny that they may, in fact, be so.  But the truth is I’m somewhat proud of them and my posting them here is very appropriate, considering that this site is my little shrine to her anyway.

–Brian M. Weidemann
torisite@worldbri.com

Feminine Keys

Feminine keys and silenced strings,
A fluid grace unharshly sings,
Dynamics softly sounding sweetness,
Untouched Goddess-soakened prowess.
Pedals pressed preserve her tone,
By stimulated microphone.
A girl and her piano, dear,
The notion of the thoughtful tear.
A hair, a hand, a gaze, a voice,
Too uncontrolled, yet graceful poise,
A reach, a stretch, collapse, release,
From spoken hearts, a well-sung piece.
A yearn, a yawn, my strength begone,
That ears-with-feet embrace upon.
A stance will pierce, a call, a cringe,
A flattened pitch–a sharp syringe.
A wish to be her cherished lover,
Tori and her Bösendorfer.
 
 
Irresistibility & Acronymic Subtlety
 
Tempting is the taunting tongue
Of which a sexy speech seduces
Reminiscence as it’s sung–
Inveigling that her voice produces.
 
Amorously, I devote
My undenied affection toward
Orality of every note
Seducing thoughts I can’t afford.
 
Irresistibility is what is shed from her to me.
 
Lascivious intentions start
Occurring in a fallen hole.
Voicings that seduce the heart
Enrich expressions from the soul.  

Yonder does she lie awakened
Often unaware of me.
Unaware unknowingly.
 
 
Voice
 
The voices I’ve heard,
They all have been there,
Though rarely have I had
Intentions to care.
Though recently here
Within my own head,
I’ve heard I should listen.
It’s better instead.
 
The impression she’s leaving–
Embossing quite deeply
Into my subconscious.
I urge so to keep these
Moments in time,
And memories known,
And moments ahead,
Seductively shown.
 
Her voice I have heard
And I’ll listen forever.
Embrace in her scent:
My aching endeavor.
The pain, it is good,
And within, never dull.
Refrain from a kiss--
Quite impossible.
 
She’s opened my eyes and my heart with her voice
Like nothing I’ve heard before.
She’s left me with a difficult choice
It’s difficult not to ignore
The seductive way she is.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give.
I’m becoming aware
Of how much I care.
 
 
Canvas
 
The blank, white canvas in my heart
Is painted onto when you’re near.
A bright sunset, my warming art,
A smudge of paint: an oily tear.
The brushes you, to me, have given
Make me strong and keep me going.
Painting you sustains my living.
Making love, acrylics flowing.
 
 
Left Alone
 
Faces I’ve seen and voices I’ve heard,
Hidden intent enveloping all,
Undue consent for which I have fought,
Flowing, red hair, a well-spoken gaze,
A scent from the past I sensed as it passed,
A sensual thought has eaten its words:
I am left alone.
 
The heart doesn’t trust the eyes that behold.
The unknown ignores the evidence known.
Fluids embrace a non-flowing soul.
Pleasure is plain, as pain can’t recall.
Freedom’s prepared and boredom sets in:
I am left alone.
 
Memories fade, although not for me.
Pictures remain, contented I am.
Emotions rehearsed, forgotten some time.
The hands of the clock grab hold of my heart.
I am left alone.
 
Theories disliked or misunderstood,
A mis-spoken phrase, poetic mistake,
A paper and pen creating a fib.

Lack of the sun or too many clouds.
I am left alone.
 
And I’m hiding from my most dreaded fear:
To be left alone.  

I am left alone.

Cyclical Emotions

Cyclical emotions
Of my feminine devotions:
A heart is all I’ve owned,
A kiss is all I need.
I’ve fallen for your touch.
I always tend to bleed.
My heart erodes away
By vast, exotic oceans
Of unfulfilled desires
And cyclical emotions.
 
 
Pleasant Entropy
 
You’ve set fire to cares I once kept warm.
Hollow ash remains in weakened hearts.
Set ablaze: expressions I have worn.
Weakened hopes make passion fall apart,
Or rather not.  It grows and does encompass me.
It causes minds to love with pleasant entropy.
That’s all my heart will think, is pleasant entropy.
Desire’s all I know of unfelt ecstasy.
 
Mystery or just untold are times unlived by me.
Times from far away of which quite little I have heard.
Struggling are the thoughts I feel of pleasant entropy.
I’ll ponder endlessly, I’ll find, on love that’s not occurred.
 
 
Radiant
 
For you my heart is soaking wet
When icicles do melt away,
From heat that from you radiates.  

Clouded Skies

The questions never posed
Have kept my visions closed
Like doors which have no locks
And don’t respond to knocks.
 
The blinding tendencies
Of each way you tend to tease
Have kept me on the ground
Where discarded dreams are found.
 
You are who I don’t know
When we do not seem to grow
To care for others’ cares
And when feelings have no heirs.
 
The bluest of the clouded skies,
The truest of your clever lies,
The newest thoughts I realize
I’ve always had in mind
Are the traces you’ve outlined.


Real
 
Why must she be real?
There’s so much more to know, to learn now.
I’ve been quite content just knowing of her voice,
Of her face, of her heart, of her beauty,
But why must she be real?
I’m scared to go too far,
But further is where she is.
Further is where she’s been.
Why must she be real?
Devoted am I still, respectful of all she is.
Contented I would be if closer she was to me.
All I’ll ever know is her voice,
Her face, her heart, her beauty.
Devoted I will be,
Although she knows not of me.
Why must she be real?
For I am real too.
A fantasy is much easier to hold.
A fantasy is more pleasant to embrace
When it’s the only thing left to have.
Why must she be real?


Poem of the Song
 
Love song, oh love song
I sing of thee to she.
You are so luscious, beauteous,
And full of melody.
So lyrical and flowing
Are you when sung out loud
Unfortunate is she, it’s known,
Who knows not how to hear
When feelings start with, “Dear . . . ”
She cannot discern tone,
And for this she is proud.
Her heart is wind that’s blowing
And travels awkwardly
And blows as if it’s tedious.
Unknown to she is thee,
Love song, oh love song.


The Temptress, Beauty
 
1
 
The freshest air is in the hair
Of beauty as she takes the wind
And combs it through seductive locks
Of auburn red in golden light.
The perfect pain–attempt restrain
From reaching out to stroke a hair
That waves as wind does lift its life
To freely flow–seductive sight.
A sexy scent, refrain, repent,
Indulge in urges taunted by
With tendrils tempting subtle notion,
Lacks to see desires free
Among her fellow company
Who looks upon her, awe-inspired,
Filled with flames of raw emotion.
 
2
 
Seductive guise is in the eyes
Of beauty as she takes a gaze
And lends it out.  I take her view
Of visage sweet in shades of harm.
The perfect pain–attempt restrain
From gazing deeply into eyes
That draw the unsuspecting heart
To freely flow–seductive charm.
A sexy brow that knows not how
To hide from views of desperate souls
Will raise and summon feelings that,
Unknown to her enticing ways,
Will hunt and kill a soul’s free will
That otherwise would hide and think,
Ignoring thoughts enlightened by
Her colored hues amidst the grays.
 
3
 
The finest trips are through the lips
Of beauty as she gives a kiss
And lends it out unto my own
With tenderness in hopeful dreams.
The perfect pain–attempt restrain
From lunging out to kiss the lips
That draw the unenlightened heart
With rays of light–seductive beams.
A sexy touch, that gives so much
When contact is the fantasy
That lonely hearts will recollect,
Is what the lips have always kept
And never dealt and never felt
By desperate souls that yearn and hope
To be embraced by lips that kissed
And hair that fell and eyes that wept.


The Lacking of Silence
 
Whisper–A subtle word I long to hear.
You haven’t spoken.
You haven’t thought.
I haven’t forgotten.
Chaoticism prevails without a sane idea true.
Silence is welcomed.
Silence is tired.
Distracting are the noises I’ve heard
That you have created in your gentle musing.
Amusing are those notions when they lack the honesty
I’ve heard in my own.
Silence–A subtle word more deafening than your delicate voice.


Features in a Dream of Mine
 
The eyes, the eyes, the lips, the hair–
These are the things at which I stare
When dreaming is but simple daze.
I’m caught off-guard by sexy ways
She can’t help but inflict upon
The consciousness I claim to don
And wear with pride, although it keeps
A pathway clear when my heart leaps
And falls for her and falls and stands
To fall and fall to deeper lands
That even I have yet to see,
With some degree of clarity,
The light that she will never shed
That makes me dream when I’m in bed.
The visions I have seen of her
Will slowly start to fade and blur
In images that are so fair–
The eyes, the eyes, the lips, the hair.


Broken Silence
 
The shards of broken silence lie
Across the comfort underneath
A pleasant bed of subtleness
And form arrays of pointed teeth
Which pierce the calm and serene sounds
In which I’ve nestled sanity
That comes but once a year to sleep
And wake with warm integrity.
 
 
Dreamt & Wept
 
I’ve dreamt and wept and sighed and died
From vignettes on which I’ve relied.
Exhausted are my zealous notions
Caught adrift in jealous oceans–
Waves of dreams in soakened streams
Of consciousness, and love-sick themes.


Away They Flew
 
The little girls misplaced their toys
They’re in their heads and in my head
A little girl with crying dreams.
 
Away, away they flew away
As misplaced dreams awaken me
For Ellen is, but not for me.
 
For Ellen is, but not for me.
Precious lives and thoughts can grow
And so they do.  They’re  in my head.
 
Away, away they flew away.
Misplaced dreams awaken me
For Ellen is, but not for me.
 
Children fly away they do
And play and bathe in flowing streams
Of consciousness that tends to fly.
 
They fly away into my head
And misplaced dreams awaken me
For Ellen is, but not for me.
 
Weather is but I’m aware
For sun is shining in my head.
Rain is dying in my head.
 
Snow can wait, but not for me
And misplaced dreams awaken me
Away, away they flew away,
For Ellen is, but not for me.
 
For Ellen is, but not for me.
 
 
Gratuitous Drivel
 
Auburn flame and crimson ash,
A gentle brow, a saddened lash,
A strand of life, a spoken lure,
Allure untouched, a tempted cure.
A flow proceeds to go afar,
As well as fluids often are
The seeds of death, a quiet weep,
The weeds will grow and rest and sleep.
 
 
Euphonious Affection
 
Who is this girl of whom I dream?
Her image textures my mental score
With variations on the theme
Of love I have composed before.
Understanding, her heart needs
When orchestrated love is heard.
The truest feeling of love exceeds
The subtleties of note and word.