Maroon (A picture challenge poem)

On you we have seen many colours -
some traditional, black and midnight blue -
but this time, everything's different;
you've stepped out wearing maroon.

Something about this drives us wild,
perhaps because it is new?
Whatever it is, we don't really care,
in our heads, we're ripping it off you!

There may be two others beside you
as you walk the red carpet tonight,
But our tunnel-vision blocks them out,
we seek you out and watch you all night.

There's something about the maroon on you
that emphasises your eyes,
that makes your hair seem lighter;
we notice this and contentedly sigh.

Such minute details, like the colour of your shirt, suit and tie
are locked away in our brains
So that when you step out at another event,
we can share, compare and complain.

There's something different about you in maroon
that changes your face and your ways.
Perhaps it makes you bolder?
Your cheeky press answers stay with us for days!

One thing we do know of you and maroon;
the two go together well.
And no matter what colour your suit and tie,
you will always make our loving hearts swell!

An Ode to RAoR

Oh RAoR, you brighten up my life,
Oh, how you make me laugh
with each innuendo and euphemism
thrown out at the sight of each new photograph!

JAG runs the blog with such power and ease,
TessAnz, shares her poetry skills,
And let's not forget Liz, Deb, Scilla and Smitt
whose smutty wisdom always serves to please!

I believe that here on RAoR, my best days so far have been spent,
and I can tell you now with utmost confidence - each sin I've confessed?
I don't wish to repent!

Vana, you said you were "just Dutch and stupid!"
but we know that really, you're smart,
And RDM and our Jolori - each new edit you bring touches all of our hearts!

May these happy days continue;
Women brought together by love for one man,
As long as they do, I know I'll muddle through
whenever RL hits the fan!

And maybe some time in the future,
when our daughters and granddaughters are born,
We'll have started a new generation of H00rs and Angelz
searching for and borrowing RobPorn!

Louisiana

It is a quiet, cool evening in Louisiana.
Far away from the houses
full of families huddled round TV sets,
the loud click of a camera shutter
breaks the silence.

Each click pierces the air like a bullet.
Each movement of the photographer and her subject in the wind
happens just as swiftly.
Just because the photographer does not feel
what thousands of other women feel for her subject
does not mean she does not understand it,
know it,
see it;
It does not mean she cannot manipulate her subject
to shoot a thousand women's dreams in one double-page spread.
She can.

With the next click, she captures him - tall, windswept and handsome
in damnable tight black pants and an even tighter black shirt.
With this click, the sound is not the familiar mechanic clap -
It is a thousand sighs.
The wind rustling through his hair is a thousand hands
wishing to touch him.
The watchful eyes of his bodyguard are not just his own,
they are his fans - watching, waiting with baited breath,
ready to pounce, to save and protect.

The Louisiana air is cooler now, the sky beginning to pale,
but still the subject poses, calm and patient.
Somewhere on a blog, these scenes are posted.
Women gather on forums, guessing the temperature, time;
making cleverly disguised innuendoes
and trying to fathom whether or not
you can see his nipples through his shirt.
Each click and zoom of the photographer's lens
corresponds to a click and zoom of the photos on the blog.
The photos aren't even official, and already have caught so much attention.

Typical.

As the shoot draws to a close, and everyone heads for home,
the subject - now in a white shirt, black jacket and Ray-Bans,
looking good enough to trigger worldwide sin - is herded by his bodyguard to his car.
The driver begins to morph into each and every female entranced by him.
Their subconscious fools them,
satisfies them,
with the thought that they alone
are taking him home;
One photographer,
One man,
One day in Louisiana
was enough to launch a million fantasies.
With a smirk, the photographer leans back in her seat.
She knows what she has done.
"Just wait," she thinks as the car drives away "until the official photos are released."

Grace Under Pressure

You never ask too much, and you say not much is ever asked of you,
You find it completely remarkable that so many have interest in all you do.
The sea of screaming faces, set like a painting on the screen, with you standing before them,
Smiling, unnerved and serene,
is truly a sight to see.

Breathtaking, so painfully handsome - though you shake your head and deny
that any woman should justly lay her eye on you - one can understand just why
you require so much protection. Imagine the uproar if one should ever dent perfection!
These things do not bother you,
for you are selfless, pure and true, and though you'd plead this not the case,
to gaze upon your heaven-sculpted face conjures only maddening love.
To gaze upon your captured repose, and take in every feature up close
causes many a sleepless night.

Then, to hear that silken voice, examine every gesture,
To see how you think, feel and speak,
To feel as though you speak and look solely upon us,
provides a kind of unknown pleasure,
So we keep your face, your voice and gestures
locked within our minds like treasures
waiting to be found again, and used in hours of daily leisure,
when thinking of you is not forbidden, when thinking of you
makes us free.

It's times like this one wishes you could see
the love that is felt so endlessly by those whose lives you enrich.
The most remarkable thing of all about you is not what you do,
but who you are.
It doesn't matter what others see, what others try to make us read -
we know it is just like he said; we know that, by all means and measures,
you are the epitome of grace under pressure.

Reasons I Can't Stand You

I can't stand the sight of your handsome face.

I can't stand the way you fill up every space
in my mind.

I can't stand that fact that, time after time,
I have to come to terms with the fact you're not mine.

I can't stand the fact that when you're away,
I imagine your voice - all the things you would say.

I can't stand the fact I don't know you at all,
But I really can't stand that I love you, most of all.

Golden

Look at you now, you're a big movie star
And you pull up outside in your expensive car.
Years ago, you wouldn't have fit with this crowd,
but now look at you - you're the man of the hour.

And when the light shines down on you, it's golden,
And though we think that we know you, we just don't -
When you smile, we go weak, and it's so hard to speak;
But still the light shines on you, and you're golden.

With just one glimpse of that face, that suit,
Thousands of women want to bear your fruit.
It's truly an amazing sight to see;
One man so loved, as would be a deity.

And when the light shines down on you, it's golden,
And though we think that we know you, we just don't -
When you smile, we go weak, and it's so hard to speak;
But still the light shines on you, and you're golden.

In times of trouble, we mutter your name,
Turning to you and using your fame,
To bring you to us, let you heal us again;
There's no doubt, we're obsessed, but we feel no shame.

And when the light shines down on you, it's golden,
And though we think that we know you, we just don't -
When you smile, we go weak, and it's so hard to speak;
But still the light shines on you, and you're golden.

To Feel

Sitting here in this darkened place,
I search, longing to see your name, your face,
To feel you here again.

It's been so long, I'm counting the days
and missing you in all these ways
I never knew you could miss someone;
I guess I should have known
That I'd be sitting here one day,
Waiting,
Hoping,
To feel you here again.

The worst part is that nothing
seems to work.
Nothing seems to bring you back.
I sigh and plunge my head in my hands
As I realise, irked,
that for you, I have lost
the ability to feel.

For now.