all of a sudden passion suddenly

[RhymeFairy]

he surrounds


wanking his john
joining the joust
he captured my
imagination

wrong, right
he is. the one
who summons.
the one who
sensationalizes
my visions
day, night


together
we bend. spanks
to ass, fingers
flanking
my most inner
parts.

ass in air
giving it all
worshiping
welting

wilting this
honey pot~

 

[RhymeFairy]

passion is
as passion
does ....



...............................................



I awake
knowing you
are not here.

Knowing
you reside, another
state, another

time. Far from where
I can reach. Time stands
still as I

try to capture
you. Come, join
feel free to
partake

these heavenly hills
these hips,

tits - that call out.
That encourage
you,

be-moan
for you.
To be here,

now. Passion
Passion. Slow moans

escape
as I feel your fingers, gliding
tempting, taking me
over

the edge. Your voice
commands, a
request, as body
bends, a simple chair

placed. Our bodies
entwined
meeting, again
again. Rocking horse

trollops
fingers encounter
cock.

Rub, en-
circle
bend, bemuse

amusement escapes,
as we canter, encounter
a world of our

own. I ride up,
down
demanding more

of you. Taking you
to the hilt of
my existence. Deep
into the woods

we travel. Hard
sharp

galloping
on. Surpassing tree,

by tree. Graspy breathes
echo
encouraging me
as wetness surrounds
your steed
of steel. Moans,

guttural
groans - grasp

gaining on me in
speed and force you

forage on. Taking me

higher

cock buried, nails
digging into shoulders

back

arms. Kisses to neck,
kneading you on. Spasming
piston
erupts
as eager body bends,
beseeches you on

on

on .....








free thought ... ~~

 

[Neonurotic]

One Word Makes Me Cry and Laugh in the Same Breath

Benign.​

and that seriously is the best 1-word poem
.

 

[Flesh_4_Fantasy]

Really?


Eleven, then one;
And a boast from an enclosure

The observer folded in upon his own eye,
Not daring to look out except
With tongue protruding

A mock-childish gesture
Mocking challenge to deflate -
Dissembling forethought assured
By hubris' self-loving embrace

What is gold and glimmering
In your solitary eye is
Pyrite to another, with no amount
Of transubstantiation practiced

You offer a lump
And name it priceless

 

[RhymeFairy]

he does me
right.


calls, text, visit

dates that never end, nights
too. a slow palm sliver
as goosebumps appear.

taking my hand, guiding
bodies eagerly merge
fornicating thoughts
dangle, outta sight.

mind ------- mix
like disco ball
turns, dizzy
dizzy

he makes me dizzy with
every adventure
he dreams up.



..............

sorry ... sooo discombobulated this evening~

 

[RhymeFairy]

Burn


I burn

in thoughts
thinking
dreaming

as hands follow,
a duet in
motion. Dream
a caress

a sensation,
heartfelt. Apart

working

it through.
Days go by
nights follow too

as midnight
frolics. I dream
I fall

headlong into
the pleasure

of you,

bodies dancing,

mimicking
a slow
wet
rub. My man

who watches
the fire
scorch,

sending me
up
into flames.

 

[RhymeFairy]

visit, unto ... memories ...

.....


I love fall weather, so sweet and cool
curtains curtsey, creating my land
of magical lovin'. He comes to me, weathered
by demons from past. I shelter him, in my moist
forbidden caverns, that have awaited him, forever
more.

Winter dragged on, as we dipped in hot springs,
gathered limericks to chuckle by the fire, but he
held my heart cupped in a pina colada visions
of a bright future foreseen by a twin souls,
oneness.

Spring came, he slashed our hearts, heaving
everyday nightmares around, to bring us down.
We fought it all, with calls of concern and long
dreary nights, dialing digits to lend our helping
hands. A sofa bed dream, snores intermixed
with soft, sultry love words, poems and writes
back and forth. We withstood, took our stand,
hand in hand, yet apart as night and day.

Summer came, still distant and disarranged. Begging
his love, company, a partnership to last eternity.
As she held every breath for one word, one
sigh to escape and finally be back together. To dip
into the shores of a normal life, filled with love,
romance, and his soft, warm body lying next
to her, every night. The assurance that all
was well and he was but a touch away. Under silken
covers, ready to wrap loving arms around, bedbound,
lovin' night into day.

Winter gloomed ahead. Working all hours, barley
making numbers appear to call, be heard or even feel
him close. Yet, their demon still stalked and talked
of threats and regrets. Demoralizing hatred, kindled
leaving these two doves partaking not a crumb.

Spring sprung, again. He had, had enough. Missing
his one, moving back was the hardest decision ever
any one man made. Still no calls, or warm sheltering
words but hope had sprung. Her heart leapt, filled
with joy. Knowing one day, one time, soon. Hopefully
they would have a real chance.

A year passed, then two. These two lived, let live
and tried moving on. The other always in the foremost
front of their mind. Till now. Fall has set in again,
so sweet and cool. Curtains curtsey, creating
their land of magical lovin'. He comes, weathered
by demons from past. I shelter him, in my moist
forbidden caverns, that have awaited him, forever
more.

 

[greenmountaineer]

Sloth

The trouble with owning a house
Is that you have to repair it,
The same as with your status quo
Or car if you don't maintain it.

Candide travelled far in the world,
But to come home to his garden
And realized after he manured it,
Shit! He'd have to weed it.

 

[greenmountaineer]

I Want to Hold Your Hand.

Near the end, that's what he said;
It didn't matter what she once said
To him in the turmoil of marriage,

Nor raising the kids his way or hers
Or what the neighbors said after church.

No, it didn't much matter.

 

[Tzara]

Near the end, that's what he said;
It didn't matter what she once said
To him in the turmoil of marriage,

Nor raising the kids his way or hers
Or what the neighbors said after church.

No, it didn't much matter.

Technically: Like the said, said, -age; the hers, church almost rhymes.

Emotionally, this brought back my father's death, and how, in his morphine fog, he knew my mother was there, and wanted to hug her, reaching up the one non-IVed arm to caress her. Then he laid back and died, holding her hand.

I haven't been able to write about it. Your poem helps.

 

[Tzara]

Snake

It is that you kneel.
That’s what makes me hard—

the anticipation, I suppose,
or just the idea

that you, that you, will
take me into your mouth

like eating a serpent, whole.
My venom,

is, I hope benign.
I have more, for a second time.

 

[greenmountaineer]

Variation on a Theme by Tzara

An old worm, like old trees,
has many rings

but unlike wood,
he's wrinkled and soft,

and lacking passion,
doesn't come suddenly

out of the ground
for the birds and the bees

for fear some bird's about to give him
head and the eye from the trees.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Triggers

The angle of his jaw and the small twitch
of the muscle makes me wet.

His closed eyes and the quickening
in my mouth make me yearn

for his hands to lift me from my
knees to his lap to feel him enter

in a seamless slide as we settle
in stillness savouring the closeness,

his hands under me as if he is
about to lift me and he does – slowly

so slowly until he is barely there
only to claim me once more.

 

[Tzara]

Gravitation

I lie luxuriant in the surf
of her thighs' wash over my thighs

gaze up into the benevolent sun
of her beauty, wait

for the inevitable surge,
that lunar swell that is the tide.

 

[Tzara]

An old worm, like old trees,

Boy, I hope you meant this to be at least kind of funny, gm, because I find it so. Sad, or perhaps more properly, nostalgic, as well.

I identify with it, at least as I understand it.

the last line is a bit confusing to me. Liked it, though.

 

[Tzara]

The angle of his jaw and the small twitch

One of the things that irritates me about the bulk of the "erotic" poems here is that they always seem to be about ecstatic sexual encounters, as if we all experience porn movies every night in bed.

We (or, at least I) know this is not the case.

Perhaps I'm just living a drab and uneventful life, but what I especially like about this poem is that it does not shift too far into being simply a love poem--the poem is clearly about sexual pleasure and experience but describes it with a degree of delicacy. That is both unusual and appreciated.

Enjoyed this one, Ms. Tess.

 

[greenmountaineer]

Boy, I hope you meant this to be at least kind of funny, gm, because I find it so. Sad, or perhaps more properly, nostalgic, as well.

I identify with it, at least as I understand it.

the last line is a bit confusing to me. Liked it, though.

Yup, a parody on sex and old age.

I tried to extend the double-entendre of the last stanza too much, I'm afraid, i.e., a bird sighting its prey from some tree branch before it swoops down upon it.

Back to the drawing board.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

The next chapter - The Sacrificial Cum

His flesh is hers and
hers his, thigh on thigh,

face to swell of breast, he breathes
her in. Both focus on the seat

of his pleasure, rising, rising
as she falls he moans.

She tips her hips just so
and uses muscles neither can see

making him pull her to him.
Her breasts are comfort against his face,

to her his day's-growth is erotic
as she slows the progress.

His grip on her ankles tightens
as he fights the urge to thrust skyward

and feels pleasure on the verge
of pain as the white hot explosion

makes them both cry out. He comes,
she does not.

 

[Tzara]

His flesh is hers and
hers his, thigh on thigh...

I like this poem, Tess. The problem for me is that abrupt ending--"He comes, / she does not."

Not because of what it says, but because of what it doesn't say. Clearly in the poem, this is meant to be a crisis point, but I don't feel that I exactly know what I (as reader) am supposed to feel. Perhaps this is merely me as clueless guy, but I want to know what the Narrator feels and why.

It's the kind of poem I want to read, actually. Almost. I want to understand something about how you all (i.e., women) feel when our sexual relations don't go quite right.

Which they don't always, either side.

So to me, this is really close. But then it kind of punts on the emotion thing. What are we (guys, generic) doing wrong?

I really like, though, that it is a poem about sex that isn't simply beatific.

Sex (and love) is/are a complicated thing. Why I like your poem.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

I like this poem, Tess. The problem for me is that abrupt ending--"He comes, / she does not."

Not because of what it says, but because of what it doesn't say. Clearly in the poem, this is meant to be a crisis point, but I don't feel that I exactly know what I (as reader) am supposed to feel. Perhaps this is merely me as clueless guy, but I want to know what the Narrator feels and why.

It's the kind of poem I want to read, actually. Almost. I want to understand something about how you all (i.e., women) feel when our sexual relations don't go quite right.

Which they don't always, either side.

So to me, this is really close. But then it kind of punts on the emotion thing. What are we (guys, generic) doing wrong?

I really like, though, that it is a poem about sex that isn't simply beatific.

Sex (and love) is/are a complicated thing. Why I like your poem.

Thank you, I think. My poems are often deliberately ambiguous to allow the reader freedom to interpret. It's interesting that you saw "a crisis" - telling actually as you might see.

The first three lines are, hopefully, revealing to the reader that this is a loving couple. Then the focus shifts to her desire to pleasure him at the "expense" of her orgasm, an act of her love for him.

I'm saying, in essence, sex is different for men and women, the goals different. I don't think the desired end result for a woman is necessarily to come, she gets her pleasure from enhancing his.

Perhaps, in the best of all worlds he will do the same for her, either immediately after he catches his breathe or at least next time they make love.

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

Glasses smudged
vision clear
I stride into
the eggshell daybreak
Glass chin
My wisely foolish
Compass needle.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Remebrance Day

Cold winds sweep down
from the Gatineau Hills
carrying a premonition of winter.
Is it this that makes these old eyes water
or is it the memories?

What horrors have they seen,
these mundane men,
grizzled and bent, standing now
like monuments?
Comrades together once more
to salute those left behind at
Allemagne,
Dunkirk,
Midway.

There were good times too,
friendships forged and pride
that shines, even now,
in the rows of medals and
those same sad eyes.

None who fought in those four
years remain to remind us.
Twenty million died, but still
we sacrifice our young.
As the jets fly low, respectfully
in formation and guns salute the dead,
remembered wounds are too fresh
and young men crumple, weeping
in their wheelchairs, mortally afraid once more.

A pearl of understanding,
if not remembrance,
is present in the eyes of this child
holding his mother’s hand
and in the other a picture
of yet another soldier lost in
Afghanistan.

 

[mothership]

Liquor Bottle

Throw the bottle -
over the fence.
Yes, just like that.
You see, this is life.
It's throwing empty liquor bottles
over a fence,
Off a roof.
You see kid,
it isn't the fairy tale.
It isn't what your parents told you:
It isn't Santa
Or Jesus.
It is living every moment.
It is loving every moment,
every person.
It is being drunk
on a roof.
It is dancing with no music.
God, you see?
Do you see, kid?
Take a sip.
It is that burn.
It is tomorrow.
We will both
wake up
feeling like shit, kid.
See?
It isn't all throwing empty liquor bottles
over a fence
off a roof.
But if you only think about the hangover
tomorrow,
then why live?
There will be shit in life,
but there will always be
high points.
There will always be throwing empty liquor bottles
over a fence,
off a roof.

 

[WillowedCabin]

One Trick Pony

"I'd love to screw the horse whisperer"

heckling me through the haze,
a harvest moon in her smoker's teeth.
fuck it, Let the crop rot.
Two trampled gardenias sitting in lawn chairs
nursing shock with shock top, topped
with black soil that had no stars
Even God wanted to smother us
Force us down by the forced downing
of that unbarable horse pill.
Why can I still see her bruises at night?

"I ain't nobody's prize pony"

 

[annaswirls]

I stop by with this dleserious belief that
this time you will have returned
dipping paper stars into paraffin polishing the silver beads
your promised sometimes I think I miss you
but I don't. just the feeling that words could spin
a web that saves us all