Archival Review

[LeBroz]

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I've looked at several poems by this writer and frankly, this is one of the few I'm brave enough to tackle at this time, due to his frequent creative formatting. Indents don't work well as they throw in extra line spacing; time for more white dot magic.

In any case, enjoy the creative portrayal of an extreme D/s relationship without the presence of overtly crude and graphic representation. He better portrays the mindset, which you can appreciate, even if the D/s scene doesn't melt your butter.


Ant-Hill

by RazzRajen©


Ahhh yes,
......free form text
unhinge the mind
let it roam
where the will o'wisp takes it.

........floating and dipping
smelling and farting
........vagaries abound
does the chance return?

Only when My will is strong.
........binding you to the posts,
.......Watching and looking
......out the window,
staked out in splendour......., akimbo.

How long the chastisement ?
longing for release,
......never getting any
staying the course ,
....never finishing.


Rocks finish,
as do ants

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[Angeline]

I miss Razz!

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I've looked at several poems by this writer and frankly, this is one of the few I'm brave enough to tackle at this time, due to his frequent creative formatting. Indents don't work well as they throw in extra line spacing; time for more white dot magic.

In any case, enjoy the creative portrayal of an extreme D/s relationship without the presence of overtly crude and graphic representation. He better portrays the mindset, which you can appreciate, even if the D/s scene doesn't melt your butter.

<snip>

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I'm happy to see RazzRajen's poem here. He's really good, and wrote some beautiful poems in the time he posted here, with a lovely, questioning tension/balance between spirituality and the D/s life. When one thinks of how many poorly written, beat-you-over-the-head Master/slave poems are here at Lit, it's easy to appreciate Razz's writing.

He is a good poet to explore. He has a lot of submissions, and I think the more you read him, the more you see in his body of work here.

I hope you don't mind me posting one more by him, LeBroz. It only has one spacing change, so I'm not taxing myself as you did, but it's a good poem.

Razz, if you're lurking, got any new poems?

About chimeras
by RazzRajen©


when the fog lifted in the morning
_waves of sand pealed
off the silent grasses
Blades sent crawling
single sheets sprawling
Wrapt in crinkles
of stained ardour
Ants scrolling and
leafs prowling
Cats bound and
purr around

Leaps of faith
abound
and then
again.

 

[LeBroz]

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I'm happy to see RazzRajen's poem here. He's really good, and wrote some beautiful poems in the time he posted here, with a lovely, questioning tension/balance between spirituality and the D/s life. When one thinks of how many poorly written, beat-you-over-the-head Master/slave poems are here at Lit, it's easy to appreciate Razz's writing.

He is a good poet to explore. He has a lot of submissions, and I think the more you read him, the more you see in his body of work here.

Abyss is one of his poems I'd considered posting but quailed at the work it would take to maintain the intergrity of his formatting. There are several others that I had considered but avoided due to the formatting issue. I'll go ahead and put them back in the queue and when I find I'm feeling energetic, I'll go ahead and post them with formatting intact.

In another vein, here's one from a couple years ago that first piqued my interest in the poet; it's quite an introduction!


Don't eat cookies in bed

by neonurotic©



This morning, coffee was served
between the sheets
along with breakfast,

which were leftovers
from last night's
midnight munchies.

Don't eat cookies in bed
as the crumbs remain.

They cling to
shoulder blades,
back, dimples

and once I lick them off
we might as well stay ~
take in lunch
and dinner too.



4 G

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a lovely little piece that was recently pulled from Lit's archives, but it's still on the threads. Enjoy!


Sonate (ad libitum) a violin

by champagne1982 ©


sempre risoluto -
virtuoso mine
your bow flowing across my strings
an introduction to the melody
warming me, seducing my voice.

cantible -
coax the rising pitch from my mellow song
artfully disguising that it's you
who stirs my heart
to seek these notes.

tenerezza vibrato -
as you draw each harmony
hidden within this tightly strung
instrument up from the soul
of the music we make together.

allegro, presto -
each note struck
with dancing fingers and supple wrist,
the heat of fevered performance
exhorting, pleading, needing
your kiss, to make me sing.

a largo, grazioso -
you touch me now,
only to hold resonance in my voice
your timing such, that I cannot fall
from this sustained throb

lento con meno mosso -
exquisitely held in balance
despite the clever counterpoint
of my strings to your bow.

a piu amore quasi troppo -
when it seems my sobbing
ache will pass from pleasure,
through pain, into death
don't let me fade;
poco a poco animato.

a passione vigaroso -
con tempo di valse son fils -
into a final spin
that will lift me elated
up into the paradise of your love.

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a lovely little piece from a voice no longer active in Litland, from that dynamic year 2004.


Diminish

by Cordelia©


you bury yourself in words, hoping to become invisible
you hope we see you, not as you, but for what the background will lack
thickening your emotions until they become your armored skin
mystifyingly tiny in that emptiness you call your space
no one, not even tenuous conscience, can claim you as their own
so you wait in cloying ennui until sorrow becomes that wall

and the sun drops behind it, that right-angle-shadowed wall
nearly suffocating in its thick and invisible
comfort, making sure you have false hope shadowed on your own
brickwork, knowing it may only be yellow-ness you lack
yet leaving pastel nestled in its cozy back-drawer-space
no longer peeled back and vulnerable under that skin

facades become mastery over toughened skin
precipices are camouflaged beyond that wall
it is your own reflection you fear in that space
you go to when hope becomes invisible
you can concentrate on manipulating lack
embrace the sweet unknown until it is your own

something -- anything -- that is all your own
not seeping out from gaps beneath your skin
only palpable in what closings lack
backing anxieties against that wall
smudging ashes of dread invisible
and you can once again claim amber space

expand until you fill that space
remember, dear: your heart's your own
I'll wait inside, invisible
curled inside your close, waiting skin
stillness crumbling that blackened wall
giving those forging tools you lack

I hope you see that lack
and find a yellow space
seep through gaps in that wall
widen them on your own
let brightness touch your skin
forsake invisible

invisible, you see your lack
bring back your skin, expand your space
you aren't your own, erase that wall

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a little 'greenie' for your Sunday morning enjoyment {I know, that extra apostrophe's a bit distracting}.


Cimmaron

by pink_tulip©


By evening the Cimmarron
will flow over me.
Thick, crimson blanket
of tepid water soothing
my eyes and ears
with it's aimless current.
Warmed and comforted
in a cradle of mud
till my form drifts away
from the sun.

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[LeBroz]

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No question about that fourth dimension; it'll getcha every time.


dimensions

by Senna Jawa©



in the hilly california
the grass grows
on the tops of buried camels
let's ride
the sky swings
the three coordinates are my pals
it's the fourth one
which chokes me


wh,
1990-03-30

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[LeBroz]

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It might not be focused on coffee, but the Starbucks effect is obvious in the title.


grande truth in a venti cup

by annaswirls©


Stop there and fill it up fill it up fill it up with two percent
granulated sweetness breathe
breathe easy through your mouth
three four this cannot be too bad

Calm, two three four these women seem kind,
accepting, even through the french vanilla inquisition
so do you believe he was born of a virgin?
you are not sure? born at all?
just a man?

Coffee cool enough for gulping through
do you believe he lived? was crucified? dead? buried?
I did not realize it at the time
but they were running through the Apostle's creed line by line
check
check
check

The night I met him
there was no shame.
I did not turn when he touched my face
unfolded my privacy under harsh incandescence
god look at you so beautiful so beautiful!
white pillows propped he tucked one here
one there set me up
not unlike Mom did with Pop-pop those last days
as he shrunk into the corner leather
like the photographer who propped our babies
giving the false impression they could hold up their own heads
sit unassisted.

The women did not ask me about Pontius Pilot
or bother to roll away the stone
but made sure to ask
So, do you believe in hell?

Does it show? Did I remember
to adjust all pillows
for proper support?

Yes girls, I know I am awful,
no, no I do not love him.
He bores me with long lists of cities
we will never visit together
thank god I do not long for him when we are apart
but he tells me lower my chest
and I lower my chest,
move so easy to any request
You are the only man
the only man
this is the little truth
the little truth in a big big cup.

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[LeBroz]

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A rather poignant look at life's memories and the tokens that give added texture to those memories.


Emotions Closet Cleaned

by beths-virtue©


Cleaning out my life,
Throwing clothes from my closet,
Boxes hold memories,
Old garments tucked in plastic wrap,
A wedding dress
Now dyed green
In vain, to cover the injury
Cancelled vows,
Old memories,
It was never donned,
Can’t be thrown out,
After all it’s still brand new
And part of me somehow,
Mistakes almost, but not quite made,
This fascination with the past,
The yellowed aged memories,
Are stored upon the hangers way in back

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[LeBroz]

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Here's an odd little piece; just a bit different to be so appealing, it garnered a little 'greenie' but nary a comment.


everyone (or so it seems)

by ChaosKitten©


everybody (or so it seems) wants to be
e.e. cummings, so detached
we study form and flow
so modern and aloof
and are we really saying anything?

like 'Cambridge Ladies' oblivious
to the world that's tumbling down
so detached, we write
aloft on intellectual precipices
that's everybody (or so it seems)

and everybody is strong
that eternal mysterious 'they'
nameless evil, faceless fears
that's everybody (or so it seems) there
even as everybody, we are alone

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[LeBroz]

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Believe it or not, this is listed as a non-erotic poem.


foreword

by smithpeter©


my flight to arms
your sweet perfume
inhaled, is a kiss

we are long and lean
props couching each
other extending

curling under

dawn to one dusk
balmy views of trouser
slap and tug

we unfurl the tent of linger
spilling oils
with couth intent

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[LeBroz]

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Some earth-shattering tragedies of epic proportions aren't always as large as they first appear. Depends on your perspective — and age.

Edited to add: I posted this before becoming aware of the dear poet's condition. Once the perpetual morning sickness is resolved perhaps a new source of inspiration will be revealed; abdominal crunches give way to abdominal kicks, 3 a.m. gymnastics done to demand attention, and perhaps in six months, an arrival with no off-switch for a perpetual siren.


he might have said

by annaswirls©


not the candy not the
gibbon family swing or polar bear splash
but this inflatable room
closed, hum, darkened, it sinks in and covers
we jump and we jump and the laughing!
it is too much perfection to ever leave-
but always
always they call me out
and they call me
out always too soon
they do not understand

and Mother tells me
come this way
and Mother tells me
it is finished it is
finished
she signs with her fingers
speaks slowly
she counts backwards
from five
she tells me
come, come here sweetheart

But I know she means
the place where big sounds bring pain
of squint eye lights and vertigo smells
air touches skin air touches skin
like firework fingers

and they wonder why the screams
why the screams and pulling why
prone refusal across the walk

she must know desperate begging
just put me out
put me out let me out
take you with me
under fingernails and fists
go back back into
the place it was good it was good


instead
she just holds on
holds on
kisses cheek
whisper counts to twenty
we breathe
slow
she holds tighter
holds my pieces together
until they slow down enough
I fall into myself
she carries me through hell

it’s okay baby
it’s okay baby
it’s okay baby

her back strains
under my weight
I am not small

bury all senses in her neck
under hair under her skin
breathe the first scent
dark warm muted
okay
okay
okay

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[LeBroz]

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It may be non-erotic but it still possesses a certain sensuous feel.


I dream I am a river

by Minervous©


Your slick sleek skin retains an ocean
scent. You taste of salt. I sense

your struggle, thrust, your vault
over rapids over rocks,
your swim against my stream.

My body is the bed, as cool
and still and smooth as stone.

Your heavy flanks flush molten red.
Your silky milt drifts swirling down.
And in my blurred and shadowed dream,

I placidly accept your need and sift
the sands your fry call home.

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[LeBroz]

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Well then, if you must breathe then make it the best poem you've ever written.


I must breathe

by Kaishaku©


I must breathe

It is a weakness
I have not overcome,
I tried: I held my breath
and savored the growing ache,
embraced the darkness
at the edge of vision.
I felt the throb in my head,
the ringing in my ears
and counted sideways,
forgetting up from down,
dizzy in the lack of hope.
I screamed with need,
my lungs gasping for want:
life, liberty and air, sweet air
.............................I inhale.

Forgone I guess,
the conclusion simple:
I must breathe
in the rhythms
of triumph, then despair.

I grab my pen,
......................I must breathe.

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a rather sparse piece that says so much with such an economy of words that you almost feel compelled to read it again. Go ahead.


I never

by dr_mabeuse©


I never wrote until I knew
how still things were without my voice.

How many things weren’t being said.
How many things weren’t being seen.

I was silence in an unfilled space,
that light without which darkness sees.

I never missed you till I didn’t look,
and there you weren’t
setting silence free.

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[Angeline]

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Here's a rather sparse piece that says so much with such an economy of words that you almost feel compelled to read it again. Go ahead.


I never
by dr_mabeuse©


I never wrote until I knew
how still things were without my voice.

How many things weren’t being said.
How many things weren’t being seen.

I was silence in an unfilled space,
that light without which darkness sees.

I never missed you till I didn’t look,
and there you weren’t
setting silence free.

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Thank you for spotlighting dr_mabeuse. I haven't read him for quite a while, and forgot how good he is. His erotic fiction is some of the best I've read here. He doesn't submit much poetry, but he appreciates it and is a very interesting (and smart) guy. Here's another poem of his I really like.

Perfect Skies
by dr_mabeuse©


I sat down once,
Got up two thousand times
Sent little parts of me
like peelings into perfect skies.

I want to turn this sorry heart
Into thumb tacks. Push pins with which I’ll affix
Each sky in a book: vast, picturesque
And bring it to you, an emotional chart.

And we’ll review it with failing eyes
With ancient fingers and mouths in Oh’s
This catalogue of a lifetime’s art
Remembering again what each perfect sky knows.

 

[LeBroz]

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Must admit that his BDSM writing is quite creative, even if a bit 'out there'.


Awakening Thirsts

by RazzRajen©


Swirling leaves in limpid pools of oiled patinas
Slivered morsels, kernels of
Almond coloured bits
The silent sounds of leather
The crashing grunts of Bamboo
Polished varnished
Shafted like rays of vapid sunlight
Scattered, pewtered and fallen.

Dismembered He found her mind
Disembowelled He took her pride
Traced the liquid lines
Down on her spine
Stepped steeped steppes
Of waving blades
Together He wove fragrant
Bushels of glowing pearls

Night cast sloughed cares
Weighted looks, glanced figures
Those He took , those He made
Etched carved runeiformed

Come see My etchings took on
A new meaning as
He sharpened his blades.
She saw, she thirsted,
She slaked her hungers slowly

Lovingly.

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[LeBroz]

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And then you might just wonder, if the Mayan calendar showing the end coming on 21 December 2012, could be right. Wonder how many TV specials there'll be between now and then to explore this possibility.


Inquisition 2012

by bluerains©


Ruins of frail temporal minds
once sustained stability
in patterns of silvery crescendo.
Now , their forsaken kindred
hail beyond grey granite
as blackbirds of sorrow,
dwelling in bitter aftertaste
with their silicon dimension.

Dominions from limbo
spew webs of black tannin
as they perch upon
doomsday rocks
stitched from old grey goats,
whose coattails ride on wings
with the man in moon.

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[LeBroz]

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Such a cleverly written European history without becoming overwhelmed with any didactic messages.


Interim Denizens

by Liar©


Aimless she roamed
Istanbul to Reykjavik
trying to make sense of flux.

History and myth intersections
glowed.
Fireflies, lanterns, st Elmo's Fire,
dancing, shifting Aurora Borealis,
riverbeds.

Now and again
the diversity
and impact overwhelmed.

Dachau - a sore red spot,
St Petersburg singing
a million different voices.

Older ones fading.
Kongsbjerg just an echo,
Vienna hanging tough,
recharged over and over.

Two nooses
still dangling
in Sofia.

She roamed her reign,
amazed of perseverance,
pretty shining lights, stopped
in Venice to bask in glow
that will never really die.

But who remembers Aberdeen,
Linkoping,
Reannisance in Kiev?

Ural and oceans do
and cradle as best they can
a weeping
weary titan.

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[LeBroz]

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Here's prose poetry as only Lauren could do it; you've got to sit back and catch your breath, then read it again to make sure you read it right the first time.


Greener Than Blue-Green Blues

by Lauren Hynde©


When Miles Davis started using electricity in his concerts, the vigilantes of taste and crosswalks raised a clamour of revolt against the heresy. It was right about then that was announced the protection plan for the trees in my backyard. One day, a minister without cabinet and a sub-secretary of some culture came to tell us they had signed a protocol with nature, the roots and the clouds. And that they could now declare the start of Spring whenever they wanted. After that, vagrant cats started appearing, as well as some dead dogs early in the morning. One of those mornings, a red squirrel was passing by. I asked for the others, and he told me they had took up arms to restore the rights of the birds to sing the dead. Ever since they had started living in a fable, there were too much blood and corpses.

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[LeBroz]

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Rather than working on the Sunday crossword, try something more fun and mentally stimulating.


mathematic variations with cat

by Lauren Hynde©




drawing a circle around the fable's invisible avenue
following the white premonitions
the hyperboles and the polygons
of your desire

the city suspends
disproves the thesis enounced by the high priests
the ruins of the temple
are figures of transcendence

when we see a cat go by
we declare the impossibility of all deaths
we elude the demonstration
and the war thinkers

I hesitate on parallel lines
on the infinity that travels them
notice the intelligence
of my hand inside the mouth you drew

let us return to steel
to the gelid theorem
the sacred book of brumes and myth
with silence for pages

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[LeBroz]

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Here's some strong visualization; a lighter read than this morning's fare.


Left Wiper: Broken

by Willows_Tears©


The black rubber strip
is whipped and flutters
in a random pattern
from the driver side windshield wiper.
I am distracted by its motion.

Distracted away from rain water
patterns smeared but not cleared
from glass. Distracted from
harsh inner accusations
"should have had this fixed
last week." Distracted away
from the ache of you, gone.

The strip flutters
then flies onto the highway.
Hard plastic pointless.
Still, we go through the motions,
imagining it matters.

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[LeBroz]

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It's a Monday — how about something elegant in its simplicity?


Letting Go

by Curiouswife©


Like a pin dropping to the floor
A leaf flowing through the wind
A tear seeping from an eye
A whisper turned into a lie

Is the sound of my letting go

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[LeBroz]

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Looks like RazzRajen isn't the only one with a challenge in preserving the formatting.


If I'd

by Kaishaku©




If I'd

I wear your jacket

when it isn't cold
........it's getting old
..........getting old.

The rear view
........spells your name
.........backward
................as I reverse.

It's all garbage
........I just can't rhyme
.........anymore
................and it's still my ink

injected in my veins
........seeping from my pores
.........ground in the salt
................of my wounds.

It's snowing now
........it's getting cold
.................getting cold.

................I need a jacket.


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[LeBroz]

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Here's another one of RazzRajen's very stylized images. Even when he's portraying some very kinky BDSM images, he does it with such grace that the action doesn't offend, even if the idea isn't appealing; a valuable lesson to bear in mind if you wish to write erotic poetry.


Looks

by RazzRajen©


Innocent looks
only the child is innocent
When can one be a blank slate
never, even when starting fresh

a pure canvas , a bright plate
polished still reflects those around
so whence innocence and whence purity

Give Me the other,
the dregs, and the dank
creeping out of the leaves ,
matted and rotting ,
fetid smells and sewer colors

That not be innocence
Not the Innocence I crave
a white sheet on which
writ in crimson
is the life of those who are in it

Taken and joined
sundered and torn
and then rendered whole
Together they shall and
flip over again,
till the cymbals peal
off the plaster
on the decrepit walls

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