Archival Review

[LeBroz]

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From a November 2003, Same Title Challenge, there are five postings still remaining on the site, of which I've selected three to post here tonight and tomorrow. Did you ever have a dance partner quite as daring as this?


Elaborate Décolletage
by D A Stone©


Soft light reflected in the sheen of sweat on her flesh
As we dance, of her perfume I detect a hint
Bending closer to the pulsing in her neck, daring
To drown in the sweet scent as I take a deep breath
Eyes moving along the edge of a neckline plunging
Edged in hand crafted, pure white lace

Breasts straining for release from the lace
So that they may press against the bare flesh
Of the partner's chest where his shirt is plunging
Giving the woman the barest hint
Of his desire as he draws in that deep breath
And considering if he is truly that daring

Would drowning in her enticing scent be daring
As he imagines the treasures held back by the lace
Watching intently the movement as she draws each breath
Tantalized by the movement of light and shadows over her flesh
The quickening of her pulse in her neck giving a hint
That into further depths of desire she is plunging

If the music ended now would she stop plunging
Would he lose his chance to show his daring
Would the pulse slow, making him doubt the hint
That was promised by the scent from between the river of lace
Barely covering the soft flesh
That moved with each intake of breath

Gathering her courage and taking a deep breath
Pushing aside the neckline plunging
Freeing from their restraints the scented flesh
Showing that she of the two dancers is the more daring
Unfastening with deft fingers the buttons at the bottom of the lace
Her naked breast a bold statement instead of a subtle hint

Surprised at her, as her rapid pulse at her neck is no longer a hint
Eyes taking in the landscape of her bosom rising with her every breath
No longer restrained by the river of lace
Into the depths of his own desire now plunging
Abashed that is was she who was the more daring
Peeling away the shirt covering his own flesh

Warm scented flesh was his first hint
That he should be daring and take that deep breath
Into desire to be plunging sharing the treasures behind the lace

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[Senna Jawa]

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Einstein's Window
by Senna Jawa©

I've written this poem in 1988, and have posted it the first time in 1990, on rec.arts.poems. Three days later there showed up a comment, the one and only (my poems don't induce too many comments, often none). Here is the link:

Jonathan Rowe's comment
or the same.​

The poem was some time later presented in the very first issue of jjwebb electronic "Hawk" magazine. JJwebb made sure that it was a memorable issue, with great art (graphics), and a careful selection of the texts. I was glad to be in a good company. Alas, the fate was not merciless on "Hawk", and that issue (and several or all next issues) has disappeared. Too bad because jjwebb had the drive to get together artists, poets and computer technology. He was among pioneers.

Regards,

 

[LeBroz]

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Damn, this is a long one — and worth every line! You just must read all the way through this one to best appreciate its ending, she's that good.


Elaborate Décolletage
by Linbido©


She bursts into the room
full of spreadsheets,
laptop computers,
suits and ties.

Everyone falls silent
pulses race, jaws drop.

She is that good.

A sparkle in her step
a flutter in her eye
a blush on her cheeks
spreading all the way
along her neck
and blossoming
further
down skin
to the still
slightly breathless
heaving chest,

straining breasts
framed, embraced
by that deliciuos,
a little bit too visible
angelic white lace
against a deep
v-shape where the
baby blue
of her blouse
meet and part,
clinging in union
to a brave button,
threatening
to snap loose
at any second.

It could had been
an ordinary blouse,
a business prude attire,

but not his time,
not on her.

Top buttons ripped,
threads still hanging,
collar folded
the wrong way
Wrinkled soft fabric,
wandering strap
underneath.

Panting sighs,
between sultry,
parted lips,
a bead of sweat
travelling from hairline,
to neck, to chest,
dowm, down, down,
disappearing...

That's all it takes

to make them play
that x-rated clip,
that flickering fantasy
of what she did,
what she must
have been doing,
how she must
have been done
just then...

just before entering,
in that cloud
of freshly sexed up
with a flimsy, apologetic
"Sorry I'm late."

as if nothing had happened.

But it must have,
just watch her,
look at her glow!

How? Where?

A fast, feverish encounter
in the temporary privacy
of the laidies' room,
hands gripping, ripping,
stripping down
for a dirty, gritty grind
against a clean, white
restroom sink?

A passionate, furious fuck,
in the minutes that
a flip on the right switch
in the elevator can provide,
panties dangling
from an ankle,
legs wrapped around,
ass and back slammed
again and again
into the door,
stuck between basement
and first floor?

Or maybe an off-the-record
evaluation meeting
in an upper management
closed door office?

Oh, she is good all right.

She took her time
perfecting that
carefully careless
deliberate mess

to make them stare,
imagining, almost seeing
the filthy, prying
predating fingers
reaching up, grabbing
caressing, squeezing
her full, luscious,
milky white mounds
on her exposed body,
blouse torn open,
yanked down,
bra undone,
thrown aside,
a massaging hand
and a teasing tougne
on a pink, erect nipple.

That's how good she is.

When she leans
over the table
to collect
a focus report,
hypnotized eyes focus
on her swelling,
pushed up tits
offered up for
gererous display.

And there,
so deep down
that white lace barely covers
the taboo sight of nipple,

the ultimate confirmaiton...

What is that,
a hickey?
No...a bite mark.
Holy shit.

She is that good,
and she knows exactly how

to make them wish
that they were him,
the one,
that anonymous,
amorous man
who just managed
to mess her up
so beautifully.

So there they sit,
thirty minutes
of polite, tense torture,

an elaborate décolletage
and six painful,
poking erections.

When the deal is done,
far more generous
than they had been
prepared to accept,

she stands and leaves.

They remain.
Can't stand.
Dare not.

In the corridor
she smiles,
straightens collar,
strap, blouse, hair
and wipes away a faux
eyeliner bite mark.

Oh yes,
that's how good she is.

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[The_Fool]

Elaborate Décolletage was one of my STCs. It was inspired by a Hynde boob AV. It was fun. Of course the voices in my head took my inspiration quite a different direction, but it is no longer post on Lit so we don't have to discuss that...

 

[Angeline]

Elaborate Décolletage was one of my STCs. It was inspired by a Hynde boob AV. It was fun. Of course the voices in my head took my inspiration quite a different direction, but it is no longer post on Lit so we don't have to discuss that...

Mine either. I remember the poems and, of course, the boob. The famous Hynde boob.

 

[LeBroz]

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Of course an even better answer to the challenge of what it is you're looking at is to reply with, "Nothing much."


Elaborate Décolletage
by Icingsugar©


well
of course
you would

slide
..across
....my
......view

you two
so close
together

secrets
carefully
tucked in
out of sight

but so bare
so only barely
hidden

and
of course
my eyes

would
..slide
....with
......you

uninvited
unable to
control

and
of course
that challenge

the icy voice

...."Just what are you looking at?"

and the answer...

...."Tits. Yours.
....Got a problem with that?
....Then don't open
....a fucking show-case."

...that I dare not say

instead
my hypnotized eyes
travel
the incredibly
long path from
bottom hem
along luscious
valley, smooth
silky fields,
climb the arch
of neck
linger on those
soft, pursed
strawberry lips

almost
up
to eyes

but break away
dare not
confront

so
of course
with a mumbled
apology I sink

slide
..out
....of
......frame

with you two
etched in memory

I'll think of her
and of you two
by and by

fondly?
well of course

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[Angeline]

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Of course an even better answer to the challenge of what it is you're looking at is to reply with, "Nothing much."


Elaborate Décolletage
by Icingsugar©


well
of course
you would

slide
..across
....my
......view

you two
so close
together

secrets
carefully
tucked in
out of sight

but so bare
so only barely
hidden

and
of course
my eyes

would
..slide
....with
......you

uninvited
unable to
control

and
of course
that challenge

the icy voice

...."Just what are you looking at?"

and the answer...

...."Tits. Yours.
....Got a problem with that?
....Then don't open
....a fucking show-case."

...that I dare not say

instead
my hypnotized eyes
travel
the incredibly
long path from
bottom hem
along luscious
valley, smooth
silky fields,
climb the arch
of neck
linger on those
soft, pursed
strawberry lips

almost
up
to eyes

but break away
dare not
confront

so
of course
with a mumbled
apology I sink

slide
..out
....of
......frame

with you two
etched in memory

I'll think of her
and of you two
by and by

fondly?
well of course

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Wherever Icingsugar and Linbido are, I sure miss them. I forget how much until I see their poems. They're both marvelous writers (and real sweethearts). Great to read these again, LeBroz.

 

[LeBroz]

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While waiting on my breakfast to finish up I came across this sad and moving tale. Relationships that go bad before you even know it seem to have that effect.


Elegy
by dorksicle©


This was in an old notebook, I tweaked it a little.

~~~~~

I see you curling
in the smoky aftertaste of your decisions,
flecks of flaws bleeding through
so well,
drowning in the absence of ideas and emotions
that have forever left your care
pull yourself to geth er

the spirits that used to hold you up vanished in the stomping and crashing
half-in and half-out of that doorway,
you could have stopped this
I hear your movements slightly as you edge
closer to the window,
mistaking every breeze for his footsteps

and when you cursed your gods you should have known
they wouldn't return

in silence
you bite your nails and wait so pathetically
I used to think you were stronger than this
I used to think nothing could shake you

instead
you fell and you fell small and human
and there was blood but only blood
you are only human,
and I hate you for that
more than you know

why haven't you learned, little girl,
all the tears in the world won't make him listen?
why haven't you learned there's more to absence than an empty chair?
why won't you lift yourself up?

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[LeBroz]

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Here's some imagery to set your mind in motion — this looks at a quick glance like a revision to his earlier piece, Embers.


Embers Around a Fire
by RazzRajen©


Embers..around a Fire
Fire crackling......embers burning
Little sparks wafting
in the torrent of heated air,
.....................................rising
........A vortex
.....................a place
..............................a whirlpool

Sometimes
One looks down and sees ,
crystal waters shoaling
often the Sun
..................glints like diamonds
off the white capped tips of crest
waves
mayhap the wheeling singularity,
those self same vertices
that jumbled matrix

Twisted and shorn
.....................Lovingly the hand
runs over skin freshly
.....................bereft and forlorn
hair today and gone again
............who would have thought

Taken and riven
those sightless eyes watching
Does He need to know
Nay He knows it already.

Harried fingers rubbed raw
...........................Strings taken
pulls attempted
works Only on those
who think in a rut
.............immured by experience
to be a way
Who knew what He did
................she certainly did not


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[LeBroz]

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And here I thought maintaining formatting in a Razz poem was hard... Here's a piece with a delicate image and no illustration, giving it a lace-like quality, as Eve so astutely noted.


Embrace the Vibrations in Rhapsody
by jthserra©


Embrace the Vibrations in Rhapsody

Sunset ache
...........................strums
............chimes like bells
as strings ring out.
...........................Fingers caress
............shadow notes:
................................elongated
....................lyrical echoes
..........................................in tears.

Midnight piano
.....................B-Flat
............rhapsody
.....................sobs footpads
............until memories embrace
..........................................vibration.

Her voice: dark
........................in fragrant whispers
...........lyrical kisses
.................................as she holds
....................: the wisp of
.................................a note
............and cries.


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[LeBroz]

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Maybe it's not saltine but the message sure comes through quite clear.


Embroodery
by Liar©


It sunk in at 45 degrees
warm, unwittingly solid,
9 mils of sword for
Gordian nerves.

It pushed past numb flesh
to the centre of your wince,
a flicker in unwavering pride.

Saltine and catalyst,
a recipe for fever pitch,
salvation in a syringe.

You smiled up at concern,
wearily brushed the clench
out of my fist, kissed me
with a blink, and faded

before pain raced up
to sound the alarm
a second too late to win,
they said.

You don't remember this,
nor should you have to.

It's enough that I do.

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[LeBroz]

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Oh my head. Went through a slew of numbing adjective-laden poems this morning. Finally, came to a number of increasingly nerve calming pieces, starting with this metaphorical poem.


Emerald Seas
by sweet GA peaches©


It is the serene dream
of aquamarine
that I take into my mind
locked in the recesses of time
splashing sands purely driven
into my soul
grain by grain
And I remain
a vessel
as the cool waters
drift by
I place myself into the stream
would I care the travels
knowing the pain
Yet my silent reveries
will refrain
and I
will be that vessel
passing by
where the sea and the shore collide
on the mystic endeavors of my journey
boundless I am to the silent sea
realizing
I belong to me
my soul free to dream
My destination .. to reach the treasure
soft strains of allurement and desire
fighting faith to steal the fire
and drowned within his eyes.

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[GuiltyPleasure]

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Oh my head. Went through a slew of numbing adjective-laden poems this morning. Finally, came to a number of increasingly nerve calming pieces, starting with this metaphorical poem.


Emerald Seas
by sweet GA peaches©


It is the serene dream
of aquamarine
that I take into my mind
locked in the recesses of time
splashing sands purely driven
into my soul
grain by grain
And I remain
a vessel
as the cool waters
drift by
I place myself into the stream
would I care the travels
knowing the pain
Yet my silent reveries
will refrain
and I
will be that vessel
passing by
where the sea and the shore collide
on the mystic endeavors of my journey
boundless I am to the silent sea
realizing
I belong to me
my soul free to dream
My destination .. to reach the treasure
soft strains of allurement and desire
fighting faith to steal the fire
and drowned within his eyes.

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Another poet I miss, she hasn't posted since '05.

(You're doing great work with this thread Mr LeBroz.)

 

[LeBroz]

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On first reading this I was struck by an impression of youthful sensual awakening. Then I noted the title and who wrote it and thought, but of course. This is so bare bones, which no doubt is why it works, as the reader gets to let his mind take over, without the straitjacket of a writer's adjectives.


emergence 1963
by BooMerengue©


The sun
the forest
the rock
the waves
and me

eyes salted shut
feeling the waves
under me moving
the earth
and me

hair flying past
my fingertips
pinesap misting
the ledges
and me

breast bared
to the sun
gleaming down
heating the air
and me

the elementals
coming alive
merging melting
into each other
and me

and so it
began; the dance
the beat that
moved the world
and me.

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[Senna Jawa]

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emergence 1963​

by BooMerengue©

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Boo's poem and

advancing...
​

form a harmonious duet.

 

[LeBroz]

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The forecast is for a foot of snow and near blizzard conditions overnight & tomorrow [whoops — they've up'd it to two feet], which means the stores will be packed with folks shopping for groceries today, so I'm off for an extra early run before the store gets nuts.

Here's one I got lost in as I kept rereading it. It's like picking up a plain rock only to find it filled with crystalline specks and as you rotate it, it comes alive with sparkling fire — you just can't put it down. Take your time and read it several times to really appreciate all the subtle nuances I think you'll discover.


emigration
by Senna Jawa©


i strove against the stream of foreign faces
each face a token sail
above the sidewalk

i swear that on that day
i was sober and sane
but a face
.from an abandoned sea
.......would
....again and again
look at me

i'd try to resist then
i'd turn around and catch up
with the familiar boat
each time
.i wouldn't know the captain




wlodzimierz holsztynski ©
....1988-1995

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[LeBroz]

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Here's one where the title says so much in support of the main body of the poem.


Emoceans
by dorksicle©


It was that time of year
when the cold comes through the faulty window caulking.
The first real night of cold even the bell of the neighbor’s wind chimes froze.

Maybe this is love;
something we're not quite seeing,
something we're not quite feeling.
It’s something like that,
a substanceless return
and the scene you can’t quite set.

Now that I know you, I understand what you meant;
sometimes I feel like the undertow is stronger,
the beach gets longer,
and the suncrystals in the water have faded to black.

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[LeBroz]

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A rather good piece for a first submission, don't you think? With subtle rhyming setting an initial lighter tone, it ends on an edgier note — see how the hate her sets an undertow of pain in your mind.


Empty Bed
by unapologetic©


EMPTY BED

I turn my head, my face
Into my pillow.
The scent of her perfume
Still clings there,
As kd sings there,
As the echo of her laughter
Gently rings there.
But my bed is empty now,
And I must bow under
The weight of missing her.
And I must wait,
Perchance to hate
Her ever agonizing absence
From my heart.

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[LeBroz]

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More touching in its simplicity of a single thought than any long-winded explanation could possibly be.


Empty Corner
by Belegon©


The place is empty
without you,
but I don’t mind.
Every nook and cranny
where you would stash
a scrap of paper
with a phone number,
but no name,
reminds me
of the laughter
in your eyes
when I would lecture
and you would say,
when it’s important
you’ll remember,
and when it’s not
it won’t matter
that you forgot the name.
Isn’t it wonderful
how an empty corner
makes me smile,
as I await your return.

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[LeBroz]

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When looking through some poems yesterday, I pushed this one away, too quick to judge. Today, it was easier to get past the misspelled memories {memory's} and accept this as a simply cute little rhyming poem, making the swallowing of its message easier. The rhyming flows naturally, unlike so many rhyming poems that seem so forced. Go on, try it out.


Empty Memories
by _Land©


I rummage through my closet
Meaningful conversation lost
Nothing left of value
Why? I payed the cost

Time pulled from my wallet
Useless wrinkled bills
My credit cards maxed
My closet stuffed, spills


Memory's collected
Piled up in haste
Tattered and torn
Nothing here, waste

Wedding pictures
Bridal rings
Unmentionables
All useless things

Nothing in here
Stored for me
My emotions closet
Now lays empty

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[LeBroz]

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If that last is too sweet and rhyming for your tastes, here's a bit of free verse that's about as hard-edged as it can get. Sounds like it was written at the bar where he sat while drinking himself into a state of heightened enlightenment before putting his thoughts to paper.


empty stage
by DeepAsleep©


empty evening at the bar watching a woman wearing
too much eye makeup read poems on an empty stage -
poems about kittens and stars and how self conscious
she feels in bed, but i want to hear her read poems about pouring tequila on her naked collarbones -

i want to see her sweat
so that the mascara runs away from her eyes
like animals flee forest fires, want her
to be wild & recklessly drunk when i press against her
and say, "baby. baby.
this - is how poets fuck.
no kittens here.
no stars, cos you can't make
real love
in the middle of a sewing circle."

this bar is so goddamned classy that i am breaking all my vows with no apologies to my wounded ethics, my stricken morality, my ridiculous need to prove stupid shit to myself and pouring whiskey into my face.

next guy, he writes poems because
he wants to be seen as a poet, not
cos he's gotta write poetry and it's a
midlife crisis sex poem about
how sensitive he is when he's sticking
his cock in a girl - then he does one about
homeless children (because there's a PLAGUE of them,
in small town south dakota)
& now everyone knows how heartfelt he is &
i am sick
at the bar
writing poems about the bartender
and the way that she pours drinks and i wish
i could write sensitive sex poems
about the softness where thighs meet
but i've always been the, "lay back, baby
& pretend your feet hate each other!" type,
so the girl at the end of the bar,
the one with calliope hair & corinthian legs -
she's got tits like homeless children, cos
don't i wanna take them home & hold 'em &
tell them everything's gonna be alright -
she got no interest in me and my
hastily scribbled poems about scuffmarks on my shoes
cos she's infatuated with a fuckpoet
& a sewing circle.

drunk
in the back of the bar and now it's my turn & i walk thru the talk and the scattered applause and up there i tell them about the girl who aborted herself in my bathtub with my ribs hitched to my heart tied down to a bloody piece of muscle and i can't breathe enough to speak under all those lights and i am alone under all the white and blue and orange and green spots trying not to cry not to fuck up this poem that i want to flick at them like truth or blood from unthinking clenched fingers but ain't no truth in bleeding so i just try to throw it in their faces and when i am done i take eight steps down with my jaw clenched against everything and

they all look like i shot their homeless children
and i'm alright with it & maybe
i do write sex poetry.
just not the sensitive kind.

Courtesy of Reluctance Press, copyright 2006

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[LeBroz]

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Okay, perhaps that last seems a bit wordy — that's its style. Let's try a different style where Doug says so much with so few words.


enclosed
by air2o©


trees ignore growth
lust for wet sun
burn it all up one season

fuck the earth
make a bigger trunk
attract sexual insects


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[LeBroz]

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A fine example of a parody, this one of Encouragements to a Lover. The use of archaic language is appropriate here; sadly, some poets try to write original poems today using such archaic language.


Encouragements to an Author
by oggbashan©


Encouragements to an Author

Why so pale and wan, fond author?
Prythee, why so pale?
Will, when working hard can’t move her,
Drinking hard prevail?
Prythee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, dumb author?
Prythee, why so mute?
Will, when writing well can’t win her,
Writing nothing do’t?
Prythee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame! Muse she may be,
This cannot make her;
If for you she will not be a lady,
Nothing can make her:
The devil take her!

Based on ‘Encouragements to a Lover’ by Sir John Suckling (1609-1642)

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[LeBroz]

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I get the feeling here of an older woman who's finding that fewer and fewer men pursue her these days. Perhaps she can get one to stay if she lowers her standards just a bit...


Encrypted
by tungtied2u©


In this house,
I have passed many years
anticipating your arrival

Multitude pretenders have knocked my door.
Some use wry words, wrung dry of truth
exposed over time as quicksand,
escaped not by anxious exertions,
but pulled through clarity’s patient attention

Others misled with experienced touch,
pressing hidden buttons,

eliciting instinctual moans and
whispers of undying affection
until the batteries burned out
overused, deadening response

Now you are here, my newest visitor,
wandering the corridors of my mind,
leaving footprints pressed into the carpet
of my plush imagination.

You turn knobs, peek into rooms,
finger the light switch,
peruse and withdraw.
But your shadow clings perceptions’ walls,
demanding your return.

Perhaps you are the one.
The familiar my soul has whispered of
on quiet nights in an empty bed..
Sooth to a hungry, vacant soul
in quest of spiritual coupling
and everlasting Eros.

Are you the dawn
to break my desolation?
Reincarnation’s kiss to greet my lips
fill my lungs, sing my life
until a final exhale.
Or an empty depression,
I wake to find
once more upon me,
guiding me inside.

It matters not.
I must make due.
Few visit this house anymore.


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[LeBroz]

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Form poetry? Why not? This one's just so seductive and flows so smoothly through the mind and off your tongue.


encryption
by Cordelia©


I found the definition of “beguile”
in places where your blush would hibernate
amongst the hieroglyphics of your smile

It dawns on me, I cannot reconcile
so I repeat until my mind can conjugate
and still see definition in “beguile”

I grasp the implication, pause a while
let meanings there unfold, as I translate
the wondrous hieroglyphics of your smile

So let me take a lifetime to compile
the essays that your eyes communicate
expand my definition of “beguile”

into vocabularies versatile
(hard-pressed for me to ever understate)
and solve the hieroglyphics of your smile

A scholar of the context of your style
and expressions as your eyes deliberate
I find the definition of “beguile”
inside the hieroglyphics of your smile


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