Bad Sex

[unpredictablebijou]

Not for me. Advice: Go north, young man!

It's cheating if you own one. You get to practice whenever you want.

But that's still good advice.

bj

 

[anonamouse]

You've been here how long? Three, four years? It's time for you to remember in a visceral way (i.e., beyond mere intellectual awarenss) that virtually every poem submitted here is accepted. Oh I know there are a few whisper thin rules to keep us uncensored but legal, but give yourself some time to remember that we see a full range of responses under the umbrella of "poetry."

I view the cornucopia of Literotica poetry as truly running the gammet from sublime to ridiculous, from Annaswirls or Eve or Liar to something I read on a recent review day of mine, something like "I love to stick my finger in your asshole." (That's almost it, exactly.) And in between is a vast gulf of mediocrity that is literate but mundane, clear but empty and trite. Repetitive in the most predictable ways. I comment on poems only if I see at least a hint of promise. And I don't worry about the rest of it because I know people have many reasons for putting poems up here. If they really want help, they'll ask for it.

Otherwise I just keep reading for what's individualistic or startling or moving or even all of those. Because I know I'll find them here, too.

consider the salmon
all those miles, all those miles
to die

and nothing but brown trout in the stream


and Angeline, I point out 1201

who is both sublime and ridiculous at the same time

and very individualistic

of course Herr Senna would point out the "consider" and the second "all those miles" are unneeded, blah, blah, blah

but my question is what did they rhyme with "asshole"?

L'Idole.
Sonnet du Trou du Cul


Obscur et froncé comme un oeillet violet
Il respire, humblement tapi parmi la mousse.
Humide encor d'amour qui suit la fuite douce
Des Fesses blanches jusqu'au coeur de son ourlet.

Des filaments pareils à des larmes de lait
Ont pleuré, sous le vent cruel qui les repousse,
À travers de petits caillots de marne rousse
Pour s'aller perdre où la pente les appelait.

Mon Rêve s'aboucha souvent à sa ventouse ;
Mon âme, du coït matériel jalouse,
En fit son larmier fauve et son nid de sanglots.

C'est l'olive pâmée, et la flûte caline ;
C'est le tube où descend la céleste praline :
Chanaan féminin dans les moiteurs enclos

Dark and wrinkled like a purple pink
It breathes,....

http://www.mag4.net/Rimbaud/poesies/Idol.html

 

[templeminded]

bad sex
is better than
no sex
so enjoy what you have
while you still have it
and
are able
to give it