Challenge: put the Erotic back in Literotica

[Angeline]

In the beginning
she liked it best by candlelight
or fire glow,
subdued lights to mask
her imaginary flaws.

Tenderly
he taught her that
to see love,
with all its imperfections,
is as vital
as the making thereof.

Then she learnt to like it best
in sunlight, in deep grass
by slow rivers,
his hands flowing over her body
like the river
breaching its banks.
In the lazy rumpled bed,
morning sun smoothing the sheets
as he stretched towards her,
reaching for her love.
And in the night-wrapped garden
to a cricket chorus
where he took her on her knees.


Later, as they aged
it was best unplanned.
Best when he greeted her
unexpectedly rampant,
proud, smiling his familiar smile.
and she would be his once more.
.

This is beautiful. That's all I have to say.

What about the ham sandwich?

 

[The_Fool]

Okay...just for grins.....


Do you savor
the taste of your sex
in my kiss?

Lips meeting furious
after I’ve forced you to cry out
in white-knuckled pleasure waves.
My fingerprints left
on bare smooth thighs
while fighting your arched-back
attempts to first pull away
then to grind away your sex
on my receptive teeth.
I offered no mercy
as I mauled you
with my mouth,
forcing your contortion
as I moved you to please me
as I pleasured you.
Moans for mercy
fell on deaf ears
as I hummed my contentment
into your soul.
Reprieve finally offered
only when I’d wrenched out
one final heart-felt scream.

 

[lostandfounder]

Autumn Love Poem

Inspired by all the great poems on this thread

Cool air across warm flesh
But shivers are from a touch
Frost melts
Replaced by a warm dew
Two hills, topped by two lone figures
Standing stiff in the cold
A kiss to each for their diligence
Walk a path through their valley
Down across the subtle rise
To dance in a field of dark heather
One step to the south
Another guardian
She holds the keys
Run fingers across her face
Another kiss
Slowly
The earth shifts
The winds sighs my name
It's so warm here

 

[Guest]

Dusting off the top shelf.

Blind Love


She gazes
into pools of fathomless blue
weeps that he will never see
how perfect he is
he, attracted by her easy laugh
knows she is beautiful
before he has touched her.

His hands are his eyes
they see her body
traveling
over her warm skin
wandering
the valleys and hills
exploring
the smooth and the course.

It all unfolds in his mind's eye.

She lies
an open vista for his journey
her hands quiet at her side
he knows she is his.

he finds the swell of breast
the change
of texture at the nipple
the movement
of the hardening flesh
so strong under his fingers
he trembles.

Her belly, warm velvet
shrinks from his touch
he smiles
knowing she smiles also
trailing downward
to a small hollow and soft curls
his hand gently cups her.

Oh! He loves her so much.

His hearing, polished by his sightlessness
monitors her breathing
registers the slightest moan
as his fingers slip into moisture
he murmurs his love
she strokes his hair.

His unseeing eyes follow the line
her body beneath his mouth
his tongue
his lips
her smile
his hardness
finds her for the first time
and he feels her rising to him

Sighing
she draws him down
opening, unfurling for him
he is oblivious of the world
she accepts his hardness
his blind eyes closing
the better to feel the home she has made.

In the swell of their sea bed
they rock
locked in each others desires
he cares not that light is dark
his love for her rising like a tide

She is all the light he needs.

Tentative at first
he moves with restraint
it is she who has the urgency
wrapping him with long legs
rapturous
his mouth tells him her neck is a bridge.

She curls to him
a leaf, a feather, a coil
waiting for release
he senses her journey and
joyfully
brings her home.

Her body like a bird in flight
stretches and flutters
he strains to join her
driven
with cries of pain and pleasure
together they arrive.
she weeping unseeing eyes shut tight.
he moved by the vision of her beauty.

 

[Guest]

This is beautiful. That's all I have to say.

What about the ham sandwich?

 

[annaswirls]

Okay...just for grins.....


Do you savor
the taste of your sex
in my kiss?

Lips meeting furious
after I’ve forced you to cry out
in white-knuckled pleasure waves.
My fingerprints left
on bare smooth thighs
while fighting your arched-back
attempts to first pull away
then to grind away your sex
on my receptive teeth.
I offered no mercy
as I mauled you
with my mouth,
forcing your contortion
as I moved you to please me
as I pleasured you.
Moans for mercy
fell on deaf ears
as I hummed my contentment
into your soul.
Reprieve finally offered
only when I’d wrenched out
one final heart-felt scream.

AHHHH!

eh hem

just wanted to let you know I finished

 

[annaswirls]

I did a carpenter poem once.....

was it about Jesus?

will I go to hell if I confess I think he is sexy too?

 

[annaswirls]

I think this is my favorite SeattleRain poem. This is a revision of the one posted.


Just

words and invitation
arouse electric desire

in my sleep
I hold your information quiet

you have spoiled me
tonight I just long for you, just you
out from zipper, out for me

for me
a cock hungry woman
not a poet, just a whore
taking you in my mouth
by the book, on my knees
as you hold hands tight on hotel radiator
looking out the window into the parking lot

not scenic, just an industrial park
truckers and travelers sleep and pass
this is not a destination,
nothing grows here except
highway rumble

and in my mouth it is just you
not a poet, just raw and real
uncomplicated by adjectives
and symbolism

nothing to post
pretend, prepare, picture

just you
out of denim
into mouth
as long as it takes

just give me your cum
I will take it without asking for salt,
fantasy or friendship

you can come loud and
hard in my mouth
truckers and travelers might hear,
but that is to be expected
it is every day

remember it is not poetry it is just sex
pounded hard and loud against glass
clouds and drops
fist and knuckle

 

[PatCarrington]

Cut of the Briar Rose

You want to run home, now
that alibis lose their sense.

PTA meetings don’t run
through midnight, but
the mind-changing flavors
of our banquet, our bowls
of dessert and excess, lay
your keys back on my bed.

You pick your scarlet scalpel
from the vase, hand me
your own gift and shut your eyes
as the fine cut of the briar rose
tickles your white thighs.

The red trickle and sting
of salt as my sliding
tongue crosses and covers
the slices, feeding,
as it feeds you the nourishment
you need. You wince

as I whisper, words
moist and prescient,
shiver as I push, impaling
you and your fears
like a peach on a king’s dagger,

royal fruit, the smoothest slip
of skin as you return your honey
to its father.

Take this night home with you.

Hang it from the lovemarks
on your neck, dangle it
from your bruised ears.

You will not care
what he thinks anymore,
when you wear me like a diamond.

 

[average gina]

In the beginning
she liked it best by candlelight
or fire glow,
subdued lights to mask
her imaginary flaws.

Tenderly
he taught her that
to see love,
with all its imperfections,
is as vital
as the making thereof.

Then she learnt to like it best
in sunlight, in deep grass
by slow rivers,
his hands flowing over her body
like the river
breaching its banks.
In the lazy rumpled bed,
morning sun smoothing the sheets
as he stretched towards her,
reaching for her love.
And in the night-wrapped garden
to a cricket chorus
where he took her on her knees.


Later, as they aged
it was best unplanned.
Best when he greeted her
unexpectedly rampant,
proud, smiling his familiar smile.
and she would be his once more.
.

Dayum, that was hot! Good to know the woman finally got her groove on!

 

[Angeline]

Re: Cut of the Briar Rose

You want to run home, now
that alibis lose their sense.

PTA meetings don’t run
through midnight, but
the mind-changing flavors
of our banquet, our bowls
of dessert and excess, lay
your keys back on my bed.

You pick your scarlet scalpel
from the vase, hand me
your own gift and shut your eyes
as the fine cut of the briar rose
tickles your white thighs.

The red trickle and sting
of salt as my sliding
tongue crosses and covers
the slices, feeding,
as it feeds you the nourishment
you need. You wince

as I whisper, words
moist and prescient,
shiver as I push, impaling
you and your fears
like a peach on a king’s dagger,

royal fruit, the smoothest slip
of skin as you return your honey
to its father.

Take this night home with you.

Hang it from the lovemarks
on your neck, dangle it
from your bruised ears.

You will not care
what he thinks anymore,
when you wear me like a diamond.

Whoa.

That's all. Just whoa.

The poems in this thread reduce me to monosyllabic.

 

[jd4george]

For a man who loves poetry (and ALL things erotic), as much as I do, it's frustrating to know that I have a hard time writing an erotic poem.

I posted four. One was a playful, English lesson (Sarding Frog). One was full of literary stuff (Orchid Promised to the Sun). One recounted something witnessed in prison (A View of the Garden). And one, I rather liked...

Seasons of Dew



- For that one hour




Carried on my torrent rain,
I swirl lightly down,
blushing, as you kiss my cheek.
Dew trickles softly on milady.

Pillowed in cloudy days,
I lay in swaying earth
playing tag with butterflies
who are faster than me.

Drifting with carousel leaves,
gusting wind chafes,
prickling my nostrils
with the smoke of her eyes.

Skyflakes whisper patterns
of breath traced on skin glass,
love songs crackling in fire.
On colder nights, my mouth dreams.



But the images are a bit too softy sensual to really be called erotic. There's no heat. I've been "tathing" (I made him into an adjective, i.e. "monkeying") with one called "Spermatazoon Calvary", but it's really nothing more than an extended metaphor.

When I'm physically frustrated, I know how to get release. But poetically, I feel fucked... actually, unfucked. I guess it's performance anxiety, and my bitch-muse just sits back and giggles that I can get up for it. I mean she actually points and giggles!

But, I'm going to try again... and again... and again, until I get it right. I ought to be able to write something "hot", damn it!

So, the deadline is the 25th? Anybody have some extra poetic little-blue-pills I could have? Anybody want to help me get up for this? I mean, I do have some staying power, and am willing to keep at it until something satisfying comes out.

 

[Tathagata]

You drop your guard
and all pretense,
as you open to me
and beg me,
in street words
to eat your core.

You offer
your thick essence.
off trembling fingers.
and I suckle
like a babe.

Your hips rise,
the swell of your breast
misted,
I taste the perfume you put there
just for me.

In your abandon
you clutch at heaven,
and immortality,
by pulling my hair
and becoming my willing whore.

I have seen you
base and lustful,
greedy on your knees,
wet chin
impatient.

There in the daylight
you give no hint,
no one can see,
the hunger in your walk,
but me.

And I feel
as if I'm always
inside you.

 

[*Catbabe*]

see? this is how the giraffe thing started.

I started to defend myself several times...

and then just gave up 'cause it's so true.

 

[annaswirls]

Re: Cut of the Briar Rose

You want to run home, now
that alibis lose their sense.

PTA meetings don’t run
through midnight, but
the mind-changing flavors
of our banquet, our bowls
of dessert and excess, lay
your keys back on my bed.

You pick your scarlet scalpel
from the vase, hand me
your own gift and shut your eyes
as the fine cut of the briar rose
tickles your white thighs.

The red trickle and sting
of salt as my sliding
tongue crosses and covers
the slices, feeding,
as it feeds you the nourishment
you need. You wince

as I whisper, words
moist and prescient,
shiver as I push, impaling
you and your fears
like a peach on a king’s dagger,

royal fruit, the smoothest slip
of skin as you return your honey
to its father.

Take this night home with you.

Hang it from the lovemarks
on your neck, dangle it
from your bruised ears.

You will not care
what he thinks anymore,
when you wear me like a diamond.

you know this poem is so eh hem sensuous and naughty that when I hit "quote" something in the network did not want to let it go, and read it three times before returning to my screen.

I recovered my ability to write in more than monosylables (mine was DAMN!) as the machine held onto this naughty nice do me twice poem.

I need to go to more PTA meetings.

or not go.

did you just write this? it really is quite wonderful. I hope you find a place for it where it will be enjoyed by many many many more people.


Okay I cannot read any more, this thread must be taken in small doses.


~anna

 

[annaswirls]

jd-

I will trade you some blue pills for some of those pink ones you have there on your night table.


I can also give you some hints if you think I am worth of giving such advice.


one thing, you cannot work on these poems once they are written, you have to work on them hard before they are formalized into words and then pretty much let them alone, or so I have found.


you have to give up your neatness and pretty words first

be messy
slippery sticky

sleep in the wet spot with a smile

get to the core
and then if you want to pretty it up, throw some petals on it here and there, but first close your eyes and find what is raw. And honest. tender. electric. that exposed nerve. No making things nice.

at least that is how I like it

wash your sheets after the poem is written


~anna

For a man who loves poetry (and ALL things erotic), as much as I do, it's frustrating to know that I have a hard time writing an erotic poem.

I posted four. One was a playful, English lesson (Sarding Frog). One was full of literary stuff (Orchid Promised to the Sun). One recounted something witnessed in prison (A View of the Garden). And one, I rather liked...

Seasons of Dew



- For that one hour




Carried on my torrent rain,
I swirl lightly down,
blushing, as you kiss my cheek.
Dew trickles softly on milady.

Pillowed in cloudy days,
I lay in swaying earth
playing tag with butterflies
who are faster than me.

Drifting with carousel leaves,
gusting wind chafes,
prickling my nostrils
with the smoke of her eyes.

Skyflakes whisper patterns
of breath traced on skin glass,
love songs crackling in fire.
On colder nights, my mouth dreams.



But the images are a bit too softy sensual to really be called erotic. There's no heat. I've been "tathing" (I made him into an adjective, i.e. "monkeying") with one called "Spermatazoon Calvary", but it's really nothing more than an extended metaphor.

When I'm physically frustrated, I know how to get release. But poetically, I feel fucked... actually, unfucked. I guess it's performance anxiety, and my bitch-muse just sits back and giggles that I can get up for it. I mean she actually points and giggles!

But, I'm going to try again... and again... and again, until I get it right. I ought to be able to write something "hot", damn it!

So, the deadline is the 25th? Anybody have some extra poetic little-blue-pills I could have? Anybody want to help me get up for this? I mean, I do have some staying power, and am willing to keep at it until something satisfying comes out.

 

[jd4george]

Thanks, Anna! I need to approach this exactly opposite of who I am... forget being a considerate lover and just get off!

Seriously, nice advice.

 

[flyguy69]

Paper Girl

::

I used her when the paper ran out
because the words didn’t. Words flowed
from my fingertips and spilled
onto her parchment skin. Words like “caress”
are too big for paper anyway. Besides,

good words aren’t straight
like standard rule; they curve
like clavicles, dimple
like navels, and pool
in that hollow at the base of her throat.

I used words that tickled
and made her flinch,
words that warmed
and made her sigh,
words with interesting histories
that made her say “hmmm”,
and some words I just made up.

::

 

[Guest]

Re: Paper Girl

::

I used her when the paper ran out
because the words didn’t. Words flowed
from my fingertips and spilled
onto her parchment skin. Words like “caress”
are too big for paper anyway. Besides,

I was going to mention Paper Girl earlier, but you had it listed under non-erotic. I've always liked this poem—it's kind of has a sly seductive thing going on.


- neo

 

[flyguy69]

I don't want to start logrolling here, but ... it's raining blows the doors off erotic poetry, imho!

 

[annaswirls]

Thanks, Anna! I need to approach this exactly opposite of who I am... forget being a considerate lover and just get off!

Seriously, nice advice.

it's only inconsiderate if the approach is not welcome

the poem you posted was the candles and wine, romance
erotic poetry is what happens next, that

Octave


Drop

 

[annaswirls]

eh hem, Fly-guy

your pm box is full

 

[flyguy69]

eh hem, Fly-guy

your pm box is full

You're one to talk!

 

[WickedEve]

I don't want to start logrolling here, but ... it's raining blows the doors off erotic poetry, imho!

Glad you posted that link! How did I miss that poem? Is it new? Love it, neo.

 

[Angeline]

I started to defend myself several times...

and then just gave up 'cause it's so true.

I knew we were totally simpatico on this one.