Chasin' Chickens

[wildsweetone]

wetness
upon a river's bed
a body of water
lapping curves
adrift
under a light mist's kiss
a rippled
blanket of blue
rhythmic motions
curl around
smooth hard wood
pointing to the sky
absorbing
soaked in a driven current
pulsing from streams
shuffling pillow clouds
with moist kisses
limbs grace this body
and leaves


I like <grin

hmm okay lets see... how about trimming back some of those 'ing' words. i.e. fiddling:

from
'shuffling pillow clouds'

to
pillow clouds shuffle


any better?

 

[My Erotic Trail]

hmm okay lets see... how about trimming back some of those 'ing' words. i.e. fiddling:

from
'shuffling pillow clouds'

to
pillow clouds shuffle


any better?

well that leads to a question ? <grin

what's wrong with 'ing' words?
sounds the same but different <smile

 

[wildsweetone]

some people like them and some people don't. being sparse is better than smothering. you've got five in a poem of 54 words. i dont' know if it's too many or not, but i thought rewording to avoid some of them might improve the poem. it's all just fiddling eh. if you feel it's fine as it is, then thats fine

 

[LeBroz]

some people like them and some people don't. being sparse is better than smothering. you've got five in a poem of 54 words. i dont' know if it's too many or not, but i thought rewording to avoid some of them might improve the poem. it's all just fiddling eh. if you feel it's fine as it is, then thats fine

Believe it or not, even after High School and college, when I was mid-way through my military career and had to write reports as part of my job, I got my wrists whacked (figuratively speaking) for passive writing. So much for the value of higher education.

As I read what you wrote, I was thinking that the gerund (verbs ending in -ing) is more passive. Then I remembered something I saved from one of Art's threads that was posted by eve:

Gerunds Don't Dance:
"ing" Endings in Poetry
an editorial by Mary Margaret Carlisle, Managing Editor


Many teachers train beginning poets to use gerunds as an easy way to achieve a simple internal or external rhyme. Although fine for light or romantic poetry, problems abound when gerunds are used more than a few times in any poem.

An "ing" ending adds no real meaning; "ing" is a weak modifier, an addendum that turns an active verb into a passive gerund. An adjective that was once a verb is not as vital or strong as the verb itself. Too much modification does not help writing of any kind, and in poetry may encourage a drift into flowery language.

In addition, a heavy reliance on gerunds turns attention away from meaning and inadvertently puts more emphasis on how the words sound. This dependence can dilute a voice so much that it becomes like a gentle wind in the trees--soft and lovely as it passes, but the meaning can quickly fade away.

An active voice that is crisp, vivid and unique becomes passive with an overuse of gerunds. And just as using a "southern drawl" in dialogue slows action to a crawl, remember that gerunds don't dance, they walk.

Clip most "ing" endings from your work. Instead, choose words imbued with power and strength that stand on their own without modification, and your work will move in a more memorable and meaningful way.

 

[wildsweetone]

I was thinking that the gerund (verbs ending in -ing) is more passive. Believe it or not, after High School and college, I was mid-way through my military career when I had to write reports as part of my job. That's when my wrists got whacked (figuratively speaking) for passive writing.

And then, I remembered something I saved from one of Art's threads that was posted by eve:

Gerunds Don't Dance:
"ing" Endings in Poetry
an editorial by Mary Margaret Carlisle, Managing Editor


Many teachers train beginning poets to use gerunds as an easy way to achieve a simple internal or external rhyme. Although fine for light or romantic poetry, problems abound when gerunds are used more than a few times in any poem.

An "ing" ending adds no real meaning; "ing" is a weak modifier, an addendum that turns an active verb into a passive gerund. An adjective that was once a verb is not as vital or strong as the verb itself. Too much modification does not help writing of any kind, and in poetry may encourage a drift into flowery language.

In addition, a heavy reliance on gerunds turns attention away from meaning and inadvertently puts more emphasis on how the words sound. This dependence can dilute a voice so much that it becomes like a gentle wind in the trees--soft and lovely as it passes, but the meaning can quickly fade away.

An active voice that is crisp, vivid and unique becomes passive with an overuse of gerunds. And just as using a "southern drawl" in dialogue slows action to a crawl, remember that gerunds don't dance, they walk.

Clip most "ing" endings from your work. Instead, choose words imbued with power and strength that stand on their own without modification, and your work will move in a more memorable and meaningful way.

mind if i print that out? it might help me to remember the reasoning if i read it a couple a hunnert times.

 

[LeBroz]

mind if i print that out? it might help me to remember the reasoning if i read it a couple a hunnert times.

Knock yourself out - I copied it from eve's posting and saved it onto my hard drive for future reference.

Compare & contrast two lines:

touching, feeling, loving, kissing, dancing

touch, feel, love, kiss, dance

Each line, taken as a whole, has a different "feel." The first is softer, more romantic; the second, more active, vibrant, passionate. The first line would be suitable in a romantic poem, the second, in an erotic poem.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

a living cell

a dance with the Sheriff
gets you three hots and a cot
metalic fence in picket white

horizontal and vertical lines
checker board life
of a caged bird

nestled with cons and pros
boredom grows
a living cell

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Cauldron of doom


at the circle of death
they gather
for their last meal

scale a wall
and dance on the rim
just before, falling in

still as stone
the cauldron is known
by its scent and size

doodle bugs pacing
within the circle
unable to crawl back out

starvation eminent
an intense burning sun
a trap for the hungry

an empty can
in the burn pile
an insects cauldin of doom

 

[My Erotic Trail]

it is a never ending job, chasing chickens <grin
for shear poultry
it is simply
poetry

 

[My Erotic Trail]

mental fuck

conquer and subdue
grasp a hold and pull
tight gripped fingers
in fisting drives
wanting to
fuck your mind

their enjoyment
is planting the seed of discord
their smile is your pain
their unhappiness never resolved
but a fake grin expressed
while humping your brain

at the pool of tranquility
they ripple the water
canon bomb into your thoughts
swim in your words
unable to leave, stuck in you
a mental fuck wanting to screw

 

[My Erotic Trail]

I am here <grin

dust devil rise
twist your wind
dancing across the road
spinning in the fields
twirling
turning
kicking up dust
and earth
as if angry
then disappear
in a huff

 

[seranade]

I never did finish that poem. Maybe I'll finish it today. Too wet to go fishing. Popping in to say howdy.

alby-writing

 

[My Erotic Trail]

I never did finish that poem. Maybe I'll finish it today. Too wet to go fishing. Popping in to say howdy.

alby-writing

I'll be watching for it.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

red-neck girl

Marked and branded
or perhaps a sign
that tells of her actions
when the sun went down

a 'hickey' upon her neck

a country girl's shoulders
sun burned red
belt buckle, boots and a hat
on a tractor under the shed

a roll in the hay
and she looks like a wreck
the farm girl with
a red-neck

 

[My Erotic Trail]

a jot thought
~~~~~~~~~~~~

killing time~~

sitting
killing time
removing the batteries
out of the clock

watching a movie
relaxing
with nothing to do
killing time
till I can no longer

no more adding
time=x watch
subtracts -life
till I over pie
become a horizontal line
in a rectangle box
sum affinity

prying my eyes open
tooth picks don't work
knowing I'll dive into a dream
eventually
escaping one reality
to recall another
Time to go
the seargent will yell
It is Killing time

Grave yards
and maternity wards
time ticks onward
You can hold a post
drive backwards
live in space
cryogenic attempts
but there is no way of
Killing Time​

 

[My Erotic Trail]

todays thought

titties
go with everything
chocolate syrup
cherries
strawberries

titties and beer
wine
coke
even water

they go good in the hands
fingers
mouth

tastey flesh
sucked
kissed
lip lap
bit

everything goes with a
tit

 

[My Erotic Trail]

funky doodle and nocker knots
were melded together like melted chocolate
sticky skin presses and sloppy wet kisses
as funky drove his piston into Nocker knot's bore

Nocker Knot has been knocked up before
so she had Funky wear his rubber boots
he said okay but she had better put on something sexy
she did, she wore her red neck cowgirl boots

as if they were in a rodeo they took turns riding
8 minute rides and change out the saddle
Funky doodle began to rattle and shake like an old truck dieing
Nocker Knots spurs were dug in as Funky lay prying

 

[Honey123]

Hey there Art...



Wanted to drop by and give you a kiss...

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Hey there Art...



Wanted to drop by and give you a kiss...

sweet on the tongue
senses soar
honey came knocking
on my door

hey honey (~_*)

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Honey;
an enriched flavor
that inflames
desires
when taste buds
are saturated
with the slow,
thick,
creamy fluid.

Sending signals
to the brain
equivelent
to orgasmic sensations.

Sweet passion
toys on flesh
inviting
a lapping tongue
to catch the trail of liquid
over the skin
slowly running.

Honey!

 

[bluerains]

um..

Honey;
an enriched flavor
that inflames
desires
when taste buds
are saturated
with the slow,
thick,
creamy fluid.

Sending signals
to the brain
equivelent
to orgasmic sensations.

Sweet passion
toys on flesh
inviting
a lapping tongue
to catch the trail of liquid
over the skin
slowly running.

Honey!

who can not resist...a sweet huni buni...

 

[My Erotic Trail]

who can not resist...a sweet huni buni...

hey blue, I like that AV

she holds the moon
in the palm of her hand
out reached arm
cupping a world

she lay in blue
along the shore
reaching for the moon
grasping
once more

 

[Honey123]

Honey;
an enriched flavor
that inflames
desires
when taste buds
are saturated
with the slow,
thick,
creamy fluid.

Sending signals
to the brain
equivelent
to orgasmic sensations.

Sweet passion
toys on flesh
inviting
a lapping tongue
to catch the trail of liquid
over the skin
slowly running.

Honey!

aww...Art...you are really sweet.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

aww...Art...you are really sweet.

Only when I am covered in honey

 

[My Erotic Trail]

three rivers collide
in harmony

trinity