pick one of your poems and tell me all about it

[nerk]

Lake Song

Climb into the heavy heat of August
out of the dark
lake,
lay on the giant rock
its granite worn smooth
by centuries of the lake's caresses
drip water on the russet soil in
the long Northern dusk

night falls heavy
it presses down dark
and rumbles in the distance
beyond the hills.
the loon's lonesome song is muffled
and even the waves
lap the shore furtively
sensing a predator

Then comes the rain
a terrible, magical noise
a mystery rushing through the darkness
through spruce and birch forest,
across marshes and lakes
coming closer, sweeping over me.

Heavy sheets pound down
and melt away the ache of miles
and traffic. The life of neckties
and copy paper and parking stickers
is washed away, soaking into the soil.

After the storm,
the waves lapping the shore
and the lonesome loon
sing a lullaby,
sending me into
deep sleep.

Still night
the lake and sky glow silver
I lay awake wake to watch
wisps of cloud drifting across the stars
until a wisp of dream, drifting out
of the dark lake
climbs onto the giant rock
smooth and round from centuries
of the lake's caresses
Water drips onto the black ground
from her hair, black as the lake's depths
and her skin is silver as moonlight on water
She glides closer, a mystery
magical and terrible

Kiss her, touch her, strip and
sink deep into her,
her body rushes against mine
hot and heavy as August
pressing me down
the rumble of my desire
and flash of her climax
and the rain sweeps over us
washing away everything
but soft sighs
dripping down
soaking into the russet soil
Waves lap against the shore
Clouds blow across the stars

The long Northern dawn
finds me stretched out on the giant rock
worn smooth by the lake's caresses
In the thick morning mist
the lonesome loon sings


I've been bashing this around for the past week or so. I'm still not sure it's quite 'there' yet, but what the hey, the gauntlet was thrown, so... This was written about my very favorite place in all the world, which I just got back from this past weekend. I've been trying to write what the place does for me, and trying to write about the little storm we had up there, and trying to write about girls. So I tried to write the lake as a girl, and this is sort of what I came up with.

PS I posted a thread for feedback on this, don't want to hijack this thread http://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?p=34933465#post34933465

 

[slowrimmer]

Wow . . . theres some . . complex stuff here, and very good.
I don't really know what I'm doing, I just write snippets.
Things I like, odd thoughts . . and in an odd way.
Just jot it down to get the idea out of my head and away.
Sometimes I wirtie a little something for a friend, or with a friend in mind.
Usually in fact.

As I did with this snippet . . .

Watching

Hes watching when she thinks hes not.
The way she brushes the stray hair from her cheek.
The look of concentration on her face as she types.
Rewarded when she slips a stray finger downwards.
Absentmindedly stroking hot flesh.

.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Lake Song

Climb into the heavy heat of August
out of the dark
lake,
lay on the giant rock
its granite worn smooth
by centuries of the lake's caresses
drip water on the russet soil in
the long Northern dusk

night falls heavy
it presses down dark
and rumbles in the distance
beyond the hills.
the loon's lonesome song is muffled
and even the waves
lap the shore furtively
sensing a predator

Then comes the rain
a terrible, magical noise
a mystery rushing through the darkness
through spruce and birch forest,
across marshes and lakes
coming closer, sweeping over me.

Heavy sheets pound down
and melt away the ache of miles
and traffic. The life of neckties
and copy paper and parking stickers
is washed away, soaking into the soil.

After the storm,
the waves lapping the shore
and the lonesome loon
sing a lullaby,
sending me into
deep sleep.

Still night
the lake and sky glow silver
I lay awake wake to watch
wisps of cloud drifting across the stars
until a wisp of dream, drifting out
of the dark lake
climbs onto the giant rock
smooth and round from centuries
of the lake's caresses
Water drips onto the black ground
from her hair, black as the lake's depths
and her skin is silver as moonlight on water
She glides closer, a mystery
magical and terrible

Kiss her, touch her, strip and
sink deep into her,
her body rushes against mine
hot and heavy as August
pressing me down
the rumble of my desire
and flash of her climax
and the rain sweeps over us
washing away everything
but soft sighs
dripping down
soaking into the russet soil
Waves lap against the shore
Clouds blow across the stars

The long Northern dawn
finds me stretched out on the giant rock
worn smooth by the lake's caresses
In the thick morning mist
the lonesome loon sings


I've been bashing this around for the past week or so. I'm still not sure it's quite 'there' yet, but what the hey, the gauntlet was thrown, so... This was written about my very favorite place in all the world, which I just got back from this past weekend. I've been trying to write what the place does for me, and trying to write about the little storm we had up there, and trying to write about girls. So I tried to write the lake as a girl, and this is sort of what I came up with.

PS I posted a thread for feedback on this, don't want to hijack this thread http://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?p=34933465#post34933465

might I make a suggestion ? you could lose a few 'ands' and 'thes'

 

[teknight]

my go

A slave to rhymes

Damn you(,) rhymes,
With what?
Bound to your structure,
See, you
Might as well be crimes!
You shut(,) my mind,
I cannot rupture,
The links of your progression,
Hate you,
That is my confession.

-----
Just wrote this one...and I have UnderYourSpell to thank for it, actually. *grumble*...questioning my structuring...*grumble* .
This is an illustration of the process by which I write poems. I work off of rhymes, I hate rhyme-less poems, much as they might be liberating. But, I'm a slave to those rhymes, I have to find, I have to twist my mind to get them to fit...and I try to be clever about it, have on phrase contain more than one meaning, break up the structure, the punctuation to get as much as possible into as little space as possible. I don't always succeed, but that's my process.

 

[The_Fool]

To me, mine read pretty self evident. So if somebody wants me to explain one of mine, pick it and I will pontificate. Or make up something juicy.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Oh heck I wrangled with an editor!

 

[nerk]

Oh heck I wrangled with an editor!

Have you lost your mind???
*clears a space for the chopper to land, in case she needs to be med-evaced to someplace less graumatic*

 

[teknight]

Have you lost your mind???
*clears a space for the chopper to land, in case she needs to be med-evaced to someplace less graumatic*

Sir, I resent that remark....being the editor in question.
And what's "graumatic" mean?

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Have you lost your mind???
*clears a space for the chopper to land, in case she needs to be med-evaced to someplace less graumatic*

I've always gone where angels fear to tread so it won't be a first

Sir, I resent that remark....being the editor in question.
And what's "graumatic" mean?

hmmmm I've never been to a graumatic place before new horizons beckon

 

[nerk]

Sir, I resent that remark....being the editor in question.
And what's "graumatic" mean?

graumatic ... when grammar becomes traumatic

 

[teknight]

graumatic ... when grammar becomes traumatic

I thought it was German for matte gray...

 

[bflagsst]

http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=412397

In this poem I was just trying to poke two mockers/poets. It's a hybrid of two poems I can't even remember the names of. One's by Wallace Stevens which I took the form from, the other is Billy Collins which I took some content from. I liked both of their poems, even though their mockery kinda rubbed me a little wrong. I think of it as a smart poem that isn't too...

A Quiet, Uneventful Life
by bflagsst©

Some spend their evenings
in supreme fiction, Madame,
composing paradelles
to and from the office,
like tawdry cisterns
pandering for heaven(s),
the go-betweens
for low-toned, pale,
insurance men.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

I think insulting people is a really poor use of poetry so I do also get rubbed the wrong way by mockery in poems. To me it is like using a beautiful vase as a spitoon. I mean, I suppose people probably need spitoons, but why not just use a paper cup? Why make ugly something otherwise capable of making some much needed beauty in an ugly world?

Interesting poem, B.

http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=412397

In this poem I was just trying to poke two mockers/poets. It's a hybrid of two poems I can't even remember the names of. One's by Wallace Stevens which I took the form from, the other is Billy Collins which I took some content from. I liked both of their poems, even though their mockery kinda rubbed me a little wrong. I think of it as a smart poem that isn't too...

A Quiet, Uneventful Life
by bflagsst©

Some spend their evenings
in supreme fiction, Madame,
composing paradelles
to and from the office,
like tawdry cisterns
pandering for heaven(s),
the go-betweens
for low-toned, pale,
insurance men.

 

[teknight]

I think insulting people is a really poor use of poetry so I do also get rubbed the wrong way by mockery in poems. To me it is like using a beautiful vase as a spitoon. I mean, I suppose people probably need spitoons, but why not just use a paper cup? Why make ugly something otherwise capable of making some much needed beauty in an ugly world?

Interesting poem, B.

I find it easier to find beauty in all things (well, there are limits)....

 

[CharleyH]

one at a time, but not restricted to just the one. one per post, to be clear.

much as poems fascinate me in their own right, all too often i'm left wondering what was behind it all - the thinking processes, the inspirations, the choice of nuances, the whys and the wherefores ... . i'm aware that some poets prefer to leave the whole dirty business a mystery, with the intent of allowing the poem to stand on its own two feet (or more, depending on the form *grins*), but experience tells me there are many more who love talking about how the creative process works for them.

humour me, please, i've an itch needs scratching

Fascinating thread, not just for you, but me and everyone.

Janice (and i must say the name is pronounced JA-niece) is about my mothers death. I took pains to write it as she was dying and I think I really encompassed both the manner in which she died and the feelings I had at the time. A good poem or not? Well, I suppose that depends on perspective. It's a poem that still helps people and inspires them after all these years, and yes... I think it's a good poem.

 

[butters]

Fascinating thread, not just for you, but me and everyone.

Janice (and i must say the name is pronounced JA-niece) is about my mothers death. I took pains to write it as she was dying and I think I really encompassed both the manner in which she died and the feelings I had at the time. A good poem or not? Well, I suppose that depends on perspective. It's a poem that still helps people and inspires them after all these years, and yes... I think it's a good poem.

crafted with elegance, love, and attention to detail. a beautiful write, encompassing a world of emotions. i feel. simply this.

 

[butters]

Wow . . . theres some . . complex stuff here, and very good.
I don't really know what I'm doing, I just write snippets.
Things I like, odd thoughts . . and in an odd way.
Just jot it down to get the idea out of my head and away.
Sometimes I write a little something for a friend, or with a friend in mind.
Usually in fact.

As I did with this snippet . . .

Watching

Hes watching when she thinks hes not.
The way she brushes the stray hair from her cheek.
The look of concentration on her face as she types.
Rewarded when she slips a stray finger downwards.
Absentmindedly stroking hot flesh.

.

thankyou for joining in this thread we've all written in this manner, i don't doubt. some poems arrive this way, others take a more complex route to their birthing.

 

[butters]

A slave to rhymes

Damn you(,) rhymes,
With what?
Bound to your structure,
See, you
Might as well be crimes!
You shut(,) my mind,
I cannot rupture,
The links of your progression,
Hate you,
That is my confession.

-----
Just wrote this one...and I have UnderYourSpell to thank for it, actually. *grumble*...questioning my structuring...*grumble* .
This is an illustration of the process by which I write poems. I work off of rhymes, I hate rhyme-less poems, much as they might be liberating. But, I'm a slave to those rhymes, I have to find, I have to twist my mind to get them to fit...and I try to be clever about it, have on phrase contain more than one meaning, break up the structure, the punctuation to get as much as possible into as little space as possible. I don't always succeed, but that's my process.

as an illustration of the process, this is an innovative write. there's nothing wrong with rhymes until they appear forced, inelegant, a misuse of a tool that ends up harming the write rather than adding depth and resonance to it. personally, i prefer more subtle internal rhyming than end-rhymes that too often dictate a more sing-song temperament to a poem; of course, when handled with skill, end-rhymes can make a good poem even better. there's nothing wrong with having duality of meaning to a phrase, in fact i love it when this is handled well. unfortunately, ambiguity can work against a write if too obscure or the reader hasn't the references on board already for it to make sense and, hopefully, leave into even more interesting layers. going back to my opening comment, however, if you always wrote this way (the punctuation!) it would drive me batshit and no mistake

 

[butters]

To me, mine read pretty self evident. So if somebody wants me to explain one of mine, pick it and I will pontificate. Or make up something juicy.

in that case, i await your pontificating over this:

Originally Posted by The_Fool

why do I always forget
that today is a day
like yesterday
five years ago
tomorrow
next week
regrets and memories
are for yesterday
plans and dreams
for tomorrow
today is for living
but I always forget

 

[butters]

Have you lost your mind???
*clears a space for the chopper to land, in case she needs to be med-evaced to someplace less graumatic*

i lurves graumatic!

 

[butters]

http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=412397

In this poem I was just trying to poke two mockers/poets. It's a hybrid of two poems I can't even remember the names of. One's by Wallace Stevens which I took the form from, the other is Billy Collins which I took some content from. I liked both of their poems, even though their mockery kinda rubbed me a little wrong. I think of it as a smart poem that isn't too...

A Quiet, Uneventful Life
by bflagsst©

Some spend their evenings
in supreme fiction, Madame,
composing paradelles
to and from the office,
like tawdry cisterns
pandering for heaven(s),
the go-betweens
for low-toned, pale,
insurance men.

i wonder if your two pokees would have enjoyed this as much as i did
and why do i keep reading 'paradelles' as 'paradiddles'?

a semi-smart poem that made me smile, being only a semi-smart reader

 

[butters]

I think insulting people is a really poor use of poetry so I do also get rubbed the wrong way by mockery in poems. To me it is like using a beautiful vase as a spitoon. I mean, I suppose people probably need spitoons, but why not just use a paper cup? Why make ugly something otherwise capable of making some much needed beauty in an ugly world?

Interesting poem, B.

as a medium, it will be used for all manner of voices shouting (or whispering) in the dark, Pandora. times were it was seen as the ultimate tool to decry the wrongdoings of our nations, the highlighter of the disenfranchised, the voice of mockery spotlighting the corrupt. even these, i suppose, may be achieved in a beautiful fashion.

i'm sure many of the most famous poets have been known to pen at least a few lines with a less than erudite intent of poking another who had annoyed them in some shabby way

 

[Guest]

Again, I am excited about this forum which has motivated me to explain my work.
I think this poem is a deep dive into my psyche. Who is the animal within? Who am I? How do we co-exist??

"WITHIN"

My precious creature, my muse
the words, penned for me
stalk and prey on my vulnerability

They burn my eyes
stirring him to life
tempting my desires release

Awakened by words intent
the other me, the animal within
I must retreat.

With an icy, dark stare
my reflection morphs
he whispers

"Don't listen, the words betray her facade of submission"

He fears my weaknesses
surrendering to flesh, unabashed
taking myself, in your name

His fears are unfounded
I will not displease him
I never have!

We stand alone staring
reflection slowly melts from within
he smiles knowingly, authoritatively

Alone at last; naked, throbbing, tortured.


Context: I have a friend on LIT that is really into the BSDM world (at least online). We have bantered and chatted about dom/sub topics and how we fit into that culture and how we viewed ourselves. I’d say she is more of an “intellectual friend” than a “play partner” thou we do occasionally play online. I have 6 unfinished stories I will someday publish here on LIT but I was frustrated because finishing them has been a challenge. So, my sub friend suggested writing a poetry might be a way to keep the juices flowing without turning into a major project (hahaha, she doesn’t write poems), so this was my 1st poem and a few people from LIT’s Poet region who are reading this now helped me develop it
~THANK YOU AGAIN ~

One day, she wrote me an awesome short story, about me …those are the “words, penned for me” and although she is an avowed Sub, she is not submissive to me. Thus the line “Don't listen, the words betray her facade of submission".

The rest of the poem is about my “other self”. My online persona here on LIT is “FindmeinNH” but my play/chat account is a throwback to a nickname one of my original cyber friends coined for me “Animal”. That friend said: …….. “you have an animal within and one day I’ll meet you in person and I will experience that beast” ……. we lost touch and I never did meet her in person, such a shame.

Anyway, the inner-animal “Within” is my insatiable lust and desire to please a woman orally (it’s just my thing) and, normally whenever the “animal” is awakened I have very little self control (if you know what I mean) But now, since I have been on LIT, I have discovered a darker more dominant side…so there is a struggle “Within”, a 3-way fight between:
- the normal me (nice guy)
- the animal (the lustful one who can be dominated)
- the dark beast (my dominant side).

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Fascinating thread, not just for you, but me and everyone.

Janice (and i must say the name is pronounced JA-niece) is about my mothers death. I took pains to write it as she was dying and I think I really encompassed both the manner in which she died and the feelings I had at the time. A good poem or not? Well, I suppose that depends on perspective. It's a poem that still helps people and inspires them after all these years, and yes... I think it's a good poem.

What can I say? I know you will understand when I say please read it as said

 

[PandoraGlitters]

i'm sure many of the most famous poets have been known to pen at least a few lines with a less than erudite intent of poking another who had annoyed them in some shabby way

The poets I have loved have not really done this. Not for mere annoyance. I cannot imagine, either, annoying someone in a shabby way. I think if I annoy people I would prefer they simply tell me STFU instead of writing a poem comparing me to, say, a rotting corpse or a bloodsucking rodent, right? Just me. Of course people can do what they want. You can make a toilet of gold or a diamond of human hair, but, . . . eww!

I think the poets I have enjoyed the most have loved their subjects, and that love was evident even in their criticism. Or saved their declarations of discontent for truly big issues. Of course poetry has been used in many ways just as any medium can be used in many ways. I am stating only my personal preference.