The Illuminated Woman

[Remec]

Her Skin

'Alabaster' was passé even
before consideration of how
to even describe the soft,
shimmering, oh-so-supple,
covering of the flesh that
entranced his mind and more
was ever an issue, The skin
in question was both allure
and enticement, gleaming
in whatever gradient light he
chose to have cast upon its
Procol-coloured surface as
Sophie awaited his inspection,
thrived on it to the point
where he was unsure who was
whose Muse.

 

[darkmaas]

'Alabaster' was passé even
before consideration of how

...

whatever gradient light he
chose to have cast upon its
Procol-coloured surface

Nicely sidestepped the "alabaster" rule then gave us a musical allusion with "Procol-coloured" that may try younger minds. Even spelled "coloured" correctly.

A hat trick!

Well done.

::

 

[HarryHill]

Nicely sidestepped the "alabaster" rule then gave us a musical allusion with "Procol-coloured" that may try younger minds. Even spelled "coloured" correctly.

A hat trick!

Well done.

::

..
A Whiter Shade of Pale? Brilliant. Thanks Darkmaas, missed that.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

He weighed each bosom in his hands
and found them wanting,
so turns to raspberry nipples
infused with colour at his touch,
They still entrance and draw his lips
till standing proud against the cream,
he's satisfied to feasts his eyes
and spoon his beauty.

 

[darkmaas]

He will welcome her.

...

But first he must speak to her.

::

Nicely book-ended by a perfectly sensible statement. But the 19 lines of delicately crafted erotica between ... well ... thank-you.


::

 

[darkmaas]

He weighed each bosom ...

My day is complete. UYS has returned to a d'maas thread. How did you know that Sophie has smallish breasts?

The "raspberry nipples" and the "spooning" of his beauty made me hungry for dessert. Nice marriage of food metaphors and erotic descriptors.

Off to the kitchen ...

::

 

[Angeline]

She stands before him
eyes cast down wholly
his landscape hillock
tussock pliable cool
steady of limb palms
open fingers curved.

She will hold what
ever he gives her.
When she holds him
she thinks of treasure.

There is a river
in her flowing and a lake
brims quietly a tear
tracks the path his hands
have known slick on scars
that words cannot express.

 

[darkmaas]

She stands before him
eyes cast down wholly
his landscape hillock
tussock pliable cool
steady of limb palms
open fingers curved.

She will hold what
ever he gives her.
When she holds him
she thinks of treasure.

There is a river
in her flowing and a lake
brims quietly a tear
tracks the path his hands
have known slick on scars
that words cannot express.

::

<Laughing> Well Ange, you've gone and shown how it's done. (A lot of allusions I feel I should know).

It's a hard post to follow.

::

 

[champagne1982]

I wasn't sure where this was going when I started and I'm less sure now.

Let us see if the wisdom of crowds extends to erotic poetry.

I have a vision of what Sophie's epidermis layer looks like. You, my dear reader, hopefully do as well. Let's embark on a challenge:

Sophie's Challenge

It's simple really ... write an erotic poem suitable for inscription on a willing (and to my eye at least) extremely worthy pelt.

No other rules but a comment. There seems to be subliminal attachment between "alabaster" and "skin" in this context. I've had to edit no fewer than three alabasters from the above posts. Fair warning.

Commentary is welcome.

::

Does The Rain Patter Such A Rhythm?

The shiver, gasped along her spine.
only enhanced the glow her skin
shimmered in the moonbeam scatter
of shadow between the twin eskers
of scapulae framing the graceful
dip and rise down to the dimpled
mounds of tatooed roses
his hands inked on Sophie's ass.
___

As to comment, I have always dismissed some others' aversions to cliché and trite imagery so please deny yourself no more ... Love alabaster skin and diaphanous drapes. P.S. I am all goose-fleshed with the thought of tongue and whispers down my back... le sigh

 

[darkmaas]

Does The Rain Patter Such A Rhythm?

The shiver, gasped along her spine.
only enhanced the glow her skin
shimmered in the moonbeam scatter
of shadow between the twin eskers
of scapulae framing the graceful
dip and rise down to the dimpled
mounds of tatooed roses
his hands inked on Sophie's ass.
___

As to comment, I have always dismissed some others' aversions to cliché and trite imagery so please deny yourself no more ... Love alabaster skin and diaphanous drapes. P.S. I am all goose-fleshed with the thought of tongue and whispers down my back... le sigh

::

Very cheeky ending, but I loved the "twin eskers of scapulae" ... an erogenous zone I too am fond of.

::

Recipe for Braised Tongue and Whispers:

First catch something beefy and pick some whispers ...

::

 

[darkmaas]

From Champers we have "Twin eskers of scapulae"

Angeline has endowed "landscape hillock [and] tussock" with a certain poetic grace.

Add the traditional "mound of venus" or "delta of venus" (for those more aquatically inclined) ...

We seem to have a new field of poetics: Erotocartography

You saw it first here folks! be the first on your block ...

::

 

[butters]

From Champers we have "Twin eskers of scapulae"

Angeline has endowed "landscape hillock [and] tussock" with a certain poetic grace.

Add the traditional "mound of venus" or "delta of venus" (for those more aquatically inclined) ...

We seem to have a new field of poetics: Erotocartography

You saw it first here folks! be the first on your block ...

::

the terminology of the lie of the land lends itself well to the describing the female form *nods* am liking that whole 'delta' thing - the visuals and connotations.

i had a title i really liked; the poem didn't live up to my hopes, though, despite some bits that were rockin' the title was 'the magnetism of geopoetry' and used stuff like 'your lava flow' and references to the wafer-edge of knapped flint and suchlike. perhaps it's time i cannibalised it!

too late I felt
your vast, uncharted depths

striped by such anomalies -
distorted fields of negatives
and positives
daring me to map their bones
their rifts, their lava-flows -
hazardous furrows at best

never knew those
hypothermic vents could
melt my eyes
steal the breath

where water's cooled
your boiling sediments down to
these bright and glassy margins -
the wafered edge of flint still
slices

 

[darkmaas]

the terminology of the lie of the land lends itself well to the describing the female form *nods* am liking that whole 'delta' thing - the visuals and connotations.

i had a title i really liked; the poem didn't live up to my hopes, though, despite some bits that were rockin' the title was 'the magnetism of geopoetry' and used stuff like 'your lava flow' and references to the wafer-edge of knapped flint and suchlike. perhaps it's time i cannibalised it!

Yes indeed gentle readers, it is shocking and I understand your momentary revulsion, but poets do indeed eat their offspring.

::

 

[Angeline]

From Champers we have "Twin eskers of scapulae"

Angeline has endowed "landscape hillock [and] tussock" with a certain poetic grace.

Add the traditional "mound of venus" or "delta of venus" (for those more aquatically inclined) ...

We seem to have a new field of poetics: Erotocartography

You saw it first here folks! be the first on your block ...

::

I smell poetry challenge. I hear wheels turning.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Yes indeed gentle readers, it is shocking and I understand your momentary revulsion, but poets do indeed eat their offspring.

::

A crying shame! Hardly time to breathe before chop, chop, chomp.

 

[darkmaas]

A crying shame! Hardly time to breathe before chop, chop, chomp.

Didn't quite make it in sonnet form
gonna wish you just never been born
hardly time before chop, chop, chomp
life can be short for a poetic romp

::

 

[HarryHill]

I've got something working that may fit in this thread. Skin, an organ of sensitivity and worship. How's the skin on you phone? Sophie's haunts me. I hope you don't get mad as I use her. It was purely consensual. in the meantime another skin for you.

Papers Skin

Microscopic pores are alien
Magic under magnified view
Fragile artifact, hard copy
I love you

 

[darkmaas]

Champers said:

I am all goose-fleshed with the thought of tongue and whispers down my back... le sigh

Scapulae

The place where wings
might have attached
had we not tumbled
first from grace and then the garden

Suitable perhaps for a carefully tapered poem
(sonnets are too Cartesian)

But what to do
with the uneven backbone
a knobby line that often only serves
to bisect the "page"

Maybe epigrams
or just whispers
running downward
to somewhere
less articulate


::

 

[darkmaas]

How's the skin on you phone? Sophie's haunts me. I hope you don't get mad as I use her. It was purely consensual.

I keep my phone naked. Slides out of the pocket easier.

Why would I get mad? She's a figment ...


::

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Orientation

A familiar route taken
by night or, unexpectedly,
in daylight. Drawn out
before me, welcoming,
endemic but always new.
I will not hurry through
this valley, the moist
meridian shifting beneath.
Coordinates guide me
to a certain center as,
with closed eyes, I feel
my way across plains
smoothed by you
and stilled by expectation.
There are secret places
here that only you and I
explore, cul-de-sacs and
narrows to slip into and
hide. Scent of sea and,
on my tongue the same
sweet salt.

 

[butters]

this skin deserves better
than mere graffiti
begs adornment with elegant curls of exotic script
over dune-patient curves
naked bold text
where romance is ousted by passion
exclamation-marks and ellipses
rather than smileys or roses
the question of tattoo over sharpie
henna or invisible ink
is one for timely consideration
but never
ever
ever
desecrate the pristine page
with graceless comic sans

 

[darkmaas]

but never
ever
ever
desecrate the pristine page
with graceless comic sans

You know of the senseless evil that is comic sans!

 

[darkmaas]

A familiar route taken
by night or, unexpectedly,
in daylight.
...

There are secret places
here that only you and I
explore, cul-de-sacs and
narrows to slip into and
hide. Scent of sea and,
on my tongue the same
sweet salt.

So as I'm sitting trying to define borders for Erotocartography, map the erogenous so to speak ... and Our Lady of Sorrows quietly shows us how it is done.

::

 

[Angeline]

You know of the senseless evil that is comic sans!

I suppose it would be wrong of me to bring up wingdings and webdings at this point.

 

[darkmaas]

I suppose it would be wrong of me to bring up wingdings and webdings at this point.

It would indeed, because dingbats have a long and ... well glorious is too strong by half ... history in typesetting. Comic sans is simply an assault on good taste.

::