Non-erotic poetry (that is, Poetry)

[Xenofidelity78]

We fiended for light
because we wanted to see
and we longed for the night
because we love to dream

and somewhere in the middle
everything became dark
muddled with complication
and all spread apart

but now we drive iron horses
and set fire to the skies
harness the power of difference
and see distance beyond our eyes

It's all common place to us
but once this was fantasy
what else will turn from magic to truth
what else will become reality

 

[_Land]

The Forever Child

Mama,
I was first light,
the breath that came and went
before your arms could keep me.
I am still here
not as flesh,
but as the hush between your heartbeats.

To my sisters,
to my brothers,
I remain.
Not in birthdays,
but in the way I guard the nights,
the way I carry laughter
into the quiet sky.

You count the ones you hold,
and the one you thought you lost,
but I am not lost.
I am stitched into you,
woven into their faces,
their smiles carrying
the echo of my own.

Mama,
your arms grew heavy again,
a new child placed there.
I leaned close,
kissed that soft crown,
and whispered:
“Call me kin,
for I go ahead of you,
making space,
clearing the path.”

To the ones who play in the living room,
to the ones who chase light in the yard,
I walk beside you.
When you stumble,
I am the hand steadying.
When you dream,
I am the voice that sings you onward.

Every step you take,
I walk in front of it.
Every dream they chase,
I fan with breath of wind.
I did not vanish.
I became a shadow wide enough
to cover you all in light.

So when you wonder if I see,
I do.
When you wonder if I hear,
I do.
When you wonder if you are still mine,
you are.

I am the forever child.
The one carried in story,
the one who carries you in spirit.

 

[SmilingLez]

My second non erotic prose just posted.

https://www.literotica.com/p/click-20

 

[kreemi_pi]

Clean poetry, with all pure words
A pure clean message must be heard

An age of filth, alas our luck
These dirty rhymes don't give a [duck]

My love in sonnets should be counted
Yon fair maid need not be mounted

Shall and shan't and should and could
I shan't assault her with my would

Our limbs entwined, our loins impacted
As we engaged in acts [REDACTED]

And now my verse, it is completed
And all the filth has been deleted

 

[WCSGarland]

Clean poetry, with all pure words
A pure clean message must be heard

An age of filth, alas our luck
These dirty rhyme don't give a [duck]

My love in sonnets should be counted
Yon fair maid need not be mounted

Shall and shan't and should and could
I shan't assault her with my would

Our limbs entwined, our loins impacted
As we engaged in acts [REDACTED]

And now my verse, it is completed
And all the filth has been deleted

I love this.

 

[Jaws82]

Clean poetry, with all pure words
A pure clean message must be heard

An age of filth, alas our luck
These dirty rhymes don't give a [duck]

My love in sonnets should be counted
Yon fair maid need not be mounted

Shall and shan't and should and could
I shan't assault her with my would

Our limbs entwined, our loins impacted
As we engaged in acts [REDACTED]

And now my verse, it is completed
And all the filth has been deleted

Bravo

 

[DeMont]

@Angeline,

2025, November 6

I am not entirely sure that this is the right place for this,
I have to let it out somewhere where there is nothing remiss,
Burned in memory a date, the date is the 6th of November,
A date that will live in my memory, a date I shall remember.

I lost my mother on that day, it was not entirely unexpected,
A true English rose as all who knew her knew and respected,
I seek not sympathy, nor yet attention, I have the grief to go,
How long that will take, none can tell more I do not know.

She was spiritual and creative, taught me more than many know,
A quiet, deep, warm soul that helped teach me how to grow,
Despite the fact she knew, I think, her crossing over was to come,
At 91 there were things I had said but yet more, yes I had some.

She no longer need wake up in pain, she is at peace now I know,
I think I knew the time had come and that she had decided to go,
Now she walks the paths of youth, dancing with those from afar,
A hole torn cold inside me but the night sky has a bright new star.

Respectfully, always,
D.

p.s. If this is in the wrong place I deeply apologise. I needed to say this to someone outside our circle.

 

[WCSGarland]

@Angeline,

2025, November 6

I am not entirely sure that this is the right place for this,
I have to let it out somewhere where there is nothing remiss,
Burned in memory a date, the date is the 6th of November,
A date that will live in my memory, a date I shall remember.

I lost my mother on that day, it was not entirely unexpected,
A true English rose as all who knew her knew and respected,
I seek not sympathy, nor yet attention, I have the grief to go,
How long that will take, none can tell more I do not know.

She was spiritual and creative, taught me more than many know,
A quiet, deep, warm soul that helped teach me how to grow,
Despite the fact she knew, I think, her crossing over was to come,
At 91 there were things I had said but yet more, yes I had some.

She no longer need wake up in pain, she is at peace now I know,
I think I knew the time had come and that she had decided to go,
Now she walks the paths of youth, dancing with those from afar,
A hole torn cold inside me but the night sky has a bright new star.

Respectfully, always,
D.

p.s. If this is in the wrong place I deeply apologise. I needed to say this to someone outside our circle.

I don't think this is the wrong place at all.

At least your mother didn't happen to die on your birthday like my mother did.

 

[Angeline]

@Angeline,

2025, November 6

I am not entirely sure that this is the right place for this,
I have to let it out somewhere where there is nothing remiss,
Burned in memory a date, the date is the 6th of November,
A date that will live in my memory, a date I shall remember.

I lost my mother on that day, it was not entirely unexpected,
A true English rose as all who knew her knew and respected,
I seek not sympathy, nor yet attention, I have the grief to go,
How long that will take, none can tell more I do not know.

She was spiritual and creative, taught me more than many know,
A quiet, deep, warm soul that helped teach me how to grow,
Despite the fact she knew, I think, her crossing over was to come,
At 91 there were things I had said but yet more, yes I had some.

She no longer need wake up in pain, she is at peace now I know,
I think I knew the time had come and that she had decided to go,
Now she walks the paths of youth, dancing with those from afar,
A hole torn cold inside me but the night sky has a bright new star.

Respectfully, always,
D.

p.s. If this is in the wrong place I deeply apologise. I needed to say this to someone outside our circle.

Hi DeMont. It's fine to put your poem here or in any thread that works for you. It's true some threads are poems only but that just means no comments, etc. Those threads will state they're poems only in the title or first post in the thread. And there are also threads that have specific requirements (like the Five Senses Challenge, for example). Reading the first post in a thread is the best way to know if it's a good fit for your poem. And you can always ask if you're not sure. But there are no rules about where to post poems beyond the forum guidelines.

I hope this helps and I'm sorry for your loss.

 

[SmilingLez]

Lavender Menace

Voices cut the night,
Bold threads of lavender rage,
Fingers snap in sync.
Freedom's pulse, raw and electric,
Rebellion blooms in the dark.

 

[SmilingLez]

Midnight.
The door clicks.
Dollar store cologne hits first.
Cheap lipstick stains her cheek.
My stomach tightens.
I ask anyway.
Her lie cracks open.
My pulse turns steady.
I walk away -
No looking back.
I finally choose me.

 

[Baseballcoach43]

LeesLostWritings
The Curiosity That Moves Us
Many say Curiosity killed the cat,
When in reality our world is built off it.
Curiosity is the reason we crossed the ocean.
It is the reason we look to the stars.
It is the why we seek to adventure,
To better ourselves as we do.
Curiosity is why we strive for answers.
It is why we understand gravity.
It is the why we read,
The why we draw,
The why we look for more.
Curiosity pushes the boundaries of our world,
While simultaneously writing the rules.
The rules that are then tested by another.
Without Curiosity,
Our world would be stuck.
The Earth would still be flat.
The Sun would still revolve around us,
And the Stars would still be white dots in the sky.
Without Curiosity,
It would still be thought
That wolves howled to the moon
Because it is their lost love.

 

[Waeponwifestre]

The Least Erotic Poem

Let’s talk chastity
Can’t get less sexy than that
FUCK! It’s a fetish

 

[Ash999]

Cb

The Least Erotic Poem

Let’s talk chastity
Can’t get less sexy than that
FUCK! It’s a fetish

CB-2000?!
Ouch:
But that's Sexeee??!

 

[NivKay]

@Angeline,

2025, November 6

I am not entirely sure that this is the right place for this,
I have to let it out somewhere where there is nothing remiss,
Burned in memory a date, the date is the 6th of November,
A date that will live in my memory, a date I shall remember.

I lost my mother on that day, it was not entirely unexpected,
A true English rose as all who knew her knew and respected,
I seek not sympathy, nor yet attention, I have the grief to go,
How long that will take, none can tell more I do not know.

She was spiritual and creative, taught me more than many know,
A quiet, deep, warm soul that helped teach me how to grow,
Despite the fact she knew, I think, her crossing over was to come,
At 91 there were things I had said but yet more, yes I had some.

She no longer need wake up in pain, she is at peace now I know,
I think I knew the time had come and that she had decided to go,
Now she walks the paths of youth, dancing with those from afar,
A hole torn cold inside me but the night sky has a bright new star.

Respectfully, always,
D.

p.s. If this is in the wrong place I deeply apologise. I needed to say this to someone outside our circle.

https://voca.ro/11zUCuK9a0x9

 

[NivKay]

LeesLostWritings
The Curiosity That Moves Us
Many say Curiosity killed the cat,
When in reality our world is built off it.
Curiosity is the reason we crossed the ocean.
It is the reason we look to the stars.
It is the why we seek to adventure,
To better ourselves as we do.
Curiosity is why we strive for answers.
It is why we understand gravity.
It is the why we read,
The why we draw,
The why we look for more.
Curiosity pushes the boundaries of our world,
While simultaneously writing the rules.
The rules that are then tested by another.
Without Curiosity,
Our world would be stuck.
The Earth would still be flat.
The Sun would still revolve around us,
And the Stars would still be white dots in the sky.
Without Curiosity,
It would still be thought
That wolves howled to the moon
Because it is their lost love.

Thank you! We seem to have lost this, or killed it...and oh...that link to your work - thank you!

 

[Baseballcoach43]

Thank you! We seem to have lost this, or killed it...and oh...that link to your work - thank you!

Its not my work. I found it on the internet and just wanted to share it here because I thought it was good.

 

[42BelowsBack]

My Moderately Sized Ass Opinion
(a poetical protest in cheeky defense)

A poet once told me—
cut ten words.
Then ten more.
Then your soul.

Soon all that's left
is a sigh
in a haiku
wearing minimalist pants.

But here’s
my moderately sized ass opinion:
I like words
the way a raccoon likes trash—
with fervor.
With fingers.
With zero shame.

I want adjectives
that sparkle like disco balls in church,
adverbs that prance in stilettos
across lines too long for sonnets,
and metaphors so bloated
they need Spanx
and a forklift.

You want spare?
Go date a monk.
I want poems
with meat on their bones,
hips that knock over furniture,
and clauses that wander off
mid-thought
to flirt with the margins.

Yes, I know—
brevity is the soul of wit.
But sometimes
a bitch needs
an extra stanza
and a sassy footnote.

So cut if you must.
Trim your verbal bush
to a respectable haiku.
But I’ll be over here,
with my rhymes
my run-ons
and my rococo commas—

shakin’ my moderately sized ass
in full poetic protest.

Ars poetica?

 

[_Land]

Ars poetica?

Yes indeed

 

[NivKay]

A little something. Not quite happy with this, but its early days yet:

Au de la
To the discerning eye,
The fixing, measured eye, measuring,
To the discerning eye, I
Am uncannily beautiful, brown and surprisingly shiny,
Like black gold on sodden ground.

To the vivisecting eye,
That probes with surgical precision,
To the vivisector, interlocutor,
I am blossoming hag-seed,
De-(re)-formed, sent before my time.

To the administrative eye,
The cognoscente of parts,
Both working and non-working,
I am provisional, legitimate umber,
Licit and liminal being, au de la.

But I am wind and rain and meditation, and waters
of flight. Remember when we met,
In a room where thought was music, a cathedral of muscular
words, rills of rivered sound, unbound, unearthly.
Who thought then of names? Remember. Remember what it was
We saw – immanence wrapped in longing, and all, all
Was cellular, granular, possibility.

Imago, you and I, of a distant ministry, a cloistered country,
clay-sculpting, dreaming.

 

[NivKay]

After Alex Pretti

I see these things when my eyes open:

Light, blinding, shimmering insouciance, a canopy
Of urges above me, a carpet of limits grounding my feet,
And then you, and you, and you, and they, and we, and
All in the light, blinding shimmer.

The wind is at hand, not far away, and when it comes,
We are swept up, concentric levitation.

Instinct? Intention? It is hard to tell,
But just as you reach out to me, I reach, mirror, respond
To your call, and suddenly –
We are a chain, a rope, coiled, Homo Iunctus.

I see a coiled beast, conquering angel, cosmic tethering – the stars store
Our bones, waiting for us to be born - hand within hand within longing hand.

So, when you are shot, beaten, knifed, taken, sold, enslaved,
Violated, ripped, sliced – Iced - bombed, whipped, quartered, burned –
The many ways history has chosen – how must my pen stand inkless?

Raw...and angry.. I don't think this is polished enough...but it is my unfiltered response. It beggars belief, this whole thing. I'm not there...but I am horrified, terrified, for those who are...

 

[_Land]

After Alex Pretti

I see these things when my eyes open:

Light, blinding, shimmering insouciance, a canopy
Of urges above me, a carpet of limits grounding my feet,
And then you, and you, and you, and they, and we, and
All in the light, blinding shimmer.

The wind is at hand, not far away, and when it comes,
We are swept up, concentric levitation.

Instinct? Intention? It is hard to tell,
But just as you reach out to me, I reach, mirror, respond
To your call, and suddenly –
We are a chain, a rope, coiled, Homo Iunctus.

I see a coiled beast, conquering angel, cosmic tethering – the stars store
Our bones, waiting for us to be born - hand within hand within longing hand.

So, when you are shot, beaten, knifed, taken, sold, enslaved,
Violated, ripped, sliced – Iced - bombed, whipped, quartered, burned –
The many ways history has chosen – how must my pen stand inkless?

Raw...and angry.. I don't think this is polished enough...but it is my unfiltered response. It beggars belief, this whole thing. I'm not there...but I am horrified, terrified, for those who are...

Accountable

Every morning I wake up in a body
that didn't have to run, didn't have to hide,
didn't get pulled over for existing,
didn't get followed through a store like prey.

This skin—this pale inheritance
opens doors before I knock,
gets second chances like they're coupons,
turns my mistakes into misunderstandings.

And you want me to write pretty poems?
To talk about sunsets and fucking daffodils
while your son can't wear a hoodie without becoming a threat,
while your daughter gets called "aggressive" for speaking up,
while your name on a resume is a reason to keep scrolling?

No.

If I have access, I use it to open doors wider.
If I have voice, I amplify yours—not instead of, but alongside.
If I have safety, I put my body between you and harm.

We are rope. We are chain. We are tethered
whether we acknowledge it or not.

Your blood doesn't spill in a vacuum.
It lands on all our hands.

So when they come for you with their badges and their budgets,
their policies dressed up as protection,
their fear masquerading as law

I don't get to look away.
I don't get to call it unfortunate and go back to brunch.

This is the choice:
complicity or co-conspiracy.

I choose the second one.
I choose accountable.

 

[NivKay]

@_Land

Qui autem pertinet salutat

 

[NivKay]

This has been a long time in the making. I think its a poem that means more to me than anything else that I've written so far.

Putrescence

We walked down to the sea’s brittle calm,
One morning in that long ago.
We hardly spoke – when I recall the moment,
I hear only the sea’s voice – and I followed
You, brother, just as I had a long time before,

The sight of you when you came to save me
From the teacher’s wrath – you were one of the
Older boys, the ones who walked like giants
And the rest of us, eight and trembling with curiosity,
Could only gawk at the chasm between us and your kind.
I learnt kindness from you. I remember you smiled,
Never chided, patient, calm, a comfort.

And so I followed you, down the shore line, mutable, tumultuous,
Till the years bled and waned, till the distances
That mark our lives grew, festered, like unspoken sores, putrid.

Brother, I never knew you,
Never knew your words,
but you knew me, didn’t you? You saw me,
That day when you saved me,
And chose to forget, forget
Kindness, forget the impulse to save.

Now, once again, we are at that brittle shoreline,
And I lead you to it, perhaps, to help you remember
Kindness, patience, to call the spirit of your giant
Back from the Hadean dark.

But you are not there.
And the sea speaks in Iniquity’s tongue.

 

[_Land]

@_Land

Qui autem pertinet salutat

In solidaritate perseveramus.