LITEROTICA PODCAST
LIT CAMS (200 Free Tokens)ADULT TOYSVOD MOVIES

not sure how many words

its the end of the world as we k know it

time I had some time alone
I feel fine


this one goes out to the one I love,
a simle prop to occupy my mind-

a simlple prop to occupy my time,

fire.... fire .....fire....fire,,,

crazy world crazy times
crazy times

clear the foor to dance, sweep the floor into the fireplace.

Hang up our chairs to let her sleep, throw the chairs into the fireplace
 
how do we go from light
to dark, is it just the passing
of the day, a natural progression
to be repeated over and over and over

how do we escape from the dark
to the light, is it just the luck
of the sunrise, revealing the path
once again once again once again

how do we keep from repeating
not fall back, internalize the compass
of our convictions until direction is determined
not by time of day, but innervision
 
Eine Stadt In Der Schwartzwald

The feathered skirts
shelter loam
heritage rugs beside
the trail.

Just down the hill,
smells of citrus
trucked in from Spain,
street vendor bratwurst
and carmelized onion

whet appetites borne
on bicycles down the Rhine
levees and right
at the bridge
to market.

Gypsy smiles at olive
stands and carnation
bouquets dance
with the sunlight
filtered by the town
girls' parasol branches.
 
Eluard said:
Sad news. I have a Rauschenberg wallpaper on my laptop.
Click to expand...
Guy might be my favorite contemporary artist. Damn close anyway.

I'm at the age where everyone who was important to me growing up is dying. Happens, of course. But it isn't fun. Requiscat in Pace, Bob. I'll miss your art.
 
Tzara said:
Guy might be my favorite contemporary artist. Damn close anyway.

I'm at the age where everyone who was important to me growing up is dying. Happens, of course. But it isn't fun. Requiscat in Pace, Bob. I'll miss your art.
Click to expand...

Amen to that brother!

Saw a great documentary recently that featured Bob R. recounting how de Kooning made him sweat when he asked for the drawing. Rausch told it well, made you feel his awkwardness.

(You're having a pretty creative day what with one thing and another.)
 
Eluard said:
(You're having a pretty creative day what with one thing and another.)
Click to expand...
Well, thanks.

I'm pretty relaxed right now. Off on holiday starting tomorrow PM to points east. I just have one problem to solve and I am done. (Anyone know how to attach a Word Pro file to a Notes document? Thought not. *teeth grinding*)

Hey. Your "nonsense" poem was pretty darn good, meester. Though I think you might have made too much sense. I could kind of follow what you were talking about.

Well, maybe not. As it should be. ;)
 
water

A paperweight
set on this rock.
Invisible suspension
life will happen;

current wipes clear
the marks paddles
and canoe draw
in space somewhere
between blue
and bottom where fish
hide from shadow
cast across the sun.

Picked up with wind
and rain the snow globe
shaken into tumult
as confusion falls
against the placid deep.
 
it wasn't enough that i had to listen
to sermons through ceiling, or the congregation
galloping like a herd of wild buffalo on hardwood,
or the six showers between the hours
of midnight and days first light,
now comes the heat, the constant hum of the AC
from the moment I return home beat,
until I forced to retreat to my room
with cotton ears, 3 pillows and 2 sleeping pills.
 
Prayer for a Steam Cure

Oh lord in heaven, and in the eye
of the shower above me,
wash away my daily grime.
Pour the clean new hope
over my skin, dissolving
the sweaty cloud of doubt
that has so long troubled
my pores. Spread the word
(Aveda!) through the lather of your
good herbs and pumices
and lay me down on the soft welt
of your fold, swaddling me
in spring blown fresh
from the window.
 
dust breathes the clear air,
diesels rumble upriver
following the valley
where the populus keeps
flames going for food and heat.

roast pidgeon and blackbird soup
the community forwards approval,
while racers and chroniclers
circle like electrons.

Its a wild weekend,
Luna spraypaints her face,
Bill cashes in for a roll of twenties,
Double down on the E bow.

Up where the scree thisles the mountain,
They are swinging scythes
And bundling their electicals,
The sun dangles over the sing song,
Sing song.
 
Coal Miners flatpick over bull dog gravy and the stiffest bread,
As I roust on my galvanized perch-
Smokewatcher trims the last bit of water,
Banjos on his DR Dentons, all bean spilled amd toes that spill out.

Up here the twelve rings benediction, fishbones hung sacred
Around bookcarts with peaches and blackberries gone by,

Stovefuel been gone since Sunday,
The miners scruff dusty reds-cumulus in their fog.

Must be time to climb down,
collect a pay, drive into Paradise, up ridge, a mile or so

Fix up with cheap warm beer, jerky and news from home.
 
freightrain mouth
long rusted platitudes
wait, here comes distrortion
watering borrow pit ensembles
patches of lilac and rugosa rose

suddenly they come out of the woodwork
accapella they sing the dirt
soup steams
hobo stew and birds circle,

lily light high pitched tiny pianos
mist moves and falls
anthems scripture 1 4
recognize a dance beat

teachings remenbrances
under Caliope's dust
its a song that I love
washing towards shore
forever finding a conception
liquid in the higher channel.
 
eagleyez said:
freightrain mouth
long rusted platitudes
wait, here comes distrortion
watering borrow pit ensembles
patches of lilac and rugosa rose

suddenly they come out of the woodwork
accapella they sing the dirt
soup steams
hobo stew and birds circle,

lily light high pitched tiny pianos
mist moves and falls
anthems scripture 1 4
recognize a dance beat

teachings remenbrances
under Caliope's dust
its a song that I love
washing towards shore
forever finding a conception
liquid in the higher channel.
Click to expand...

EE ... I love this !! So many images jumping into the minds eye. Great framework and follow up ~ Jus' sayin' ~

:rose:
 
lay him out. A slow
cooked
dream, simmered
and sautéed
with a rich 'n creamy
creation
of spice, naughty
and nice. Lap up
his steamy
stew with forked
tongue, spooning in
suckling out. Teasing
a taste, pleasing
a millisecond pace
slow
easy
surveying,
my masterpiece
now
on to dessert ...



...
 
navigating by trees and logs layed down

sketching my way, cross grain up in the wooly hills.
the fields are combed and styled in underbrush parted like hair
in its wooly way, grasses in color bending and humming,
i take my bare feet to the guitar.
tuned to misery,
it ok theres long lines breakable in the string=just in time.
And back again.
tune siddenly rock sideways from the first idea to the last downstroke,


Ive been up om the ledge for a while. but it s ok/
 
three there in athens, boiling beans to the slap rat a tat front porch back pack.

distant piano, heads looking down as a complicated mist rose up . peter buck opens the spillway and words and voices raise above the rythm din.

prayers to the fields and singing to the water, coffee strong, chair upright.
 
Coffee Break

The murmur slurs the aisles
from the gather at the atoll
where monitors and printers
glow and rattle in the morning;
until the pod moves west
and outside, to hunker in the lee
of the storage shed,
smoke cigarettes and sip
sweet, creamy coffee
and the real business begins.
 
3 am
Night as quiet as a child reading,
Cant sleep
Bones creek and there is no cream
On board.

Pull on stiff fleece of last year,
A hat down to my eyebrows
And off I go to the all nite
Dive to get stuff for my Morning.

Out on the road my windshield
Holds its verneer of ice and blower
Pushes cold air.

I click on the tunes
And land on a talk radio station, complete with bomb thrower DJ
Spewing malarky about Obama and his
Ties to the PLO.

I get a chuckle and roll into the parking lot,
Find creme, a coffee and yesterdays last donut.
I overhear the tatooed kid behind the counter
Telling the beer delivery man that everyine he knows
Is voting for Obama.

I pay up
and smile as I walk out,
Before I leave I switch the dial to the elite college radio station
And marvel at "La Mer" by Debussy.

The inky black is welcoming
Just as she is as I top the stairs.

We sit and smoke, clutching steamy cups,
Quiet as a child reading.
 
she's sweet
potato pancakes with maple syrup,

pigs in a blanket on Sunday morning
steamy and succulent

take a bite, swirl around your tongue
enjoy the taste

keep em' coming
 
specimens

From the inside
the bell jar distorts
the ordinary, experimental
experience and not
for the better.
We peer out at life,
inadequately myopic.
Humanity humanely
ignoring us in kind.
we're stranger than strange,
pressing to the time piece.
Counting sleeps to
infinity and a break
but a break needs mending
so back to the bell jar.
 
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