UPDATED: 12/19/2020

READ ME!

How to Read a Poem

 

You don't; you perform a poem, you sell a poem, you sultrily whisper a poem the into your lover's ears...Poems are meant to be read aloud. Someone once said that all a poem– any poem – says this basically: I am. So take it in you. Be it and do your best to share yourself.

At the very least, smile while you are performing it and speak warmly.

Give it passion, give it meaning and give it your all.

But don't READ it

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 VK's Sexy Poetry Complete

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“She is a year ago.

She is the ache in the empty,

the first time you changed your mind

and the last time you were sorry about it.

She is a city sleeping beside you,

warm and vast and familiar, streetlights

yawning and stretching,

and you have never. You have never.

You have never loved someone like this.

She is your first stomach ache.

Your first panic attack and your

favorite cold shower.

A mountain is moving somewhere

inside of you, and her handprints are all over it.

Here. Here. Here, you love her.

In the fractured morning, full of

too tired and too sad, she is the first

foot that leaves the bed.

She is the fight in you, the winning

and the losing battle

floating like a shipwreck in your chest.

When they ask you what your favorite moment is,

You will say Her.

You will always say Her.”

 

— Caitlyn Siehl, Her, Her, Her

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“Why do I love” You, Sir?

Because—

The Wind does not require the Grass

To answer—Wherefore when He pass

She cannot keep Her place.

 

Because He knows—and

Do not You—

And We know not—

Enough for Us

The Wisdom it be so—

 

The Lightning—never asked an Eye

Wherefore it shut—when He was by—

Because He knows it cannot speak—

And reasons not contained—

—Of Talk—

There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—

 

The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—

Because He’s Sunrise—and I see—

Therefore—Then—

I love Thee—

”

— Emily Dickinson, from "Why Do I Love" You, Sir?

 

===========================================================================================

 

“In love, nothing exists between heart and heart.

Speech is born out of longing,

True description from the real taste.

The one who tastes, knows;

the one who explains, lies.

How can you describe the true form of Something

In whose presence you are blotted out?

And in whose being you still exist?

And who lives as a sign for your journey?”

— Rabia Al-Basri, from Reality

===========================================================================================

I Once Dated A Writer and

 

Writers are forgetful,

but they remember everything.

They forget appointments and anniversaries,

but remember what you wore,

how you smelled,

on your first date…

They remember every story you’ve ever told them -

like ever,

but forget what you’ve just said.

They don’t remember to water the plants

or take out the trash,

but they don’t forget how

to make you laugh.

 

Writers are forgetful

because

they’re busy

remembering

the important things.

===========================================================================================

You and Me

 

“I want to come home to you and taste the waiting on your lips. I want the roses in my hand to fall on the floor because of the impact of

 

your embrace. I want my nails etched into the trench of your back as you bury your head into my collarbone, while your lips

 

unintentionally press against my neck. I want to feel the beating of your heart as it brings me to my knees. I want to taste the desire

 

seeping through your skin and hear the distress exhaled of your lungs. I want your sigh of relief and I want you endlessly.

I want every inch of you as you’ve already taken me.”

— jl|

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Crown of Glory

Sun Myung Moon

 

When I doubt people, I feel pain.

When I judge people, it is unbearable.

When I hate people, there is no value to my existence.

 

Yet if I believe, I am deceived.

If I love, I am betrayed

Suffering and grieving tonight, my head in my hands.

Am I wrong?

 

Yes I am wrong.

Even though we are deceived, still believe,

Though we are betrayed, still forgive.

Love completely, even those who hate you.

 

Wipe your tears away and welcome with a smile

Those who know nothing but deceit,

And those who betray without regret.

 

O, Master, the pain of loving.

Look at my hands.

Place your hand on my chest.

My heart is bursting, such agony.

 

But when I love those who acted against me,

I brought victory.

If you have done the same things,

I will give you the Crown of Glory.

===========================================================================================

“You did say, need me less and I’ll want you more.

I’m still shellshocked at needing anyone,

used to being used to it on my own.

It won’t be me out on the tiles till four-

thirty, while you’re in bed, willing the door

open with your need. You wanted her then,

more. Because you need to, I woke alone

in what’s not yet our room, strewn, though, with your

guitar, shoes, notebook, socks, trousers enjambed

with mine. Half the world was sleeping it off

in every other bed under my roof.

I wish I had a roof over my bed

to pull down on my head when I feel damned

by wanting you so much it looks like need.”

 

— Marilyn Hacker, from You Did Say, “Need Me Less And I’ll Want You More”

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Yours

by Sketcher

 

When we met, I looked upon you and smiled

But then my hard to get antics

They drove you wild

 

You wanted me

You wanted my body

You wanted my mind

 

You chased me like a pack of bloodthirsty hounds

Full of guile and cunning

Your ruthlessness knew no bounds

 

Soon enough you caught me

Ensnared me in your devious cage

Skillfully printed me onto your perverted page

 

First you took my overweening pride

Then you pounded and spanked away my precious dignity

Made me your bitch, turned me into your pimped out ride

 

My body? Yours

My cunt? Yours

My mind? Yours

 

You took them all

And made this once intelligent woman

Your bimbo, your fool

 

Yes, Sir

Please, Sir

Thank you, Sir

 

Impaled upon your sordid will

Made to swallow that delicious pill

Our eyes meet, and I look at you, and smile

 

===========================================================================================

Thug Love

 

Can't leave them thugs alone

They're the only ones I wanna bone

Spank me and pull my hair

From the back

I just like it like that

I could hookup with a square

But I know when a thug cares

They act like they don't love you

But put in work when they in there

My momma told me to stop

Don't scrape the bottom of the barrel

But his stroke got me retarded

I act like Lil Darrel

All my love he can get

Think about him and get wet

He got ahold on me

I'm so dickmatised

After we fuck I'm hypnotized

I'll never give him up

Crying when we fuck

When he calls I jump

Just can't wait to hump

In love with a thug

Just can't give him up

 

-by alitha1pollo

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  POETRY SNIPPET BUMP

 

    “Now,

    In June,

    When the night is a vast softness

    Filled with blue stars,

    And broken shafts of moon-glimmer

    Fall upon the earth,

    Am I too old to see the fairies dance?”

 

    — Langston Hughes, “After Many Springs.”

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"Happiness"

 

“What does happiness look like?

You in your red coat.

Where does it go for a drink?

To bed, on Sundays.

 

What does happiness sound like?

The purr of an unhooked phone.

What does it do for a living?

It has private means.

 

What does happiness feel like?

The barehanded planting of bulbs.

What is its home address?

Yours, sweetheart.

 

===========================================================================================

passed over and forgotten. no invitation received.

everyone is there, but it is i who will not be.

i am here, do you see, i am holding a note in my hand.

crumpled and used, from the many submission it has had

you have seen it, i know you have

the image of it inside your mind

next to the state capitals

other useless information of that kind

i am determined to stay tangible

to show you, yes i am real

please read what i have written

i wish to be part of this deal

to have you say what i ask

to hear you're voice form the words

a very special gift

to have whats written be also heard

more than that

to be apart of a circle of people

and find that tit, for my tat

acknowledged and loved

asked questions and found interesting

whats next, tell us more

what new tale are you envisioning

that wont happen, i am not here

you cannot see me

what use is it to write

that which will not be read

by no one other then my ghosts

when they rise from my cold dirt bed

the world beyond is silence

i am alone

unless i am not

thats where the truth i need be shown

my voice echoes off the unseen

call back to me

is my life worth living

will i wake from a dream

and find i am interesting

i am loved

i am wanted

no

i still only hear my self

i am the only one here

writing notes to my self.

===========================================================================================

>A is for Amy who fell down the stairs.

>B is for Basil assaulted by bears.

>C is for Clara who wasted away.

>D is for Desmond thrown out of a sleigh.

>E is for Ernest who choked on a peach.

>F is for Fanny sucked dry by a leech.

>G is for George smothered under a rug.

>H is for Hector done in by a thug.

>I is for Ida who drowned in a lake.

>J is for James who took lye by mistake.

>K is for Kate who was struck with an axe.

>L is for Leo who choked on some tacks.

>M is for Maud who was swept out to sea.

>N is for Neville who died of ennui.

>O is for Olive run through with an awl.

>P is for Prue trampled flat in a brawl.

>Q is for Quentin who sank on a mire.

>R is for Rhoda consumed by a fire.

>S is for Susan who perished of fits.

>T is for Titus who flew into bits.

>U is for Una who slipped down a drain.

>V is for Victor squashed under a train.

>W is for Winnie embedded in ice.

>X is for Xerxes devoured by mice.

>Y is for Yorick whose head was bashed in.

>Z is for Zillah who drank too much gin.

===========================================================================================

Does happiness have a scent?

The sea, the air, the earth.

Where did you see it last?

Under the bedclothes, laughing.

 

What taste does happiness have?

That of a long, slow kiss.

And how does happiness write?

Badly, like this.”

 

— Carol Ann Duffy, from Write About Happiness (via havishams)

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the babysitter

 

When you leave for the evening —

card games, parties, office things —

it is your wife's closet

I go to first.

She's got great

taste in shoes.

I glisten under

her expensive

make-up,

stroke her perfume

behind my ears. I smell

like her, like this. Your baby's hands

fumble for my nipples.

She gums my pinky while I rifle

around in your drawers. My hands

go anywhere they want, and I learn

so much: your wife's diaphragm

(who uses a diaphragm?)

in her underwear drawer, your porn

stash under the bed, there's pot

in the bedside table.

You are so American,

I could see you on TV,

some movie about some guy

driving the babysitter home.

 

You wonder what I know, here in the blink

of the turn signal, but I won't tell you anything.

My closed mouth is so young, if you listen

carefully, you could hear echoes of breast milk.

Already I know so much:

Why you're driving a little too slow,

how the thought of touching me makes you lurch,

a drunken car on a winding road,

how you will go home and trace me

on your wife with your mouth

and she will be grateful for your ardor —

 

but for now, we are still in the car.

Your fingers are smooth and damp on the wheel

and you are in your head, you are 20 or so, there is no

baby seat in the back and it is our first

date, dinner and a movie. You want to know

if I had a nice time. "Of course," I say. "Did you?" You're

broken. No one ever asks about you — and you did, you had

a great time, want to do it again, all of it, bad Chinese food and all,

see the action figure kicking ass 15-feet high while your thigh presses against

mine in the flickering dark, and you'd do it all again to get

to this moment, with the shock

of how soft my face is, how you're surprised

by the stubble on your cheeks, that's where you are

when you pull into my driveway, barely remembering

not to kiss the babysitter good-

night. I take your money and I'm

gone.

 

--Daphne Gottlieb

===========================================================================================

Please don’t ever assume that I never loved you just because I didn’t say it out loud. You dangled me like that favorite necklace around

 

your neck, and at some point, I kept mistaking how I was supposed to feel and how I actually felt. At some point, I lost the ability to

 

articulate what was going on in my hurricane mind.

All I know is that you made me see the world in different colors. And sometimes, when you’d look at me a certain way, I’d lose what I was

 

about to say, or literally forget to breathe.

I haven’t felt your embrace in months, and yet I always fall asleep better when I imagine how your arms felt around me. And I can’t even

 

begin to explain the burning sensation in my chest at the thought of your arms around someone else.

So remember that the next time you assume I never loved you. Because I’ve said it in a million other ways.

 

— Connotativewords | jl | Silent Speech

===========================================================================================

I don’t want your temporary love;

Nor do I want to be touched…

Unless you can fuck the sadness out of me;

French kiss me in between my thighs long enough to make me forget,

Remind me that I’m worthy of being touched by someone other than him-

Remind me that I’m no longer his.

 

I’m no longer his.

 

Bite my neck like I’m yours,

Although we both know, I’ll never belong to anyone again.

Don’t fall for me-

I don’t want your heart, I just want a reason to forget.

===========================================================================================

I had to try the Gypsy

I wanna have my fortune told

She said, "with that kind of love boy,I would surely sell my soul!"

 

Your girl, she is gone

Your best friend just left town

And your standin' in the middle

Turn around!

 

Well I ain't superstitious

My boots' in my bag

My maiden she has left me

And ain't never coming back.

 

That's alright with me

I don't wanna see you no more

I got no good news for her

That's for sure!

 

Gypsy, Gypsy tell me

Now what I have in store

Well, will I be a rich man

Or will I make it be poor?

 

She said, "Son you're a mighty young man

But there's a lot you don't understand

The fate of every man

Is in his own hands!"

===========================================================================================

You disgust me and disrupt me

You treat me like a swine

But I'm pretty fond of garbage

So won't you still be mine.

===========================================================================================

Ars Poetica - Pablo Neruda

 

Between shadow and space, between harnesses and virgins,

endowed with a singular heart and fatal dreams,

impetuously pale, withered in the forehead

and in mourning like an angry widower every day of my life,

oh, for every drink of invisible water I swallow drowsily

and with every sound I take in, trembling,

I feel the same missing thirst and the same cold fever,

an ear being born, an indirect anguish,

as if thieves were arriving, or ghosts,

and inside a long, deep, hollow shell,

like a humiliated waiter, like a bell gone a bit hoarse,

like an old mirror, like the smell of an empty house

where the guests come back at night hopelessly drunk,

and there’s an odor of clothes thrown on the floor, and an absence of flowers

—or maybe somehow a little less melancholic—

but the truth is, suddenly, the wind lashing my chest,

the infinitely dense nights dropped into my bedroom,

the noise of a day burning with sacrifice

demand what there is in me of the prophetic, with melancholy

and there’s a banging of objects that call without being answered,

and a restless motion, and a muddled name

===========================================================================================

After Nabakov

 

--anon

 

I am the light of your life

I am the fire of your loins

I am your sin, your soul

Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue

taking a trip of three steps down the palate

to tap, at three, on the teeth.

Lo. Lee. Ta.

I was plain Lo in the morning

I was Dolly at school

I was Lola in slacks

But in your arms I was always Lolita.

I am an THE intial girl-child

I will tangle you in my thorns

But you will never forget me

===========================================================================================

Like The Waves From The Shore

by Marge Tindal

 

I must now ebb

The time has come

to sail my oceans

 

Rolling away from you

like the waves from the shore

rippling out to the vastness of the sea

that beckons my ship of folly

 

I'll not ask you

to stand the night vigil

on the shoreline

of memory

 

You are here

on the beaches of my memory

even though I drift the tides

 

If you should look

into a starlit night

and see a reflection of me

know only that

I will one day

come crashing again

to the shore

swept homeward

by the pull

of the tide

and

you

===========================================================================================

“So wherever you are I hope you’re happy

I really do

I hope the stars are kissing your cheeks tonight

I hope you finally found a way to quit smoking

I hope your lungs are open and breathing your life

I hope there’s a kite in your hand

that’s flying all the way up to orion

and you still got a thousand yards of string to let out

I hope you’re smiling

like god is pulling at the corners of your mouth

‘cause I might be naked and lonely

shaking branches for bones

but I’m still time zones away

from who I was the day before we met

you were the first mile

where my heart broke a sweat

and I wish you were here

I wish you’d never left

but mostly I wish you well

I wish you my very very best.”

—

 

Andrea Gibson

 

from Photograph

===========================================================================================

“I desire to leave goosebumps

 

on parts of your skin

 

that I still have yet to touch.

 

Oh how wonderful it will be,

 

only moments after,

 

to feel them fade away

 

as my skin presses

 

against yours.”

 

— Connotativewords [ jl ] | Heat

 

 “There’ll be turbulence. You’ll drop

your book to hold your

water bottle steady. Your

mind, mind has mountains, cliffs of fall

may who ne’er hung there let him

watch the movie. The plane’s

supposed to shudder, shoulder on

like this. It’s built to do that. You’re

designed to tremble too. Else break

Higher you climb, trouble in mind

lungs labor, heights hurl vistas

Oxygen hangs ready

overhead. In the event put on

the child’s mask first. Breathe normally”

—      Adrienne Rich, from Turbulence

 

=============================================================================================

 

“These things float around in my head

Like a boat that cuts its motor

In the middle of a lake,

Where under a full moon and no wind

The singing of the crickets far away

Goes up and up like a curtain of beads.

Doesn’t it make you shiver?

There’s a fearlessness I envy

In the simple soft wavering dark.”

—      Alicia Ostriker, closing lines to “Ohio Evening,” New Letters (vol. 70, no. 2, 2004)

 

=============================================================================================

“I want to come home to you and taste the waiting on your lips. I want the roses in my hand to fall on the floor because of the impact of your embrace. I want my nails etched into the trench of your back as you bury your head into my collarbone, while your lips unintentionally press against my neck. I want to feel the beating of your heart as it brings me to my knees. I want to taste the desire seeping through your skin and hear the distress exhaled of your lungs. I want your sigh of relief and I want you endlessly.

I want every inch of you as you’ve already taken me.”

—      Connotativewords | jl | You and Me

=============================================================================================

 

 “And I do not love my kind. I detest them. I pass them by. I let them break on me like dirty rain drops. No longer can I summon up that energy which, when it sees one of these dry little shapes floating past, or rather stuck on the rock, sweeps round them, steeps them, infuses them, nerves them, and so finally fills them and creates them. Once I had a gift for doing this, and a passion, and it made parties arduous and exciting. So when I wake early now I luxuriate most in a whole day alone; a day of easy natural poses, a little printing; slipping tranquilly off into the deep water of my own thoughts navigating the underworld […]”

—      Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry.

=============================================================================================

 

 “All are human

give

forgive

drop the charges

let go

put away

Rage for the trusting

it would be strange not to say

 

Love? yes

in this lifted hand

behind

these eyes

upon you

now.”

—      Adrienne Rich, from Tonight No Poetry Will Serve: Fracture

=============================================================================================

 

 “Many nights

now, when he stares there, he gets angry:—

something unfulfilled there, something dead

to what he once thought he surely could be—

Now, just the glamour of habits …

 

Once, instead,

he thought insight would remake him, he’d reach

—what? The thrill, the exhilaration

unravelling disaster, that seemed to teach

necessary knowledge … became just jargon.

 

Sick of being decent, he craves another

crash. What reaches him except disaster?”

 

— Frank Bidart, “Self-Portrait, 1969” from In the Western Night: Collected Poems 1965-1990.

=============================================================================================

 
 

I have longed for you

To feel you next to me once more

A shadow over my soul

A lighted only when laying again in your arms

A wanton hunger for your caress

Such That even my body aches for you

Two lovers enfolding one another

The smell of your hair

The warmth, of your breath

To taste once more of you

The saltiness of your skin

The sweetness of your mouth

To know the softness of your body

Against the rigidness of mine

Your skin against my skin

Your breast against my chest

And feel the rhythm of your heart

Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump

I have longed for you

 
 

===========================================================================================

"The Cats" by H.P. Lovecraft

 

Babels of blocks to the high heavens tow’ring,

Flames of futility swirling below;

Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flow’ring,

Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.

 

Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,

Cobwebs of cable by nameless things spun;

Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers

Streams of live foetor, that rots in the sun.

 

Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,

Shrieking and ringing and scrambling insane,

Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,

Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.

 

Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal,

Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,

Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,

Yelling the burden of Pluto’s red rune.

 

Tall tow’rs and pyramids ivy’d and crumbling,

Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber’d streets;

Bleak broken bridges o’er rivers whose rumbling

Joins with no voice as the thick tide retreats.

 

Belfries that blackly against the moon totter,

Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac’d,

And living to answer the wind and the water,

Only the lean cats that howl in the waste!

===========================================================================================

“Love is a battle that very few choose to persevere through once guns start to fire and voices start to shout. And I shamefully admit to

 

being one of the many to withdraw. I left you, believing that I could find serenity elsewhere. Instead, I found myself provoking a battle

 

zone filled with faces I couldn’t recognize. Only then, did I realize how much you bring peace to the warfare in my mind. And in the

 

midst of this crossfire, I’d surrender myself a thousand times if it meant that I could see you for one last time.”

— connotativewords | jl | Surrender

===========================================================================================

You may or may not read this,

but I still need to tell you

how beautiful you are.

 

I still think about sending you flowers every day,

but I wonder if it’ll make you hate the smell of roses.

I still lose my train of thought when I look into your eyes,

but I still find it hard to get myself to look the other way.

I still wonder how your lips might feel on mine,

but I fear that my addictive personality will triumph.

I still want to smell that perfume you wear on your skin,

but I know that self-control and I hardly get along.

I still imagine how you’d look in that wedding dress,

but I know that will only tempt me to write my vows.

I still carry a part of you with me wherever I go,

but it will never compare to being by your side.

I still want your happiness before anything else,

but I still wish that it was my responsibility.

I still wonder when someone else will steal your attention,

but I secretly hope that she’ll only lead you back to me.

I still quiver at the thought of her stealing your heart.

but I hope she’ll make you happier than I ever could.

I still think about you every single day,

I still wish it could’ve been me.

I need to put this pen down.

I wish it was that easy.

 

You may or may not read this,

but I still hope you find your way

back to me.

 

— Connotativewords | jl | I Still Write About You

===========================================================================================

“To put it quite simply –

I miss you.

 

I miss the way

you would confide in me

& no one else.

I miss the stories

that you would unfold in my ears.

I miss feeling your smile

even if it was only on the phone.

I miss every moment lived with you,

& despise every moment without you.

I miss the portrait I’ve painted of you

with my bare mind.

I could spend several years

trying to explain why it still hurts,

but it is quite complicated.

 

All I know is –

I miss you.

”

— Connotativewords | jl | Lonesome

===========================================================================================

T'was The Night... (Femsub Version) By VK

 

T'was the night before Christmas, I stand by his bed,

The ways he might use me all fly through my head.

My body is his and I jump at his touch,

And he can't help but maul me, he wants me so much.

 

My clothes are all flung to the floor without care,

Goddamn, I just love it when my ass is bare.

He in his leathers and me in the nude,

I have no choice when he's in the mood.

 

The sound of the flogger on the back of my thighs,

Almost drowns out his reward: hearing my cries

I am nearly lightheaded, but I beg for more,

And he gives it to me 'til he knows I am sore.

 

Just freshly beaten, my ass is stil red,

But I can't say a word, as I'm tied to the bed.

The toys are all ready, laid out on the shelf,

But he makes me watch as he plays with himself.

 

I watch and I want, in perfect sated bliss

He leans down to me and grants me a kiss.

He loves me this way, so polite and so sweet,

I'm such a darling after I'm beat.

 

The sweetness and violence, it makes my head numb,

And I want nothing more than to be allowed to cum.

The toys on the bed, he pushes aside,

My breath catches as he fills me inside.

 

His hands on my chest, I take his cock,

I come so quickly, it's nearly a shock.

Once, twice, and three times I came,

Just how I like it--screaming his name.

 

He holds my face and I tell him, "I'm yours,"

It's moments like these that I love him even more.

Untied and curled around him, this just feels right.

Merry Christmas, my friends, and to all, a good night!

===========================================================================================

“Ultimately, we will lose each other

to something. I would hope for grand

circumstance—death or disaster.

But it might not be that way at all.

It might be that you walk out

one morning after making love

to buy cigarettes, and never return,

or I fall in love with another …

It might be a slow drift into indifference.

Either way, we’ll have to learn

to bear the weight of the eventuality

that we will lose each other to something.

So why not begin now, while your head

rests like a perfect moon in my lap …?

Why not reach for the seam in this …

night and tear it, just a little, so the falling

can begin? Because later, when we cross

each other on the streets, and are forced

to look away, when we’ve thrown

the disregarded pieces of our togetherness

into bedroom drawers and the smell

of our bodies is disappearing like the sweet

decay of lilies—what will we call it,

when it’s no longer love?”

— "Love Poem," Tishani Doshi

===========================================================================================

“Come into me.

Let me remind you why human contact is an absolute necessity.

Let me grab those hips of yours, and bring you in close enough to show you that you will never lose me.

I want to bite your lips and fill your mouth with reasons why you’ll never want to belong to anyone else. I’ll let you trail your

 

fingernails down my back as a map of the places you’ve taken me.

You’ll fill my ears with the noises you make and remind me that the only thing I want to get high off of is your laugh.

And when I whisper that I love you, it’ll never be out of secrecy, but rather out of the certainty that you literally leave me

 

breathless.”

— Connotativewords | jl | The Flame That Keeps Burning

===========================================================================================

“I know you’ve lost your faith in me. And although I can’t promise that I won’t ever hurt you again, I promise it will never be in the

 

same way I did before.

I can’t promise that there isn’t someone else on this earth who will fall madly in love with you. But I’d like to see if she can also

 

burn herself from the inside out with how she feels about you.

What I can promise is that if your trust in me is nothing more than a shattered glass vase, I’ll pick up the pieces with my bare hands.

 

I’ll bleed for you daily, until I piece everything back together.

And I know that it won’t ever be as perfect as it once was, but I promise you that it will be more beautiful than ever before.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Mended

===========================================================================================

“I’ve become a little obsessed with you.

And I’ve been dying to find the most subtle and romantic way to tell you so, but I fear that this combination simply cannot exist. My

 

mind is a prison that refuses to set you free. My heart is a river that keeps you from land, but refuses to let you drown.

I’m obsessed with wanting you, but perhaps I’m also high-strung on the fact that I can’t ever touch you. Your voice melts onto my tongue,

 

and I swear I can already taste the way you whisper my name.

I’m obsessed, and perhaps it is making me quite depressed, but I refuse to let the way I feel continue to remain oppressed.

Regret is a disease that I refuse to be diagnosed with.

Wanting you the way I do is fatal enough.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Addict

===========================================================================================

“I never found them again—the things so quickly lost:

the poetic eyes, the pale

face…in the dusk of the street.

 

I never found them again—the things acquired quite by chance,

that I gave up so lightly;

and that later in agony I wanted.

 

The poetic eyes, the pale face,

those lips, I never found again.

”

— C.P. Cavafy, from Days Of 1903

===========================================================================================

Yesterday

 

I made my bed all pretty,

 

six feet under a wooden Church pew and

 

Today

 

I bruised myself with flowers,

 

slowly blooming black and blue

 

Tomorrow

 

I’ll beat on with the creeping shadows

 

and dancing crows;

 

I’ll beat on being lovely sad

 

for you

 
 

--newfoundgh0st

===========================================================================================

Canvas

 

I love the bruises

You’ve left on my arms.

The half moon imprints

Where hungry fingers met my hips.

 

You’re more than a taste on my lips;

More than whispered hints.

Your touch disarms

And paints my skin with feverish brushes.

 

I’ll be your canvas, baby.

 

http://aka-allyessa.tumblr.com/

===========================================================================================

“Some say the air of

early winter moving through

windows. For some, black ships

coming towards the city

are the quietest sounds on earth.

But I say it is with whomever one loves.

 

And very easily proved:

when we are trying to think of

something to say to each other,

 

each remembering back

who said what, the ground

we’e already covered,

 

you can hear all the money

lost earlier in the stock market,

even fresh water slipping

into salt water.

”

— "Early Winter, after Sappho," Tung-Hui Hu

===========================================================================================

Locate I

love you some-

where in

 

teeth and

eyes, bite

it but

 

take care not

to hurt, you

want so

 

much so

little. Words

say everything.

 

I

love you

again,

 

then what

is emptiness

for. To

 

fill, fill.

I heard words

and words full

of holes

aching. Speech

is a mouth.

”

— Robert Creeley, from The Language

===========================================================================================

LOVE POEM

by Sarah Brown Weitzman

 

From here those slaps of color unravel

form you said and stepped back

from the Monet to see the separate strokes

fall into water and lilies again.

Shards of light take the eye to blossoms

pale as breasts. Sky, leaf, water, flower

merge and waver, blur then clear

as each takes something from the other

to reflect or repeat so that not a single

moment is preserved but several.

 

Later in the splay of late afternoon

we repeat that painting.

The spread blooms of our bodies

blend and shift and merge again until

we know as Monet knew in the crystal rush

of water over the sun-glazed lilies

the radiance of an instant.

===========================================================================================

“I remember that night when were lying down,

as you named a list of things you loved to hear.

It went on from your favorite Bon Iver song

to things that other people would tell you.

One of your favorites was

“This reminded me of you.”

and another one was

“Don’t go just yet.”

Well, you’re no longer here.

And that stupid Bon Iver song

just decided to ruin my Pandora.

And guess what?

It reminded me of you.

And now I realize that you must have

gotten a kick out of it when

I begged you to stay.”

 

— Connotativewords | jl | Souvenirs

===========================================================================================

“You want honesty?

I wasn’t sure you could handle it,

but since you’re so eager to hear it,

and since I’m a terrible liar,

you should know that every time

you do as little as look at me,

I can feel my dignity fall to the ground.

I’d stand in the bitter cold for hours

if that meant you would stay warm.

I’d rather gouge my own eyes out

than to see you fall for someone else.

And it wasn’t until you left,

when I realized that I have

a terribly addictive personality.

I’m sorry, my love.

I hope that wasn’t too much

Because, in all honesty,

that wasn’t even

the half of it.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Why It Still Hurts

===========================================================================================

Between Dreams and Dawn

 

Drifting between dreams and dawn.

Feeling the warmth of his body next to mine.

Secure with his arms wrapped around me.

His breath tickling my neck.

Back to dreams.

Feeling his hands caress my body.

Heading to dawn.

He kisses my neck.

I drift back to dreams.

His fingers caress my nipples.

My eyes briefly open.

He continues his caress.

Drifting off again.

His touch reaches my inner thigh.

Fingers lightly touching my lips.

I roll over on my back.

I slip back again.

The sun pierces the blinds.

I feel his tongue bringing me closer.

Opening my eyes, I look up above me.

My wrist cuffed to the headboard.

I look down at his eyes looking at mine.

His tongue twirling me awake.

I smile…It’s a new day.

===========================================================================================

“I’m shadow puppeteering

our next kissing contest,

funded by the grant

of your lower lip.

 

My hands collect your back

like taxes. I want more fingers,

toes, freckles as abacuses

to count your return.

 

Your mouth auto corrects

my body language. Your voice

hangs like streamers. I walk

like cursive.”

 

— "You Can’t Spell Monogamy Without ‘Mono,’" Jesse Bradley

===========================================================================================

And sometimes it happens that you are friends and then

You are not friends,

And friendship has passed.

And whole days are lost and among them

A fountain empties itself.

 

And sometimes it happens that you are loved and then

You are not loved,

And love is past.

And whole days are lost and among them

A fountain empties itself into the grass.

 

And sometimes you want to speak to her and then

You do not want to speak,

Then the opportunity has passed.

Your dreams flare up, they suddenly vanish.

 

And also it happens that there is nowhere to go and then

There is somewhere to go,

Then you have bypassed.

And the years flare up and are gone,

Quicker than a minute.

 

So you have nothing.

You wonder if these things matter and then

As soon you begin to wonder if these things matter

They cease to matter,

And caring is past.

And a fountain empties itself into the grass.

”

— Brian Patten, from Sometimes It Happens

===========================================================================================

“again I forgive you

again I dreamed of you

tomorrow again tomorrow

I will tell you again

again you will ask for

a logical explanation

again I will answer that

what is required is not for you to understand

but to endure.”

— Kiki Dimoula, from Again I Forgive You

===========================================================================================

“The both of us were swept away with exhaustion,

and yet neither of us could manage to fall asleep.

I’d warned you ahead of time that the size

of my bed wouldn’t be generous to the both of us.

But that night, I learned that the less space

in between was always for the better.

The spattering and trickling sound of raindrops outside

would soon become our favorite soundtrack.

And every inch of your gentle skin

was slowly becoming my favorite taste.

But it was the way you touched me

that even novel of description couldn’t suffice.

Because how do I describe the way it seemed as though

your fingers were making love to the scar along my waist?

And how a part of me somehow shut down

when you would sigh right in my ear?

No matter how far into slumber I seemed,

I would never forget a single detail,

because that was the moment

that I knew I only wanted you.”

— Connotativewords | jl | 4:12 am

===========================================================================================

What is there to like about dicks?

 

A dick can be soft, a dick can be hard.

 

A dick can be worshiped or simply admired.

 

A dick can be good, a dick can be bad,

 

A dick can be given or a dick can be had.

 

A dick can be smooth or hidden by hair,

 

A dick can be kissed lovingly or choked down in a dare.

 

A dick can be fun, a dick can bring joy.

 

A dick can be ridden or used as a toy

 

A dick can be held, a dick can be licked

 

A dick can be a surprise or it can be easy to predict

 

But what makes a dick so special and desired?

 

It’s the man who it belongs to and keeps it under his attire.

===========================================================================================

“I can smell you

even before you walk in the room,

that, ‘wear me I’m yours’ smell,

that ‘just try to wear me out’ smell… that

‘lace me up tight and break me in’ smell,

that scuff me with your life’ smell.

And all I want is for it to last forever,

that smell, that ‘slip me on’ smell…

that ‘hell yes’ smell of desire.”

— Peregrine

===========================================================================================

 

“The thought of my lips touching your skin for the first time brings me to my knees. I never understood how the thought of being with

 

someone could be so compelling, until I imagined how blissful it would be to have you in my arms right this second.

You amaze me in ways that I am still trying to comprehend. I constantly find myself reciting what I’m going to say the next time I see

 

you, despite the fact that my words will fall to a complete mess the moment you walk in.

I want you to know how much sleep I lose over you – and just keep in mind that I hardly count dreaming as slumber. And I never understood

 

Plato’s belief of one searching for their other half, until I realized I’d been subconsciously looking for you my entire life.

Before I met you, my life was like an unmatched jigsaw puzzle. But you somehow managed to make the pieces fit.

With you, hours become minutes, and I’ve gradually developed a loathing towards the concept of time.

There just never seems to be enough of it with you.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Found

===========================================================================================

Lie still now

while I prepare for my future,

certain hard days ahead,

when I’ll need what I know so clearly this moment.

 

I am making use

of the one thing I learned

of all the things my father tried to teach me:

the art of memory.

 

I am letting this room

and everything in it

stand for my ideas about love

and its difficulties.

 

I’ll let your love-cries,

those spacious notes

of a moment ago,

stand for distance.

 

Your scent,

that scent

of spice and a wound,

I’ll let stand for mystery.

 

Your sunken belly

is the daily cup

of milk I drank

as a boy before morning prayer.

The sun on the face

of the wall

is God, the face

I can’t see, my soul,

 

and so on, each thing

standing for a separate idea,

and those ideas forming the constellation

of my greater idea.

And one day, when I need

to tell myself something intelligent

about love,

 

I’ll close my eyes

and recall this room and everything in it:

My body is estrangement.

This desire, perfection.

Your closed eyes my extinction.

Now I’ve forgotten my

idea. The book

on the windowsill, riffled by wind …

the even-numbered pages are

the past, the odd-

numbered pages, the future.

The sun is

God, your body is milk …

 

useless, useless …

your cries are song, my body’s not me …

no good … my idea

has evaporated … your hair is time, your thighs are song …

it had something to do

with death … it had something

to do with love.

”

— "This Room and Everything in It," Li-Young Lee

===========================================================================================

“I want to make you tremble like branches against a violent gust of air. Come to me softly like a light breeze, and stay like sap on a

 

tree. Whisper in my ear as if you were the wind. Come down on me like a hurricane that’s been waiting all year to be set free.

I want you to be the one who makes the world shift with me.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Natural Disaster

===========================================================================================

“It’s Monday,

and your hair is messy.

You haphazardly put on your jeans and shirt

as you moan about the day of the week -

and I love you.

 

It’s Tuesday,

and you’re stumbling your way around the room,

trying to sort out the things you have to do.

You stop to briefly kiss the freckles on my nose,

asking me about my day -

and I love you.

 

It’s Wednesday,

and you’re quietly sprawled on the couch.

You pat the spot next to you and pepper kisses on my hair

because it’s my least favorite day of the week (and you know it) -

and I love you.

 

It’s Thursday,

and you’re wondering what the weekend will bring,

but you’re still moaning about how

the week is going by too slow for your tastes -

and I love you.

 

It’s Friday,

and I’m surrounded by DVDs and snacks

you’ve prepared when I was gone.

You welcome me with blankets and warmth from your arms -

and I love you.

 

It’s Saturday,

and you’re feeling lazy.

You won’t let me leave your arms

(or is it the other way around?)

So you tuck me under your chin as we both wonder

how much time we have left

before sleep makes us miss each other’s faces -

and I love you.

 

It’s Sunday,

and there’s nothing much to say but

I love you.”

 

— Loving you (NJ.)

===========================================================================================

“Loving you

 

went far beyond

 

my comfort zone.

 

Maybe that’s why

 

it was so exhilarating.

 

Maybe that’s why

 

you made it so hard

 

to breathe.”

 

— Connotativewords | jl | Last Straw

===========================================================================================

“If I looked up the definition of ‘devil’,

I would probably find your name.

If someone were to ask me

to describe what hell felt like,

I would talk about what you put me through.

If I wanted to feel intoxicated,

I would drink in the sound of your voice.

If you wanted to know the color of my mood,

I would let you peak inside my chest.

If you wanted to go on an adventure,

you could take a ride on the roller coaster in my veins

that goes off every time you do as little as look my way.

If you wanted to know how much I loved you,

I would take you to the beach

and tell you to look for the end of the ocean.

If you needed a place to stay,

I would still let you crawl under my skin

and make yourself at home.”

 

— Connotativewords | jl | 360

===========================================================================================

“That is what I want of you—out of the sight and sound of other people, to lie close to you & let the world rush by. To watch with you

 

suns rising and moons rising in that purple edge outside most people’s vision—to hear high music that only birds can hear—oh, my dearest,

 

dearest, would it not be wonderful, just once to be together again for a little while?”

— Edna St. Vincent Millay, from a letter to Arthur Davison Ficke

===========================================================================================

“Tenderness does not require passion to make it real. Not for me. Tenderness is even unique and maybe it is far more valuable than

 

passion. I would, in all frankness, hold it so. I do not want to look for a mad passionate affair. Not because I’m frightened but

 

because, please believe me, I do not want a lover. I want a friend. One can look and look and still there is no friend. I would like, as

 

a child might say it, to be your friend. After all, you say to me that "I don’t know if this is what is going to happen" and I say to

 

you, this is what I want to happen. Then, I add my miracle talk — if friends once, then why not forever. Why ask what will happen when we

 

are the ones who can control what will happen?”

 

— Anne Sexton, from A Self-Portrait In Letters

===========================================================================================

“At 19, I read a sentence that re-terraformed my head: “The level of matter in the universe has been constant since the Big Bang.”

In all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing - not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. The universe is simply a sealed,

twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over.

Each baby, then, is a unique collision - a cocktail, a remix - of all that has come before: made from molecules of Napoleon and stardust

and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and Cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and

inside, our own atoms.

When you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a

starburst constellation. Families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. Finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. We are all

peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes - we have never been before and we will never be again. Oh God, the sheer

exuberant, unlikely fact of our existences. The honour of being alive. They will never be able to make you again. Don’t you dare waste a

second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. Don’t you dare.”

 

— Caitlin Moran

===========================================================================================

“I will tell you what I am feeling:

the back of my knee

desires your tongue, my earlobe

your teeth, my lips your teeth,

my nipples your lips,

my waist your palms, my clit

your rough chin,

my ass your fingers,

my shoulder blades your fingernails,

my feet your toes, my inner thighs

your hips, my heart

your eyes.

Sweet thing —

isn’t this

this poem what you’ve really wanted from the start.”

 

— "Komachi to Shosho on the Ninety-Ninth Night," Kimiko Hahn

===========================================================================================

“All night it felt like I was

in your room,

the French doors opened out

onto the porch, the table

there, the yard there and the last

of the flowers there, all night

all I wanted was the vanilla shadow

of your fingers, the dark

candy of your armpits, the light

snow your feet seem to be,

and all night the night was very much

like a ship, though you will

hate the way I say this, a ship

that appears to be both

walking toward the coastline

of your hips, and slowly moving

away, all night

all the water in the world

felt as still as a teacup

wrapped in tissue and placed deep

into a box full of those white

pieces of foam

people call popcorn. This morning

I drank coffee with sugar

which I never do, and kept crying

which is something I tend to do

whenever I think I have

walked into your house

with a Japanese sword and cut you

in half while you slept.

Just thinking of you asleep

makes me want to pull every flower

out of the ground

and throw them onto your bed.

This is a hated world,

I know, and we are fighting the star

riddled, burnt out, sky

of our brains. I keep waking up

in a box made out of black

ice, and sometimes there’s your voice

speaking in another language

and sometimes there’s nothing,

but always a little fruit hangs

from a tree,

where I have carved my name,

and carved your name,

and carved a little note

out of my arm which always says

I’m sorry and love and sorry

over and over, each letter

spelling out my name, which, in the language

of last night means apologia,

or it means who do you think you are, you

are barely a man. All night

I wanted to sit at your table

and pour out the beer

into little Turkish bowls, and have all

the cuts that make up your body and mine

close up like a tulip in the dark and cooling front yard.”

 

— "Black Ice," Matthew Dickman

===========================================================================================

"I want you to see through my intentions

I want you to know the price of desire

the scale of things, I want you to understand

why they overestimate the kindness

 

I want to hear you say:

"everything just serves to win

everything is tactic; we all

play”

 

I want them to keep our secret

how we chase each other silently like hunters

I want us to be willing to put our souls at stake

like we insert a coin in a slot machine

 

I want to go back in time to when I still learned from my dreams

I want to have the marks I left on your skin back

I want to able to feel you with my eyes in the dark

trace with my nails were you have been

 

I want your hands to wrap me in cool sheets

I want to see if your side differs from mine

I want you to be stronger towards the end

I want to give you the idea that you are winning

 

I want you to feel a foundling without me

an eccentric in the void, I want to see you tremble

in the cold, I want you sweating, rubbed warm

I want you rabid, praying for repentance

 

I want you to be able to read my mind

I want you to be able to touch my heart

or the fatal spot, I do not care

who causes the wounds, I do not care

 

how many there are, I just want to take an interest

in what dominates me. I want to be in a beautiful place

when I die. I want to be able to drown in the Red Sea

injure myself on a poisonous coral, wash up

 

on a snow white beach, with your taste still

on my lips. I don’t want to destroy you

I wouldn’t know how. If only I could say:

I will forget you, if only I could say:

 

I’ll leave you alone

but I can not lie

I always think of you, truly

I will forever think of you.”

 

— Serge Van Duijnhoven

===========================================================================================

Oh foolish knight who chose to face

Me, when you said that you were chaste,

You shall now suffer my curse

For daring to enter my dark place

 

For every beast you try to slay

You'll somehow end up in bed and lay

And you'll never break this horny call,

A pawn in my erotic play.

 

The orc, the dragon, and the slime too

Will all try and sleep with you

But that is that, I must go

So pardon me, ado

===========================================================================================

“You’re perfectly flawed

You’re perfectly incomplete

Let them condemn

Imperfections will keep you unique.”

 

— Otep Shamaya, from Perfectly Flawed

===========================================================================================

“It is love. I will have to hide or flee.

 

Its prison walls grow larger, as in a fearful dream.

The alluring mask has changed,

but as usual it is the only one.

What use now are my talismans, my touchstones:

the practice of literature,

vague learning,

an apprenticeship to the language used by the flinty Northland

to to sing of its seas and its swords,

the serenity of friendship,

the galleries of the library,

ordinary things,

habits,

the young love of my mother,

the soldierly shadow cast by my dead ancestors,

the timeless night,

the flavor of sleep and dream?

 

Being with you or without you

is how I measure my time.

 

Now the water jug shatters above the spring,

now the man rises to the sound of birds,

now those who look through the windows are indistinguishable,

but the darkness has not brought peace.

 

It is love, I know it;

the anxiety and relief at hearing your voice,

the hope and the memory,

the horror at living in succession.

 

It is love with its own mythology,

its minor and pointless magic.

There is a street corner I do not dare to pass.

Now the armies surround me, the rabble.

(This room is unreal. She has not seen it)

 

A woman’s name has me in thrall.

A woman’s being afflicts my whole body.”

 

— Jorge Luis Borges, from The Threatened One

===========================================================================================

Your silence

isn’t enough for me

now, no matter with what

contentment you fold

your hands together; I want

anything you can say

in the sunlight:

stories of your various

childhoods, aimless journeyings,

your loves; your articulate

skeleton; your posturings; your lies.

 

if I watch

quietly enough

and long enough

at last, you will say

(maybe without speaking)

 

(there are mountains

inside your skull

garden and chaos, ocean

and hurricane; certain

corners of rooms, portraits

of great-grandmothers, curtains

of a particular shade;

your deserts; your private

dinosaurs; the first

woman)

 

all I need to know:

tell me

everything

just as it was

from the beginning.

”

— Margaret Atwood, from Against Still Life

===========================================================================================

“What does happiness look like?

You in your red coat.

Where does it go for a drink?

To bed, on Sundays.

 

What does happiness sound like?

The purr of an unhooked phone.

What does it do for a living?

It has private means.

 

What does happiness feel like?

The barehanded planting of bulbs.

What is its home address?

Yours, sweetheart.

 

Does happiness have a scent?

The sea, the air, the earth.

Where did you see it last?

Under the bedclothes, laughing.

 

What taste does happiness have?

That of a long, slow kiss.

And how does happiness write?

Badly, like this.”

 

— Carol Ann Duffy, from Write About Happiness

===========================================================================================

“My life, this is all you are. This narrow space

between the enormous past and the inchoate

future. This minute, which has already

passed, this word, which is already null,

this body, which dies incessantly

with each word. I may have found solace

in language or memory, an alley in Paris

or in Prague, in Kafka or in Proust.

Mirror of the senses, they will disappear

with me, as with all time, space, and death,

these enchanted vectors of the soul.

I move in the world with all of my body,

through the labyrinth made of one

straight line. The inconceivable

infinities no longer bother me. This moment

is all I believe in, October and the dry leaves

blowing where I’m heading, a storm

rushing to presage me. At the crucial junctures

someone will already know my name.

The earth will again unfold its heart

of sulfur, and I will be born

into the recurring terror, inescapable

being, to which I eternally return.

May these small tokens prove that I tried

my best, though human cruelty made no sense

to me, though love was inexplicable, more

phantom than reality. If forgiveness be true,

I want to be annihilated completely,

I want reciprocal forgetting,

I want the angels not to recognize me.”

 

— Eric Gamalinda, from Labyrinth

===========================================================================================

“Late July’s uncertain weather

allows us to relax into each other,

into this place, this time—and if it scares

you sometimes that the world’s so ancient, there’s

our own time to slip out of time.”

 

— Marilyn Hacker, from Estival Passage

===========================================================================================

 LATE AFTERNOON POETRY BUMP

 

    On the southwest side of Capri

    we found a little unknown grotto

    where no people were and we

    entered it completely

    and let our bodies lose all

    their loneliness.

 

    All the fish in us

    had escaped for a minute.

    The real fish did not mind.

    We did not disturb their personal life.

    We calmly trailed over them

    and under them, shedding

    air bubbles, little white

    balloons that drifted up

    into the sun by the boat

    where the Italian boatman slept

    with his hat over his face.

 

    Water so clear you could

    read a book through it.

    Water so buoyant you could

    float on your elbow.

    I lay on it as on a divan.

    I lay on it just like

    Matisse’s Red Odalisque.

    Water was my strange flower,

    one must picture a woman

    without a toga or a scarf

    on a couch as deep as a tomb.

 

    The walls of that grotto

    were everycolor blue and

    you said, ‘Look! Your eyes

    are seacolor. Look! Your eyes

    are skycolor.’ And my eyes

    shut down as if they were

    suddenly ashamed.

    ”

    — "The Nude Swim," Anne Sexton

===========================================================================================

“I’ve always looked so pretty on my knees.

Just think of the ways I could make you sin.

All I want to be is your good girl, please.

 

Your grip is strong, I love when you squeeze.

Don’t hold back, I want your marks on my skin.

I’ve always looked so pretty on my knees.

 

I bite my lip, I’m yours to seize.

You push me down and lift my chin.

All I want to be is your good girl, please.

 

You pull my hair, my actions freeze.

A look we hold, before we begin.

I’ve always looked so pretty on my knees.

 

A deep breath, then you fill me with ease.

Pleasure fights pain, making my world spin.

All I want to be is your good girl, please.

 

Look up with wide eyes, no longer a tease.

Now you know what it’s like to sin.

I’ve always looked so pretty on my knees.

All I want to be is your good girl, please.

 

3a.m. poetry…totally a thing people do…

===========================================================================================

"We lay down in the graveyard, hinged there.

 

Emerald moss growing thickly in the chiseled letters.

 

You’re explaining how trees actually breathe.

 

Green in the names and trees went up to join gray in the sky.

 

Then the gray-green sky came down in breaths to my lips and sipped me."

 

— Kazim Ali, from July

===========================================================================================

"If we were in outer space, I’d run laps around Jupiter if it meant that I might possibly come across you. I’d throw moon rocks at your

window, hoping you might step out for a few seconds.

And while you’re gazing at the nebula from afar, I know that it may seem like nothing more than a cloud of dust and other ambiguous

elements. But soon enough, we’ll form enough stars to pierce light into the darkness.

I may only be a mere speck of stardust, but if you let me glide through the anatomy of your orbit, I’ll light a fire inside of you that

would make even the sun envious.

I know that the universe is argued to be the “totality of existence”, but I’m willing to prove otherwise if you grant me the privilege of

getting lost in your constellation.

And come to think of it, I don’t know a damn thing about astronomy, but by the way you looked at me, I could have sworn that our galaxies

have collided in another lifetime.”

 

— Connotativewords | jl | Stellar

===========================================================================================

I love the word warm.

It is almost unbearable —

so moist and breathlike.

 

I feel the earth like a nurse,

curing me of winter.

I feel the earth,

its worms oiling upward,

the ants ticking,

the oak leaf rotting like feces

and the oats rising like angels.

 

In the beginning,

summer is a sense

of this earth,

or of yourself.

 

— Anne Sexton, from Letters To Dr. Y.

===========================================================================================

I want to make love to your existence,

drenched in colors of your energy,

then masturbate, to the memories.

I wanna lose myself inside yourself…

Until you find me. Confine me,

to the freedom of your prison.

Exist in the same space, same time.

Combine until your thoughts slow grind with mine.

 

My, I wanna drink the sweat of your intellect,

reflect, and watch your light passion walk my neck.

Caress the sights of your presence with no question,

undress to the nakedness of love, pure love.

I want to make love to my soulmate… my soulmate…

make love to my soulmate…my soulmate…

make love to my soulmate, uh shit…

I wonder, how does it feel to make love to your soulmate.

Kind of like writing poetry till climax,

till the point and place where space and time match.

Can we cross the line, perhaps tell me would you like that.

Now would you like that, tell me would you like that,

would you like that, tell me would you like that,

would you like that, tell me?

 

I’m gonna ask you again now, tell me..

Would you like that, tell me would you like that,

now would you like that, tell me would you like that,

would you like that, tell me…

 

I want to love you more than madly.

Wrap these legs around your words,

until your speech is straddled deep, gladly.

Swim the currents of your vibrations,

be separate in one

with the same meditation…

Uh the same meditation…

 

Uh you know what…

This, right here is poetry.

 

— Akua Naru, from Poetry: How Does It Feel

===========================================================================================

My notebook has remained blank for months

thanks to the light you shower

around me. I have no use

for my pen, which lies

languorously without grief.

 

Nothing is better than to live

a storyless life that needs

no writing for meaning—

when I am gone, let others say

they lost a happy man,

though no one can tell how happy I was.

”

— Ha Jin, “Missed Time,” Poetry (July 2000).

===========================================================================================

It was the summer she threw herself onto her mattress

and looked up at the print of

Monet’s water lilies

hanging above, and broke

through the wall to float in the warm

water of the paint. She could breathe inside it

and thought of Ophelia who never really

seemed dead. They were not dead in the water. She was not

suffocating with a mouth painted shut

 

painted into a square

of blue hung on the wall

of a teenage girl.

 

— Ely Shipley, from Some Animal  

===========================================================================================

You make me so hungry.

I want you to cook my dinner.

You make my chicken nuggets really good.

Your cooking makes me so fed.

I want to eat your chicken.

I want to wash your dishes.

I love it when you make my food.

I want to make your dishwasher seem worthless.

Thinking about you makes my belly tickling.

Feed me. Feed me now!

I love the way your hungry slaves feels against my food leftovers.

I need to feel your sweet chicken nuggets inside my hungry stomach.

I love the way your chicken nuggets feels against tip of my tongue.

I have to appreciate your cooking more.

I want you to play with my expectations of food.

Stick your fried potato inside my big mouth.

I want to make your milkshake dipping at my tongue.

My fantasy is all about your food.

I want my Daddy to watch me washing the dishes.

If he wishes to compliment my dish washing it makes me love my master all the more.

 
 

I should eat more, I think about food all day.

===========================================================================================

BABY GIRL’S GOT A KISS LIKE SPARKLE STICKS

Shinji Moon

 

Baby girl’s got a heart like a fish pond at feeding time;

neck like whiplash; white peaches growin’ on the fuzz of her lips.

 

She’s everything Wet Wild & Wonderful, that West Virginia kinda love;

sweet butter straining the kiss of her neck. Vicky says

 

You don’t draw blood from a girl like that. Just sugar water; just a string

of sweet hummingbirds. And if I were lighter. A little more blue

 

In the eye, she says: You’d be like that too. Sugah n’ hum. Hum n’ sugah.

I ask: What am I made of then, Miss Vicky? “You? Oh, honey.

 

You got an entire evergreen in your mouth. You ain’t sweet but you

somethin’. A darker song, one with con - vic - shun.”

 

With the seats laid flat on their bellies, Baby girl and I lay

under a moon-roof wide open; feet like silver hooks out the back window,

 

Sinking summer’s damp lip onto our toes. El Rodo’s freckled fingers

fill tobacco into his pipe, smoke building over our heads in the shapes

 

of our First Cities; Nameless Cities; Cities we called our own.

In the wet drive of the highway, Baby girl spun the window closed, and

 

Set the sun lower over the Potomac, while I cupped the last air

from the breeze, collected her river salt in my palm.

 

Tell me, Baby girl asked. You ever been kissed? And in the night, with the

moon-roof wide open, the thick leaves like dark banks that the sky

 

Rivered through, I shook my head slow, and she gave me a clammy hand.

And Baby girl, with apple-slice-me. Sugar on her pink. Pink on my tongue.

 

Melted in me; Oh sweet, oh low; Hair coiled together. Copper wire flint.

Little fins in our chest sput-sputter; sput and sputter, Our mouths,

 

Small and forgiving,

like bows shooting arrows & pinning apples to the trees.

 

===========================================================================================

“I sing off-key

Ah it’s funny

My mouth open to every breeze

Spews mad notes everywhere

That emerge I don’t know how

To fly toward other ears

 

Listen I’m not crazy

I laugh at the bottom of the stairs

Before the wide-open door

In the sunlight scattered

On the wall among green vines

And my arms are held out toward you

 

It’s today I love you”

 

— Pierre Reverdy, “For The Moment.”

===========================================================================================

Hypno Bimbo Reading Mantra

 

I am Master's Bimbo

His Obedient Horny Slut

On my Knees before him

His leash around my neck

I am Master's Bimbo

His cock in my cunt

His cock in my mouth

His cock in my ass

His hands on my tits

His toys making me his toy

I am Master's Bimbo

Lipstick, Lingerie, and High Heels

I love how this makes my pussy feel

Dumb, Silly, and Sucking his Cock

Its all I want to be

I am Master's Bimbo

His silly Bimbo Barbie Fucktoy

===========================================================================================

You are too much.

You are not enough.

You are a disruption.

You are an insecurity risk.

Every hissing hair on your head too defiant.

The part of the story so often lost is that Medusa

was born so beautiful,

made ugly by another’s demand.

 

— Rachel Wiley, from “GORGON,” Fat Girl Finishing School   

================================================================================

We take photographs in downward angles

the way the Gods see us,

dead-eyed and deletable,

worship who we want to be:

not lowly men, never lowly men,

never handsome women.

We are creatures vain and squirming,

uncomfortable in gun smoke flash outside our own hands,

uncomfortable in the heat of the bulb,

uncomfortable in the click and spin of film.

 

— Rachel Wiley, from “SHUTTER,” Fat Girl Finishing School

===========================================================================================

I put my hand on her forehead,

stroke her wispy hair.

How tall she used to be,

 

how we’ve all dwindled.

It’s time for her to go deeper,

into the blizzard ahead of her,

 

both dark and light, like snow.

Why can’t I let go of her?

Why can’t I let her go?

 

— Margaret Atwood, from “Blizzard,” Dearly  

===========================================================================================

Why was I wandering from there to there

to there? God only knows.

And the procession of wraiths’ photos

 

claiming to prove that I was me:

the faces greyish disks, the fisheyes

trapped in the noonhour flashflare

 

with the sullen jacklit stare

of a woman who’s just been arrested.

Sequenced, these pics are like a chart

 

of moon phases fading to blackout; or

like a mermaid doomed to appear onshore

every five years, and each time altered

 

to something a little more dead

 

— Margaret Atwood, from “Passports,” Dearly  

===========================================================================================

THIS IS JUST TO SAY

 

I have eaten

the beauty standards

that were in

the icebox

 

and which

you were probably

clinging to

for profit

 

Forgive me

they were ridiculous

so binding

and so cold

 

— Rachel Wiley, from Fat Girl Finishing School   

===========================================================================================

fifteen ways to stay alive

 

Offer the wolves your arm only from the elbow down. Leave tourniquet space. Do not offer them your calves. Do not offer them your side.

 

Do not let them near your femoral artery, your jugular. Give them only your arm.

 

Wear chapstick when kissing the bomb.

 

Pretend you don't know English.

 

Pretend you never met her.

 

Offer the bomb to the wolves. Offer the wolves to the zombies.

 

Only insert a clean knife into your chest. Rusty ones will cause tetanus. Or infection.

 

Don't inhale.

 

Realize that this love was not your trainwreck, was not the truck that flattened you, was not your Waterloo, did not cause massive

 

hemorrhaging from a rusty knife. That love is still to come.

 

Use a rusty knife to cut through most of the noose in a strategic place so that it breaks when your weight is on it.

 

Practice desperate pleas for attention, louder calls for help. Learn them in English, French, Spanish: May Day, Aidez-Moi, Ayúdeme.

 

Don't kiss trainwrecks. Don't kiss knives. Don't kiss.

 

Pretend you made up the zombies, and only superheroes exist.

 

Pretend there is no kryptonite.

 

Pretend there was no love so sweet that you would have died for it, pretend that it does not belong to someone else now, pretend like

 

your heart depends on it because it does. Pretend there is no wreck -- you watched the train go by and felt the air brush your face and

 

that was it. Another train passing. You do not need trains. You can fly. You are a superhero. And there is no kryptonite.

 

Forget her name.

 

--Daphne Gottlieb

===========================================================================================

    I read a yarn the other day--

    A crazy concept, I must say.

    It states that objects have extension

    In what is called the "Fourth Dimension."

 

    In hyperspace one could, no doubt,

    Make tennis balls turn inside out;

    And from a nut remove the kernel

    And not disturb the shell external.

 

    A crook could pilfer bonds and stocks,

    Then laugh at prison bars and locks;

    One step in this direction queer,

    And presto! He would disappear!

 

    Let's hope, in planning new inventions,

    They'll give us cars with four dimensions.

    When searching for a parking place,

    We sure could use some hyperspace!

 

    -Bob Olsen

===========================================================================================

 

===========================================================================================

 

===========================================================================================

 

===========================================================================================

 
 

“You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.”

 

— Wild Geese, Mary Oliver

 

================================================================================

POETRY BUMP

 

“I learned that you’ve been kissing someone new.

And it’s such a shame.

She probably bites your lip a little too hard,

and whispers in your ear a little too loudly.

I wonder if she embraces you

as if you just came back from war,

or if she ever kisses you

as if you only had minutes to live.

Perhaps she’s easy to fall asleep with,

but is she worth waking up to?

I suppose I’ll never know.

But there was once a girl

who burned of a thousand suns for you.

And it’s such a shame

how you let her go.”

 

— Connotativewords | jl | Lástima

================================================================================

EARLY AFTERNOON POETRY BUMP

 

“Leave the dishes.

Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator

and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.

Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.

Throw the cracked bowl out and don’t patch the cup.

Don’t patch anything. Don’t mend. Buy safety pins.

Don’t even sew on a button.

Let the wind have its way, then the earth

that invades as dust and then the dead

foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.

Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.

Don’t keep all the pieces of the puzzles

or the doll’s tiny shoes in pairs, don’t worry

who uses whose toothbrush or if anything

matches, at all.

Except one word to another. Or a thought.

Pursue the authentic — decide first

what is authentic,

then go after it with all your heart.

Your heart, that place

you don’t even think of cleaning out.

That closet stuffed with savage mementos.

Don’t sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth

or worry if we’re all eating cereal for dinner

again. Don’t answer the telephone, ever,

or weep over anything at all that breaks.

Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons

in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life

and talk to the dead

who drift in though the screened windows, who collect

patiently on the tops of food jars and books.

Recycle the mail, don’t read it, don’t read anything

except what destroys

the insulation between yourself and your experience

or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters

this ruse you call necessity.”

 

— Louise Erdrich, from Original Fire: Advice To Myself

===========================================================================================

“You pride yourself in being so detached, that you wouldn’t be able to see a good thing if it stood eagerly in front of you. Trust me,

 

I’ve been here for a while now.

You pride yourself in being so detached, that the less emotion you elicit, the more power you seem to possess. And I willingly hand it

 

over to you each and every time.

Please tell me why I’ve nearly killed myself over and over because I never felt adequate enough for you. Or how I would wait outside in

 

the rain for an hour just to see you for 5 minutes.

And no matter how content I should be with myself, I’ll always be a few steps behind, trying to see how I could be better for you.

 

Because just when I’m ready to walk away, I can see your silhouette chasing me down.

And right when I’m about to turn around,

you’re nowhere to be found.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Careful

===========================================================================================

Everything is more complicated than you think

You only see a tenth of what is true

There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make

You can destroy your life every time you choose

 

But maybe you won't know for twenty years

And you'll never ever trace it to its source

And you only get one chance to play it out

Just try and figure out your own divorce

And they say there is no fate, but there is

It's what you create

 

Even though the world goes on for eons and eons

You are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second

Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born

But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years

For a phone call, or a letter, or a look from someone or something to make it all right

 

And it never comes

Or it seems to, but doesn't really

And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope

That something good will come along

Something to make you feel connected

To make you feel whole

To make you feel loved

 

And the truth is: I feel so angry

And the truth is: I feel so fucking sad

And the truth is: I’ve felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long

And for just as long have been pretending I’m okay

Just to get along

Just for ...

 

I don’t know why

Maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own

Well, Fuck everybody

 

Amen

===========================================================================================

“My friend once told me

she liked this guy because of his hands

And I found it absurd that anyone

would develop feelings over one feature,

and not care about the rest

 

It wasn’t until you used your hands

to cup the back of my neck the first time we kissed

and I could feel your firm grasp pull me closer,

and my insides exploded

and my head buzzed with bliss.

 

And the first night you slept over,

you fell asleep with your hand

laid over my stomach

and your fingers felt like a fire

that I didn’t mind burning my skin.

 

The first time we got drunk,

was the first time you played with my hair,

and my god I was hooked,

I’d drink forever if it meant you’d never stop.

 

And in public you’d hold my hand,

and rub your thumb in little circles

that left me wanting you more,

no matter what you would never let me go,

I was glued to you,

and I honestly didn’t mind

 

When we talked about breaking up,

you saw my lips quiver with fear,

and you brushed over my lips with your fingers

before pulling me into your lap

and you kissed me like never before.

With your hands on my hips

pulling me so close to you,

leaving no space in between us.

It was then I realized I never wanted you to go

 

Its now that,

I finally understand why hands

were the only feature that mattered”

— (via intractably)

===========================================================================================

“into the strenuous briefness

Life:

handorgans and April

darkness,friends

 

i charge laughing.

Into the hair-thin tints

of yellow dawn,

into the women-coloured twilight

 

i smilingly

glide. I

into the big vermilion departure

swim,sayingly;

 

(Do you think?)the

i do,world

is probably made

of roses & hello:

 

(of solongs and,ashes)”

— “Into the Strenuous Briefness,” e.e. cummings

===========================================================================================

“I’ve never had trouble picking up a pen and pouring my heart out to you, but tonight is different from the rest. Some girls have a

 

profound weakness for poetry and love letters, but it always took an extra effort to spark a nerve in you.

And I’ve always found a thrill in the challenge to move you.

I’ve spent hours lying wide awake in this darkness, only to realize that there’s no beautiful way to describe the way my body aches in

this burning silence without you.

There’s no beautiful way to describe the way my lips shudder whenever I try to speak. Because I realize that they may never find any

peace and quiet until they find their way back to yours.

There’s no beautiful way to describe how I can’t unlearn the way your body moved along my hands like a glove that was never meant to be

taken off in the first place.

There’s no beautiful way to describe how wanting you brings a battlefield of blood to my veins. But if loving you means war, then the day

I surrender will be the day I die.”

 

— Connotativewords | jl | There’s No Beautiful Way to Describe Me Without You

===========================================================================================

“Six mistakes mankind keeps making century after century:

Believing that personal gain is made by crushing others;

Worrying about things that cannot be changed or corrected;

Insisting that a thing is impossible because we cannot accomplish it;

Refusing to set aside trivial preferences;

Neglecting development and refinement of the mind;

Attempting to compel others to believe and live as we do.”

 

— Cicero, 106 BC - 43 BC

===========================================================================================

“See, when you meet someone

for the first time,

you don’t really imagine that they would

turn out to be someone important to you.

You don’t really assume that

when you first learn someone’s name

that after awhile you would begin to really

get to know them inside and out,

or how you begin to pick up their habits,

and start talking like them,

or finishing the food off their plates

you don’t really see these things

happening, when you first meet someone.

Without really expecting it, this someone

who was only just a stranger to you before,

can all of a sudden mean so much more,

can become someone so special,

and someone you can’t see yourself

living without.”

 

— Keen Malasarte, "I never thought you would have such an effect"

===========================================================================================

“I imagined that you’d miss me, thought

you’d pace your hardwood floor in odd

worn socks, watch the clock sit stuck,

 

get late to work, type my name caps lock

press and hold shift/break, miss buses, meals

or sit with fork half-way, lost, for minutes,

hours, sleep badly, late, dream chases, shake

send fingers out to pad the pillow, find

my hollow, start awake, roll over, hug a gap,

 

an ache, take a walk, damp dawn, of course,

wrapped in a mac with the collar up, glimpse

a slice of face, tap a stranger’s back, draw a blank;

 

as I have. Each time, I run to press your face

to mine, mine, shining with imagined rain."

 

— Kate Clanchy, from Double Take

===========================================================================================

O, Finger

 

Oh good, you're awake!

Don't try to move: in my web you reside

I hold you close at last

And in the shadows I no longer hide

 

I've finally entrapped you

Finally have you

Finally, I am close enough to touch you...

 

I'll start with one finger,

On the tip of your nose, down your face,

To your hips

I'll finger your navel,

Suck on your toes, massage your chest

As you rock your hips

I do it all because I love you

I love you

I love you

 

Why do you continue to resist?

Why would you ever want to leave me?

I'll play with your nipples, lick your teeth

Be anything you want me to be

 

Is it more that you want?

Me inside you, you want?

I've already fed you, but if that's what you want...

 

I'll start with one finger,

Your mouth inside

Wet for your anus now

Anything I can do,

Anything to please you

Anything in any way I know how

I do it all because I love you

I love you

I love you

 

Oh no, how'd you break free?

No, please, sit back down

I'll make you sit, I'll punish you

Because I love you and you'll love me...

 

I'll start with one finger,

At the knuckle cut

You won't be able to open the door

I'll tie you down

And freeze your skin

You won't be able to struggle anymore

 

Why don't you love me?

Do not I satisfy?

If you won't love me

I should want to die...

 

I do it all because I love you

I love you

Now die.

===========================================================================================

    SEXY POETRY BUMP BLANK VERSE EDITION 1/2

 

    It is scary sometimes how deep and dark my desire

    for submission and surrender can be.

    How it can leave me in a state of aching longing and

    yearning sadness, I can hardly express it with mere words.

 

    To be sought. Seen. Past who I have become in order to survive.

    The real me that hides within, beneath my fears, behind my scars…

 

    How I long for Him to dare to brave the depths of who I am…

    Want to know, unleash, and claim the beauty inside and

    lead me to become who I am meant to be.

 

    Strong enough to hold me as I struggle…

    Restrain me as I war against my fears, old demons, and myself

    until I’m weak and exhausted and I’m finally able to let go

    completely, giving entirely, and withholding nothing.

 

    To lie naked at his feet, or bare and vulnerable in His arms

    without judgment, knowing that He accepts and appreciates

    all that I am. Confident that I am safe to give of myself

    knowing I am safe, and that He will not crush my tender spirit.

 

    To serve Him with everything I have and all that I am.

    Giving of myself in all ways, for His pleasure and satisfaction.

    Learning and striving always to be better, anticipating every need.

    To demonstrate my adoration and respect with joyous gratitude and deference.

    Putting Him first in every way, knowing that He does the same for me.

    To be filled not only with His flesh, but with His affection and praise

    Believing I am valuable and useful, beautiful and sexy in His eyes.

    To know I am His and His alone, for His enjoyment and delight.

 

    To be consumed by His will – Him in absolute power over my body

    its responses and its pleasure… feeling only what He allows.

    Him commanding every sensation, exploring my boundaries

    heightening my arousal, controlling the intensity of my orgasm

    feeling His complete authority over every part of my being.

 

    For Him to challenge my mind, direct me, push me beyond

    what I imagine my limits to be. To demolish every barricade I’ve built,

    make me jump from the safety of the ledge where I sit paralyzed.

    For Him to believe in me and encourage me to fly knowing He’ll be by my side.

 

    To be His. Owned. Free.

    I long for that. … and mere words fail.

    ~chrissymiller89

 

===========================================================================================

“Under your tee shirt it’s flat as the Midwest and I

want to live there. I’m sick

of cities, of coasts, of oceans

relentlessly nagging the beach. I want the meat

and potatoes of you, want the obvious

choice for big spoon to be you, want to

give up my cocksure swagger and swoon

over yours instead. I want

the senior prom and the picket-fenced

lawn and the American flag

on the back of your truck, want to fuck

like the other half does—want to god-bless

your foreign body, the whole long slim

length of you, the endless

prairie of your chest, the rough

plain of your cheek, your terraced

ribs, the muscled goldrush

thrust of you. Yes: I want the simple

plus-minus of us, the luxurious,

brainless, obvious-us, want to touch

you in public and relish

how nobody stares. Don’t tell me

your fears. Let’s just swap our worst

pick up lines. If I wanted love

I’d go back to Brooklyn, to the woman whose body

is so much like mine. But I want this whole

wild country, idiotically brave, catastrophically

free, and you, cowboy, to come home, home

on the range with me.”

— Ali Shapiro, “American Dream”

===========================================================================================

I want your Monday morning

sleep soaked eyes

dream drenched voice,

lazy bones

‘five more minutes please babe.’

 

I want your Tuesday afternoon

coffee break,

glasses off, laughter on

‘just hold me for a while

it’s been a hard day.’

 

I want your Wednesday evening

fingers through hair

teeth nibbling nails

neck craning, eye glazing

‘this paperwork never ends’

 

I want your Thursday night

drinks for two

bones unbind

muscles let loose

flats, slacks,

‘just me and you’

 

I want your finally Friday

stretch soul smile,

sun sipping light

from the glaciers in your eyes

fingers unfurl, hand extends

‘c’mon babe, lets go wild’

 

I want your weekend.

your movie marathon Saturday

reading by the fireplace

kissing in the blankets

want your Sunday morning

orange juice and pancakes

white sheets, tender skin

hair like the Fourth of July

‘let’s not get out of bed today.’

 

I want your ordinary

and your stress, rest, release

I want your bad day and that terrible night

I want you drunk in my arms

forgetting the place but never my name

I want your lazy and your lonely

and your fist full of fight

I want you everyday

in every way

for the rest of my life.

”

— On Both Knees

===========================================================================================

    “Your body was like a deserted island that I never wanted to leave.

    And when I caved into your arms, I thought I’d found my ‘paradise’.After I made myself at home, I tried to rid my hands of those destructive habits, but I found myself gathering wood and setting parts of you on fire to keep myself warm. It just got so cold at night. And I’m sorry if I ever took you for granted, but the water along the shore of your heart was so clear during the day. I thought I knew what was underneath. I even tried to wander out of the shallow end, but you warned me that I would drown if I went any further.

    Do you have any idea how many rescue planes flew over my head as I ran for cover, hoping they wouldn’t find me?

    They must have been under the impression that I needed to be rescued, but there was no place I would rather be.

    I was told that your mind was a dangerous place, but I’ve never been one to play it safe anyway.”

    — Connotativewords | jl | Stranded

===========================================================================================

Lollipop - Randy Behavior

 

I want to be a lollipop

 

A swirling twirling bright confection

 

Tightly bound in a cellophane dress

 

Tauntingly displayed beyond wayward hands

 

Eyes hungrily dancing over me

 

I watch as they go by

 

I long for the perfect set

 

Full soft lips to wrap around me

 

Glistening and tender

 

Their yearning is matched by my own

 

The lucky one who procures me

 

Cradles me with delight

 

Inhales my deliciousness

 

And readies his tongue

 

Firm, slick and strong

 

It drags across my sweetness

 

With every stroke, I die a little more

 

The ecstasy of being consumed is all I know

 

I care not of tomorrow

 

Kill me, lick by lick

===========================================================================================

 
 

Tell all the truth but tell it slant —

Success in Circuit lies

Too bright for our infirm Delight

The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased

With explanation kind

The Truth must dazzle gradually

Or every man be blind —

 

by Emily Dickinson.

================================================================================

 

Poem time

 

God damn these half Spanish girls to hell

I've told them things one should never tell

My sisters breast size, my favorite kind of cheese

Nearly everything about me

And I cant help but sing and dance in a dark street

Only to come home and find nothing to eat

Because Mrs. Godzilla thinks food grows on trees

I knew I should've fucking dated someone who was japanese

 

And I gotta say, my ex girlfriend is a nutcase

You could tell from just looking at her face

She says we better get back together, dont date anyone else, or I'll kill myself

 

Sometimes I wish I could hide in the sand

Maybe just marry my own hand

If only life were that easy

Maybe I'd be sun bathing somewhere lovely, somewhere breezy

 

I don’t want your temporary love;

Nor do I want to be touched…

Unless you can fuck the sadness out of me;

French kiss me in between my thighs long enough to make me forget,

Remind me that I’m worthy of being touched by someone other than him-

Remind me that I’m no longer his.

 

I’m no longer his.

 

Bite my neck like I’m yours,

Although we both know, I’ll never belong to anyone again.

Don’t fall for me-

I don’t want your heart, I just want a reason to forget.

================================================================================

 

Because I could not stop for Death

Emily Dickinson, 1830 - 1886

 

Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality.

 

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility –

 

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –

We passed the Setting Sun –

 

Or rather – He passed us –

The Dews drew quivering and chill –

For only Gossamer, my Gown –

My Tippet – only Tulle –

 

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground –

The Roof was scarcely visible –

The Cornice – in the Ground –

 

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses’ Heads

Were toward Eternity –

===========================================================================================

Lewd Anglo-Saxon Riddles

 

Soft and limp

A young woman grasps me

Makes be grow larger

And thrusts me somewhere warm

 

A: Dough

 

Warm and fuzzy

A woman offers it to her lord

He thrusts up into it from beneath

Passing through the narrow hole

And fills it up

 

A: A wool sweater

===========================================================================================

“Late July’s uncertain weather

allows us to relax into each other,

into this place, this time—and if it scares

you sometimes that the world’s so ancient, there’s

our own time to slip out of time.”

 

— Marilyn Hacker, from Estival Passage

===========================================================================================

“My life, this is all you are. This narrow space

between the enormous past and the inchoate

future. This minute, which has already

passed, this word, which is already null,

this body, which dies incessantly

with each word. I may have found solace

in language or memory, an alley in Paris

or in Prague, in Kafka or in Proust.

Mirror of the senses, they will disappear

with me, as with all time, space, and death,

these enchanted vectors of the soul.

I move in the world with all of my body,

through the labyrinth made of one

straight line. The inconceivable

infinities no longer bother me. This moment

is all I believe in, October and the dry leaves

blowing where I’m heading, a storm

rushing to presage me. At the crucial junctures

someone will already know my name.

The earth will again unfold its heart

of sulfur, and I will be born

into the recurring terror, inescapable

being, to which I eternally return.

May these small tokens prove that I tried

my best, though human cruelty made no sense

to me, though love was inexplicable, more

phantom than reality. If forgiveness be true,

I want to be annihilated completely,

I want reciprocal forgetting,

I want the angels not to recognize me.”

 

— Eric Gamalinda, from Labyrinth

===========================================================================================

“When you left me in the spring,

a part of me died and resurrected into

the waterfalls of Niagara that you

loved to watch in the summertime.

Then came November,

where I became an autumn leaf

that swayed off of a tree,

and perfectly down your path

just moments before I hit the ground.

And in the winter,

I manifested into a snowflake

that melted onto your tongue

despite the fact that you

can’t stand the cold.

It just goes to show that

no matter how much time has elapsed,

never do I ever cease

to fall for you.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Reborn

===========================================================================================

 I love seeing the veins in your cock

    I love feeling you get hard in my hand as I jerk you off

    I love watching your precum drip from your tip

    I love licking it off and hearing you moan

    I want to feel your head slide into the back of my throat

    And you love seeing me pull off with with spit from your tip to my mouth

    Its glistening

    I’ll suck your balls gently

    Just how you like it

    I’ll suck you off all night

    Any way you want it

    I’m here just for you

    I’ll do anything for you

    Baby, I love you

    I want to make you cum

    In my mouth

    Or on my face

    If it gets in my hair

    Eh I don’t really care because

    Your pleasure is far more important.

===========================================================================================

 
 

“I need to tell you something that’s been on my mind for a while now. Mainly because I have a hard time keeping things to myself. We both

 

know I’m a terrible liar, and keeping quiet is as good dishonesty. What I’m trying to say is that I’m in love with you.

And I’ve been terrified to say so, not because I fear that you don’t love me back, but because I’m afraid it’ll catch you of guard and

 

scare you away. I don’t need to know if you feel the same way. I just need you to know that I’ve realized life is too short, and too many

 

things go left unsaid, but I refuse to let this be one of them. I can’t imagine what I have with you with anyone else.

It must have something to do with the way you look at me as if I’m the only person in a crowded room, or how you kiss me as if I was the

 

last drop of water on this earth, or a combination of the thousands of things that you do to make me feel like I’m the single most

 

important thing that has ever happened to you.

There doesn’t even need to be a name for the way you make me feel. Chances are, I’d be spending a lifetime trying to figure it out.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Just So You Know

===========================================================================================

 

“I try to be normal around you, but the reality is that there is nothing normal about the way you make me feel. I’ve always been level-

 

headed until you walked in and made it impossible for me to stand on my own at the sight of you.

There’s a small handful of unforgivable things that I’d rather do than to let someone take me whole. But here I am, at the tip of your

 

fingertips, shamelessly begging you to bring me in. And I pray that your embrace will never find its way undone.”

 

— Connotativewords | jl | Yours

===========================================================================================

Translation:

 

O my garden of fresh water and shade

My dance to be my dark heart

My sky of countless stars

My boat far away easy to row

Blessed is he who becomes deaf

To the song if it isn’t the one of his love

Blind to the day after his day

His eyes closed only on you

 

Blessed is he who dies of love

Blessed is he who dies of love

 

To love so hard his lips closed

It has no need for anything

Apart from the memory of roses

Perfumed of you forever

He who dies even for pain

To whom without you the world is illusion

And retains from it only your colors

It’s enough for him that he named you

 

Blessed is he who dies of love

Blessed is he who dies of love

 

HUMP NIGHT POETRY BUMP

 

===========================================================================================

Here I Love You by Pablo Neruda

 
 

Here I love you.

In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.

The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.

Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

 

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.

A silver gull slips down from the west.

Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.

Oh the black cross of a ship.

Alone.

 
 

Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.

Far away the sea sounds and resounds.

This is a port.

 

Here I love you.

Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.

I love you still among these cold things.

Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels

that cross the sea towards no arrival.

I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.

 

The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.

My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.

I love what I do not have. You are so far.

My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.

But night comes and starts to sing to me.

 

The moon turns its clockwork dream.

The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.

And as I love you, the pines in the wind

want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

 

================================================================================

 

LOVE POEM

by Sarah Brown Weitzman

 

From here those slaps of color unravel

form you said and stepped back

from the Monet to see the separate strokes

fall into water and lilies again.

Shards of light take the eye to blossoms

pale as breasts. Sky, leaf, water, flower

merge and waver, blur then clear

as each takes something from the other

to reflect or repeat so that not a single

moment is preserved but several.

 

Later in the splay of late afternoon

we repeat that painting.

The spread blooms of our bodies

blend and shift and merge again until

we know as Monet knew in the crystal rush

of water over the sun-glazed lilies

the radiance of an instant.

 
 

===========================================================================================

 

It wasn’t always easy to love you.

Most days, I fell for you so mindlessly. Otherwise, I was never sure what to expect – and it became a daunting

task wondering if your love would ever be safe with me.

But what saved me was remembering that this was a part of how I came to love you at all. It was the feeling of driving down the same road

as always, but with a beautiful change of scenery. Like walking into a new house and still being able to call it home. And in turn, I’d

fallen in love with all of the different pieces that shaped who you were, and who you would continue to become.

And so I decided that even when it wasn’t so effortless to love you, I would stay. That when you decided to change gears into a direction

unknown, I would enjoy the ride. If there were storms that needed to be unleashed from your eager bones, I would be sure to hold on

tighter. When my body stays still and my mind gets out of sync, I will restore my paralyzed heart and fall back into you.

And whether it be from my world to yours, or from night until day –

I will stay.

 

— Connotativewords | jl | To Love You

===========================================================================================

-Full Moon Rising-

A nice halloween-ish poem

By: IX

 

>late grows the hour

>deep in my soul

>I feel the dark power

>the mirror gleams in the moon light

>but my reflection is an awful sight

>wicked black eyes not mine are evil

>this face in the mirror is contractile

>as it smiles its all quite vile

>malicious is the beast

>standing behind me my soul is his feast

>powerless to stop his dark power

>the good in me dying by the hour

>my spirit is now maleficent

>all my good energy gone and spent

>the hatred becomes so strong

>I know now it can't wait for long

>the lycanthropy has come full circle

>as the wolf in me takes control

===========================================================================================

“Day after day,

my neighbors’ cats in the garden.

 

Each in a distant spot,

like wary planets.

 

One brindled gray,

one black and white,

one orange.

 

They remind of the feelings:

how one cannot know another completely.

 

The way two cats cannot sleep

in one patch of mint-scented shade.”

 

— Jane Hirshfield, “Narrowness,” Come, Thief.

 

===========================================================================================

“It’s been a long while since I was up before you

but here I am, up before you.

 

I see you sleeping now that I am up before you.

I see the whole morning before you.

 

How dare the sun be up before you

when the moon last night promised to hold off the sun just for you!

 

I hear the church bells ring before you.

Most days it’s true the birds are up before you.

 

I should make the coffee, as I am up before you.

I might just lie here though before you

 

wake up. Let me look at you, since I am here before you.

I am so rarely simply quiet before you.

 

The orange cat who’ll soon wake you is always up before you.

In Morocco or Lamu the muezzin would be up before you.

 

And yes it’s true most days the sun is up before you—

long before me and a while before you.

 

Shall I make it a habit, to be up before you?

To see your soft cheek and feel your breath if I am up before you?

 

Shall I prepare the mise-en-scène for you?

Hold the shot of the sun in my eye just for you?

 

Go back to sleep my love for you

are only dreaming I am up before you.”

 

— Maureen N. McLane, from For You

===========================================================================================

 

The Fountain by Baudelaire BUMP

 

My dear, your eyes are weary;

Rest them a little while.

Assume the languid posture

Of pleasure mixed with guile.

Outside the talkative fountain

Continues night and day

Repeating my warm passion

In whatever it has to say.

The sheer luminous gown

The fountain wears

Where Phoebe’s very own

Color appears

Falls like a summer rain

Or shawl of tears.

Thus your soul ignited

By pleasure’s lusts and needs

Sprays into heaven’s reaches

And dreams of fiery deeds.

Then it brims over, dying,

And languorous, apart,

Drains down some slope and enters

The dark well of my heart.

The sheer luminous gown

The fountain wears

Where Phoebe’s very own

Color appears

Falls like a summer rain

Or shawl of tears.

O you, whom night enhances,

How sweet here at your breasts

To hear the eternal sadness

Of water that never rests.

O moon, o singing fountain,

O leaf-thronged night above,

You are the faultless mirrors

Of my sweet, bitter love.

The sheer luminous gown

The fountain wears

Where Phoebe’s very own

Color appears

Falls like a summer rain

Or shawl of tears.

 

===========================================================================================

 

"To the ones who know and love me:

I may be stepping out of my boundaries when I say this,

and you may be stepping out of your comfort zone to hear it,

but I need to lose myself for a bit.

I wake up every morning, and try to hold the pieces together,

long enough so that they sustain before I get out the door –

on days that I do make it out the door.

But please don’t be alarmed if midday comes,

and I start to fall apart.

I say this hoping you’ll spare, not judgement –

because I know that that’s a given –

but your pity and sympathy.

I say this hoping you see my current state with full realization

that this is not really me at the moment.

I say this hoping you know that, despite what is no longer there,

I still know you haven’t gone anywhere.

I say this hoping that in a few months or so,

it will feel like I haven’t either.

And I hope that when I find my way home again –

you’ll still be on the other side of the door

when I arrive.

 

— Connotativewords | jl | I’ll be me again, I promise

 
 

===========================================================================================

 
 

“Come into me.

Let me remind you why human contact is an absolute necessity.

Let me grab those hips of yours, and bring you in close enough to show you that you will never lose me.

I want to bite your lips and fill your mouth with reasons why you’ll never want to belong to anyone else. I’ll let you trail your fingernails down my back as a map of the places you’ve taken me.

You’ll fill my ears with the noises you make and remind me that the only thing I want to get high off of is your laugh.

And when I whisper that I love you, it’ll never be out of secrecy, but rather out of the certainty that you literally leave me breathless.”

— Connotativewords | jl | The Flame That Keeps Burning

===========================================================================================

“I’ve become a little obsessed with you.

And I’ve been dying to find the most subtle and romantic way to tell you so, but I fear that this combination simply cannot exist. My mind is a prison that refuses to set you free. My heart is a river that keeps you from land, but refuses to let you drown.

I’m obsessed with wanting you, but perhaps I’m also high-strung on the fact that I can’t ever touch you. Your voice melts onto my tongue, and I swear I can already taste the way you whisper my name.

I’m obsessed, and perhaps it is making me quite depressed, but I refuse to let the way I feel continue to remain oppressed.

Regret is a disease that I refuse to be diagnosed with.

Wanting you the way I do is fatal enough.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Addict

===========================================================================================

 

"Some say the air of

early winter moving through

windows. For some, black ships

coming towards the city

are the quietest sounds on earth.

But I say it is with whomever one loves.

 

And very easily proved:

when we are trying to think of

something to say to each other,

 

each remembering back

who said what, the ground

we’e already covered,

 

you can hear all the money

lost earlier in the stock market,

even fresh water slipping

into salt water.”

 

— "Early Winter, after Sappho," Tung-Hui Hu

===========================================================================================

“have you considered that maybe i am not pleasant?

 

maybe i wear lipstick so that

you will see my pretty pink mouth

wrapping around a coffee cup lid

and be distracted enough not to notice

that i am intelligent and powerful;

a threat.

 

maybe i draw my brows into high arches

so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism

and overlook my spiteful glare

as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.

 

maybe i wear my heels so high and thin

so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips

as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor

and know that if you should try to overpower me

i walk on sharpened knives.

 

maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes

i am really baring my fangs

waiting patiently for the day

that i sink them into your neck.

 

i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;

you will find that these things are my armor

to keep you at a distance

so you do not step on me and shatter

my fragile control.

 

i am not a husk — i am not wilting.

i am turning my head

so that the fire blazing through my eyes

does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms

and burn your bones to dust.

 

i am not your pretty girl;

i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —

a forest of werewolves and wendigos

that will carve out your chest

so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips

i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths.”

 

— R.K., I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained (via thenemeton)

===========================================================================================

Long ago,

I was wounded.

 

I learned

to exist, in reaction,

out of touch

with the world: I’ll tell you

what I meant to be —

a device that listened.

 

Not inert: still.

”

— Louise Glück, from Parodos

 
 

===========================================================================================

 
 
 

“Here is what I know:

You drink your coffee black and we are afraid of each other.

Once you kissed my neck in front of your friends

and it made me very shy.

Once you kissed my stomach and I started crying.

I see the tender way you touch things and want to kiss your nose

but I keep my mouth to myself.

Your collarbones are craters big enough to fit my fist into.

You are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in months.

I was not good to the last person I loved so I punished my heart

(I let it break and bleed out then roughly sewed it back together)

It is hard to write poems when I only know how to fuck you.

I am always trying. I am thinking of Somedays. I am saying goodbye.

You asked why I never write anything honest so I am writing you this.”

 

— Clementine von Radics (via endangerment)

 
 

===========================================================================================

 
 
 

"I imagined that you’d miss me, thought

you’d pace your hardwood floor in odd

worn socks, watch the clock sit stuck,

 

get late to work, type my name caps lock

press and hold shift/break, miss buses, meals

or sit with fork half-way, lost, for minutes,

hours, sleep badly, late, dream chases, shake

send fingers out to pad the pillow, find

my hollow, start awake, roll over, hug a gap,

 

an ache, take a walk, damp dawn, of course,

wrapped in a mac with the collar up, glimpse

a slice of face, tap a stranger’s back, draw a blank;

 

as I have. Each time, I run to press your face

to mine, mine, shining with imagined rain."

 

— Kate Clanchy, from Double Take

 

===========================================================================================

 
 

Locate I

love you some-

where in

 

teeth and

eyes, bite

it but

 

take care not

to hurt, you

want so

 

much so

little. Words

say everything.

 

I

love you

again,

 

then what

is emptiness

for. To

 

fill, fill.

I heard words

and words full

of holes

aching. Speech

is a mouth.

”

— Robert Creeley, from The Language

 
 
 

===========================================================================================

 
 

“I remember that night when were lying down,

as you named a list of things you loved to hear.

It went on from your favorite Bon Iver song

to things that other people would tell you.

One of your favorites was

“This reminded me of you.”

and another one was

“Don’t go just yet.”

Well, you’re no longer here.

And that stupid Bon Iver song

just decided to ruin my Pandora.

And guess what?

It reminded me of you.

And now I realize that you must have

gotten a kick out of it when

I begged you to stay.”

 

— Connotativewords | jl | Souvenirs

 

===========================================================================================

 

“You want honesty?

I wasn’t sure you could handle it,

but since you’re so eager to hear it,

and since I’m a terrible liar,

you should know that every time

you do as little as look at me,

I can feel my dignity fall to the ground.

I’d stand in the bitter cold for hours

if that meant you would stay warm.

I’d rather gouge my own eyes out

than to see you fall for someone else.

And it wasn’t until you left,

when I realized that I have

a terribly addictive personality.

I’m sorry, my love.

I hope that wasn’t too much

Because, in all honesty,

that wasn’t even

the half of it.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Why It Still Hurts

 
 

===========================================================================================

Between Dreams and Dawn

 

Drifting between dreams and dawn.

Feeling the warmth of his body next to mine.

Secure with his arms wrapped around me.

His breath tickling my neck.

Back to dreams.

Feeling his hands caress my body.

Heading to dawn.

He kisses my neck.

I drift back to dreams.

His fingers caress my nipples.

My eyes briefly open.

He continues his caress.

Drifting off again.

His touch reaches my inner thigh.

Fingers lightly touching my lips.

I roll over on my back.

I slip back again.

The sun pierces the blinds.

I feel his tongue bringing me closer.

Opening my eyes, I look up above me.

My wrist cuffed to the headboard.

I look down at his eyes looking at mine.

His tongue twirling me awake.

I smile…It’s a new day.

 
 
 
 
 
 

===========================================================================================

“I untangled my fingers from her hair, as my hands slowly found their way along her arms and settled onto the inward curves of her hips.

I could keep my face buried in her neck for hours, but my lips anxiously wandered down the road of her spine – wading along like a gondolier on still Italian waters.

My eyes remained closed as her breath led the way. I could not care less that I’d gotten lost a thousand times that night because everywhere I touched her, it felt like home. At times, I believed that I was no longer alive, because every time I kissed her, it felt like heaven.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Euphoria

===========================================================================================

 

"I’m shadow puppeteering

our next kissing contest,

funded by the grant

of your lower lip.

 

My hands collect your back

like taxes. I want more fingers,

toes, freckles as abacuses

to count your return.

 

Your mouth auto corrects

my body language. Your voice

hangs like streamers. I walk

like cursive.

”

— "You Can’t Spell Monogamy Without ‘Mono,’" Jesse Bradley

===========================================================================================

 

"Along the shore the cloud waves break,

The twin suns sink behind* the lake,

The shadows lengthen

In Carcosa.

Strange is the night where black stars rise,

And strange moons circle through the skies

But stranger still is

Lost Carcosa.

Songs that the Hyades shall sing,

Where flap the tatters of the King,

Must die unheard in

Dim Carcosa.

Song of my soul, my voice is dead;

Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed

Shall dry and die in

Lost Carcosa."

 

- "Cassilda's song" Act 1, Scene 2

 

===========================================================================================

 
 

Nevermore

 

Memory, memory, what do you want from me? I remember

Autumn made the thrush fly through the lifeless air,

And the sun launched a monotonous ray where

The north wind exploded in a wood growing yellower.

 

We were alone together and, dreaming, wandered,

She and I, our hair and our thoughts in the wind.

Suddenly, her gaze full of feeling, she turned:

“What was your happiest day?” Her gold voice, livened,

 

Her soft resonant voice, cool timbre of an angel.

My reply was a reserved smile,

And devoutly I kissed her white hand.

 

Ah, the first flowers and their perfume!

And the murmuring spell of the sound,

The first yes from those lips when you so love them!

 

--Paul Verlaine

 
 
 

================================================================================

 

"I’ve been sitting here with you, thinking about what I could possibly say to make this hurt any less. But I’m not sure if those words exist.

And even if they do, I doubt that they would make sense right now.

So, I’d rather not risk it. Instead, I’ll just sit here with you and promise I’m not going anyway.

And when the timing is better, I’ll try again."

 

— Connotativewords | jl | If at first

================================================================================

================================================================================================

 

Slave Vows

 

1."I vow to serve you all my days and give you my fealty in every way. The breath in my body, the pulse of my heart; all are yours to do as thou art. My life I pledge on My Masters bond. To live and serve you with all that I am."

 
 

2.

My body yours to use in your own way,

Your praise and loving touch for which I live,

My heart and mind so desperate to obey,

Means every fibre of myself submit,

Without reserve or limits, to your will,

And honoured that by your feet I may sit,

So proud that your desires I may fulfill,

My punishment I gratefully receive,

For every blow that strikes feels like a kiss,

As you adore your slave, that I believe,

And her improvement brings us both such bliss.

Sir, serving you for me is so sublime;

I pledge myself to you for all of time.

 
 

3. Submission by Emilith

 

I kneel, supplicant before you

my will

offered up in quiet acquiescence

awaiting your approval

or reproach

the fine line between pleasure and pain

becomes ever sweeter with your control

with every touch, kiss,word

smoldering embers are kindled

tormented desires awakened

 

I quiver

captured by heat and hunger

bend me to your will

My Lord

show me what you most desire

my purpose but to serve

through your dominion I find myself

You, the Master of many

my only

 

4.Slave Rosary

The Order of Prayers

 

written by Syr_David’s ~melly

 

Begin at the emblem (1) then the single bead (2) then the three beads (3) then (4) and then the single bead (5) skip the medallion and start on the decades (set of ten beads) (6) after each of those, say (7) and then on the single bead, (8) . Repeat for each decade. At the end, (the medallion) you can say the slaves prayer again, or whatever mantra you wish to end with.

 

    I say a portion of my oath of fealty here. You can repeat the “Slave’s Prayer“, or whatever is pertinent to you (original was the Apostle’s Creed).

    Say the “Master, owner of my body“.

    Say three “I am your slave“.

    Say the “In gratitude“.

    Announce (or think) the principle of your service that you will be concentrating on, and say the “Owner of my body“.

    Say ten “I am your slave” while considering and concentrating on the principle or idea you have.

    Say the “In gratitude“.

    Say the principle you are meditating on, and say the “Master, owner of my body“.

 
 

5. A Slave’s Prayer – adapted from A Submissive’s Prayer

 

Allow me the Serenity to serve Him in peace

 

Allow me the Love to show Him myself

 

Allow me the Tenderness to comfort Him

 

Allow me the Light to show us the way

 

Allow me the Wisdom to be an asset to Him

 

Let me be able to show Him each day my love of service to Him

 

Let me open myself up to completely belong to Him

 

Let me accept my punishments with grace

 

Let me learn to please Him beyond myself

 

Grant me the power to give myself to Him completely

 

Give me the strength to please us both

 

Permit me to love myself in loving Him

 
 

6. Master, owner of my body

 

Master, owner of my body and director of my will, you are with me. I am thankful that I serve you. Let me be transparent as glass, that my heart may be visible always, for my entire self, even unto the workings of my mind, are yours. Master, I honor you with my service and submit to you with my thoughts, words, and deeds, so that I may be a reflection of your will, and the manifestation of your desires.

 

Master, I am your slave and your property. I will work and I will sacrifice that I may reflect your intentions, and make of myself a window to the soul you own. Use me Master, as you see fit, that I may learn to serve and to submit to you in all things.

 

In gratitude I serve, and in thankfulness I submit, and in peace I honor my Master with my trust.

 
 

7.The Submissive's Offering

 

i present myself naked to symbolize that i shall hide nothing from You

no thought, no word, no deed shall ever be concealed

 

i kneel before You to symbolize how i shall always come to You

humble, exposed,  without defenses to shield me

 

i sit at Your feet to symbolize that my desires are beneath Yours

Your wants, Your needs, Your will shall always be above mine

 

i bow my head to symbolize my deep and abiding respect for You

honor, deference, devotion shall always be given to You

 

i avert my gaze to symbolize that Your authority is unchallenged

my obedience, my service, my subjection are all freely given

 

i offer to You and no other my three greatest gifts

my honesty, my trust, my submission shall be Yours alone

 

should You accept my offering, i ask only that You find me worthy

nurture me, protect me, cherish me and i am Yours forever

 

Written by MissJayne

 

8.Obligatory Gorean Oath Femdon version

 

To Be Whole (Redux)

 

I love being my Mistress’s slave, Her slut, Her pet, Her fucktoy, Her servant, Her little girl, Her lover, Her girlfriend, Her bitch, Her whore, Her toy, Her cohort, Her follower, Her lesbian lover, Her everything.

 

I love that no matter what I do, I am forever Hers. Even my worst transgressions can be forgiven by Her love and collar. There are no words to truly describe how much She means to me and how much I love Her for there is little need for them.

 

I take note of everything that I can do, despite my limitations, despite my weaknesses and distraught nature. Everything I do, I do for Her pleasure and Her pride.

 

I am whole with Her and without Her, I am incomplete and non-existent.

 

I am kajira.

 

9. Obligatory Gorean Oath Mdom Version

 
 

I love being my Master’s slave, His slut, His pet, His fucktoy, His servant, His little girl, His lover, His girlfriend, His bitch, His whore, His toy, His cohort, His follower, His lover, His everything.

 

I love that no matter what I do, I am forever His. Even my worst transgressions can be forgiven by His love and collar. There are no words to truly describe how much he means to me and how much I love him for there is little need for them.

 

I take note of everything that I can do, despite my limitations, despite my weaknesses and distraught nature. Everything I do, I do for His pleasure and His pride.

 

I am whole with Him and without Him, I am incomplete and non-existent.

 

I am kajira.

 
 
 
 
 

==================================================================================================

Bonaroba's Poetry

 
 
 

#1

Sometimes I feel flight

in my bones when my mind is

hazy with the color of your eyes

Flight like birdsongs in stereo sounds

up and down, and up

and gravity pulls me down to you again

 
 

#2

There is a space in my mind

shaped like your name in shadows brighter than stars

Where I turn and sleep at night

 

#3

And here we have the sun

Walking on horizons to clouds and air

I wait here for the moment when the sun would never dare to shine

the touch of lips on lips and yours on mine

 
 

#4

I would whisper things to you if we were closer

whisper in a listening tone

Hear me, hear me, hear me now

my gasp, my lilting voice, my moan

If you were next to me right now

I think it would suffice to whisper names

but, from across the hills, I whisper days,

days and days of you and I together in the dark

and light

and nights and nights of hands

and tongues

and lips and fingertips and thrusts and all that is yours and mine own

 

=================================================================================================

I Dreamt of You by Sera

 

I dreamt of you

Of you whispering in my ear

Of your lips kissing my neck

Of your tongue leaving burning trails across my skin

Of your mouth gently taking my pink nipple into its warmth

Of your hands tracing my stomach and hips

Of your fingers pushing up into me

Of your cock, hard and hot

Of your need to be inside me

Of your want to find release

Of you entering my soaking wet pussy

Of your hard thrusting, hips bucking and hot breath against my throat

Of your moans and groans and sweet pleasurable sighs

Of our combined intense climax

Of our fluids mingling

Of our minds tingling

I dreamt of you.

 

====================================================================================================

"I Dreamt of You" J'ai rêvé de toi en Francais

a Sera

 

J'ai rêvé de toi

De toi murmurant dans mon oreille

De tes lèvres embrassant ma nuque

De ta langue laissant d'intenses traces sur ma peau

De ta bouche enveloppant doucement mon mamelon rose de sa chaleur

De tes mains parcourant mon ventre et mes hanches

De ton doigt que tu as mis en moi

De ta bite, chaude et dure

De ton besoin d'être en moi

De ton besoin d'atteindre la libération

De toi pénétrant ma chatte trempée

De tes coups secs, tes hanches se cabrant et ton souffle brûlant sur ma gorge

De tes plaintes, tes gémissements et tes délicieux soupirs suaves

De notre intense orgasme simultané

De nos fluides se mélangeant

De nos esprits frissonnant

J'ai rêvé de toi

 

====================================================================================================

 

"Skin to Skin"

 

completely wrapped around you

entangled skin to skin

your face tucked in my neck

I sigh and breathe you in

caressing one another

feeling heat build within

we can't get any closer

baby you make my head spin

skin to skin, lips to lips

a little nibble on my chin

tongues duel as we kiss

my self control runs thin

you suckle each hard nipple

run your fingers down my skin

probe and pinch as my juices flow

heartbeat louder than my throaty din

oh please, penetrate me now baby

take me hard, come on, push it in

feels so good, yes, harder, oh yeah

I pant and thrash as you slam deep within

in and out, again and again, over and over

feeling close, time for my climax to begin

your feeling it too, we're both so near

we moan our sweet release, and we both win

both sweating and both gasping for each breath

holding on tight, again we are skin to skin

we'll take a little "breather", relax a while

then babe, I would love for round two, to begin

 

--Deborahlee3313

====================================================================================================

Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing

 

The world is full of women

who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself

if they had the chance. Quit dancing.

Get some self-respect

and a day job.

Right. And minimum wage,

and varicose veins, just standing

in one place for eight hours

behind a glass counter

bundled up to the neck, instead of

naked as a meat sandwich.

Selling gloves, or something.

Instead of what I do sell.

You have to have talent

to peddle a thing so nebulous

and without material form.

Exploited, they'd say. Yes, any way

you cut it, but I've a choice

of how, and I'll take the money.

 

I do give value.

Like preachers, I sell vision,

like perfume ads, desire

or its facsimile. Like jokes

or war, it's all in the timing.

I sell men back their worse suspicions:

that everything's for sale,

and piecemeal. They gaze at me and see

a chain-saw murder just before it happens,

when thigh, ass, inkblot, crevice, tit, and nipple

are still connected.

Such hatred leaps in them,

my beery worshippers! That, or a bleary

hopeless love. Seeing the rows of heads

and upturned eyes, imploring

but ready to snap at my ankles,

I understand floods and earthquakes, and the urge

to step on ants. I keep the beat,

and dance for them because

they can't. The music smells like foxes,

crisp as heated metal

searing the nostrils

or humid as August, hazy and languorous

as a looted city the day after,

when all the rape's been done

already, and the killing,

and the survivors wander around

looking for garbage

to eat, and there's only a bleak exhaustion.

Speaking of which, it's the smiling

tires me out the most.

This, and the pretence

that I can't hear them.

And I can't, because I'm after all

a foreigner to them.

The speech here is all warty gutturals,

obvious as a slab of ham,

but I come from the province of the gods

where meanings are lilting and oblique.

I don't let on to everyone,

but lean close, and I'll whisper:

My mother was raped by a holy swan.

You believe that? You can take me out to dinner.

That's what we tell all the husbands.

There sure are a lot of dangerous birds around.

 

Not that anyone here

but you would understand.

The rest of them would like to watch me

and feel nothing. Reduce me to components

as in a clock factory or abattoir.

Crush out the mystery.

Wall me up alive

in my own body.

They'd like to see through me,

but nothing is more opaque

than absolute transparency.

Look--my feet don't hit the marble!

Like breath or a balloon, I'm rising,

I hover six inches in the air

in my blazing swan-egg of light.

You think I'm not a goddess?

Try me.

This is a torch song.

Touch me and you'll burn.

Margaret Atwood :

 

================================================================================================

WOMAN BATHING

by Raymond Carver

 

Natches River. Just below the falls.

Twenty miles from any town. A day

of dense sunlight

heavy with odors of love.

How long have we?

Already your body, sharpness of Picasso,

is drying in this highland air.

I towel down your back, your hips,

with my undershirt.

Time is a mountain lion.

We laugh at nothing,

and as I touch your breasts

even the ground-

squirrels

are dazzeled.

 
 
 
 

DESIRE

by Connemara Wadsworth

 

Taking off

my clothes

piece by piece,

I turn to you,

unwrap my body,

feel you trace

its contours

with your fingers.

I am accustomed

to covering,

what I now bare,

watch you waken

and wash me

with your eyes.

I feel the cloth

of your skin,

uncovered,

inviting me in,

feel your breath

warm in my ear.

I lean closer

into you, feel

your blood surge

as you hold me

and I echo

the beat pulling

on us as I wrap

my legs around you

and open as morning

glories do

when the sun

warms them.

 
 
 

TWIN FLAMES

by James Broughton

 

Embers of night flare up afresh

when you ignite the morning in my arms

and kindle the familiar hearth of love

 

Year after year we have warmed our lives

around the mystery of mutual fire

that heats our domain of risk and rapture

 

Whenever scorched however scarred

we hearten heal reconflagrate

Twin flames ever in blissful blaze

 
 

from Intimate Kisses:

 

THE ENJOYMENT

by Anon

 

Ye gods! the raptures of that night!

What fierce convulsions of delight!

How in each other’s arms involved

We lay confounded and dissolved!

Bodies mingling, sexes blending,

Which should be most lost contending,

Darting fierce and flaming kisses,

Plunging into boundless blisses,

Our bodies and our souls on fire,

Tossed by a tempest of desire

Till with utmost fury driven

Down, at once, we sunk to heaven.

 
 
 
 
 

AFTER NEW HAMPSHIRE

by Rosemary Klein

 
 
 

Folded into each other,

origami hearts, love

knots. Each time

I never believe

we will get any closer.

Afternoon lowers

her eyes as dusk

steals across the vision

of us, still touching.

Silk light.

Silk laughter.

My body floods

its boundaries.

You hold me through

each shudder, each

moan, my head tucked

into your chest, my legs

wrapped around your body,

my body filled with light,

my body light. Past

freedom and individuality

and the delight of my own

opinions, beyond serenity

and rock n’ roll, there is

happiness and I have found

its natural habitat beneath

your kiss and only

in your arms.

 
 
 
 
 

LOVE POEM

by Sarah Brown Weitzman

 

From here those slaps of color unravel

form you said and stepped back

from the Monet to see the separate strokes

fall into water and lilies again.

Shards of light take the eye to blossoms

pale as breasts. Sky, leaf, water, flower

merge and waver, blur then clear

as each takes something from the other

to reflect or repeat so that not a single

moment is preserved but several.

 

Later in the splay of late afternoon

we repeat that painting.

The spread blooms of our bodies

blend and shift and merge again until

we know as Monet knew in the crystal rush

of water over the sun-glazed lilies

the radiance of an instant.

 

================================================================================

 

Areligious Moment~

 

Your body wraps around me as tight

as the little school uniform you

like me to wear

our legs entwine...as our skin melts

against the candles flame and heated wax

searing the essence of you and I

ascending in spirit...

body, mind and soul

 

It's your touch that I desire

those masterful lips that make

my body tremble in ways that shame (sin)

let me fall to my knees in hopes to be

your greatest confession

 

Use my body as your temple as you

journey to the divine

hear my prayers as I tremble

with a deep spiritual conviction inside the

golden moments of “oh God”

 

Revel in purity of soul as you drink

my holy wine from the chalice

made by the Gods themselves

seize me with your carnal thoughts and dreams

thrust yourself intimately into the waters of my reality

drown in pure abandonment of pleasures bliss

 

You see, tonight I want you to ride the wave

of temptation....while falling into the arms of

your angel... the ring of her halo binding your

life force as it pulses seeking penance

forced expulsion

 

Experience with me one more little death

only to be reborn in the heat of our afterglow

I'll lick from your pillar of salt

while you dive into the waters of my river...Nile

 

Find sanctuary within my holy walls

"divine"

 

Written by Lily_Mae

 
 

===============================================================================================   

 
 

    Amy Lowell-Aubade

 

    As I would free the white almond from the green husk

    So would I strip your trappings off,

    Beloved.

    And fingering the smooth and polished kernel

    I should see that in my hands glittered a gem beyond counting.

 

    From Sword Blades and Poppy Seeds By Amy Lowell

 
 

    ----------------------------------------------------------   

    Submission by Emilith

 

    I kneel, supplicant before you

    my will

    offered up in quiet acquiescence

    awaiting your approval

    or reproach

    the fine line between pleasure and pain

    becomes ever sweeter with your control

    with every touch, kiss,word

    smoldering embers are kindled

    tormented desires awakened

 

    I quiver

    captured by heat and hunger

    bend me to your will

    My Lord

    show me what you most desire

    my purpose but to serve

    through your dominion I find myself

    You, the Master of many

    my only

 

    ----------------------------------------------------------

    Love's Acolyte

    by Elsa Gidlow

 

    Many have loved you with lips and fingers

    And lain with you till the moon went out;

    Many have brought you lover's gifts!

    And some have left their dreams on your doorstep.

 

    But I who am a youth among your lovers

    Come like an acolyte to worship,

    My thirsting blood restrained by reverence,

    My heart a wordless prayer.

 

    The candles of desire are lighted,

    I bow my head, afraid before you,

    A mendicant who craves your bounty

    Ashamed of what small gifts she brings.

 

    ----------------------------------------------------------

    If-anonymous

 

    If it pleases Him to have me kneel before Him

    I will kneel reverently

 

    If it pleases Him to bind me

    I will gladly offer my arms to Him

 

    If it pleases Him to touch me

    I will allow myself to be touched

 

    If it pleases Him to teach me

    I will learn all I can

 

    If it pleases Him to discipline me

    I will accept it without a sound

 

    If it pleases Him to allow me to serve Him

    I will serve Him with loyalty and devotion

 
 

    ----------------------------------------------------------

    Submissive Little Me

 

    Take me home. Make me coffee.

    I'll let you touch me, let you kiss me.

    You can tie me up.

 

    Yes, tie me up, strap my legs open

    Pull the knots tight. Secure my hands

    Make me scream.

    Hurt me. I'll let you hurt me.

 

    Touch me. I want you to touch me.

    And then, when your fingers have made me wet

    Drive your erection into me, hard, hard.

    I'll come for you, I'll gasp and moan and cry for more.

 

    Use whatever you like, I won't care.

    Just fuck me, rule me, tell me what you want.

    Bite my breasts and scratch my hips.

    Plunge and rub and thrust and pound.

 

    I want to hear you climax with me

    I'll make you feel like a man alright.

    Use me. Dominate me. Spill your semen into me

    Revel in my submission.

 

    I'll be whatever you want, I'll be fairy

    I'll be goddess. I'll make you hard, I'll let you in

    I'll give you

    Whatever

    you

    want.

 
 

    ----------------------------------------------------------

 

    Variation On The Word Sleep

    by Margaret Atwood

 

    I would like to watch you sleeping,

    which may not happen.

    I would like to watch you,

    sleeping. I would like to sleep

    with you, to enter

    your sleep as its smooth dark wave

    slides over my head

 

    and walk with you through that lucent

    wavering forest of bluegreen leaves

    with its watery sun & three moons

    towards the cave where you must descend,

    towards your worst fear

 

    I would like to give you the silver

    branch, the small white flower, the one

    word that will protect you

    from the grief at the center

    of your dream, from the grief

    at the center I would like to follow

    you up the long stairway

    again & become

    the boat that would row you back

    carefully, a flame

    in two cupped hands

    to where your body lies

    beside me, and as you enter

    it as easily as breathing in

 

    I would like to be the air

    that inhabits you for a moment

    only. I would like to be that unnoticed

    & that necessary.

 

    --Margaret Atwood

 
 

    ----------------------------------------------------------

 
 

    For Master... by Jessabelle

 

    Master, to you my soul I freely give;

    My body yours to use in your own way,

    Your praise and loving touch for which I live,

    My heart and mind so desperate to obey,

    Mean every fibre of myself submit,

    Without reserve or limits, to your will,

    And honoured that by your feet I may sit,

    So proud that your desires I may fulfill,

    My punishment I gratefully receive,

    For every blow that strikes feels like a kiss,

    As you adore your slave, that I believe,

    And her improvement brings us both such bliss.

    Sir, serving you for me is so sublime;

    I pledge myself to you for all of time.

 

    ----------------------------------------------------------

 

     Strength by slave nina

 
 

    The fat round headmaster with a voice like a drum,

    bullies his audience of which i am one.

    i look down at my hands avoiding his stare,

    safe for a while from his judgmental glare.

    He knows i am submissive, thinks that it's wrong,

    but deep in my soul i know i am strong.

 
 

    With family around me at my sister's reception,

    though drinks are consumed i maintain my deception.

    i sit there serene for i choose not to speak,

    they laugh and make fun because i am meek.

    They know i am submissive, think that it's wrong,

    but deep in my soul i know i am strong.

 

    i work in your office, i am the one at the back,

    quiet and unnoticed to avoid jibes and attack.

    i don't join in your parties or trips to the bar,

    keeping to myself till i am safe in my car.

    You know i am submissive, you think that it's wrong,

    but deep in my soul i know i am strong.

 

    i sit with my Master curled naked on the floor,

    the world locked outside it harms me no more.

    i serve him with joy and a spring in my stride,

    delighted that with him i have nothing to hide.

    He knows i am submissive, he knows it's not wrong,

    because deep in his soul he knows i am strong

 

    ----------------------------------------------------------   

 

    Who are You?

 
 

    Each time I close my eyes,

    each time I read your mails,

    each time I talk with you and

    each time I imagine you near,

    I feel happiness rush trough me

    cause to my heart I hold you dear.

 
 

    You’re the man I trust so much

    You’re the answer to my lust

    You’re the cruelty of my desire

    And You’re the killer of my pride

    Looking down to see me lie

    On the floor for your desire

 

    You are a dear Master

 

    Who am I?

 

    I’m a young and single girl

    Pretty wild and wilful too

    In love I let my head swirl

    And full of passions, that is true

    I don’t fake anything, it’s all inside

    Like the feelings that’re in my pride

 
 

    I did know nothing of this life

    Yet today my neck looks so nice

    Your collar I own, and You own me

    And this is what makes my happy

    Forever in you I will remain

    In your thoughts and your domain

 
 

    I am your slave

 
 

    ----------------------------------------------------------

 

    The Masochist by Natalya Mikheyeva

 

    I feel lovely when I'm low,

    I feel lovely,

    I feel lovely,

    Pain it does not make me slow,

    It brings me joy,

    It brings me beauty.

    I feel lovely when I'm hurting,

    I feel kind after a beating,

    And when you do not show me mercy,

    Know for sure I am not leaving.

 

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------    

    TAURUSFREAK's Blog » SENSATION

    You touched my tongue,

    With yours – blending buds,

    Kindling minds, racing worlds,

    Unifying two lovers – one body.

 

    Tongues wrestled violently,

    Fluidly, in fluid –

    Juice flowed, fluidity rousing –

    Endorphin storms erupted.

    Hearts raged, blood gorged

    Cock, clit, tit.

 

    Search-party hands

    – desperate –

    Found their feelings,

    Feeling up, squeezing, sliding,

    Rubbing, working, fingers fiddling.

 

    Lungs breathed – sighing, rushing,

    Panting, huffing, heaving

    – ciliated turmoil.

    Hearts worked harder,

    Forcing blood torrents;

    Whirlpool minds raced,

    Blinded, careless, caring, daring.

 

    Clothes faded, cast out – jetsam.

    Skin flesh moulded, melded,

    Oh to split! For

    Inner flesh wanted in.

 

    Pulses pounded,

    Rounded mounds flirted nipples

    At the lips;

    Phallus begging, forcing, pushing;

    Pushed.

    Ripples crossing skin dunes

    Under shudders:

    The Quake of Coming, coming,

    Came.

 

    We came.

    We found.

 
 

    ----------------------------------------------------------

    Do Me From A to Z

 

    Analyze me, anticipate me, accept me, adore me and admire me.

    Breathe me, bathe me, bind me then bite me and bang me.

    Captivate me, charm me, clothe me, console me, caress me, cuddle me all night.

    Desire me, date me, dream of me, dominate me and demand me.

    Experience me fully, eat me, enter me and enjoy it.

    Finger me, feed me, fuck me all night.

    Grab me, grip me, grope me,

    Hug me, hold me, hump me.

    Intrigue me, impress me, imagine me.

    Ice me up.

    Jiggle me, juice me, jump me.

    Kiss me, let’s get kinky.

    Learn me, love me, lust me, lubricate me and lather me.

    Memorize me, master me, massage me.

    Nudge a little, nibble a lot.

    Oil me up for an orgasm.

    Play with me, pinch me, please me, pet me.

    Let’s have a quicky.

    Receive me, rub me, ride me.

    Seduce me, then smooch me, spank me, saddle me and screw me.

    Tie me up, tease me, tickle me and tell me your dirty little secrets.

    Uncover me, unzip me, undress me.

    Be vulnerable and versatile.

    Whisper in my ear that you want to whip me, wet me.

    eXamine me.

    Yank me into sexual

    Zion.

    ________________________________________________

    ---sexyfuckmeeyes

 

   --------------------------------------------------  

    The Love Knot

 

    The woven length of rope snakes around my naked flesh

    Cutting and biting into the very heart of me

    I twist and turn to loosen its grip

    But it is part of me now

    Coiling round my very soul

    Binding me firmly

    Holding me prisoner to my desires for him

    With every beat of my heart it wraps its self tighter

    Weaving and threading round and around

    Until there is no end or beginning left

    Just a coiled mess

    With every breath it grips me harder

    Tying me to Him, holding me there

    The love knot curls around me heart

    Just like the rope around my body

    I am tied, held, bound for Him

    Ready

 

    ……Mollyxxx

 

    --------------------------------------------------      

 
 

    You’re in me now,

    caressing my breasts

    as you drive your full length into me.

    You bite my nipples

    and straddle me,

    locking my hips against yours.

    It all gets to be too much,

    and I stop resisting.

    You push yourself deeply

    into me,

    and we both become tense.

    I feel waves building,

    and soon I’m coming

    with my hot labes

    wrapped around

    your cock.

    My convulsive orgasm…

 

    --P. Jace Marneau

        --------------------------------------------------  

    Haiku

 

    He breathes into me

    And, warming my flesh with his,

    Erases my thoughts.

 

        --------------------------------------------------  

    When

 

    when

    I am wet from the aftermath

    the collision of you and me

    when we lay in contented silence

    on the same pillowcase

    bleached white and damp from our sweat

    when I sense

    your lungs swell heartbeat wilder

    and your hand that rests

    against my upper thigh

    turns inward

    my heart grows outward

    when your mouth presses hard against my chin

    your middle finger slides inside

    one, you whisper

    two fingers, three. We count together.

    One more, your breath scalds my cheek

    yes, I tremble, try

    but I am undone for you

    filled.

    when your bite leaves bruises

    later, I trace them

    and wonder if you taste me on your fingers still.

 

        --------------------------------------------------  

 

     Under the Table

 

    Sitting across from you

    Toes in your crotch, no shoe

    Massaging your cock with my feet

    Warm and moist, I could feel the heat

 

    Your cock is hardening and throbbing with delight

    I look into your eyes, you try but can’t fight

    The feeling of excitement and intrigue

    Wondering if this is out of your league

 

    No you say and grab hold of my feet

    You grind your hips as toes and cock meet

    Your forehead now covered with little beads of sweat

    Finger to my pussy, God, I am WET

 

    I finger my pussy and beckon you near

    To taste my nectar without any fear

    My hand to your mouth, pussy delicious and sweet

    Cock still probing, with toes again they meet

 

    You gyrate your hips like you are fucking my pussy

    The look on your face, makes me touch myself, makes me horny

    I finger my pussy while you fuck at my feet

    Trying with might to just be discreet

 

    You move closer, now your cock grasped firmly by my hand

    Excitement, and desire is more than you can stand

    I jerk your cock from base to tip

    Little bits of pre cum now begin to drip

     -----------Break for posting-------------------

    I want to taste you, desire takes away all senses

    Covering cock with a napkin, I start building fences

    Quickly, head to cock I taste your delight

    I come back up smiling, no fear no fright

 

    It excites me, to show public displays of affection

    As I hold and fondle and yearn to kiss your erection

    I want that cock in my mouth, I can taste it

    Here comes the waiter with our food…shit

 

    I cover our cock with the tablecloth and my hand

    Desire and need, are more than I can stand

    Waiter departs, hand back on cock

    Back and forth you begin to rock

 

    Your fingers find my pussy, swollen, warm and wet

    Stroking and fingering, just loving your pet

    We lean forward and take each others lips

    Publicly kissing, gyrating and moving our hips

 

    I cum on your fingers, and softly start to moan

    This is some shit, neither of us should condone

    I pump your cock while trying to maintain my cool

    Squeezing and caressing your sweet love tool

 

    You grab my hand and tell me baby this is it

    You cum on my hands, and softly say “oh shit”

    Thank goodness for dark pants, short skirts and sandal

    Desires contained, business handled

 
 

     --------------------------------------------------  

 

    Come Fly With Me

 

    Flogger in hand he draws me to him showing the way

    Hung by my wrists his dark angel muse

    Leather tendrils reach out to me

    Wrapping their numerous arms

    Around my bare naked flesh

    Seeking their love

    Soft velvet skin

    Leaves a trail

    Of

    Delicious kisses

    Burning their mark

    This body convulses

    Held firm by tight bonds

    I am freed from darkness

    Around me he circles watching me go

    A flight of surrender roars through my core

    Giving rise to a freedom that devours me in its arms

 

    --Mollyxxx

        --------------------------------------------------  

    Deviant Bliss

    12th October 2011

 

    Tightening ropes holding me

    By my wrists just for he

    Dark desires flow and ebb

    Binding me in a tangled web

    .

    Twisted thoughts grow within

    Filling this mind with its sin

    Lifting up my skirt you say

    Now I am going to have my way

    .

    Words of protest tumble out

    But you ignore my pleading shout

    Whip in hand you leave your mark

    Rosy welts and bruises dark

    .

    Panting now you spread my legs

    I hear a whore as she begs

    Her cries filling up the air

    You take me now without a care

    .

    Lips brush upon my ear

    Your evil words I am forced to hear

    Casting spells inside my head

    Creating lust that must be fed

    .

    Sinking into this abyss

    Lost inside my deviant bliss

    My body reaches for its peak

    More and more is what I seek

    .

    Standing back you leave me there

    Tear stained face and knotted hair

    Sluttishly I beg for more

    But you turn and shut the door

    .

    Used and left in the dark

    Covered in your spunky mark

    I call your name loud and clear

    Wondering if you are near

    .

    My thoughts spin and dip and fly

    Seconds, minutes, time slips by

    Finally hands bring me down

    In his loving arms I drown

    .

    Knowing that I fed his need

    And satisfied our hungry greed

    Binds us tightly in this game

    Where nothing else is quite the same

 

    --Mollyxxx

      --------------------------------------------------    

    Beneath You...

    4th April 2012

 

    See me here upon my knees

    Begging you to use me please

    I was made to be your whore

    Down here on this cold hard floor

 

    With Painted lips and darkened eyes

    A naked cunt and open thighs

    Your darkness works its magic here

    Making lust dance with fear

 

    No mercy shown no respite given

    Use me more until I am driven

    To the edge of what I know

    Descending to this all time low

 

    Existing solely for your pleasure

    A wanton bitch to take at leisure

    Use your hands to shape me now

 

    Beat me bruise me this is how

    The pain and pleasure that I crave

    Will flood my senses like a wave

    Leaving me flying high

    Yet at your feet I sob and cry

    And beg for you to fuck me raw

 

    In all my holes until I’m sore

    Then cum across my pretty face

    And watch me as my fingers trace

    Slipping down over my chin

    I see your lips gently grin

    For here beneath you on her knees

    You see a slut who aims to please

 

    --Mollyxxx

 

       --------------------------------------------------   

    In the darkness

 

    Sacrificed to your lust

    Molten wax brands me

    With a cross

    The sign of love burnt upon my skin

    My body a sacrament, consumed by…

    Sharp thorns of desire

     Cut through my religion

    Tearing me open for you

    A bloodless death of ecstasy

    Touch brings rebirth

    Of a life in your hands

 

    --Mollyxxx

        --------------------------------------------------  

    The Tenement by Anonymous (c 1671)

 

    The Tenement

    If any man do want a house,

    Be he prince, baronet or squire,

    Or peasant, hardly worth a louse,

    I can fit his desire.

 

    I have a tenement the which

    I’m sure can fit them all;

    ‘Tis seated near a stinking ditch,

    Some call it Cunny Hall.

    It stands close by Cunny Alley

    At foot of Belly hill.

 

    This house is freely to be let

    To whom soever will.

    For terms of life or years or days

    I’ll let this pleasant bower,

    Nay, rather than a tenant want,

 

    I’ll let it for an hour.

    About it grows a lofty wood

    Will save you from the sun;

    Well watered ‘tis, for throughout

    A pleasant stream doth run.

 

    If hot, you there may cool yourself,

    If cool, you’ll there find heat;

    For greatest ‘tis not too little

    For least ‘tis not too great.

 

    I must confess my house is dark,

    Be it by night or day,

    But when you’re once but got therein

    You’ll never lose your way.

 

    And when you’re in go boldly on

    As fast as e’er you can,

    For if you go to the end thereof

    You go where ne’er did man.

 

    But though my house be deep and dark,

    ‘T has many a man made merry,

    And in’t much liquor has been spent

    More precious than the sherry.

 

    Thus if you like my Cunny Hall

    Your house-room shall be good,

    For such a temper as you find

    Burns neither coal nor wood,

 

    For if it rain or freeze or snow –

    To speak I dare be bold –

    If you keep your nose within the door

    You ne’er shall feel the cold.

 

    But I must covenant with him

    That takes this house of mine,

    Whether it be for term of life

    Or else for shorter time.

 

    See that you dress it twice a day

    And rub it round about,

    And if you do dislike of this

    I’ll seek a new tenant out.

        --------------------------------------------------  

 

    Flooded Fields

 

    I am soft and yielding,

    molded by your desires.

    Tell me what you wish.

    Is this position right?

    It hurts my knees but

    I won’t say.

    It seems to make you happy.

 

    Dominated, I am your field,

    you may work me as you wish.

    My voice cries, it rips my throat,

    as it screams your name;

    my heart yells it, too.

 

    Fingers yearn to grab hold

    and never let you go,

    so that you may remain

    forever in me

    and I forever happy.

 

        --------------------------------------------------  

    Please

    -mollyxx

 

    Tie me down

    Sex me up

    Tell me the ways

    You want to fuck

 

    Tickle and Tease

    Touch me please

    Please

    Please

 

    Whisper dirty things

    In my ear

    When you take me

    From the rear

 

    Kiss and Lick

    Give me your prick

    Please

    Please

    Please

      --------------------------------------------------    

 

    Naked and Vulnerable

 

    Soft skin craves your touch

    Naked and vulnerable I wait for you

    Nourished and yet starving

    Feed me your darkness…

 

    --mollyxxx

 

      --------------------------------------------------    

    Pablo Neruda Love Poetry from 100 Love Sonnets

 

    DON'T GO FAR OFF, NOT EVEN FOR A DAY

 

    Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --

    because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long

    and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

    when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

    Don't leave me, even for an hour, because

    then the little drops of anguish will all run together,

    the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift

    into me, choking my lost heart.

    Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;

    may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.

    Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

    because in that moment you'll have gone so far

    I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,

    Will you come back? Will you leave me here,

    dying?

       --------------------------------------------------   

    WHIPME

 

    Whip me

 

    Until your hand hurts

 

    and you switch to the hairbrush

 

    and you have to pin my legs with yours.

 

    Until I’m shrieking and squirming and begging for you to stop

 

    and I make promises I know I’ll regret.

 

    Until I pass the point of wishing you’ll stop

 

    and become scared that you really won’t.

 

        --------------------------------------------------  

    Unrequited Love Poem

    Sierra DeMulder

 

    You will be out with friends

    when the news of her existence

    will be accidentally spilled all over

    your bar stool. Respond calmly

    as if it was only a change in weather,

    a punch line you saw coming.

 

    After your fourth shot of cheap liquor,

    leave the image of him kissing another woman

    in the toilet.

    In the morning, her name will be

    in every headline: car crash, robbery, flood.

 

    When he calls you, ignore the hundreds of ropes

    untangling themselves in your stomach.

    You are the best friend again. He invites

    you over for dinner and you say yes

    too easily. Remind yourself this isn’t special,

    it’s only dinner, everyone has to eat.

 

    When he greets you at the door, do not think

    for one second you are the reason

    he wore cologne tonight.

 

    In his kitchen, he will hand-feed you

    a piece of red pepper. His laugh

    will be low and warm and it will make you

    feel like candlelight. Do not think this is special.

    Do not count on your fingers the number

    of freckles you could kiss too easily.

 

    Try to think of pilot lights and olive oil,

    not everything you have ever loved about him,

    or it will suddenly feel boiling and possible

    and so close. You will find her bobby pins

    laying innocently on his bathroom sink.

 

    Her bobby pins. They look like the wiry legs

    of spiders, splinters of her undressing

    in his bed. Do not say anything.

    Think of stealing them, wearing them

    home in your hair. When he hugs you goodbye,

    let him kiss you on the forehead.

    Settle for target practice.

 

    At home, you will picture her across town

    pressing her fingers into his back

    like wet cement. You will wonder

    if she looks like you, if you are two bedrooms

    in the same house. Did he fall for her features

    like rearranged furniture? When he kisses her,

    does she taste like wet paint?

 

    You will want to call him.

    You will go as far as holding the phone

    in your hand, imagine telling him

    unimaginable things like you are always

    ticking inside of me and I dream of you

    more often than I don’t.

 

    My body is a dead language

    and you pronounce

    each word perfectly.

 

    Do not call him.

    Fall asleep to the hum of the VCR.

 

    She must make him happy.

    She must be

    She must be his favorite place in Minneapolis.

    You are a souvenir shop, where he goes

    to remember how much people miss him

    when he is gone.

 

    -Sierra DeMulder - Unrequited Love Poem

 

        --------------------------------------------------  

    "It Is Here" by Harold Pinter

 

    (for A)

 

    What sound was that?

 

    I turn away, into the shaking room.

 

    What was that sound that came in on the dark?

    What is this maze of light it leaves us in?

    What is this stance we take,

    To turn away and then turn back?

    What did we hear?

 

    It was the breath we took when we first met.

 

    Listen. It is here.

 

 --------------------------------------------------  

 

    Untitled, Anon, before 1530

 

    Western wind, when wilt thou blow,

    The small rain down can rain.

    Christ, if my love were in my arms,

    And I in my bed again.

   --------------------------------------------------       

 

    "Touch" by Thom Gunn

 

    You are already

    asleep. I lower

    myself in next to

    you, my skin slightly

    numb with the restraint

    of habits, the patina of

    self, the black frost

    of outsideness, so that even

    unclothed it is

    a resilient chilly

    hardness, a superficially

    malleable, dead

    rubbery texture.

 

    You are a mound

    of bedclothes, where the cat

    in sleep braces

    its paws against your

    calf through the blankets,

    and kneads each paw in turn.

 

    Meanwhile and slowly

    I feel a is it

    my own warmth surfacing or

    the ferment of your whole

    body that in darkness beneath

    the cover is stealing

    bit by bit to break

    down that chill.

 

    You turn and

    hold me tightly, do

    you know who

    I am or am I

    your mother or

    the nearest human being to

    hold on to in a

    dreamed pogrom.

 

    What I, now loosened,

    sink into is an old

    big place, it is

    there already, for

    you are already

    there, and the cat

    got there before you, yet

    it is hard to locate.

    What is more, the place is

    not found but seeps

    from our touch in

    continuous creation, dark

    enclosing cocoon round

    ourselves alone, dark

    wide realm where we

    walk with everyone.

 

     --------------------------------------------------     

 

   "Valentine" by John Fuller

 

    The things about you I appreciate

    May seem indelicate:

    I'd like to find you in the shower

    And chase the soap for half an hour.

    I'd like to have you in my power

    And see your eyes dilate.

    I'd like to have your back to scour

    And other parts to lubricate.

    Sometimes I feel it is my fate

    To chase you screaming up a tower

    Or make you cower

    By asking you to differentiate

    Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.

    I'd like successfully to guess your weight

    And win you at a fête.

    I'd like to offer you a flower.

 

    I like the hair upon your shoulders,

    Falling like water over boulders.

    I like the shoulders too: they are essential.

    Your collar-bones have great potential

    (I'd like your particulars in folders

    Marked Confidential).

 

    I like your cheeks, I like your nose,

    I like the way your lips disclose

    The neat arrangement of your teeth

    (Half above and half beneath)

    In rows.

 

    I like your eyes, I like their fringes.

    The way they focus on me gives me twinges.

    Your upper arms drive me berserk.

    I like the way your elbows work.

    On hinges …

 

    I like your wrists, I like your glands,

    I like the fingers on your hands.

    I'd like to teach them how to count,

    And certain things we might exchange,

    Something familiar for something strange.

    I'd like to give you just the right amount

    And get some change.

 

    I like it when you tilt your cheek up.

    I like the way you not and hold a teacup.

    I like your legs when you unwind them.

    Even in trousers I don't mind them.

    I like each softly-moulded kneecap.

 

    I like the little crease behind them.

    I'd always know, without a recap,

    Where to find them.

 

    I like the sculpture of your ears.

    I like the way your profile disappears

    Whenever you decide to turn and face me.

    I'd like to cross two hemispheres

    And have you chase me.

    I'd like to smuggle you across frontiers

    Or sail with you at night into Tangiers.

    I'd like you to embrace me.

 

    I'd like to see you ironing your skirt

    And cancelling other dates.

    I'd like to button up your shirt.

    I like the way your chest inflates.

    I'd like to soothe you when you're hurt

    Or frightened senseless by invertebrates.

 

    I'd like you even if you were malign

    And had a yen for sudden homicide.

    I'd let you put insecticide

    Into my wine.

    I'd even like you if you were Bride

    Of Frankenstein

    Or something ghoulish out of Mamoulian's

    Jekyll and Hyde.

    I'd even like you as my Julian

    Or Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan.

    How melodramatic

    If you were something muttering in attics

    Like Mrs Rochester or a student of Boolean

    Mathematics.

 

    You are the end of self-abuse.

    You are the eternal feminine.

    I'd like to find a good excuse

    To call on you and find you in.

    I'd like to put my hand beneath your chin,

    And see you grin.

    I'd like to taste your Charlotte Russe,

    I'd like to feel my lips upon your skin

    I'd like to make you reproduce.

 

    I'd like you in my confidence.

    I'd like to be your second look.

    I'd like to let you try the French Defence

    And mate you with my rook.

    I'd like to be your preference

    And hence

    I'd like to be around when you unhook.

    I'd like to be your only audience,

    The final name in your appointment book,

    Your future tense.

 

--------------------------------------------------  

    "Echo" by Carol Ann Duffy

 

    I think I was searching for treasures or stones

    in the clearest of pools

    when your face …

 

    when your face,

    like the moon in a well

    where I might wish …

 

    might well wish

    for the iced fire of your kiss;

    only on water my lips, where your face …

 

    where your face was reflected, lovely,

    not really there when I turned

    to look behind at the emptying air …

 

    the emptying air.

 

    ----------------------------------------------------------

 

    I crave your mouth...

    By Pablo Neruda

 

    I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

    Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

    Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

    I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

 

    I hunger for your sleek laugh,

    your hands the color of a savage harvest,

    hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

    I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

 

    I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

    the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

    I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

 

    and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

    hunting for you, for your hot heart,

    Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

    ----------------------------------------------------------

     I do not love you...

     By Pablo Neruda

 

    I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,

    or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

    I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

    in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

 

    I love you as the plant that never blooms

    but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

    thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,

    risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

 

    I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

    I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

    so I love you because I know no other way than this:

    where I does not exist, nor you,

    so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

    so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

 

    ----------------------------------------------------------

 

    I Like for You to be Still

    By Pablo Neruda

 

    I like for you to be still:

    it is as though you were absent,

    and you hear me from far away

    and my voice does not touch you.

    It seems as though your eyes had flown away

    and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.

 

    As all things are filled with my soul

    you emerge from the things,

    filled with my soul.

    You are like my soul,

    a butterfly of dream,

    and you are like the word Melancholy.

 

    I like for you to be still

    and you seem far away.

    It sounds as though you were lamenting,

    a butterly cooing like a dove.

    And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:

    Let me come down to be still in your silence.

 

    And let me talk to you with your silence

    that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.

    You are like the night,

    with its stillness and constellations.

    Your silence is that of a star,

    as remote and candid.

 

    I like for you to be still:

    it is as though you were absent,

    distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.

    One word then, one smile, is enough.

    And I am happy,

    happy that it's not true.

 

    ----------------------------------------------------------

LOVE'S SECRET

 

by: William Blake (1757-1827)

 

EVER seek to tell thy love,

Love that never told can be;

For the gentle wind doth move

Silently, invisibly.

 

I told my love, I told my love,

I told her all my heart,

Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.

Ah! she did depart!

 

Soon after she was gone from me,

A traveller came by,

Silently, invisibly:

He took her with a sigh.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

LOVERS' INFINITENESS.

by John Donne

IF yet I have not all thy love,

Dear, I shall never have it all ;

I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,

Nor can intreat one other tear to fall ;

And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,

Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent ;

Yet no more can be due to me,

Than at the bargain made was meant.

If then thy gift of love were partial,

That some to me, some should to others fall,

    Dear, I shall never have thee all.

 

Or if then thou gavest me all,

All was but all, which thou hadst then ;

But if in thy heart since there be or shall

New love created be by other men,

Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,

In sighs, in oaths, and letters, outbid me,

This new love may beget new fears,

For this love was not vow'd by thee.

And yet it was, thy gift being general ;

The ground, thy heart, is mine ; what ever shall

    Grow there, dear, I should have it all.

 

Yet I would not have all yet.

He that hath all can have no more ;

And since my love doth every day admit

New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store ;

Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,

If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it ;

Love's riddles are, that though thy heart depart,

It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it ;

But we will have a way more liberal,

Than changing hearts, to join them ; so we shall

    Be one, and one another's all.

 

Source:

Donne, John. Poems of John Donne. vol I.

E. K. Chambers, ed.

London: Lawrence & Bullen, 1896. 15-16.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Let's ....

Let your hands find their way under my skin

my hunger lays heavy in the space between us

I want to crawl the distance and find your willingness

as you thrust into me frenzied as desire bursts it’s damn

Let your hands find their way under my skin

my hunger lays heavy in the space between us

I want to crawl the distance and find your willingness

as you thrust into me frenzied as desire bursts it’s damn

 

Take my fingers and wrap them around the centre of your world

as I move you rhythmically my taste buds connect with your essence

Pull me down onto your waiting mouth and find me in the place you crave

making my body tremble and weak where you mould me into the shape of lust

 

Let me be your hardcore fantasy as I rock your all like you’ve never known

watch my imagination ride you over the edge of insanity and back to heaven

where I shall leave hot kisses sizzling over your most tenderly tortured body

before I soothe every inch of you with loving strokes of my cool fingertips

 

Kiss me hard and passionately as life stirs within you once again

then lose yourself in my moist depths while just holding me there

as I wrap myself around you pressing hard against your centre

and you thrust into me frenzied we hit the point of no return

- By:Magdalena

-----------------------------------------------------------

If music be the food of love, play on;

Give me excess of it, that surfeiting,

The apetite may sicken and so die.

That strain again! It had a dying fall;

O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound

That breathes upon a bank of violets,

Stealing and giving odor. Enough, no more.

'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

O spirit of love, how wquick and fresh art thou,

That, notwithstanding thy capacity

Receiveth as the sea, naught enters there,

Of what validity and pitch soe'er,

But falls into abatement and low price

Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy

That it alone is high fantastical...

 

Shakespeare, Duke Orsino from 12th Night

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a hollow cathedral

I stand like stone,

in a midwinter land,

freezing to the bone.

 

I take another careful step

see the walls falling

and the pillars crumbling

with the deadly sound of thunder calling.

 

I hear the echo

bounce through empty space

to and fro between the walls

lashing against my bare face.

 

In this breaking cathedral

I stand together with stones

debris and dust

wincing, as my being moans.

--------------------------------------------

Poetry Bump

Pablo Neruda Love Poetry from 100 Love Sonnets

 

DON'T GO FAR OFF, NOT EVEN FOR A DAY

 

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --

because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because

then the little drops of anguish will all run together,

the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift

into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;

may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.

Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far

I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,

Will you come back? Will you leave me here,

dying?

---------------------------------------------------------

If I Could~

 

If I could be with you

weaving a thousand dreams

around your body

making every life's wish come

true...I would

 

If I could be with you

I'd place my hand at your heart

feeling your life force racing

through your body...into mine

 

If I could be with you

I'd erase every pain

that has coursed through

your thoughts...every memory

that has caused you sorrow

I would take that for you

 

If I could be with you

my hands would hold your face

I'd look into your eyes forever

and swim in the waters of your dreams

I would live out your dream with you

 

You see...you have captured my attention

you hold me captive to your thoughts

willingly I stay there...

my thoughts and my body

completely move to the music

you play for me

 

Vulnerability makes me feel weak

You are the fire and I am the earth

 

If we only could...magic would set

this earth on fire~

 

© 2012 Lily Mae

------------------------------------------------------------

 

Over The Edge Of Passion

 

He takes my desires by the throat

and drags them into his desperate need

slamming my lust against the waiting bed

he pounds my yearning into breathlessness

 

Pulling me by my pleading begs for more

he devours my open invitation with gusto

with no mercy as I cry out stop don't stop!

 

He bends me like I'm made of rubber and need

throwing me into an abundance of heady thrusts

that make my body quake like a rumbling volcano

to erupt as his rigid animalism takes me over the edge

 

He drags me back to the centre of his wanting ache

as I take it in my tight grip and feed it into my mouth

with the force of building passion he grips my head

and rides all the way to the highest peak of pleasure

 

I drink from his world spinning out of control

slamming him over against the wall bringing him up

pushing him down upon the bed I take him in deeply

his body then begs with every tremble to never let go

 

And I take him over the edge as I fall with him all the way down.

 

By Magdelena

----------------------------------------------------------------

When

 

when

I am wet from the aftermath

the collision of you and me

when we lay in contented silence

on the same pillowcase

bleached white and damp from our sweat

when I sense

your lungs swell heartbeat wilder

and your hand that rests

against my upper thigh

turns inward

my heart grows outward

when your mouth presses hard against my chin

your middle finger slides inside

one, you whisper

two fingers, three. We count together.

One more, your breath scalds my cheek

yes, I tremble, try

but I am undone for you

filled.

when your bite leaves bruises

later, I trace them

and wonder if you taste me on your fingers still.

-------------------------------------------------------

Moments of Hunger~

 

Strip me bare...take me deep inside

my restless abandonment awakening every cell

feel the breath of my life

beating against the chest of yours

 

Find within me the desires

hidden from reality

(allow)

me to take you there

while your hands fill with

the whole of me

 

Let my lips kiss the mouth

that pleasures me in ways

no other can...in a way no other knows

divide the woman from the girl

 

Scatter my senses like rain through

this place...our place called home

let me christen you as you baptize

me..with your Holy Water

skin like silk damp with desires hold

 

Feast with me

on the table of love and starved lust that co-exist

the two guiding our every move

every sigh...take me...savor me

 

Leave me dressed in your afterglow

 

© 2012 Lily Mae

 

-----------------------------------------

 

title

There rolls the deep where grew the tree.

O earth, what changes hast thou seen!

There where the long street roars, hath been

The stillness of the central sea.

 

The hills are shadows, and they flow

From form to form, and nothing stands;

They melt like mist, the solid lands,

Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

 

But in my spirit will I dwell,

And dream my dream, and hold it true;

For tho' my lips may breathe adieu,

I cannot think the thing farewell.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

--------------------------------------------------------

Taste Me~

 

Taste me

with all of your senses

inhale my essence

breathe me in deep

 

Touch the liquid candy that flows

from my body...because of you

hands on flesh

 

"Taste Me"

 

See me with eyes that would

want to devour

let me linger there in your sight

 

Feel me with your lips of desire

place them where the taste becomes alive

drown yourself in me

 

I want the flavor of me to pump

through your veins so you never forget

the taste of you and I in your soul

 

"Taste Me with fevered lips"

 

© 2012 Lily Mae

 

----------------------------------------------------------------

 
 

I Want You

 
 

I feel you crawl up inside of me  

instantly I want you under my skin  

Your lips search my throat as I dissolve  

while you mould my breasts with your hands  

until your mouth and tongue lick and suck

 
 

Moisture pools between my thighs where you reside  

with every inch that pulses and reaches my core  

pressing against the spot that ignites my fuse  

"I want you" I whisper breathlessly in your ear  

 
 

"In my heart  

In my veins  

In my soul"  

 
 

You thrust to reach my request  

I talk dirty into your mouth as you swallow  

I tell you "I'm going to lick every part of you  

 
 

S L O W L Y  

 
 

In frenzied movements you make my head spin  

you reach my soul with your essence  

I feel you travelling through my veins so warm  

you kiss my lips with your seeping heart  

I lick you from one end of your desire to the other  

 
 

I show you what it's like to know me 'to really know me'  

I do all of things that I fed your willing imagination  

I take you to every place that I mapped out for you  

with an abundance of unrelenting energy and passion  

 
 

We find each other over and over all night long  

then as you feed me your beating heart you find mine  

 
 

Written by Magdalena

------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dangerous Sin

 

Written for the "Seven Deadly Sins Comp"

 
 

Lust my fire my craving my hunger

adrenaline high wanting grasps

a need that has to be satisfied

I ride hard and take what I want

 
 

I was made for sin it runs in my veins

lust is the one that drives me dangerous

as I take with strangers to quench my thirst

my energy holds no bounds as I drain

 
 

I seduce as I lure with my body as bait

an aphrodisiac with come to me eyes

enchanting the one I desire into my lair

unknowing that he will never leave alive

 
 

I keep him aroused with my intoxicating brew

temptation hangs from my lips as he falls

I make him my prisoner of lust dripping need

devouring his wanting hardness with my body

 
 

I feed him the honey from the core of my craving

he drinks my flavours wanting more and more

I take him in every way he could ever dream of

never will he ever know such satisfaction again

 
 

My naked form and erotic play drives him deeper

heavy gasps of pleasure fills his loud beating heart

blood hot and pumping faster through his veins

I sink my teeth in draining him of his last breath

 

Written by Magdalena

 

---------------------------------------------------------------

 

Needs Must.

 

I am wanting and alone

frustrated and so fucking aroused

 

I crave as my fingers search

visions fill my imagination

 

And I am... A L O N E!

 

I think of you

bringing you closer

closing my eyes and there you are

solid and ready to satisfy my needs

 

I explore with a gentle touch

as you fill me in slow strokes

 

my arousal covers my skin as it tightens

and my depths burn with a craving lust

 

You are here and I am no longer alone

back and forth motion takes me higher

I feel every inch of you as you move

 

I swear I really do it's so damn real

 

And as quickly as that I let go

not once

not twice

but three times

 

Amazing

 

Then I am once again... Alone.

 

Lonelier than I was.......

 

Written by Magdalena

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Over The Edge Of Passion

 

He takes my desires by the throat

and drags them into his desperate need

slamming my lust against the waiting bed

he pounds my yearning into breathlessness

 

Pulling me by my pleading begs for more

he devours my open invitation with gusto

with no mercy as I cry out stop don't stop!

 

He bends me like I'm made of rubber and need

throwing me into an abundance of heady thrusts

that make my body quake like a rumbling volcano

to erupt as his rigid animalism takes me over the edge

 

He drags me back to the centre of his wanting ache

as I take it in my tight grip and feed it into my mouth

with the force of building passion he grips my head

and rides all the way to the highest peak of pleasure

 

I drink from his world spinning out of control

slamming him over against the wall bringing him up

pushing him down upon the bed I take him in deeply

his body then begs with every tremble to never let go

 

And I take him over the edge as I fall with him all the way down.

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Her Lips Are Lonely

 
 

Her lips are lonely and un-kissed soothed by fragile thoughts

as she walks into the caress of the Autumn breeze

wounded eyes that can only see him through her mind

where she reaches in and meets him at the corner of their hopes

 

It hurts her to breathe as the vision fades like a desert mirage

parched with tears of grit that graze and leave her feeling sore

 

Lovers lips are not meant to taste of loneliness or salty tears

her hands are empty without his flesh to stroke and caress

time the thief that takes the moment and makes it a memory

as it drifts further away with new ones so far out of her reach

 

She walks amongst the warm rays of the Autumn sunshine

emotions unfurling as the golden leaves spin to the ground

 

"come find me babe" she thinks into the cumulus clouds

The sky drips with beauty even the stormy view in the distance

 

She wants to touch him as he touches her with searching fingers

So she reaches in and meets him on the corner of their hopes

where imagination is the only place at this time they can be

 
 

Written by Magdalena

--------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Unwrap Me

 

"You know you want to"

 

she says

 

"I dare you"

 

her eyes echo so enchantingly

 

"Unwrap me"

 

Instantly aroused he wants her

her vision there in front of him

 

teasing his taste buds

 

"Come to me"

 

she demands in soft tones

coloured in reds and purples

with aromas of ylang ylang

 

Just to entice him closer

 

"Come to me"

 

He moves in closer and little by little he unwraps her.......

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I Think Feel Know Want Hope.

Poem Image

Written for the competition as five entries (I think, I feel, I know, I want, I hope)

 
 
 

I think the sky exploded and

I feel it falling in bright lights

I know it will burn me beautifully and

I want to burn you in the same way

I hope when I do you want to keep me

 
 

I think I want eternity in your warm embrace

I feel your breath carried on the breeze of night

I know it's caress holds the fragrance of you

I want to whisper into it  "I love you babe"

I hope you hear the words as you close your eyes

 
 

I think time kills so much that holds even more

I feel it trying to break us down piece by piece

I know we are stronger than the weighty pressure  

I want to push against the force that challenges us

I hope you know that we can make it if we really want  

 
 

I think the big Oak tree under the night sky is you and I

I feel it's beautiful temptation alluring me to the vision

I know you will be there with the moonlight on your face

I want to reach there and kiss the dark shadows away

I hope we take the journey of the path of red poppies

 
 

I think tomorrow is a million miles away from our moment

I feel as though I am running but no further ahead and

I know tomorrow will soon be yesterdays memories

I want to make them the ones I share with you darling

I hope while limbo plays it's annoying unknowing game

 

---------------------------------------------------------------

 Hypnotic Pulse.

 
 

I can hyp.no.tise you with my slow soft words

that drip in deep pulse beats against the back

of your eyes with heavy lidded falling darkness

that takes your mind and puts it in my control

 

Trance-deepening suggestions that take you

deeper levels opening to deeper conditioning

~words wrapped in clear imagery re.pea.ted

~soothing relaxing stretching out sleeeeeepy

 

The higher mind conscious temporarily absent

lower subconscious shadow mind still awake

awaiting on commands from the absent mind

words from mouth flow in hypnotic trance state

 

Slipping d.o.w.n into the depths of yourself

losing time and memory dreams of nothing

a word to trigger you into a random action

when I click my fingers you will wake up

 

Remember nothing.....

---------------------------------

 
 
 

----------------------------------------------

 

I Want You

 
 

I feel you crawl up inside of me  

instantly I want you under my skin  

Your lips search my throat as I dissolve  

while you mould my breasts with your hands  

until your mouth and tongue lick and suck

 

Moisture pools between my thighs where you reside  

with every inch that pulses and reaches my core  

pressing against the spot that ignites my fuse  

"I want you" I whisper breathlessly in your ear  

 

"In my heart  

In my veins  

In my soul"  

 

You thrust to reach my request  

I talk dirty into your mouth as you swallow  

I tell you "I'm going to lick every part of you  

 

S L O W L Y  

 

In frenzied movements you make my head spin  

you reach my soul with your essence  

I feel you travelling through my veins so warm  

you kiss my lips with your seeping heart  

I lick you from one end of your desire to the other  

 

I show you what it's like to know me 'to really know me'  

I do all of things that I fed your willing imagination  

I take you to every place that I mapped out for you  

with an abundance of unrelenting energy and passion  

 

We find each other over and over all night long  

then as you feed me your beating heart you find mine  

 

Written by Magdalena

------------------------------------------

 

Dangerous Sin

 

Written for the "Seven Deadly Sins Comp"

 
 

Lust my fire my craving my hunger

adrenaline high wanting grasps

a need that has to be satisfied

I ride hard and take what I want

 
 

I was made for sin it runs in my veins

lust is the one that drives me dangerous

as I take with strangers to quench my thirst

my energy holds no bounds as I drain

 
 

I seduce as I lure with my body as bait

an aphrodisiac with come to me eyes

enchanting the one I desire into my lair

unknowing that he will never leave alive

 
 

I keep him aroused with my intoxicating brew

temptation hangs from my lips as he falls

I make him my prisoner of lust dripping need

devouring his wanting hardness with my body

 
 

I feed him the honey from the core of my craving

he drinks my flavours wanting more and more

I take him in every way he could ever dream of

never will he ever know such satisfaction again

 
 

My naked form and erotic play drives him deeper

heavy gasps of pleasure fills his loud beating heart

blood hot and pumping faster through his veins

I sink my teeth in draining him of his last breath

 

Written by Magdalena

--------------------------------------

 

Needs Must.

 

I am wanting and alone

frustrated and so fucking aroused

 

I crave as my fingers search

visions fill my imagination

 

And I am... A L O N E!

 

I think of you

bringing you closer

closing my eyes and there you are

solid and ready to satisfy my needs

 

I explore with a gentle touch

as you fill me in slow strokes

 

my arousal covers my skin as it tightens

and my depths burn with a craving lust

 

You are here and I am no longer alone

back and forth motion takes me higher

I feel every inch of you as you move

 

I swear I really do it's so damn real

 

And as quickly as that I let go

not once

not twice

but three times

 

Amazing

 

Then I am once again... Alone.

 

Lonelier than I was.......

 

Written by Magdalena

----------------------------------------------

 

Over The Edge Of Passion

 

He takes my desires by the throat

and drags them into his desperate need

slamming my lust against the waiting bed

he pounds my yearning into breathlessness

 

Pulling me by my pleading begs for more

he devours my open invitation with gusto

with no mercy as I cry out stop don't stop!

 

He bends me like I'm made of rubber and need

throwing me into an abundance of heady thrusts

that make my body quake like a rumbling volcano

to erupt as his rigid animalism takes me over the edge

 

He drags me back to the centre of his wanting ache

as I take it in my tight grip and feed it into my mouth

with the force of building passion he grips my head

and rides all the way to the highest peak of pleasure

 

I drink from his world spinning out of control

slamming him over against the wall bringing him up

pushing him down upon the bed I take him in deeply

his body then begs with every tremble to never let go

 

And I take him over the edge as I fall with him all the way down.

 

Written by Magdalena

---------------------------------------------------

 

Her Lips Are Lonely

 
 

Her lips are lonely and un-kissed soothed by fragile thoughts

as she walks into the caress of the Autumn breeze

wounded eyes that can only see him through her mind

where she reaches in and meets him at the corner of their hopes

 

It hurts her to breathe as the vision fades like a desert mirage

parched with tears of grit that graze and leave her feeling sore

 

Lovers lips are not meant to taste of loneliness or salty tears

her hands are empty without his flesh to stroke and caress

time the thief that takes the moment and makes it a memory

as it drifts further away with new ones so far out of her reach

 

She walks amongst the warm rays of the Autumn sunshine

emotions unfurling as the golden leaves spin to the ground

 

"come find me babe" she thinks into the cumulus clouds

The sky drips with beauty even the stormy view in the distance

 

She wants to touch him as he touches her with searching fingers

So she reaches in and meets him on the corner of their hopes

where imagination is the only place at this time they can be

 
 

Written by Magdalena

-----------------------------------------------------

 
 

Amy Lowell

 

Venus Transiens

 

    TELL me,

    Was Venus more beautiful

    Than you are,

    When she topped

    The crinkled waves,

    Drifting shoreward

    On her plaited shell?

    Was Botticelli's vision

    Fairer than mine;

    And were the painted rosebuds

    He tossed his lady,

    Of better worth

    Than the words I blow about you

    To cover your too great loveliness

    As with a gauze

    Of misted silver?

 

    For me,

    You stand poised

    In the blue and buoyant air,

    Cinctured by bright winds,

    Treading the sunlight.

    And the waves which precede you

    Ripple and stir

    The sands at my feet.

 

The Travelling Bear

 

    GRASS-BLADES push up between the cobblestones

    And catch the sun on their flat sides

    Shooting it back,

    Gold and emerald,

    Into the eyes of passers-by.

    And over the cobblestones,

    Square-footed and heavy,

    Dances the trained bear.

    The cobbles cut his feet,

    And he has a ring in his nose

    But still he dances,

    For the keeper pricks him with a sharp stick,

    Under his fur.

    Now the crowd gapes and chuckles,

    And boys and young women shuffle their feet in time to the dancing bear,

    They see him wobbling

    Against a dust of emerald and gold,

    And they are greatly delighted.

    The legs of the bear shake with fatigue

    And his back aches,

    And the shining grass-blades dazzle and confuse him.

    But still he dances,

    Because of the little, pointed stick.

 

The Letter

 

    LITTLE cramped words scrawling all over the paper

    Like draggled fly's legs,

    What can you tell of the flaring moon

    Through the oak leaves?

    Or of my uncurtained window and the bare floor

    Spattered with moonlight?

    Your silly quirks and twists have nothing in them

    Of blossoming hawthorns,

    And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth, virgin of loveliness

    Beneath my hand.

    I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against

    The want of you;

    Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,

    And posting it.

    And I scald alone, here, under the fire

    Of the greater moon.

 

Grotesque

 

    WHY do the lilies goggle their tongues at me

    When I pluck them;

    And writhe, and twist,

    And stangle themselves against my fingers,

    So that I can hardly weave the garland

    For your hair?

    Why do they shriek your name

    And spit at me

    When I would cluster them?

    Must I kill them

    To make them lie still,

    And send you a wreath of lolling corpses

    To turn putrid and soft

    On your forehead

    While you dance?

 

Bullion

 

    MY thoughts

    Chink against my ribs

    And roll about like silver hail-stones.

    I should like to spill them out,

    And pour them, all shining,

    Over you.

    But my heart is shut upon them

    And holds them straitly.

    Come, You! and open my heart;

    That my thoughts torment me no longer,

    But glitter in your hair.

 

Solitaire

 

    WHEN night drifts along the streets of the city,

    And sifts down between the uneven roofs,

    My mind begins to peek and peer.

    It plays at ball in old, blue Chinese gardens,

    And shakes wrought dice-cups in Pagan temples,

    Amid the broken flutings of white pillars.

    It dances with purple and yellow crocuses in its hair,

    And its feet shine as they flutter over drenched grasses.

    How light and laughing my mind is,

    When all the good folk have put out their bed-room candles,

    And the city is still!

 

The Bombardment

 

    SLOWLY, without force, the rain drops into the city. It stops a moment on the carved head of Saint John, then slides on again, slipping and trickling over his stone cloak. It splashes from the lead conduit of a gargoyle, and falls from it in turmoil on the stones of the Cathedral square. Where are the people, and why does the fretted steeple sweep about in the sky? Boom! The sound swings against the rain. Boom, again! After it, only water rushing in the gutters, and the turmoil from the spout of the gargoyle. Silence. Ripples and mutters. Boom!

 

    The room is damp, but warm. Little flashes swarm about from the firelight. The lustres of the chandelier are bright, and clusters of rubies leap in the bohemian glasses on the étagère. Her hands are restless, but the white masses of her hair are quite still. Boom! Will it never cease to torture, this iteration! Boom! The vibration shatters a glass on the étagère. It lies there formless and flowing, with all its crimson gleams shot out of pattern, spilled, flowing red, blood-red. A thin bell-note pricks through the silence. A door creaks. The old lady speaks: "Victor, clear away that broken glass." "Alas! Madame, the bohemian glass!" "Yes, Victor, one hundred years ago my father brought it -- " Boom! The room shakes, the servitor quakes. Another goblet shivers and breaks. Boom!

 

    It rustles at the window-pane, the smooth, streaming rain, and he is shut within its clash and murmur. Inside is his candle, his table, his ink, his pen, and his dreams. He is thinking, and the walls are pierced with beams of sunshine, slipping through young green. A fountain tosses itself up at the blue sky, and through the spattered water in the basin he can see copper carp, lazily floating among cold leaves. A wind-harp in the cedar-tree grieves and whispers, and words blow into his brain, bubbled, iridescent, shooting up like flowers of fire, higher and higher. Boom! The flame-flowers snap on their slender stems. The fountain rears up in long broken spears of disheveled water and flattens into the earth. Boom! And there is only the room, the table, the candle, and the sliding rain. Again, Boom! -- Boom! -- Boom! He stuffs his fingers into his ears. He sees corpses, and cries out in fright. Boom! It is night, and they are shelling the city! Boom! Boom!

 

    A child wakes and is afraid, and weeps in the darkness. What has made the bed shake? "Mother, where are you? I am awake." "Hush, my Darling, I am here." "But, Mother, something so queer has happened, the room shook." Boom! "Oh! What is it? What is the matter?" Boom! "Where is Father? I am so afraid." Boom! The child sobs and shrieks. The house trembles and creaks. Boom!

 

    Retorts, globes, tubes, and phials lie shattered. All his trials oozing across the floor. The life that was his choosing, lonely, urgent, goaded by a hope, all gone. A weary gloom and ignorance, and the jig of drunken brutes. Diseases like snakes crawling over the earth, leaving trails of slime. Wails from people burying their dead. Through the window he can see the rocking steeple. A ball of fire falls on the lead of the roof, and the sky tears apart on the spike of flame. Up the spire, behind the lacings of stone, zig-zagging in and out of the carved tracings, squirms the fire. It spouts like yellow wheat from the gargoyles, coils round the head of Saint John, and aureoles him in light. It leaps into the night and hisses against the rain. The Cathedral is a burning stain on the white, wet night.

 

    Boom! The Cathedral is a torch, and the houses next to it begin to scorch. Boom! The bohemian glass on the étagère is no longer there. Boom! A stalk of flame sways against the red damask curtains. The old lady cannot walk. She watches the creeping stalk and counts. Boom! -- Boom! -- Boom!

 

    The poet rushes into the street, and the rain wraps him in a sheet of silver. But it is threaded with gold and powdered with scarlet beads. The city burns. Quivering, spearing, thrusting, lapping, streaming, run the flames. Over the roofs, and walls, and shops, and stalls. Smearing its gold on the sky the fire dances, lances itself through the doors, and lisps and chuckles along the floors.

 

    The child wakes again and screams at the yellow petalled flower flickering at the window. The little red lips of flame creep along the ceiling beams.

 

    The old man sits among his broken experiments and looks at the burning Cathedral. Now the streets are swarming with people. They seek shelter and crowd into the cellars. They shout and call, and over all, slowly and without force, the rain drops into the city. Boom! And the steeple crashes down among the people. Boom! Boom, again! The water rushes along the gutters. The fire roars and mutters. Boom!

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 
 

Richard Aldington

 

Childhood

 

I

 

    THE bitterness. the misery, the wretchedness of childhood

    Put me out of love with God.

    I can't believe in God's goodness;

    I can believe

    In many avenging gods.

    Most of all I believe

    In gods of bitter dullness,

    Cruel local gods

    Who scared my childhood.

 

II

 

    I've seen people put

    A chrysalis in a match-box,

    "To see," they told me, "what sort of moth would come."

    But when it broke its shell

    It slipped and stumbled and fell about its prison

    And tried to climb to the light

    For space to dry its wings.

 

    That's how I was.

    Somebody found my chrysalis

    And shut it in a match-box.

    My shrivelled wings were beaten,

    Shed their colours in dusty scales

    Before the box was opened

    For the moth to fly.

 

III

 

    I hate that town;

    I hate the town I lived in when I was little;

    I hate to think of it.

    There wre always clouds, smoke, rain

    In that dingly little valley.

    It rained; it always rained.

    I think I never saw the sun until I was nine --

    And then it was too late;

    Everything's too late after the first seven years.

 

    The long street we lived in

    Was duller than a drain

    And nearly as dingy.

    There were the big College

    And the pseudo-Gothic town-hall.

    There were the sordid provincial shops --

    The grocer's, and the shops for women,

    The shop where I bought transfers,

    And the piano and gramaphone shop

    Where I used to stand

    Staring at the huge shiny pianos and at the pictures

    Of a white dog looking into a gramaphone.

 

    How dull and greasy and grey and sordid it was!

    On wet days -- it was always wet --

    I used to kneel on a chair

    And look at it from the window.

 

    The dirty yellow trams

    Dragged noisily along

    With a clatter of wheels and bells

    And a humming of wires overhead.

    They threw up the filthy rain-water from the hollow lines

    And then the water ran back

    Full of brownish foam bubbles.

 

    There was nothing else to see --

    It was all so dull --

    Except a few grey legs under shiny black umbrellas

    Running along the grey shiny pavements;

    Sometimes there was a waggon

    Whose horses made a strange loud hollow sound

    With their hoofs

    Through the silent rain.

 

    And there was a grey museum

    Full of dead birds and dead insects and dead animals

    And a few relics of the Romans -- dead also.

    There was a sea-front,

    A long asphalt walk with a bleak road beside it,

    Three piers, a row of houses,

    And a salt dirty smell from the little harbour.

 

    I was like a moth --

    Like one of those grey Emperor moths

    Which flutter through the vines at Capri.

    And that damned little town was my match-box,

    Against whose sides I beat and beat

    Until my wings were torn and faded, and dingy

    As that damned little town.

 

IV

 

    At school it was just as dull as that dull High Street.

    The front was dull;

    The High Street and the other street were dull --

    And there was a public park, I remember,

    And that was damned dull, too,

    With its beds of geraniums no one was allowed to pick,

    And its clipped lawns you weren't allowed to walk on,

    And the gold-fish pond you mustn't paddle in,

    And the gate made out of a whale's jaw-bones,

    And the swings, which were for "Board-School children,"

    And its gravel paths.

 

    And on Sundays they rang the bells,

    From Baptist and Evangelical and Catholic churches.

    They had a Salvation Army.

    I was taken to a High Church;

    The parson's name was Mowbray,

    "Which is a good name but he thinks too much of it --"

    That's what I heard people say.

 

    I took a little black book

    To that cold, grey, damp, smelling church,

    And I had to sit on a hard bench,

    Wriggle off it to kneel down when they sang psalms

    And wriggle off it to kneel down when they prayed,

    And then there was nothing to do

    Except to play trains with the hymn-books.

 

    There was nothing to see,

    Nothing to do,

    Nothing to play with,

    Except that in an empty room upstairs

    There was a large tin box

    Containing reproductions of the Magna Charta,

    Of the Declaration of Independence

    And of a letter from Raleigh after the Armada.

    There were also several packets of stamps,

    Yellow and blue Guatemala parrots,

    Blue stags and red baboons and birds from Sarawak,

    Indians and Men-of-war

    From the United States,

    And the green and red portraits

    Of King Francobello

    Of Italy.

 

V

 

    I don't believe in God.

    I do believe in avenging gods

    Who plague us for sins we never sinned

    But who avenge us.

 

    That's why I'll never have a child,

    Never shut up a chrysalis in a match-box

    For the moth to spoil and crush its brght colours,

    Beating its wings against the dingy prison-wall.

---------------------------

The Poplar

 

    WHY do you always stand there shivering

    Between the white stream and the road?

 

    The people pass through the dust

    On bicycles, in carts, in motor-cars;

    The waggoners go by at down;

    The lovers walk on the grass path at night.

 

    Stir from your roots, walk, poplar!

    You are more beautiful than they are.

 

    I know that the white wind loves you,

    Is always kissing you and turning up

    The white lining of your green petticoat.

    The sky darts through you like blue rain,

    And the grey rain drips on your flanks

    And loves you.

    And I have seen the moon

    Slip his silver penny into your pocket

    As you straightened your hair;

    And the white mist curling and hesitating

    Like a bashful lover about your knees.

 

    I know you, poplar;

    I have watched you since I was ten.

    But if you had a little real love,

    A little strength,

    You would leave your nonchalant idle lovers

    And go walking down the white road

    Behind the waggoners.

 

    There are beautiful beeches down beyond the hill.

    Will you always stand there shivering?

 

Round-Pond

 

    WATER ruffled and speckled by galloping wind

    Which puffs and spurts it into tiny pashing breaks

    Dashed with lemon-yellow afternoon sunlight.

    The shining of the sun upon the water

    Is like a scattering of gold crocus-petals

    In a long wavering irregular flight.

 

    The water is cold to the eye

    As the wind to the cheek.

 

    In the budding chestnuts

    Whose sticky buds glimmer and are half-burst open

    The starlings make their clitter-clatter;

    And the blackbirds in the grass

    Are getting as fat as the pigeons.

 

    Too-hoo, this is brave;

    Even the cold wind is seeking a new mistress.

---------------------------------------

Daisy

 

        "Plus quan se atque suos amavit omnes,

        nunc . . ."

                     CATULLUS

 

    YOU were my playmate by the sea.

    We swam together.

    Your girl's body had no breasts.

 

    We found prawns among the rocks;

    We liked to feel the sun and to do nothing;

    In the evening we played games with the others.

 

    It made me glad to be by you.

 

    Sometimes I kissed you,

    And you were always glad to kiss me;

    But I was afraid -- I was only fourteen.

 

    And I had quite forgotten you,

    You and your name.

 

    To-day I pass through the streets.

    She who touches my arms and talks with me

    Is -- who knows? -- Helen of Sparta,

    Dryope, Laodamia . . . .

 

    And there are you

    A whore in Oxford Street.

 

Epigrams

 

A Girl

 

    YOU were that clear Sicilian fluting

    That pains our thought even now.

    You were the notes

    Of cold fantastic grief

    Some few found beautiful.

 

New Love

 

    She had new leaves

    After her dead flowers,

    Like the little almond-tree

    Which the frost hurt.

 

October

 

    The beech-leaves are silver

    For lack of the tree's blood.

 

    At your kiss my lips

    Become like the autumn beech-leaves.

 

The Faun Sees Snow for the First Time

 

    ZEUS,

    Brazen-thunder-hurler,

    Cloud-whirler, son-of-Kronos,

    Send vengeance on these Oreads

    Who strew

    White frozen flecks of mist and cloud

    Over the brown trees and the tufted grass

    Of the meadows, where the stream

    Runs black through shining banks

    Of bluish white.

 

    Zeus,

    Are the halls of heaven broken up

    That you flake down upon me

    Feather-strips of marble?

 

    Dis and Styx!

    When I stamp my hoof

    The frozen-cloud-specks jam into the cleft

    So that I reel upon two slippery points . . . .

 

    Fool, to stand here cursing

    When I might be running!

 

Lemures

 

    IN Nineveh

    And beyond Nineveh

    In the dusk

    They were afraid.

 

    In Thebes of Egypt

    In the dust

    They chanted of them to the dead.

 

    In my Lesbos and Achaia

    Where the God dwelt

    We knew them.

 

    Now men say "They are not":

    But in the dusk

    Ere the white sun comes --

    A gay child that bears a white candle --

    I am afraid of their rustling,

    Of their terrible silence,

    The menace of their secrecy.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

H.D.

 

The Pool

 

    ARE you alive?

    I touch you.

    You quiver like a sea-fish.

    I cover you with my net.

    What are you -- banded one?

 

The Garden

 

I

 

    YOU are clear,

    O rose, cut in rock,

    hard as the descent of hail.

 

    I could scrape the colour

    from the petal,

    like spilt dye from a rock.

 

    If I could break you

    I could break a tree.

 

    If I could stir

    I could break a tree,

    I could break you.

 

II

 

    O wind,

    rend open the heat,

    cut apart the heat,

    rend it sideways.

 

    Fruit can not drop

    through this thick air:

    fruit can not fall into heat

    that presses up and blunts

    the points of pears

    and rounds the grapes.

 

    Cut the heat,

    plough through it,

    turning it on either side

    of your path.

 

Sea Lily

 

    REED,

    slashed and torn,

    but doubly rich --

    such great heads as yours

    drift upon temple-steps,

    but you are shattered

    in the wind.

 

    Myrtle-bark

    is flecked from you,

    scales are dashed from your stem

    sand cuts your petal,

    furrows it with hard edge,

    like flint

    on a bright stone.

 

    Yet though the whole wind

    slash as your bark,

    you are lifted up,

    aye -- though it hiss

    to cover you with froth.

 

Sea Iris

 

I

 

    WEED, moss-weed,

    root tangled in sand,

    sea-iris, brittle flower,

    one petal like a shell

    is broken,

    and you print a shadow

    like a thin twig.

 

    Fortunate one,

    scented and stinging,

    rigid myrrh-bud,

    camphor-flower,

    sweet and salt -- you are wind

    in our nostrils.

 

II

 

    Do the murex-fishers

    drench you as they pass?

    Do your root drag up colour

    from the sand?

    Have they slipped gold under you;

    rivets of gold?

 

    Band of iris-flowers

    above the waves,

    You are painted blue,

    painted like a fresh prow

    stained among the salt weeds.

 

Sea Rose

 

    ROSE, harsh rose,

    marred and with stint of petals,

    meagre flower, thin,

    sparse of leaf,

 

    more precious

    than a wet rose,

    single on a stem --

    you are caught in the drift.

 

    Stunted, with small leaf,

    you are flung on the sands,

    you are lifted

    in the crisp sand

    that drives in the wind.

 

    Can the spice-rose

    drip such acrid fragrance

    hardened in a leaf?

 

Oread

 

    WHIRL up, sea --

    Whirl your pointed pines,

    Splash your great pines

    On our rocks,

    Hurl your green over us,

    Cover us with your pools of fir.

 

Orion Dead

 

[Artemis speaks]

 

    THE cornel-trees

    uplift from the furrows,

    the roots at their bases

    strike lower through the barley-sprays.

 

    So arise and face me.

    I am poisoned with the rage of song.

 

        I once pierced the flesh

        of the wild-deer,

        now am I afraid to touch

        the blue and the gold-veined hyacinths?

 

        I will tear the full flowers

        and the little heads

        of the grape-hyacinths.

        I will strip the life from the bulb

        until the ivory layers

        lie like narcissus petals

        on the black earth.

 

        Arise,

        lest I bend an ash-tree

        into a taut bow,

        and slay -- and tear

        all the roots from the earth.

 

    The cornel-wood blazes

    and strikes through the barley-sprays,

    but I have lost heart for this.

 

    I break a staff.

    I break the tough branch.

    I know no light in the woods.

    I have lost pace with the winds.

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If only you would

 

let me have my way with you,

 

we’d both be set free.

 

Haiku of No Loss [ jl ]

---------------------------------------------------------------

 “You’re my journey’s end,

 

because my soul seems to be

 

everywhere you go."

—      Haiku on Travels | Connotativewords [ jl ]

----------------------------------------------------------------

 

When I kiss your neck,

 

I feel as though I could drown

 

in your rousing scent.

 

Haiku on Submergence | Connotativewords [ jl ]

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

 

There is such

 

a fine line

 

between humans

___________________

 

and perfection.

 

And yet,

 

you cross it

 

every single day.

 

Connotativewords | jl | Boundaries

-------------------------------------------------------------------

It terrifies me

 

to want you the way I do,

 

but you’re worth the risk.

Haiku on Unpredictability [ jl ]

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I know of a place

 

where love grows infinitely.

 

Let me lead you there.

Haiku on the Heart | connotativewords [ jl ]

------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Paper Doll

 

Tonight, I’m like a paper doll.

Dress me in what you wish I had on,

And I will not say a thing…

I’ll just keep smiling.

 

Here I am, wordless again.

You dress me up different ways.

Flat and thin, speechless within…

You dress me up different ways,

And I just can’t be sure I’ll ever change.

 

And I do not like the clothes I wear.I’d sooner throw them into the air,

But, I will not say a thing.

I’ll just keep smiling.

 

Here I am, wordless again.You dress me up different ways.

Flat and thin, speechless within…

You dress me up different ways,

And I just can’t be sure I’ll ever change.

 

Why is it now that you’ve cut me out of everything I was used to?

Now, it’s not that I stand here with no choice…

I will choose not to raise up my voice…

 

Here I am, wordless again, wordless again…

And I can’t be sure I’ll ever change.

 

Tonight I’m like a paper doll…

Cut from the page that I once lived on.

And I will not say a thing…

I’ll just keep smiling.

I’ll just keep smiling.

I’ll just keep smiling…

 

-Rosie Thomas

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

I’m shadow puppeteering

our next kissing contest,

funded by the grant

of your lower lip.

 

My hands collect your back

like taxes. I want more fingers,

toes, freckles as abacuses

to count your return.

 

Your mouth auto corrects

my body language. Your voice

hangs like streamers. I walk

like cursive.

”

— "You Can’t Spell Monogamy Without ‘Mono,’" Jesse Bradley

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Between Dreams and Dawn

 

Drifting between dreams and dawn.

Feeling the warmth of his body next to mine.

Secure with his arms wrapped around me.

His breath tickling my neck.

Back to dreams.

Feeling his hands caress my body.

Heading to dawn.

He kisses my neck.

I drift back to dreams.

His fingers caress my nipples.

My eyes briefly open.

He continues his caress.

Drifting off again.

His touch reaches my inner thigh.

Fingers lightly touching my lips.

I roll over on my back.

I slip back again.

The sun pierces the blinds.

I feel his tongue bringing me closer.

Opening my eyes, I look up above me.

My wrist cuffed to the headboard.

I look down at his eyes looking at mine.

His tongue twirling me awake.

I smile…It’s a new day.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You want honesty?

I wasn’t sure you could handle it,

but since you’re so eager to hear it,

and since I’m a terrible liar,

you should know that every time

you do as little as look at me,

I can feel my dignity fall to the ground.

I’d stand in the bitter cold for hours

if that meant you would stay warm.

I’d rather gouge my own eyes out

than to see you fall for someone else.

And it wasn’t until you left,

when I realized that I have

a terribly addictive personality.

I’m sorry, my love.

I hope that wasn’t too much

Because, in all honesty,

that wasn’t even

the half of it.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Why It Still Hurts

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“I remember that night when were lying down,

as you named a list of things you loved to hear.

It went on from your favorite Bon Iver song

to things that other people would tell you.

One of your favorites was

“This reminded me of you.”

and another one was

“Don’t go just yet.”

Well, you’re no longer here.

And that stupid Bon Iver song

just decided to ruin my Pandora.

And guess what?

It reminded me of you.

And now I realize that you must have

gotten a kick out of it when

I begged you to stay.”

 

— Connotativewords | jl | Souvenirs

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You pride yourself in being so detached, that you wouldn’t be able to see a good thing if it stood eagerly in front of you. Trust me, I’ve been here for a while now.

You pride yourself in being so detached, that the less emotion you elicit, the more power you seem to possess. And I willingly hand it over to you each and every time.

Please tell me why I’ve nearly killed myself over and over because I never felt adequate enough for you. Or how I would wait outside in the rain for an hour just to see you for 5 minutes.

And no matter how content I should be with myself, I’ll always be a few steps behind, trying to see how I could be better for you. Because just when I’m ready to walk away, I can see your silhouette chasing me down.

And right when I’m about to turn around,

you’re nowhere to be found.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Careful

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Leave the dishes.

Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator

and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.

Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.

Throw the cracked bowl out and don’t patch the cup.

Don’t patch anything. Don’t mend. Buy safety pins.

Don’t even sew on a button.

Let the wind have its way, then the earth

that invades as dust and then the dead

foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.

Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.

Don’t keep all the pieces of the puzzles

or the doll’s tiny shoes in pairs, don’t worry

who uses whose toothbrush or if anything

matches, at all.

Except one word to another. Or a thought.

Pursue the authentic — decide first

what is authentic,

then go after it with all your heart.

Your heart, that place

you don’t even think of cleaning out.

That closet stuffed with savage mementos.

Don’t sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth

or worry if we’re all eating cereal for dinner

again. Don’t answer the telephone, ever,

or weep over anything at all that breaks.

Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons

in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life

and talk to the dead

who drift in though the screened windows, who collect

patiently on the tops of food jars and books.

Recycle the mail, don’t read it, don’t read anything

except what destroys

the insulation between yourself and your experience

or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters

this ruse you call necessity.”

— Louise Erdrich, from Original Fire: Advice To Myself

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I learned that you’ve been kissing someone new.

And it’s such a shame.

She probably bites your lip a little too hard,

and whispers in your ear a little too loudly.

I wonder if she embraces you

as if you just came back from war,

or if she ever kisses you

as if you only had minutes to live.

Perhaps she’s easy to fall asleep with,

but is she worth waking up to?

I suppose I’ll never know.

But there was once a girl

who burned of a thousand suns for you.

And it’s such a shame

how you let her go.”

— Connotativewords | jl | Lástima

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.”

— Wild Geese, Mary Oliver

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

POETRY BUMP

 

My notebook has remained blank for months

thanks to the light you shower

around me. I have no use

for my pen, which lies

languorously without grief.

 

Nothing is better than to live

a storyless life that needs

no writing for meaning—

when I am gone, let others say

they lost a happy man,

though no one can tell how happy I was.

”

— Ha Jin, “Missed Time,” Poetry (July 2000).

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

SUNDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL POETRY BUMP

 

I want to make love to your existence,

drenched in colors of your energy,

then masturbate, to the memories.

I wanna lose myself inside yourself…

Until you find me. Confine me,

to the freedom of your prison.

Exist in the same space, same time.

Combine until your thoughts slow grind with mine.

 

My, I wanna drink the sweat of your intellect,

reflect, and watch your light passion walk my neck.

Caress the sights of your presence with no question,

undress to the nakedness of love, pure love.

I want to make love to my soulmate… my soulmate…

make love to my soulmate…my soulmate…

make love to my soulmate, uh shit…

I wonder, how does it feel to make love to your soulmate.

Kind of like writing poetry till climax,

till the point and place where space and time match.

Can we cross the line, perhaps tell me would you like that.

Now would you like that, tell me would you like that,

would you like that, tell me would you like that,

would you like that, tell me?

 

I’m gonna ask you again now, tell me..

Would you like that, tell me would you like that,

now would you like that, tell me would you like that,

would you like that, tell me…

 

I want to love you more than madly.

Wrap these legs around your words,

until your speech is straddled deep, gladly.

Swim the currents of your vibrations,

be separate in one

with the same meditation…

Uh the same meditation…

 

Uh you know what…

This, right here is poetry.

 

— Akua Naru, from Poetry: How Does It Feel

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

WEEKEND AFTERNOON POETRY BUMP

 

I love the word warm.

It is almost unbearable —

so moist and breathlike.

 

I feel the earth like a nurse,

curing me of winter.

I feel the earth,

its worms oiling upward,

the ants ticking,

the oak leaf rotting like feces

and the oats rising like angels.

 

In the beginning,

summer is a sense

of this earth,

or of yourself.

 

— Anne Sexton, from Letters To Dr. Y.

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Sonnet LXVI: I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You

By Pablo Neruda

 

I do not love you except because I love you;

I go from loving to not loving you,

From waiting to not waiting for you

My heart moves from cold to fire.

 

I love you only because it's you the one I love;

I hate you deeply, and hating you

Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you

Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

 

Maybe January light will consume

My heart with its cruel

Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

 

In this part of the story I am the one who

Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,

Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

 

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