Tzara
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Thank you.
Dirty 30 in 30
- Thread starter unpredictablebijou
- Start date
Tzara
Continental
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- Posts
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20
Love Sonnet to a Civil Engineer
on the Occasion of Her Graduation
O bricklayer babe, be true to my heart—
Unartful architect of love—I am
Enraptured with each sleek hod-toting gam
So toned from shuffling bricks to wall from cart
That my fond sonneteering falls apart
In ways quite so unyeatsian. A sham,
A shame, potato, even yet a yam—
Just starch instead of sweet, my sugared tart.
Er, torte is what I really meant to say,
And ask for you to lay a solid wall,
A fundament upon which we can play
Such lover's games as Kitten with a Whip
Or rumba at the Mason's Summer Ball.
You're charming in just mortar board and slip.
.
Love Sonnet to a Civil Engineer
on the Occasion of Her Graduation
O bricklayer babe, be true to my heart—
Unartful architect of love—I am
Enraptured with each sleek hod-toting gam
So toned from shuffling bricks to wall from cart
That my fond sonneteering falls apart
In ways quite so unyeatsian. A sham,
A shame, potato, even yet a yam—
Just starch instead of sweet, my sugared tart.
Er, torte is what I really meant to say,
And ask for you to lay a solid wall,
A fundament upon which we can play
Such lover's games as Kitten with a Whip
Or rumba at the Mason's Summer Ball.
You're charming in just mortar board and slip.
.
darkerdreamer
Literotica Guru
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3
(Found poem, lazy as it may be, lines from this thread)
I'm happy for those of you who feel proud about one thing.
We may be partying now, but
downtown is just a sea of faces and
corporations are quite fearsome beasts.
The money they use to brainwash the children
as the gap between rich and poor grows steadily,
that doesn't leave me feeling proud of anything.
I'm happy for those of you who feel proud about one thing.
There is great joy and boisterous cheering
displayed on my television every night,
and grumpy growls about wanton waste,
but they think that those who are negative are idiots.
We are now being pleasured into complacent apathy
and that doesn't leave me feeling proud of anything.
(Found poem, lazy as it may be, lines from this thread)
I'm happy for those of you who feel proud about one thing.
We may be partying now, but
downtown is just a sea of faces and
corporations are quite fearsome beasts.
The money they use to brainwash the children
as the gap between rich and poor grows steadily,
that doesn't leave me feeling proud of anything.
I'm happy for those of you who feel proud about one thing.
There is great joy and boisterous cheering
displayed on my television every night,
and grumpy growls about wanton waste,
but they think that those who are negative are idiots.
We are now being pleasured into complacent apathy
and that doesn't leave me feeling proud of anything.
unpredictablebijou
Peril!
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- Apr 21, 2007
- Posts
- 5,507
I just caught up with the last page or so of this thread and there is some amazing stuff going on in here.
Y'all make it worth wandering in here, you really do.
Y'all make it worth wandering in here, you really do.
darkerdreamer
Literotica Guru
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- Mar 4, 2007
- Posts
- 680
4
You're a cold motherfucker, Mr. Grinch,
sitting by the fireside with a warm bottle of Colt 45,
a drop lingers then slides down the bottle-side.
Hand-me-down nine, face salty as brine
he waits, Santa's coming tonight.
You're a cold motherfucker, Mr. Grinch,
sitting by the fireside with a warm bottle of Colt 45,
a drop lingers then slides down the bottle-side.
Hand-me-down nine, face salty as brine
he waits, Santa's coming tonight.
Tzara
Continental
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- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
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21: Modified from elsewhere, as is my lazy thang.
Life Study
As sculptor, he made small maquettes
of what he loved of her more charming parts—
the breast that hung a bit askew
(her left), her nervous fingers,
long, and slim; so goddam elegant
that she would face her nails as if
her hands hung in a gallery.
But then, she'd hide her chest.
Her breasts are beautiful in some off-centric way,
though set quite differently toward the world,
as if to capture tangently,
O, love. Instead she'd flaunt
well, hands.
for she owned pliant, perfect hands
that brooked no argument
about how fingers should look slimmed.
Oh, yeah. The sculptor guy, he cut one more thing ivory,
or in some other white, more artificial stone,
a rounded thing, an invert heart:
He cut her perfect image, hips and bones.
Life Study
As sculptor, he made small maquettes
of what he loved of her more charming parts—
the breast that hung a bit askew
(her left), her nervous fingers,
long, and slim; so goddam elegant
that she would face her nails as if
her hands hung in a gallery.
But then, she'd hide her chest.
Her breasts are beautiful in some off-centric way,
though set quite differently toward the world,
as if to capture tangently,
O, love. Instead she'd flaunt
well, hands.
for she owned pliant, perfect hands
that brooked no argument
about how fingers should look slimmed.
Oh, yeah. The sculptor guy, he cut one more thing ivory,
or in some other white, more artificial stone,
a rounded thing, an invert heart:
He cut her perfect image, hips and bones.
darkerdreamer
Literotica Guru
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- Mar 4, 2007
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- 680
5.
The boys down on the corner
were into a new thing,
they spoke in length on noise punk
and the latest designer drug; hyperbole.
Now I might have had my moments
on the experimental scene
both musical and chemical, but their junk
sounded like
remixed Nintendo played
through a speaker that someone lit on fire,
tasted like
remixed meth cooked
on a speaker that someone lit on fire,
plastic in the worst way.
In my day on the corner,
(Tuesday to be specific)
we spoke in length on Metal Machine Music
and on the latest designer drug; cassette.
The boys down on the corner
were into a new thing,
they spoke in length on noise punk
and the latest designer drug; hyperbole.
Now I might have had my moments
on the experimental scene
both musical and chemical, but their junk
sounded like
remixed Nintendo played
through a speaker that someone lit on fire,
tasted like
remixed meth cooked
on a speaker that someone lit on fire,
plastic in the worst way.
In my day on the corner,
(Tuesday to be specific)
we spoke in length on Metal Machine Music
and on the latest designer drug; cassette.
4degrees
Literotica Guru
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1-2
midnight is just as dirty
as the dawn, with a burning
glow cutting into the
befogged horizon-
like my eyes, like your ways,
this love is tight and black
like latex, blinding me
no matter how high
the sun decides to rise
this dark cloak of wicked love
suffocates and brings
our version of utopia
into full view, with death
waiting at it's threshold.
midnight is just as dirty
as the dawn, with a burning
glow cutting into the
befogged horizon-
like my eyes, like your ways,
this love is tight and black
like latex, blinding me
no matter how high
the sun decides to rise
this dark cloak of wicked love
suffocates and brings
our version of utopia
into full view, with death
waiting at it's threshold.
darkerdreamer
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Mar 4, 2007
- Posts
- 680
6
Sweet Maria's first word was da-da,
I melted into Pacific just feet from
the beach where we sat and played.
But it was the way she said it,
not dAh-dAh but daw-daw
that made me smile so wide,
so bright that the sun
couldn't eclipse me if it tried.
"Looks like we have a new Taeuber on our hands."
Sweet Maria's first word was da-da,
I melted into Pacific just feet from
the beach where we sat and played.
But it was the way she said it,
not dAh-dAh but daw-daw
that made me smile so wide,
so bright that the sun
couldn't eclipse me if it tried.
"Looks like we have a new Taeuber on our hands."
Tzara
Continental
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22
Keepsake
I kept a mold of her, in wax,
stowed back behind old tax returns
in the file drawer of my desk.
On each Midummer Eve, I'd take it out
and stroke those solid alkanes
I once found so homologous.
But satisfaction? There warn't much,
beyond how fatty acids slick
one's reminiscent fingertip,
a little wet, a little thick
with aliphatic bric-a-brac.
A touch not hers, so not intact.
.
Keepsake
I kept a mold of her, in wax,
stowed back behind old tax returns
in the file drawer of my desk.
On each Midummer Eve, I'd take it out
and stroke those solid alkanes
I once found so homologous.
But satisfaction? There warn't much,
beyond how fatty acids slick
one's reminiscent fingertip,
a little wet, a little thick
with aliphatic bric-a-brac.
A touch not hers, so not intact.
.
4degrees
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
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1-3
And the dreams are dirty
Competing harshly with
Consciousness, not wanting to
Be outdone by deliberateness
Surely the unconscious
Raptures are overgrown,
Strangled by a deviance
Beyond words
Surely, my blood lust
Only becomes savage
Within my dreaming mind.
And the dreams are dirty
Competing harshly with
Consciousness, not wanting to
Be outdone by deliberateness
Surely the unconscious
Raptures are overgrown,
Strangled by a deviance
Beyond words
Surely, my blood lust
Only becomes savage
Within my dreaming mind.
4degrees
Literotica Guru
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1-4
dirty, that goes beyond
the skin
it covers up those veins
that stand up straining
for something silver
a dirty that does more
than clog pores,
surpassing even those
thoughts dubbed dirty,
this dirty is soul choking
and smothers out any
thoughts of hope i had.
dirty, that goes beyond
the skin
it covers up those veins
that stand up straining
for something silver
a dirty that does more
than clog pores,
surpassing even those
thoughts dubbed dirty,
this dirty is soul choking
and smothers out any
thoughts of hope i had.
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
NaPo 10 One
Gonna do the rough writes for my napo poems in here I think but doing the dirty in case I get overwhelmed any particular day and have to skip. (Like last night when I left this thing half-finished to watch an episode of Cowboy Beebop.)
Also it is wonderful to read the other writing going on in here, now. Cheers, ya'll.
Hiding inbetween book pages
ready to get the drop on me,
April fool lurks but this year
I'm not worried. I've even eschewn
gadgets, packed tasers and pepper
spray away for colder seasons. This
year I open my arms, spread fingers
ready to catch that bouquet
even if there is a thorn, even certain
that every bloom every earthly
love is frail as new petals and
will not last. This year I plan
to land it anyway and just
breathe deep as I can to hold
April in these lungs for thirty
blessed days.
Gonna do the rough writes for my napo poems in here I think but doing the dirty in case I get overwhelmed any particular day and have to skip. (Like last night when I left this thing half-finished to watch an episode of Cowboy Beebop.)
Also it is wonderful to read the other writing going on in here, now. Cheers, ya'll.
Hiding inbetween book pages
ready to get the drop on me,
April fool lurks but this year
I'm not worried. I've even eschewn
gadgets, packed tasers and pepper
spray away for colder seasons. This
year I open my arms, spread fingers
ready to catch that bouquet
even if there is a thorn, even certain
that every bloom every earthly
love is frail as new petals and
will not last. This year I plan
to land it anyway and just
breathe deep as I can to hold
April in these lungs for thirty
blessed days.
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,609
25
Horrific Beetle Sex; or,
Why Gregor Samsa Rarely Scores
She fed her lover sugar water
That his proboscis sipped with pleasure.
He clicked his happiness and later,
At Gregor's arthropodic leisure,
Impaled her with his spiked appendage.
An insect has no human feeling,
Just tropisms, whose instincts can stage
Some consequences unappealing.
(Felicia's still laid up, healing.)
.
Horrific Beetle Sex; or,
Why Gregor Samsa Rarely Scores
She fed her lover sugar water
That his proboscis sipped with pleasure.
He clicked his happiness and later,
At Gregor's arthropodic leisure,
Impaled her with his spiked appendage.
An insect has no human feeling,
Just tropisms, whose instincts can stage
Some consequences unappealing.
(Felicia's still laid up, healing.)
.
4degrees
Literotica Guru
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- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
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1-5
Kafka rocks
Press a razor to my tongue
Let the dirty bleed out
Painting tangy memoirs
Of waking from my death
Bisected with my heart exposed
Your name stitches it together
All those cut away pieces
Mended for a time, with
Your kiss and pretty words
The ugly of the world
Where you and I become one
And become peaceful, like the dead.
Kafka rocks
Press a razor to my tongue
Let the dirty bleed out
Painting tangy memoirs
Of waking from my death
Bisected with my heart exposed
Your name stitches it together
All those cut away pieces
Mended for a time, with
Your kiss and pretty words
The ugly of the world
Where you and I become one
And become peaceful, like the dead.
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
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napo 2
Chelsea poem (saving space for after the challenge)
Chelsea poem (saving space for after the challenge)
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
napo 3
. . . . .
. . . . .
Last edited:
reneemyrenee
Experienced
- Joined
- Mar 5, 2010
- Posts
- 55
I can't keep up
but no one seems to be complaining about it that is that I am posting from time to time..........
I still can't navigate your site well but am working on it.
I so want to give my self to One,
the one
but I can't
but no one seems to be complaining about it that is that I am posting from time to time..........
I still can't navigate your site well but am working on it.
I so want to give my self to One,
the one
but I can't
4degrees
Literotica Guru
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- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
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1-6
24 hours of dirty dreams
coming alive next to me
everything wrong is not
everything right is mine
my arm wraps snugly round
your tiny middle trapping
you against me, i breathe
fire as you dream
our flesh amalgamates
becoming one single lump
under the thin green stripes
a bond that can only
be surgically undone.
24 hours of dirty dreams
coming alive next to me
everything wrong is not
everything right is mine
my arm wraps snugly round
your tiny middle trapping
you against me, i breathe
fire as you dream
our flesh amalgamates
becoming one single lump
under the thin green stripes
a bond that can only
be surgically undone.
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,609
26
Orpheus Remix
Today, my razor slipped and cut your vein.
No—artery. You bled too full, too fast,
The pool too bright a red for you to last.
So, artery. You're dead. All's one in same.
But I don't know from whence this razor came;
I've never owned a cutthroat in the past,
Nor knew I owned this one, until your last
(And mine, as well. I've used it once again).
My twinned, cold hands enfold your stony cheeks.
I did not know I loved you until now,
When losing you reminds me of your speech,
Your walk, your laugh, the books you liked to read.
Though I am dying, and you're dead, please know
That I've so loved you. Late, I will concede.
.
Orpheus Remix
Today, my razor slipped and cut your vein.
No—artery. You bled too full, too fast,
The pool too bright a red for you to last.
So, artery. You're dead. All's one in same.
But I don't know from whence this razor came;
I've never owned a cutthroat in the past,
Nor knew I owned this one, until your last
(And mine, as well. I've used it once again).
My twinned, cold hands enfold your stony cheeks.
I did not know I loved you until now,
When losing you reminds me of your speech,
Your walk, your laugh, the books you liked to read.
Though I am dying, and you're dead, please know
That I've so loved you. Late, I will concede.
.
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
napo 4
. . . . .
. . . . .
Last edited:
darkerdreamer
Literotica Guru
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- Mar 4, 2007
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