JCSTREET
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 12, 2004
- Posts
- 1,972
PART I - THURS REVIEWS TO PLEASE AND DELIGHT THE EARLY BIRDS
REVUJ24
ANGELINE
is pensive in
Nothing
At the funeral home
grandma threw herself on your coffin.
Maybe you weren't named right.
Death was confused, should have come
for her, for any of the old ones.
She pounded her head on the brass,
sobbing. The men had to pull her off,
and I felt nothing.
The reader feels a sense of foreboding because numbness
in the face of death can lead to guilt and trauma later
In verse two the poet reveals that it is her sister
who died, but verse three provides tangential relief
from the tension of the scene
It was cold in the synagogue,
I think, and the Rabbi said we
are all children of Israel, but Daddy
paid him after the burial and he left
for the train to New York.
But then--metaphorically--like the refrain of a blues lyric
I felt nothing anyway.
and finally
They said I cried then, just the once,
but the blessing of not feeling
is a gift in hardship, and now
when I finger that frayed black grosgrain,
I still feel nothing
Though the poet asserts that "not feeling is a gift in
hardship" there can be an aeful price to pay for that
in future years.
-----------
ANNASWIRLS dashes off something more timely with
imagine if he did
three fighter jets
return to Andrews
low over our little patch
of grass and sunflowers
my brain races to figure what flies out of Andrews--are
they F-15 strike eagles? maybe...if they were over Akron Ohio they would
be F-16 Super Hornets but whatever
toddler covers ears
to block out thunder,
looks up to find this
intimidating show of power
flying in perfect formation
clings to my leg in panic
"I'm scared Mommy, scared!"
and he does not even know
what they can do
Anna wrote this on a whim to capture a moment I think
============================
Catastrophe's Purity
paints a simple picture of a girl (I think) creating
small beauty in a landscape of ugliness
I only saw your hands
as the wind blew your clean,
white curtains around
seeming bleached and new
against the dingy,
dirty
yellow painted brick of your
second floor apartment.
The molding is covered in filth
above the splintery window frame
but you
your hands and
the crisp pages of your notebook
are clean
fresh
and good.
the poem is over-adjectived (sic) and thus fails to be
a dramatic work--preferring instead to tell a simple
story
I want to leave love notes
on your fire escape,
daisies on your window sill.
I want to sleep naked
on your sweet-smelling sheets
and trace pictures of nothing
on your skin
I want to just breathe
not think and just feel
all the good fresh clean newness
of you.
Later we’ll sit
and tell stories
my fingers will comb through
your hair
I’ll read the crisp pages of
your notebook
that you wrote
while I wrote about you.
==================
dcpoet44 submits a simple stroke poem Orgasm
which says in essence "I came, I stroked, I cummed"
he has more doggerel with Sex The Way I Like It
=================
Tanoshii KoNeko's Just the Ones that Matter
doesn't come across quite right when analysed from an occidental perspective.
I have the impression (but cannot be sure) that Tanoshii
is writing English as a second language.
Take this verse
the tears on your cheeks
they don't look sad when you smile
diamonds on your face
if i were to touch one
i would capture it
but only for one fragile moment
then it would disappear
doesn't it cry out to be split into a number of haiku--much as a large, rough
diamond is split into smaller pieces to be polished to perfection
written in the english style it strikes me as awkwardly phrased
again.......this verse
have you ever seen
in a field of pure snow
a single bloom raising its face towards the frail sun?
i am that flower
you are that sun
no matter the odds
me in that field
and you up above
seems to scream
"HAIKU ME, HAIKU ME"
==================
quietpoly quite intrigues me with Purpose
The first three triplets (of four) are so pedestrian I hold out no hope
of grace but then
verse four
let's take it from the top
In my mind
the world extends
beyond the physical.
You are there.
We have a boy and a girl.
Life is perfect.
The kids play
in mud and water.
and happily, we watch them grow.
In reality
There is nothing.
I survive like cactus with no purpose.
Look at that verse four
I wanted to scream WHOA--HOLD UP - WTF is happening here
--this is so orderly--that last verse is not supposed to happen--
it's not fair
THUD!!!
in REALITY
there is NOTHING
I-SURVIVE-LIKE-THE-CACTUS-WITH-NO-PURPOSE
quite alarmingly good I think - we are wrenched to the roots with this appalling conclusion
--in some belief systems cactus actually DOES have a purpose...BUT
and like the poet's sobriquet the poem has a relentless
quietude--which makes it even more alarming
---------------
poly is less alarming in Out....!!!
I wish I could forget
the way I feel when
I am with you
is just too literal and prosy
I wish it were a lie
that it would fade
your face in my mind
this verse is awkward--the second ,it> has to go for a start
I wish I didn't compare
every man with you;
see you in every face.
People -- plain and boring;
Sane and easy.
Why can't you be like them?
Why be obstinate
unavailable, opaque?
Why not be with me?
too prosy--a quiet rant
finally--with THIS verse I thought I was in with a chance
If I wanted and you know it
I could have my way
with anyone, anywhere
but the next verse scotched that
Yet, for some reason
I can't participate
in the damn parade
and it goes on in that vein
these are notes for a poem--not a poem per se
you have to wring, wrench and wrestle this sucker down and make
it behave poly
====================
hippiedude's The Attack
reminds me of stuff I used to write int he late 60s--powered by 5mg dexedrine and about 10 beers--
each with a dollop of lime cordial (the dex blocks the
receptor sites that the alcohol needs to induce drunkenness --so--if
you can take the extrapyramidal
symptomatology [convulsive tongue extending--jaw clamping,
sexual dysfunction--massive arousal but zero erection
then you can keep writing
I did like
"Roguish tendrils war like nations"--wish I'd seen that
carried forward.
==============
Jasperman contributes Fate
================
Dienara contributes another quasi-stroke poem with
Just for Tonight
I've got the sequence more or less memorized now
foreplay
plateau phase
orgasm
resolution phase
refractory period
YUP!
=====================================
and not to be out done Uncle Pervey jizzes a
Premature Ejavulation
into the lists
a typical high point in the poem
A premature ejaculation is bad,
It can make the both of you feel real sad
merci mon oncle - I'll try to remember that
(as it says elsewhere on the board - erotica is the toughest thing to write
[though the easiest to actually do - what is God telling us there???]
Pervey picks up the tempo though in Taiwanese Lady
She was a lovely Taiwanese Lady,
She was small just like a child.
She had a figure that would stop the Gods,
Her sex acts would drive me wild!
no shit Uncle - are you a merchant seamen or
do you go there to buy 133MHZ front side bus motherboards ???
=========
and yet another apparent fuck poem from Wicked Eve--actually
filed late the day before Minute Maid
but it's actually not
Eve is using a citrus fruit as a proxy server
He tilts back his head.
It spills over, streams down,
rolls with the sweat,
leaving clean-skin streaks
in the dirt.
On wooden post,
glass curves perspire.
Sundressed girl is fresh
and sweet.
He wants to leave her
on the tree, to squeeze
till she drips down her sugar limbs
into his mouth.
He dips his tongue,
satisfies his thirst.
Refreshing lemonade girl.
=====================
more poetry bulletins as they happen throughout the day
--stay tuned
REVUJ24
ANGELINE
is pensive in
Nothing
At the funeral home
grandma threw herself on your coffin.
Maybe you weren't named right.
Death was confused, should have come
for her, for any of the old ones.
She pounded her head on the brass,
sobbing. The men had to pull her off,
and I felt nothing.
The reader feels a sense of foreboding because numbness
in the face of death can lead to guilt and trauma later
In verse two the poet reveals that it is her sister
who died, but verse three provides tangential relief
from the tension of the scene
It was cold in the synagogue,
I think, and the Rabbi said we
are all children of Israel, but Daddy
paid him after the burial and he left
for the train to New York.
But then--metaphorically--like the refrain of a blues lyric
I felt nothing anyway.
and finally
They said I cried then, just the once,
but the blessing of not feeling
is a gift in hardship, and now
when I finger that frayed black grosgrain,
I still feel nothing
Though the poet asserts that "not feeling is a gift in
hardship" there can be an aeful price to pay for that
in future years.
-----------
ANNASWIRLS dashes off something more timely with
imagine if he did
three fighter jets
return to Andrews
low over our little patch
of grass and sunflowers
my brain races to figure what flies out of Andrews--are
they F-15 strike eagles? maybe...if they were over Akron Ohio they would
be F-16 Super Hornets but whatever
toddler covers ears
to block out thunder,
looks up to find this
intimidating show of power
flying in perfect formation
clings to my leg in panic
"I'm scared Mommy, scared!"
and he does not even know
what they can do
Anna wrote this on a whim to capture a moment I think
============================
Catastrophe's Purity
paints a simple picture of a girl (I think) creating
small beauty in a landscape of ugliness
I only saw your hands
as the wind blew your clean,
white curtains around
seeming bleached and new
against the dingy,
dirty
yellow painted brick of your
second floor apartment.
The molding is covered in filth
above the splintery window frame
but you
your hands and
the crisp pages of your notebook
are clean
fresh
and good.
the poem is over-adjectived (sic) and thus fails to be
a dramatic work--preferring instead to tell a simple
story
I want to leave love notes
on your fire escape,
daisies on your window sill.
I want to sleep naked
on your sweet-smelling sheets
and trace pictures of nothing
on your skin
I want to just breathe
not think and just feel
all the good fresh clean newness
of you.
Later we’ll sit
and tell stories
my fingers will comb through
your hair
I’ll read the crisp pages of
your notebook
that you wrote
while I wrote about you.
==================
dcpoet44 submits a simple stroke poem Orgasm
which says in essence "I came, I stroked, I cummed"
he has more doggerel with Sex The Way I Like It
=================
Tanoshii KoNeko's Just the Ones that Matter
doesn't come across quite right when analysed from an occidental perspective.
I have the impression (but cannot be sure) that Tanoshii
is writing English as a second language.
Take this verse
the tears on your cheeks
they don't look sad when you smile
diamonds on your face
if i were to touch one
i would capture it
but only for one fragile moment
then it would disappear
doesn't it cry out to be split into a number of haiku--much as a large, rough
diamond is split into smaller pieces to be polished to perfection
written in the english style it strikes me as awkwardly phrased
again.......this verse
have you ever seen
in a field of pure snow
a single bloom raising its face towards the frail sun?
i am that flower
you are that sun
no matter the odds
me in that field
and you up above
seems to scream
"HAIKU ME, HAIKU ME"
==================
quietpoly quite intrigues me with Purpose
The first three triplets (of four) are so pedestrian I hold out no hope
of grace but then
verse four
let's take it from the top
In my mind
the world extends
beyond the physical.
You are there.
We have a boy and a girl.
Life is perfect.
The kids play
in mud and water.
and happily, we watch them grow.
In reality
There is nothing.
I survive like cactus with no purpose.
Look at that verse four
I wanted to scream WHOA--HOLD UP - WTF is happening here
--this is so orderly--that last verse is not supposed to happen--
it's not fair
THUD!!!
in REALITY
there is NOTHING
I-SURVIVE-LIKE-THE-CACTUS-WITH-NO-PURPOSE
quite alarmingly good I think - we are wrenched to the roots with this appalling conclusion
--in some belief systems cactus actually DOES have a purpose...BUT
and like the poet's sobriquet the poem has a relentless
quietude--which makes it even more alarming
---------------
poly is less alarming in Out....!!!
I wish I could forget
the way I feel when
I am with you
is just too literal and prosy
I wish it were a lie
that it would fade
your face in my mind
this verse is awkward--the second ,it> has to go for a start
I wish I didn't compare
every man with you;
see you in every face.
People -- plain and boring;
Sane and easy.
Why can't you be like them?
Why be obstinate
unavailable, opaque?
Why not be with me?
too prosy--a quiet rant
finally--with THIS verse I thought I was in with a chance
If I wanted and you know it
I could have my way
with anyone, anywhere
but the next verse scotched that
Yet, for some reason
I can't participate
in the damn parade
and it goes on in that vein
these are notes for a poem--not a poem per se
you have to wring, wrench and wrestle this sucker down and make
it behave poly
====================
hippiedude's The Attack
reminds me of stuff I used to write int he late 60s--powered by 5mg dexedrine and about 10 beers--
each with a dollop of lime cordial (the dex blocks the
receptor sites that the alcohol needs to induce drunkenness --so--if
you can take the extrapyramidal
symptomatology [convulsive tongue extending--jaw clamping,
sexual dysfunction--massive arousal but zero erection
then you can keep writing
I did like
"Roguish tendrils war like nations"--wish I'd seen that
carried forward.
==============
Jasperman contributes Fate
================
Dienara contributes another quasi-stroke poem with
Just for Tonight
I've got the sequence more or less memorized now
foreplay
plateau phase
orgasm
resolution phase
refractory period
YUP!
=====================================
and not to be out done Uncle Pervey jizzes a
Premature Ejavulation
into the lists
a typical high point in the poem
A premature ejaculation is bad,
It can make the both of you feel real sad
merci mon oncle - I'll try to remember that
(as it says elsewhere on the board - erotica is the toughest thing to write
[though the easiest to actually do - what is God telling us there???]
Pervey picks up the tempo though in Taiwanese Lady
She was a lovely Taiwanese Lady,
She was small just like a child.
She had a figure that would stop the Gods,
Her sex acts would drive me wild!
no shit Uncle - are you a merchant seamen or
do you go there to buy 133MHZ front side bus motherboards ???
=========
and yet another apparent fuck poem from Wicked Eve--actually
filed late the day before Minute Maid
but it's actually not
Eve is using a citrus fruit as a proxy server
He tilts back his head.
It spills over, streams down,
rolls with the sweat,
leaving clean-skin streaks
in the dirt.
On wooden post,
glass curves perspire.
Sundressed girl is fresh
and sweet.
He wants to leave her
on the tree, to squeeze
till she drips down her sugar limbs
into his mouth.
He dips his tongue,
satisfies his thirst.
Refreshing lemonade girl.
=====================
more poetry bulletins as they happen throughout the day
--stay tuned
Last edited: