Sara Crewe
Whatever
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2006
- Posts
- 1,692
Tathagata said:
I aim to please.
Bend over.
- Status
I aim to please.
Bend over.
Sara Crewe
Whatever
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2006
- Posts
- 1,692
Tathagata said:thats my line
Geez. I can't do anything right. Now I am stealin' lines too. Better add that to the list of reasons to spank me.
V
vampiredust
Guest
To Night
Hills, glowing with the nightlights
of cars running along their spines,
watch undiscovered images fill
evening's blank page. An empty
petrol-station glowers at a
solitary driver passing by. Wings
rustle a patch of ivy half a mile
away. Fields of rapeseed light up,
turning down the brightness
when a gang of foxes trundle
past, noses pressed to the ground
like metal detectors. Rabbits
lie in bunkers, ears listening
to the earth. Stars flash
signals to the fugitives. A warm
scent of blood colours the sky.
Hills, glowing with the nightlights
of cars running along their spines,
watch undiscovered images fill
evening's blank page. An empty
petrol-station glowers at a
solitary driver passing by. Wings
rustle a patch of ivy half a mile
away. Fields of rapeseed light up,
turning down the brightness
when a gang of foxes trundle
past, noses pressed to the ground
like metal detectors. Rabbits
lie in bunkers, ears listening
to the earth. Stars flash
signals to the fugitives. A warm
scent of blood colours the sky.
RhymeFairy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 24, 2005
- Posts
- 8,719
your right
I do get sad
but mostly lonely.
I'm drawn back in time. when things
seemed a lil more simple and the pulling
on my heartstrings oft gave 'way
to erotic dances, soft pillow talk
and midday romancing
in the streets.
when one touches love, there is no
going back after the rain. I have felt
her tongue, lightly salting me, as if
to taste, sink her teeth in and draw back
with flesh still hooked from neck
to navel.
she whispers her ghostly warning in forked tongues
with toothpick indentions. her intention
is to ward away the thunder, to save face
and softly land in fields of cream
and sugar.
her lust for life begs, to be taken for a ride.
long into the night and not forgetting that day
does
turn, to night. nights that are to be shared
together. side by side, relinquishing everything
to the other. knowing it will come back
twin fold, to have and hold. a never ending ring
of love, companionship and lust.
this is my dream. this is what I fight for. this
this
this
is why, night after night
day after day
I wait,
one day. one day ....
...
I do get sad
but mostly lonely.
I'm drawn back in time. when things
seemed a lil more simple and the pulling
on my heartstrings oft gave 'way
to erotic dances, soft pillow talk
and midday romancing
in the streets.
when one touches love, there is no
going back after the rain. I have felt
her tongue, lightly salting me, as if
to taste, sink her teeth in and draw back
with flesh still hooked from neck
to navel.
she whispers her ghostly warning in forked tongues
with toothpick indentions. her intention
is to ward away the thunder, to save face
and softly land in fields of cream
and sugar.
her lust for life begs, to be taken for a ride.
long into the night and not forgetting that day
does
turn, to night. nights that are to be shared
together. side by side, relinquishing everything
to the other. knowing it will come back
twin fold, to have and hold. a never ending ring
of love, companionship and lust.
this is my dream. this is what I fight for. this
this
this
is why, night after night
day after day
I wait,
one day. one day ....
...
sellthecookie
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jan 6, 2007
- Posts
- 238
poem for anyone who cares to blink
im sneaking a poem
into your pants pocket,
dear, where you will find it
in the morning
just as you pour
the detergent
in the soft-swirling eddies of your mind's
gentle-cycle machine.
no, let me rephrase that, im still writing
the poem as we speak, there is
no poem yet to fold
serenely, turn into origami,
seal with a kiss.
poems are always in the making,
erasable creases and perishable lips.
you see, im still grappling
with the keys, just like this, im not sure
whether to hit the i's or the t's.
lost the will, desire to pull you in
to make you fall
no magic no moonrock symphony
no clever subtlety
I want you
I dont want you
lord the freedome that comes
when the perfect dress stays there on the rack
hips happy to move under familiar fabric
home
to make you fall
no magic no moonrock symphony
no clever subtlety
I want you
I dont want you
lord the freedome that comes
when the perfect dress stays there on the rack
hips happy to move under familiar fabric
home
normal jean
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Mar 13, 2004
- Posts
- 1,193
there is no rain, underwater
Forty-seven days with no measurable rain;
today we had a downpour. I thought
about my river; swollen banks and mudscoots
waiting out the needed rain
Fallen trees and sunken branches, a clutter
of rotting limbs beneath the murky flow.
I thought about my river and her fishes;
the stability of their unhatched roe.
The twisted rope that dangles, sways
with the water's ebb and flow-
lit waits as if it knows
the miserable anticipation of the prisoner who sits
last in line on death row
Forty-seven days with no measurable rain
no thunder to loosen the soil,
and my mind is on the river bed,
oblivious to time
Forty-seven days with no measurable rain;
today we had a downpour. I thought
about my river; swollen banks and mudscoots
waiting out the needed rain
Fallen trees and sunken branches, a clutter
of rotting limbs beneath the murky flow.
I thought about my river and her fishes;
the stability of their unhatched roe.
The twisted rope that dangles, sways
with the water's ebb and flow-
lit waits as if it knows
the miserable anticipation of the prisoner who sits
last in line on death row
Forty-seven days with no measurable rain
no thunder to loosen the soil,
and my mind is on the river bed,
oblivious to time
Last edited:
GuiltyPleasure
AWTSS
- Joined
- Jul 12, 2003
- Posts
- 14,131
tears
It's not the pain,
the shame, the bullies'
it's not lonliness or
frustration that
make the tears come but
kindness.
The gentlest of hands
comforting touch,
the soft words
of reassurance or
the eyes turned
in mute sympathy
that bring the tears
welling up to cleanse me
of the cause.
It's not the pain,
the shame, the bullies'
it's not lonliness or
frustration that
make the tears come but
kindness.
The gentlest of hands
comforting touch,
the soft words
of reassurance or
the eyes turned
in mute sympathy
that bring the tears
welling up to cleanse me
of the cause.
4degrees
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
- 5,850
you fall one hundred
seventy pages back
still its just like yesterday
only its today
one day words tangled together
two distinct verses merged
wound around into an
impossible knot
a thousand poems later
still i write it all out
if only
i could fuse it
the hiss of fire
welding one to the other
no longer an exchange
my icepick, my scaffold
and sculpting impliments
echo past inner reflection
tattooed, you
on the inside of my eyes
the funny spheres of brain tissue
scooped out with mellon ballers
replaced with portions of
memories i've never had
just stories told
real as rain, they are
every sense reacts
as if you are next to me now
sniffing old flavors
of cathair and whatnot
i could find your house blindfolded
that smell will remain
with me always
when i finish, just drape me
over a clothesline
paint me with resin and
fossilize me before
i can break out again
and break us both to dust.
seventy pages back
still its just like yesterday
only its today
one day words tangled together
two distinct verses merged
wound around into an
impossible knot
a thousand poems later
still i write it all out
if only
i could fuse it
the hiss of fire
welding one to the other
no longer an exchange
my icepick, my scaffold
and sculpting impliments
echo past inner reflection
tattooed, you
on the inside of my eyes
the funny spheres of brain tissue
scooped out with mellon ballers
replaced with portions of
memories i've never had
just stories told
real as rain, they are
every sense reacts
as if you are next to me now
sniffing old flavors
of cathair and whatnot
i could find your house blindfolded
that smell will remain
with me always
when i finish, just drape me
over a clothesline
paint me with resin and
fossilize me before
i can break out again
and break us both to dust.
sellthecookie
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jan 6, 2007
- Posts
- 238
Fear of Malls
I
They don’t have clocks in malls, They want you to lose all sense
of time so you can make yet another trip to the candy store and the lingerie store and the monkey wrench shop and the can opener store without feeling guilty
about not having closed
the valve
of the LPG tank as tightly as possible,
They don’t have compasses in malls either. But they have a smoking section.
II
On a Sunday, at 3 am
my feet dangle
from the tricycle,
a brownbag of hot pandesal pressed to my chest
while Mars twinkles ahead, not really spherical,
more like an asterisk. We are
going to the ricefields.
We’ll fling
pellets of fertilizers
in the shape of ampersands. &
we’ll be done before 5.
Just as the joyful chickens flock to Jollibee’s doorstep. I feel
for the Mannequins who slept on the job
with eyes wide open. When the show’s already over.
And the beautiful, well-postured customers are just deciding what to wear
next. In the meantime, my feet’s shadows, racing down the stony path, are bigger than me.
I texted her: wer u?
III
But every employee surrenders their cellphones to the guard, and wears uniforms obligatorily without pockets that might squirrel goodies away.
IV
BOOM! and/or KABOOM!
roars the LPG.
Something bothers me about onomatopoeia sounding puny.
Like abbreviated lives who define themselves only by purchases and receipts.
Else, this is all just sour-graping.
How do you name-brand loneliness?
V
Afterwards, we take turns at the poso, equals under the sun
We help each other wash away the mud that clings
between our toes, lodges beneath our toenails, and which we’ve grown
comfortable with.
A chaos too beautiful to see the shape of.
Anywhere in the most fashionable malls, you won’t hear
a grander concert than the rusty squeak of the water pump.
VI
I vaguely remember my friend saying she’s stationed at the socks area.
Ah yes, for the pampered feet.
Over there, on land once a farm, I see her standing alert.
The saleslady with varicose veins and thin wallet and non-renewable contract.
I
They don’t have clocks in malls, They want you to lose all sense
of time so you can make yet another trip to the candy store and the lingerie store and the monkey wrench shop and the can opener store without feeling guilty
about not having closed
the valve
of the LPG tank as tightly as possible,
They don’t have compasses in malls either. But they have a smoking section.
II
On a Sunday, at 3 am
my feet dangle
from the tricycle,
a brownbag of hot pandesal pressed to my chest
while Mars twinkles ahead, not really spherical,
more like an asterisk. We are
going to the ricefields.
We’ll fling
pellets of fertilizers
in the shape of ampersands. &
we’ll be done before 5.
Just as the joyful chickens flock to Jollibee’s doorstep. I feel
for the Mannequins who slept on the job
with eyes wide open. When the show’s already over.
And the beautiful, well-postured customers are just deciding what to wear
next. In the meantime, my feet’s shadows, racing down the stony path, are bigger than me.
I texted her: wer u?
III
But every employee surrenders their cellphones to the guard, and wears uniforms obligatorily without pockets that might squirrel goodies away.
IV
BOOM! and/or KABOOM!
roars the LPG.
Something bothers me about onomatopoeia sounding puny.
Like abbreviated lives who define themselves only by purchases and receipts.
Else, this is all just sour-graping.
How do you name-brand loneliness?
V
Afterwards, we take turns at the poso, equals under the sun
We help each other wash away the mud that clings
between our toes, lodges beneath our toenails, and which we’ve grown
comfortable with.
A chaos too beautiful to see the shape of.
Anywhere in the most fashionable malls, you won’t hear
a grander concert than the rusty squeak of the water pump.
VI
I vaguely remember my friend saying she’s stationed at the socks area.
Ah yes, for the pampered feet.
Over there, on land once a farm, I see her standing alert.
The saleslady with varicose veins and thin wallet and non-renewable contract.
I imagined you to be more condensed
tight in the chair with all extras trimmed
and swept into metal cans with lids that pops up
when you step down I imagined you with more
contradictions
like the can
but your toes prses into mud
your chin, fixed
"quite a storm we got last night, wasn't it"
I had imagined your moreso in your lessness
once it is over the banks hold on
no high ground for miles
tight in the chair with all extras trimmed
and swept into metal cans with lids that pops up
when you step down I imagined you with more
contradictions
like the can
but your toes prses into mud
your chin, fixed
"quite a storm we got last night, wasn't it"
I had imagined your moreso in your lessness
once it is over the banks hold on
no high ground for miles
sellthecookie
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jan 6, 2007
- Posts
- 238
demolitions
they come out of daylight
from under the bridge,
out of the raging creek and its floating doll parts,
braided hair and beady eyes,
doll houses with secret hallways
and plenty mousetraps.
how many years have they been living under?
how many flashfloods above and trailer trucks zooming under,
their weight pressing on their foreheads,
like an extra thumb. Waving. Wondering, where to next.
We see them from our buses, being prodded,
smoked out, plastic possessions in tow,
unchoreographed parade. city cleanup.
We look on, snug on our bus seats where it's elevated
and dry
while the driver decides whether to hit
the brakes, or say grace.
they come out of daylight
from under the bridge,
out of the raging creek and its floating doll parts,
braided hair and beady eyes,
doll houses with secret hallways
and plenty mousetraps.
how many years have they been living under?
how many flashfloods above and trailer trucks zooming under,
their weight pressing on their foreheads,
like an extra thumb. Waving. Wondering, where to next.
We see them from our buses, being prodded,
smoked out, plastic possessions in tow,
unchoreographed parade. city cleanup.
We look on, snug on our bus seats where it's elevated
and dry
while the driver decides whether to hit
the brakes, or say grace.
sellthecookie
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jan 6, 2007
- Posts
- 238
spree
i see you
through this shotglass
and its nimbus promise
inside.
i down you, tar
in thimble, hoping
it will be dark soon
for us to see shapes
with no weight.
just a drop
of you, and im
the crayon at its tip,
in love
pointblank
i see you
through this shotglass
and its nimbus promise
inside.
i down you, tar
in thimble, hoping
it will be dark soon
for us to see shapes
with no weight.
just a drop
of you, and im
the crayon at its tip,
in love
pointblank
Tathagata
Lazarus Monkey
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2004
- Posts
- 24,721
the first steps
teetering wobbling
drunk on the acclaim
and potential
the room splits
i see the future
spread out like a lolling tongue
ready to swallow
the innocent
into uncertainty, pain
into a life where the mere act
of walking
will never bring this kind of joy
again
and i will no longer be around
to remind her
teetering wobbling
drunk on the acclaim
and potential
the room splits
i see the future
spread out like a lolling tongue
ready to swallow
the innocent
into uncertainty, pain
into a life where the mere act
of walking
will never bring this kind of joy
again
and i will no longer be around
to remind her
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,055
Tathagata said:
Let me be around
to remind you of the many
momentous events: the smile,
the single tooth broken through
the bottom of that smile,
the discovery of gravity
that edges crabwise along a sofa,
to free itself in tottering triumph
to wild, hands-free locomotion, all yours
to hold without keeping. All yours.
Let me remind you of your name
framed on rosebud lips, the familiarity
your arms hold as a refuge
from stumbles, as the safety in a storm
of unknown. All is joy that transcends
your pain. The body that so frustrates
you with its lack of cooperation
and the weight of its years is hers:
playground, haven, guiding star,
Papa, papa, you are immortal
even now.
Last edited:
Tathagata
Lazarus Monkey
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2004
- Posts
- 24,721
Angeline said:Let me be around
to remind you of the many
momentous events: the smile,
the single tooth broken through
the bottom of that smile,
the discovery of gravity
that edges crabwise along a sofa,
to free itself in tottering triumph
to wild, hands-free locomotion, all yours
to hold without keeping. All yours.
Let me remind you of your name
framed on rosebud lips, the familiarity
your arms hold as a refuge
from stumbles, as the safety in a storm
of unknown. All is joy that transcends
your pain. The body that so frustrates
you with its lack of cooperation
and the weight of its years is hers:
playground, haven, guiding star,
Papa, papa, you are immortal
even now.
i shouldn't have read this at work
lol
now i have to blame allergies for my red eyes
thank you
nothing makes time seem so cruel, as having a new life you want to stay with forever
V
vampiredust
Guest
Bright Eyed
Ugandan schoolchildren
gaze at the camera
like bright-eyed fox cubs
transported from a London
bolthole to an alien
savannah. Make G8 leaders
keep their promises, Oxfam
crows. Bakelite conkers
hang from the tube ceiling,
twanging with the 6'o clock
commuter grab. I'm in,
the advert speaks to their
guilt, are you?,
the fox cubs edging closer,
hungry for the scent
of human sweat left behind
when the doors close.
Twang.
Ugandan schoolchildren
gaze at the camera
like bright-eyed fox cubs
transported from a London
bolthole to an alien
savannah. Make G8 leaders
keep their promises, Oxfam
crows. Bakelite conkers
hang from the tube ceiling,
twanging with the 6'o clock
commuter grab. I'm in,
the advert speaks to their
guilt, are you?,
the fox cubs edging closer,
hungry for the scent
of human sweat left behind
when the doors close.
Twang.
wildsweetone
i am what i am
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2002
- Posts
- 6,809
Tathagata said:
your words will be around.
it is love though no one says it
what then would remain
cowgirl pajamas and a tin whistle
twisted dixie (hell yes) everything is bigger here
redder whjiter bluer
we catch storm clouds in our path
we pull them under tires
we roast our own
we speak in pplural
present
or passive yes but say I love
your fingertips I love your
breasts have I said I love your breasts
and your politics and the way you pull yourself
into we with strangers
piled into your identity two by two
comes the storm,
company
what then would remain
cowgirl pajamas and a tin whistle
twisted dixie (hell yes) everything is bigger here
redder whjiter bluer
we catch storm clouds in our path
we pull them under tires
we roast our own
we speak in pplural
present
or passive yes but say I love
your fingertips I love your
breasts have I said I love your breasts
and your politics and the way you pull yourself
into we with strangers
piled into your identity two by two
comes the storm,
company
cant open it there, that will not do
has not reached the bloodstream yet dont bother cutting deeper no
onyly evidence is under spiritual containment
not to be consumed
by the public
before distillaton of the proper defence mechanisms
this is not a poem I do not even have the right keys under my fingers
where is the home row anyway
jerry called
says you are no good for the show
no matte rhow much your baby does not look like your husband
you are more like View Material
so write of spring how it has become summer already how their cheeks are red
and toe bottoms tough write of the insects that come uout in the wet season
come out and stay
until you will beg for the burn of for the killer drought
just to stop the itch
has not reached the bloodstream yet dont bother cutting deeper no
onyly evidence is under spiritual containment
not to be consumed
by the public
before distillaton of the proper defence mechanisms
this is not a poem I do not even have the right keys under my fingers
where is the home row anyway
jerry called
says you are no good for the show
no matte rhow much your baby does not look like your husband
you are more like View Material
so write of spring how it has become summer already how their cheeks are red
and toe bottoms tough write of the insects that come uout in the wet season
come out and stay
until you will beg for the burn of for the killer drought
just to stop the itch
normal jean
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Mar 13, 2004
- Posts
- 1,193
what kind of friend?
I murdered my Amish friendship bread.
Yes, this is a confession, though the crime
has not weighed upon my soul.
Nr applied itself boldy to my hips
my back or thighs. What kind of friend,
I ask you, would bestow upon another friend
an entity that consists of something alive
in a stone crock, pulsing and breathing
It lives on a ten day cycle, you become hostage
to this melange of sugar, milk and yeast,
this beast requires stirring, and stirring
and stirring, attention on a daily basis
to alleviate extra bubbles and release
a scent reminiscent of a battalion of feet
Youmust preserve it's percolating stasis
which, after ten days, is the basis,
the starter of something evil
It is insipid, this amish friendship bread
best known for keeping neighbors
and friends at bay.
I murdered my Amish friendship bread.
Yes, this is a confession, though the crime
has not weighed upon my soul.
Nr applied itself boldy to my hips
my back or thighs. What kind of friend,
I ask you, would bestow upon another friend
an entity that consists of something alive
in a stone crock, pulsing and breathing
It lives on a ten day cycle, you become hostage
to this melange of sugar, milk and yeast,
this beast requires stirring, and stirring
and stirring, attention on a daily basis
to alleviate extra bubbles and release
a scent reminiscent of a battalion of feet
Youmust preserve it's percolating stasis
which, after ten days, is the basis,
the starter of something evil
It is insipid, this amish friendship bread
best known for keeping neighbors
and friends at bay.
4degrees
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
- 5,850
somewhere in between
a forty ounce facelift and
a cata-coma hazy mazy
leading to the in between
me and me
and you
comma this and strike through
a tiger paw of extracted claws
swiped over one tattered-ass heart
bleeding a gluey lacquer
liquored, licked like only
lust can
do
its lust or bust;
cause that love thing
must be a mirage
with the way it wafts up
like wavy transparent flames
they burn hot but still
be still or never hold
this piece of man again
you only keep the gift
if the secret's kept as well.
a forty ounce facelift and
a cata-coma hazy mazy
leading to the in between
me and me
and you
comma this and strike through
a tiger paw of extracted claws
swiped over one tattered-ass heart
bleeding a gluey lacquer
liquored, licked like only
lust can
do
its lust or bust;
cause that love thing
must be a mirage
with the way it wafts up
like wavy transparent flames
they burn hot but still
be still or never hold
this piece of man again
you only keep the gift
if the secret's kept as well.
- Status
