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all of a sudden passion suddenly

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Pascal's Wager

Mathematician,
He knew infinity
Was more than nothing.

By definition
Nothing was something
For him
So not to fear the abyss;
Think Nothing of it,
And live your life
As if it mattered
For Nothing
Because it probably did.

Yet when the darkest hour came,
He thought he saw a special hell,
Not the kind that Dante saw
But nothing, nothing,
nothing at all.

Nonetheless, his final breath
Was a fading note
From his mother’s lullaby.

Perhaps a poet after all,
He wondered why
As poets do
And then the light went out.
 
Last edited:
Stop stuff
Your older brother
Stops stuff

Take the stairs
two at a time

State to state
Apartment to hallway

The threshold overhead
makes a man fierce, lovely

Grab the winged Irish
Pin the iris to a lamp post

This dapper morning
dashes leaps disappears
 
found words

The guards assign
cripple will; prescribe
violent pills; masturbate
my mind inside me; at least
the carelessly federal cell
indoctrinated other men;
the cage it acts in pure
ordinary release; the
dangerous beating
is open; six guards
walk by tho never
witness stray
rifle strikes
 
Remember Last Night?

There's an ache at my centre
only caused by one thing.
An ache where I pressed down
and rocked, impaled.
I've been tenderized;
I explain that in whispers,
leaning down toward your pelvis
how I want it again.
My lips stir you to hardness
and length and breadth, oh lord,
give me this daily breadth.
Stretch me while I grind
against the solid platform
you provide, Like machinery
lubed, fitted in close tolerance.
Tonight, I want you
to remember this morning.
 
It's wonderful to read an erotic poem well written.

I particularly liked the contrasts of the sensual with the spiritual, the mechanical with the organic, and the morning with the night.

champagne1982 said:
Remember Last Night?

There's an ache at my centre
only caused by one thing.
An ache where I pressed down
and rocked, impaled.
I've been tenderized;
I explain that in whispers,
leaning down toward your pelvis
how I want it again.
My lips stir you to hardness
and length and breadth, oh lord,
give me this daily breadth.
Stretch me while I grind
against the solid platform
you provide, Like machinery
lubed, fitted in close tolerance.
Tonight, I want you
to remember this morning.
Click to expand...
 
Not a chance
too many images
others' words
spontaneity is impossible

i want points
for spelling it right though

i want warm body
pressed against me
sweet and subtle perfume
(lilac? ) teasing me

sex for spelling
proofreaders become pimps
the red pen is the key to her heart

i remember that movie
i would rather remember the way
her panties whispered as
they slid over her
hips and down her thighs

no punctuation
period
 
Discovering Alan Binkelbach

Nothing is “used” anymore,
Not cars, not furniture,
Nor Barnes & Noble
Bookstore bins
Now, of course, “previously owned."

You won some contest in Houston, Texas,
Run by a widow whose money was used
Until the money ran out.

Penniless Yankee I am not,
But I still leafed through
A poem or two,
Just to be sure, of course,
Before I paid my dollar,
Marked down from five,
Marked down from three,
To Messrs. Barnes & Noble.

However, I’m glad I found you,
Whatever the few pennies you got,
So here’s a poem to say thank you.
 
Last edited:
greenmountaineer said:
Nothing is “used” anymore,
Not cars, not furniture,
Nor Barnes & Noble
Bookstore bins
Now, of course, “previously owned."

You won some contest in Houston, Texas,
Run by a widow whose money was used
Until the money ran out.

Penniless Yankee I am not,
But I still leafed through
A poem or two,
Just to be sure, of course,
Before I paid my dollar,
Marked down from five,
Marked down from three,
To Messrs. Barnes & Noble.

However, I’m glad I found you,
Whatever the few pennies you got,
So here’s a poem to say thank you.
Click to expand...

I saw a stall yesterday entitled 'previously loved' books
 
Last edited:
If my soul was open
you would write a masterpiece,
threading your fingers through
my memories tweaking each metaphor
until it leapt from the page
and trickled down my spine.
Coursing over each rounded buttock,
spreading and building
to an orgasmic finale,
until I screamed my release
to the title of Our love.
 
Sophie's eyes were a kaleidoscope
blue like the sky with poppy seed
speckles.

She was sixteen years, two months
and six days of this life
when she was called home to heaven.

Something called a polyp
invaded her ear and was relentless;
surgery and surgery again.

I know now that the ache in my heart
was her pain that she felt and I wished
that the Giver of Life

Would feel some mercy and take
her and the guilt I felt for feeling
that she should be gone

and freed of the pain that held
her captive for so long. And then
the day of her escape arrived.

I held her limp yet still warm
body against my chest, hoping
that my own heartbeat

might somehow revive her
cure her, breathe life back
into her non-functioning lungs.

I looked upward, searching
for God, for some explanation
as to why she was allowed

to suffer, it was then that I noticed
the sky had turned a deeper,
softer shade of Sophie's blue

and I realized as I closed
my dear friend's moist eyelids
that the sky had reclaimed

the kaleidoscope blue
that Sophie had used to speak;
to ask for food and water

or to just be allowed outside
where she spent her days
in the garden looking upward.

I promised myself that when
the time came, I would not look into
her lifeless eyes but I felt drawn

Her once blue eyes were now a shade
of the palest sea foam green
and the sky had reclaimed

the blue that resided
in Sophie's kaleidoscope eyes.


for Sophie, 04/04/1994- 06/10/2010
 
heartbreaking.
and well-written.
try to remember her happy


Basket_of_Apples said:
Sophie's eyes were a kaleidoscope
blue like the sky with poppy seed
speckles.

She was sixteen years, two months
and six days of this life
when she was called home to heaven.

Something called a polyp
invaded her ear and was relentless;
surgery and surgery again.

I know now that the ache in my heart
was her pain that she felt and I wished
that the Giver of Life

Would feel some mercy and take
her and the guilt I felt for feeling
that she should be gone

and freed of the pain that held
her captive for so long. And then
the day of her escape arrived.

I held her limp yet still warm
body against my chest, hoping
that my own heartbeat

might somehow revive her
cure her, breathe life back
into her non-functioning lungs.

I looked upward, searching
for God, for some explanation
as to why she was allowed

to suffer, it was then that I noticed
the sky had turned a deeper,
softer shade of Sophie's blue

and I realized as I closed
my dear friend's moist eyelids
that the sky had reclaimed

the kaleidoscope blue
that Sophie had used to speak;
to ask for food and water

or to just be allowed outside
where she spent her days
in the garden looking upward.

I promised myself that when
the time came, I would not look into
her lifeless eyes but I felt drawn

Her once blue eyes were now a shade
of the palest sea foam green
and the sky had reclaimed

the blue that resided
in Sophie's kaleidoscope eyes.


for Sophie, 04/04/1994- 06/10/2010
Click to expand...
 
nerk said:
heartbreaking.
and well-written.
try to remember her happy
Click to expand...

Thank you, Nerk. I will remember her happy but I also miss her. I appreciate your kind words as I have not written in a long time. It means a lot to me that someone cared enough to read my poem.

:rose:
 
prayer for the synethesiac

you asked for prayer so I muttered out
my best dear jesus changing it to dear god and
onto spirit of life, universal force finally dear nothing
that finally stuck

my prayer is cherry red not
the canned red 5 maraschino not
chemical pop cherry ice no the double stemmed
suck it from the stone cherry I taste the words
as they move through air
brain twists and seams together my senses again
your name remains leather glove
pumpkin wagon bumpy ride still I see
your number in teal sequin tight
 
up and down

back in my room we don't talk to any one
so much kissing, so much to account for
counting down and up
up and down
 
annaswirls said:
prayer for the synethesiac

you asked for prayer so I muttered out
my best dear jesus changing it to dear god and
onto spirit of life, universal force finally dear nothing
that finally stuck

my prayer is cherry red not
the canned red 5 maraschino not
chemical pop cherry ice no the double stemmed
suck it from the stone cherry I taste the words
as they move through air
brain twists and seams together my senses again
your name remains leather glove
pumpkin wagon bumpy ride still I see
your number in teal sequin tight
Click to expand...

This is so smart and imaginative. Once I looked up "synethesia," everything fell nicely into place.
 
I can't let go
when I'm right on the edge and there's a giant cushion
for me to fall on even then
I cannot.

Monday, I was toeing
that line between surrender and defiance it was nothing
I was going to do but what
I could not.

Tuesday, there was the brink
of something gaping open and I strained to hear a name
I thought I'd recognized and call although
I did not.

Wednesday, it's hump day and why
my fingers started to release but then I caught the edge
inside my grip, looked down, decided
I would not.

Thursday, that's this day come and come
again because I really did fall right over that precipice
and tumbling to a bouncing rest,
I want it again.
 
it lasted maybe a week
my name on
the dedication in your book
I checked tonight to see
if perhaps you had gone back
reconsidered my pleas of innocence
insanity inexplainable fear
of hurting you which was the one that came true anyway
but it was not there
there were other women's names
a man, a few family members and I wonder
really. really? I could not take you forever
so high, heavy, so much forever but
some sort of imprint perhaps

a gecko froze on our window screen
already gone

the impermanence of the publishing on demand
erase I tried you know, to write about you
but it was all too close

my best friend's baby died,
16 months old
she could not say how it happened
and I searched the obituaries week after week
for answers how does a healthy baby
just
die

you, I thought I would be there
with you one final secret with your breath
thick fingers
erasing it all
 
She wears those giant sunglasses
like college girls or a life-size
beetle from Saturn,
her heart clipped on
to block those ultraviolets.
 
He sleeps in soft fields
Blanketed with black petals
i can see the life pass
to and fro through those lips
that once i kissed
with frantic desire
 
Moving in

The walls are still part of the brochure. Long since
bought, but trying hard to be sold. I need to violate
them just a bit, to rub my scent across the plaster,
to sit naked in the kitcken and eat picked garlic
from the jar. Just be-fucking-cause.

The fridge blushes when I tickle it with dill flowers
and swoon when I shove Kielbaska into shelves,
faucets gush on my command and even the god damn sink
puckers for attention.

This place needs
needs
a

fire, fuck, fart

a discrace to take place. Anything to theach
those tiles they should be lucky it's only

vomit.

And then, some nice drapes, and I'm home.
 
Excerpt from the autobiography of an omnipotent but oblivious god

The one who have the most
marine mammals
on their person when they die

wins,

you said

and turned your coat pockets inside out.

Out fell a twig carved like a seal,
a tiny china dolphin,
and two quite surprised dugongs,

who flopped about for a while
before the magpies descended
and shortly there after
the hoi polloi,
with well meaning buckets.

There was quite the commotion,
even made the local news.

But we were long since gone,
fresh out of scores. The end tally
would have to wait.
 
Liar said:
The one who have the most
marine mammals
on their person when they die

wins,

you said

and turned your coat pockets inside out.

Out fell a twig carved like a seal,
a tiny china dolphin,
and two quite surprised dugongs,

who flopped about for a while
before the magpies descended
and shortly there after
the hoi polloi,
with well meaning buckets.

There was quite the commotion,
even made the local news.

But we were long since gone,
fresh out of scores. The end tally
would have to wait.
Click to expand...

now this was worth finding today!
 
The effect of dictionary on dinner

My grandmother always says

there are no words
I tell you there are
no words
for how very old
I am

But there are,
I looked it up.

sep-tua-gen-ar-i-an

But I better not tell her.

It has a melody of something not-quite-green
growing along the rim of a petri dish,

and she'd just be Very Offended,
and serve her most famous soup
with neither salt nor the proper
aniseed bread.
 
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