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LIT CAMS (200 Free Tokens)ADULT TOYSVOD MOVIES

007 Challenge

7 (+2)

mikey1234 said:
Last one....

I have come here today
here among the granite stones
to speak to you
I touch your name
and remember
your smile
your voice
your laughter
and then........I realize
your not here
in this place of grey memories
only I am here
again with flowers
you no longer need
love.......lingers
damn.........how it lingers
but not here
Click to expand...

Canadiana

His "here among the granite stones"
Has made me think of rocks and sheets,
Of targets like slick Jasper Johns
And curling lips I'd love to meet.


.
 
7 (+3)

ornithology & myth

when finally we were naked
she twisted onto her belly, arced,

opened thighs soft as feathers
to my avian eye

even my fingers ached
for I wanted to drizzle her with salt

so to fix her in place
like a perfect, captured bird

who would never startle for cover
when I rose up from the blind


.
 
Last edited:
7 (+4)

To Ellen, in the Afterlife

the linen, I'm sure, is always clean
unrumpled, starched, creased

never kicked onto the floor
in an agony of fumbled haste

settling over shoes and underwear
like a dirty city snow

if there is sex in heaven, it must be slow—
gentle enough for the phlegmatic dead

who find as much joy in philosophy
as a quick tryst

bent over a shriek green
Ikea sofa, sweat

running off of bodies
like a swollen, muddy river's April flood

I know and pray you are at peace
and that Susan, this afternoon, is more earthly blood


.
 
...shriek green or shrek green?

And it's my turn to say, "Wow, Tzara." You are blowing me out of the water. Actually, I am not even the water with you. I'm just sitting on the dock with my feet skimming the surface.
 
7 (+5)

Spoor

The trail begins inside the door,
A spike-heeled pump, her opened purse,
I'll trace these dropped things that she wore

Wherever scattered on the floor.
Her meaning's clear, if somewhat terse.
A trail, begun inside the door—

Her blouse, black bra rock room's décor—
My senses, too, her clothes coerce.
Her trace, these dropped things that she wore

Lead me along; there's not much more.
The other pump, her skirt, dispersed
As trail to wind me to the door

Of low-lit room. There one thing more,
Her panties, torn (O, how perverse!).
I've traced these dropped things that she wore

But I'm not tracing anymore,
Nor chasing dropped things that she wore.
I've other senses to immerse,
Assail behind closed bedroom door.


.
 
KatieJones said:
...shriek green or shrek green?

And it's my turn to say, "Wow, Tzara." You are blowing me out of the water. Actually, I am not even the water with you. I'm just sitting on the dock with my feet skimming the surface.
Click to expand...
Shriek green, though now that you mention it, that's pretty much Shrek color as well, though that would probably not occur to someone who neither has young children nor works as a film critic.

As for "blowing [you] out of the water," that's a very kind thing to say. I like writing with people, so you have served as inspiration with your well-crafted, intelligent poems.

So thanks yer own self.
 
7 (+6)

Entymology
after Eric Carle, sort of

i am always now a caterpillar
eating my way through the leaf of you

each chew enlarging the emptiness
of your centered hole

while i
more famished only grow

most oddly it is somehow you
who finally bursts in bloom

emerging drenched and all aglow
new butterfly


.
 
14

green

is why, when I stare at your skin
my eyes track suddenly left, as if a spider

ran over your taut belly
just then, around hip and under spine

to god knows where and bit
you


.
 
Nice second run, Tzara. I will forever be jealous of your ability to say so much with so few words.

I am a word pig. Speaking of words, I had to move over to the five in five because I need days off.
 
digging the layers
below ordinary syllables
he fidgets pronunciation
into wiggletoe rivulets
around his play
ful tongue
I come to splash
and sink in shallows
together salamanders
wiggling pink into love
 
I am the possible egg
riding in red
rooster tail

until claw and crow
purchase my smooth
entrance to nest

waiting for one warm
market day to roll
under hay absent

the hungry eye
of the farmer's wife
until I peck through
 
Open Letter to Bill Gates

When a mountain speaks
villages crumble

under timbers small bodies
bend and break only because

you think you know
more than decades

of research. Mountain,
quiet now and listen

when Jamie asks
for help

teacher has 10 minutes
for pledge of alliegance (Spanish and
English) and up 105 stairs
to the too-small classroom
held together with wire, 20
for free breakfast/pencil sharpening
7.5 minutes for small-group instruction
(4 groups get 2 minutes each once
teacher ac
counts for travel time between
differ
entiated groups) 70 minutes for
large group instruction, 140
minutes for small-group
guided practice, 20 minutes
there and back for full-class
bathrooming, another 20
minutes there and back for full-class
to-from-playground/lunch/5th floor,
and what is left is 1.22 hours
divided by 5 office phone calls,
four additional passes filled out
to nurse, to fountain, to pick
up supplies from the coach's office
and what is left is 60 minutes minus
the 15 minutes for writing homework
and packing bags and what is left is

a little more than a minute for Jamie
who needs help.

Her teacher skips lunch, stays
late, calls home, but
Jamie still can't read
in her 2nd language
on grade level
Mr. Gates

and you are just a mountain
tearing rifts in the earth
when you say make
classes larger
by just
five more
Jamies.
 
Last edited:
only square
strong hands

only his square
strong hands could

hold this desperate
wrist still above

auburn spill over
pillow OH

leaks from the window
and door

mingling with smoke
in the hallway

OH YES seeps
into the courtyard

and the apartments
next door

followed by loud
joyful begging

up all the stairs even
up to the roof up

further to the 747
overhead

begging NOW!
PLEASE NOW!
 
KatieJones said:
Nice second run, Tzara. I will forever be jealous of your ability to say so much with so few words.

I am a word pig. Speaking of words, I had to move over to the five in five because I need days off.
Click to expand...
Why I has been doing Dora's sevenish thing instead of stern Neo's 30 day death march.

Why I is now not doing anything other than twizzing darkmaas and you in that other thread. Can't quite gather the brain cells to be intelligent that often.

Anywow. Liked your poems.

Oh & your new ones, too, Ms. Glitters. Well done.
 
I turn again
into the fire
into the passion
sweet
long
deep.........passion
consumed
by the velvet flames
scents...licking at my thoughts
to leave
no longer a possibility
devour......all that I am
with waxed red lips
nibble..........at this pale flesh
draw me ever deeper
into your loins
as morning whispers
and hints at waking
let me turn........into the fire
 
I am one small dot
slash
smudge
on this rather large canvas
can you see me?
if you fail to look
perhaps I will simply disappear
closer
please come closer
study
touch
if even to pretend interest
or I may pass
never feeling
your breath
here
upon this tiny spot
 
my eyes watch
my ears listen
as you cross your silken legs
my imagination...........dances
with each spasm
of your dangling shoe
it is the illusion
the fantasy........of orgasm
no entwining of flesh
no transfer of saliva
simply........thought
how sensual
here in the shadows
how hungry
this ache of want must appear
as you uncross your silken legs
as your toes reach for my fantasy
 
If I can stand.........why then should I kneel?
and if.........I can kneel
why then should I lay face down?
they will only turn me onto my back
crossing my hands.......place me in a box
then search the crowd for words
yes words
words to bring some conclusion
to announce ever so profoundly..........my purpose
a conclusion
a drawing of the curtain
ever so slowly
the quickening
the validation
of existance
 
Sunny View Nursing Home Rhyme #2

Olga whose harmonic harpsichord art
Bach would have smiled upon
recalls her once throbbing musical heart
beneath the black chiffon
formal gown worn when she played a prelude
and fugue in D minor, Olga's debut
at Deutsch Messe in St. Paul's Lutheran Church,
Madison, Wisconsin.

She ponders the parakeet on its perch
orderlies should sconce in
a cage far removed from grandchildren's reach
as Kenneth pauses his figures of speech,
given each year the half hour he stays
at noontime on Christmas,
to frown at Katherine his wife who says
how naughty the bird was
to Junior who spills the holiday punch
while Olga guesses the fowl choice for lunch.
 
Last edited:
Tzara said:
Why I has been doing Dora's sevenish thing instead of stern Neo's 30 day death march.

Why I is now not doing anything other than twizzing darkmaas and you in that other thread. Can't quite gather the brain cells to be intelligent that often.

Anywow. Liked your poems.

Oh & your new ones, too, Ms. Glitters. Well done.
Click to expand...

Thank you, Tzara, for the compliment. Lovely to read you and Ms. Jones here. Thank you for joining me, Mikey and Greenmountaineer. :rose::rose::rose::rose:
 
Orals

The kind of gum I love
best has no side
benefits. It doesn't
whiten or invigorate.
I love the 25 cent
gumball lifted
on a metal thumb,
dropped to the swinging
door which will reveal
blue or orange
to the scooped palm.
Its flavor is always
brief as childhood.
 
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