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Challenge - Poetic Lovers

UnderYourSpell

UnderYourSpell

Gerund Whore
Joined
May 20, 2007
Posts
15,794
Why do poets make the best lovers .......... or not?!
Any form and style, just go where your heart takes you. Do poets make your heart sing or break it? If so why? 5 to 25 lines and I'm asking for critique on the poems, whether you're posting or not. Be kind but truthful, I did/didn't like it isn't enough!
Challenge lasts until Sunday midnight .....GO!
 
Pantoum

Why do poets make the best loves and friends?
Is it because of the way their minds treat
the intricate twists and turns of the plot bends,
that make their words appear more sweet?

Is it because of the way their minds treat
what would please their partner the most
that make their words appear more sweet,
endeavours to bring that special person close?

What would please their partner the most?
In synonyms, not just your mundane for adore
that make their words appear extra sweet
and has him/her gasping and begging for more.

In synonyms, not just your mundane for adore,
the intricate twists and turns of the plot bends,
and has him/her gasping and begging for more.
Why do poets make the best loves and friends?
 
Tritina, Complaining about Poets

What is there to say about these poets?
They're always feeling things—lust, anger, love—
Things that put the Eeee! into emotion

As if only they could feel emotion,
We others, nothing. Self-centered, poets
Surf their soupy words, sailing toward love

Like it was a beach, a hidden cove, Love
The sun-warmed, secret sands of emotion.
It's enough to make one sick of poets.

But you know poets, they love emotion.

.
 
Poetic Love Knot

My love sees the world through my eyes,
and I hers;
though which view's more true
is often open to debate,
sometimes fiery, always soothed w/kisses.

I watch her in the strawberry patch,
still wondering what strange machinery turns in that head,
what luck she dropped poetry hankies in my path,
and I had the sense to return them.
A glance between us, a smile, jelly tonight.
 
UnderYourSpell said:
Why do poets make the best loves and friends?
Is it because of the way their minds treat
the intricate twists and turns of the plot bends,
that make their words appear more sweet?

Is it because of the way their minds treat
what would please their partner the most
that make their words appear more sweet,
endeavours to bring that special person close?

What would please their partner the most?
In synonyms, not just your mundane for adore
that make their words appear extra sweet
and has him/her gasping and begging for more.

In synonyms, not just your mundane for adore,
the intricate twists and turns of the plot bends,
and has him/her gasping and begging for more.
Why do poets make the best loves and friends?
Click to expand...
Nice poem, Annie. I may comment more on it later, but let me point out that, following form, your line 3 in stanza 3, "that make their words appear extra sweet," should be the echo of line 4 in stanza 2: "endeavours to bring that special person close?" or some slight variation on that.

I quite like this challenge, BTW. :)
 
Tzara said:
Nice poem, Annie. I may comment more on it later, but let me point out that, following form, your line 3 in stanza 3, "that make their words appear extra sweet," should be the echo of line 4 in stanza 2: "endeavours to bring that special person close?" or some slight variation on that.

I quite like this challenge, BTW. :)
Click to expand...

Oh sod, have I mucked it up lol :)
 
Fixed it lol I'd copy pasted the wrong line in ......... oops!

Why do poets make the best loves and friends?
Is it because of the way their minds treat
the intricate twists and turns of the plot bends,
that make their words appear more sweet?

Is it because of the way their minds treat
what would please their partner the most
that make their words appear more sweet,
endeavours to bring that special person close?

What would please their partner the most?
In synonyms, not just your mundane for adore
endeavours to bring that special person close
and has him/her gasping and begging for more.

In synonyms, not just your mundane for adore,
the intricate twists and turns of the plot bends,
and has him/her gasping and begging for more.
Why do poets make the best loves and friends?
 
i'll try and find the time to write and offer some thoughts. right now, i've the time (if i stop making my rug) but feel too full from toad in the hole and too sleepy to offer anything worth reading. tomorrow is another day :D good stuff so far, for sure!
 
Lucretia’s delight

With flowery words he won her
perforce, she took him straight to bed
his small cock spurted all too soon
but his quick tongue worked well instead.
 
Last edited:
My lover, the poet, tells tales, weaves words
Yielding bounteous verse, deluges of lyric metaphor

Languid, his words brush my lips
Odes compel me to attend him
Verily, I am spell bound and
Entranced by rhythm and rhyme
Running through my imagination

Tender couplets detail the ways
He now loves me more dearly
Each line bids me hither, blushing

Precious are his exclamations
Opium to heart and soul
Each poem reveals his desire
Teaching the pathways to love
 
Tzara said:
Tritina, Complaining about Poets

What is there to say about these poets?
They're always feeling things—lust, anger, love—
Things that put the Eeee! into emotion

As if only they could feel emotion,
We others, nothing. Self-centered, poets
Surf their soupy words, sailing toward love

Like it was a beach, a hidden cove, Love
The sun-warmed, secret sands of emotion.
It's enough to make one sick of poets.

But you know poets, they love emotion.

.
Click to expand...

I know I said saying I like it isn't enough, but I love how you've turned everything round and your expressive wording is second to none, proving yet again that forms aren't something that ties poets up with restrictions.
 
Piscator said:
Lucretia’s delight

With flowery words he won her
perforce, she took him straight to bed
his small cock spurted all too soon
but his quick tongue worked well instead.
Click to expand...

My immediate thought was Hooray lol sooooooo much said and a very expressive picture painted in 4 short lines.
 
When he knows I've been crying,
he comes to me.
With that certain face that wears
a special smile.

A smile, promised with his love. :heart:
 
Yesterday I saw her face
Beaming smile and flashing eyes
Twin nebulas that reveal her soul
Of course she blushed
When I proclaimed in wonder
"There you are" like a dream
Entering into eternity
With love and war
Passion and release
Tenderness and flame
That she would write for me
Sing of time and desire
How deep do we dare
With kisses and adventure
Tasting of forbidden pleasures
Reaching heights of ecstasy
Known only in my darkest dreams
Come to me in this life
I'll not see her like again
 
because her body has the glow of
a red-light district hidden behind the naked eye
somewhere in the depth I crave what I saw
craved a taste of temptation
within a shot she was nothing more than every
illusionist wet dream

her vowels are worth that of a continental breakfast
spilling against my lips
to assuage the hunger in me
for rhetoric that grips onto the secrets I hide
all deadly claws and swaying hips
and I want to envelop her in a carnalistic
butane fire where we can inhale the flames
of our own melted desire

and somehow
her rook has taken one of my knights hostage
I can only marvel at the moves she makes
twisting on an arch of my own sanity
as she plays with words in ways that turn my insides
into liquid

and when she buckles against my clumsy attempt
to sew a seed of knowledge wrapped in a metaphor
of my own stupidity
 
k.i.s.s

let's be clear
it's not all apple pie
though know he'd take
his heart and kidneys
both
should he believe that
move might pleasure me
inside a pastry shell

in a blink it can get
complicated as all hell

in one breath
angry waves subside

hands connected
all is calm
blue as his serenity
simple as a nod, a kiss
a smile
sharp edges sheathed
abandoned
pain's lake a shrinking puddle
absorbed by verdant lands
mountains once more molehills
 
poets in love

how this view
soothes and breaks our hearts
smoke-breath from wooded hillside
softens the world
as the sky stoops to embrace

and on the surface of the lake
green froth lays a living blanket
beneath which life still swarms
in sweet and clear spring waters

one heavy rain will sink the algae
sun's light will pierce the depths
the moon will ride a watery sky
fry will school and larger mouths will harvest

trees dance there on the sloping lawn
clover beads their dancing shoes
birds red and blue mark fairy'd time
wood-bees, forgetting words, still hum the tune

barks upon the hill bring smiles
small rabbits hide in seeding grass
and though the snakes can't hear the song
still they feel the music

and on those days when lightning rents black skies
our bodies shudder with the thunder's voice
more alive as fine hairs rise
in chasing breezes heralding the rain

all senses wrapt
we're shared minds
boundaries erased
feeling with eachother's flesh
life-scars one and the same
open-eyed, sensing this one world
eyes closed, inhabiting others
 
We've met across the ocean,
and quite frankly know,
we can never, ever be.
This the hardest to accept
with many bitter tears,
although he infuriatingly
accepted long before I did,
but the love is no less real.

"I can give you the smile
and the laugh and tell you I love you,
but we have to live
with the reality of life.
Let the fantasy be what you need
and it will be enough."

Who else could be sensible
and loving, with words poetic?!
 
You sat on the edge of the tub
reading San Francisco Blues,
satori and alliteration, intermittent
shadows, headlights distant
trains tenor call and response,
our window of light a beacon
in the long northern night.

Three a.m. pancakes, Satie
or was it Evans at the Vanguard,
piano soft, precise and the bass
a considered thrum. Snow
and nowhere to go. Sticky
maple kisses, syrupy skin
between the sheets.

Whisper dream of the road,
children of God drunk in love
with words, the rhythm of spaces
in between them. Drunk on dreams
of blue highways, looking for America
still, looking for somewhere
to belong, writing our poems,
singing a singular harmony.
 
UnderYourSpell said:
We've met across the ocean,
and quite frankly know,
we can never, ever be.
This the hardest to accept
with many bitter tears,
although he infuriatingly
accepted long before I did,
but the love is no less real.

"I can give you the smile
and the laugh and tell you I love you,
but we have to live
with the reality of life.
Let the fantasy be what you need
and it will be enough."

Who else could be sensible
and loving, with words poetic?!
Click to expand...

Well captured Annie. Having barely survived a cross the pond affair, this strikes home. Still, no regrets, and better once than never.
 
Piscator said:
Well captured Annie. Having barely survived a cross the pond affair, this strikes home. Still, no regrets, and better once than never.
Click to expand...

It's one of those wasn't supposed to happen things, studded with a lot of tears (on my part) but oh so much joy and I too wouldn't miss it for the world.
 
Angeline said:
You sat on the edge of the tub
reading San Francisco Blues,
satori and alliteration, intermittent
shadows, headlights distant
trains tenor call and response,
our window of light a beacon
in the long northern night.

Three a.m. pancakes, Satie
or was it Evans at the Vanguard,
piano soft, precise and the bass
a considered thrum. Snow
and nowhere to go. Sticky
maple kisses, syrupy skin
between the sheets.

Whisper dream of the road,
children of God drunk in love
with words, the rhythm of spaces
in between them. Drunk on dreams
of blue highways, looking for America
still, looking for somewhere
to belong, writing our poems,
singing a singular harmony.
Click to expand...

I'm glad you did feel able to write ........ hugs :heart:
 
Triolet

I had an online lover, once.
She was a poet. One quite good.
I longed to love her. In a clench,
I'd clasp her, online lover, once.
But online loves leave one a dunce:
one's left caressing would be wood.
I had one online lover. Once.
But she's a poet. One who's good.

.
 
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