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greenmountaineer

Literotica Guru
Joined
Nov 28, 2008
Posts
2,442
Favorites on Literotica

If you're like I am, you have a favorites list of poems you have read through the years on Literotica.

If you do, I'd like to suggest you paste it here and comment on it. While the particular poem may not interest others as much, I suspect many, in fact, will when perhaps they otherwise would not have read it.
 
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I made reference to this on another thread. Most of my favorites are non-erotic. This by Tess is a delightful exception.

Walter and the Naiad

byTristesse2©

His lonely walk takes effort,
oppressive heat,
no shade or breeze.
Doctor's orders, still he rebels.
About to turn back
he glances over the lake,
he is no voyeur,
cannot pull his eyes away
but leans on his cane
afraid to blink.

Breathtaking,
pale against dark ripples,
she bends, splashes a hand
as she wades. Water consumes her,
knees,
thighs
and, as it laps at her buttocks
she turns to reveal a dark triangle
and chill-sharpened nipples.
Eyes blissfully closed she falls

backwards, submerging
then surfacing, her hair slick.
He realizes she is unaware
of an audience, aches to join
her in cool youth.
Seconds it seems, he is naked too,
knee deep, then at her side
in a lazy crawl
he hasn't done for years.
She smiles, unsurprised.
Swims beside him
easily.

"I hoped you'd join me."
"You saw me then?"
"No I felt your presence,
your need." She dives.
He gasps
as her lips find him,
a sucking sea-thing.
He is sinking,
dreaming, swimming gill-like above her.
They break in turmoil
both breathless,
he hasn't felt this way,
perhaps for ever.

His hand explores, a thick,
throbbing dowel grows
from his groin.
Her hand is there,
guiding him, warmth gloves him
in sweet softness as her legs wrap him.
He bucks her mulishly,
every muscle, joint
and part working as it should,
as it could in younger years.

They swim and float as one,
he rooted in her,
she nurtures his desire until,
with a howl of submission,
his release echoes over still waters.

She sinks now,
below and away,
he can see her smile
so clear is the water,
until she twists
fish-like and is gone.

My comments

The choice of erotic words IMO make this erotic poem stand out. Instead the customary, fuck, cock, cunt stuff, we have buttocks, dark triangle, chill-sharpened nipples, sucking sea thing, thick throbbing dowel, bucking mulishly, rooted in her, and howl of submission.

Now I ask you, doesn't "sucking sea thing" with its alliteration and rhyme sound better and create a very different image than "cocksucker?"

"he is no voyeur,/cannot pull his eyes away" was pivotal for me to better understand the poem. The contradiction is that's exactly what he is, whether the naiad is a dream or an active imagination at work.

I don't think I would have used "turmoil" in S4, but other than that, I'd be hard pressed to find anything else I'd change.

"howl of submission" for me was the double entendre that brought the poem to its conclusion so effectively. On the surface one may think it had to do with orgasm, maybe so, but "howl" (ie anger) and "submission"(ie resignation) are two stages of grief.

I suspect this poem resonates more with a babyboomer than it does with the younger poets, but the melancholy I didn't think was overdone. Aging and disease are part of letting go, which is sad, but Walter's imagination triumphed. May he have many more "wet dreams."

Fantastic poem IMO.
 
Beautiful indeed

Erotic and melancholy, an encounter that we'd all like to have. Just subliminal enough. I love the 'chill-sharpened nipples' and all the other images greenmountaineer pointed out, except - perhaps - for one: maybe I've been hanging out underwater too long but 'sucking sea-thing' doesn't necessarily evoke a sexy image to me, but rather something darker and more dangerous. Was it meant to be there? The dark side of sexual abandon?

Here's the stanza without it:

"I hoped you'd join me."
"You saw me then?"
"No I felt your presence,
your need." She dives.
He gasps
as her lips find him.
He is sinking,
dreaming, swimming gill-like above her.
They break in turmoil
both breathless,
he hasn't felt this way,
perhaps for ever.

Just a thought.

I've certainly been guilty of being too raw in poetry; Tess' poem a great example of "doing more with less".

Simply lovely!

Kudos to the author, and to gm, thanks for sharing it.
 
womanliness
bySpringBreezes©


never through
harsh mirror angles
have I understood
my curves--
curves that have been here
all along--
curves that guide the way
to what I have to give;
how amply spreading
limbs and trunk
will stretch,
and in their stretching
be the very
beauty that I live.

I had to see through
eyes--not mine--
a coyness
as it shines in smiles,
bright, still pretty
and despite the years,
still girly,
bursting into blushes, giggles...
and through another's ears
I hear a pure delight,
though long my voice,
distorted,
bore to me strange shame
when I sighed or groaned
or dared indulge a languid moan.

though late,
I now look down
rolling hills
to tender valleys
and feel the flower bloom,
as warm springs rush
there rises light perfume;
this I inhabit
shedding old, familiar doubt,
for I have grown
to be a wondrous bounty:
this is my womanliness,
and proudly,
I claim her as my own.


From the moment I read this I loved the whole aspect of it, and it resonated with my thoughts on a strong woman that can accept who she is, though it was posted to non-erotic, I feel it easily could have been placed in the erotic field. My comments

the reasons i suggested erotic is the nature of the write

It's completely exposing of not just your body but your whole being.


The very first image of assessing your worth in the mirror, is as evocative a stanza as I have read , it covers the contours of a woman and discusses stretching which has the dual connotations of sex or birth to children, the beauty of creation or pleasure all exposed.

You even guide us there with your words as if the reader is watching you in the mirror trace you body in acceptance of what you are as a whole being.

In the second stanza

You invite the reader to be the second person that is helping you discover you, you never detail who it is so we go on a voyeuristic journey, You show us the fun flirty side of women in general I know that when I am flirting right there is laughter, giggles, and coy smiles. As an added indulgence you guide the reader to think of you indulging in yourself.

The final stanza of acceptance and realization is a beautiful embrace of femininity and claiming you woman hood,

This write is a true exposure of yourself as a woman, maybe not 100% erotic but as a man , this is as erotic as anything else I have read.
 
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greenmountaineer said:
I made reference to this on another thread. Most of my favorites are non-erotic. This by Tess is a delightful exception.

Walter and the Naiad

byTristesse2©

Fantastic poem IMO.
Click to expand...

legerdemer said:
Erotic and melancholy, an encounter that we'd all like to have. Simply lovely!

Kudos to the author, and to gm, thanks for sharing it.
Click to expand...

AMoveableBeast said:
A beautiful poem. Skillfully formed and evocative.
Click to expand...

todski28 said:
http://forum.literotica.com/showpost.php?p=52459590&postcount=19

Some of my thoughts on Walter and the Naiad it is an amazing piece of writing
Click to expand...

Thank you all very much. :heart:
 
Love the stuff

Kotochaos as a series of fanatasy stuff, seduction, dominance, incest, I love it,
 
I need Champ to find a favourite of mine, I don't even know it's title or if it ever had one. It was about her Father and I've never forgotten it.
 
The great Todski found it for me :)
.
I didn't know my daddy,
Mom says he was a sailor
the youngest papered
on the Great Lakes.

But what does that mean
when the hand-me-down clothes
are outgrown and siblings
return from a trip to the zoo
and talk about the monkey
and the elephant;
and the one left behind
just feels like another exhibit.

But, that's all right
since he was the only man
you truly loved. So, why did you let him
get away with not loving
his misbegot?
 
UnderYourSpell said:
The great Todski found it for me :)
.
I didn't know my daddy,
Mom says he was a sailor
the youngest papered
on the Great Lakes.

But what does that mean
when the hand-me-down clothes
are outgrown and siblings
return from a trip to the zoo
and talk about the monkey
and the elephant;
and the one left behind
just feels like another exhibit.

But, that's all right
since he was the only man
you truly loved. So, why did you let him
get away with not loving
his misbegot?
Click to expand...

An endearing sad poem. The first image that came to my mind was that of a young woman's or perhaps a teenager's reflections about a father she regretted not having known. At first I thought it was a young girl because the language is fairly simple and straight-forward, but I don't think a young girl would have said "siblings" and "misbegot" and that realization of greater distance in the passing of time accentuated the loneliness.

The effective use of past and present tense really made the poem IMO. In the first stanza the past tense is used; in the second, the present; and in the third, the poet returns to the past tense. Isn't true when we reflect on sad things of the past we feel as though we're experiencing them in the moment? I think this is a wonderful application of grammatical tense as a poetic device.

Those are my thoughts. Thanks for posting it.
 
As per submissions page
cathedral of bone
by butters


ribs
a vaulted nave
filled with pure notes that soar and swoop
curl
carry my heart
contain it lest it fly straight to the stars​



Why I like it?
I don't know what a cathedral of bone is in the poetesse's mind, but It helps me think of ivory vaults aspiring to bridge the gap with the sky.
It has an upward driving immense force therefore it tells me what a human heart is at its best.
It is very musical and very artfully crafted. Economy of expressive means is here of paramount importance, with the first four words a cathedral is already build, the next two lines capture the essence of its interior and yet the next two connect it to humanity in endless possibilities.
If I was to analyze it in music terms it would give me a fugue with its subject and counter subject, (ie an escapade in the original meaning of a fugue), but it also talks abut a literal escapade of the heart.
It is both Gothic and baroque in color (giving the essence of those eras), but through a 21st century observer's eyes.
I can almost hear the church organ playing by just thinking abut it. That's magic in art.
 
Last edited:
pelegrino said:
As per submissions page
cathedral of bone
by butters


ribs
a vaulted nave
filled with pure notes that soar and swoop
curl
carry my heart
contain it lest it fly straight to the stars​



Why I like it?
I don't know what a cathedral of bone is in the poetesse's mind, but It helps me think of ivory vaults aspiring to bridge the gap with the sky.
It has an upward driving immense force therefore it tells me what a human heart is at its best.
It is very musical and very artfully crafted. Economy of expressive means is here of paramount importance, with the first four words a cathedral is already build, the next two lines capture the essence of its interior and yet the next two connect it to humanity in endless possibilities.
If I was to analyze it in music terms it would give me a fugue with its subject and counter subject, (ie an escapade in the original meaning of a fugue), but it also talks abut a literal escapade of the heart.
It is both Gothic and baroque in color (giving the essence of those eras), but through a 21st century observer's eyes.
I can almost hear the church organ playing by just thinking abut it. That's magic in art.
Click to expand...

Great poem, smart analysis.
 
greenmountaineer said:
I made reference to this on another thread. Most of my favorites are non-erotic. This by Tess is a delightful exception.

Walter and the Naiad

byTristesse2©

His lonely walk takes effort,
oppressive heat,
no shade or breeze.
Doctor's orders, still he rebels.
About to turn back
he glances over the lake,
he is no voyeur,
cannot pull his eyes away
but leans on his cane
afraid to blink.

Breathtaking,
pale against dark ripples,
she bends, splashes a hand
as she wades. Water consumes her,
knees,
thighs
and, as it laps at her buttocks
she turns to reveal a dark triangle
and chill-sharpened nipples.
Eyes blissfully closed she falls

backwards, submerging
then surfacing, her hair slick.
He realizes she is unaware
of an audience, aches to join
her in cool youth.
Seconds it seems, he is naked too,
knee deep, then at her side
in a lazy crawl
he hasn't done for years.
She smiles, unsurprised.
Swims beside him
easily.

"I hoped you'd join me."
"You saw me then?"
"No I felt your presence,
your need." She dives.
He gasps
as her lips find him,
a sucking sea-thing.
He is sinking,
dreaming, swimming gill-like above her.
They break in turmoil
both breathless,
he hasn't felt this way,
perhaps for ever.

His hand explores, a thick,
throbbing dowel grows
from his groin.
Her hand is there,
guiding him, warmth gloves him
in sweet softness as her legs wrap him.
He bucks her mulishly,
every muscle, joint
and part working as it should,
as it could in younger years.

They swim and float as one,
he rooted in her,
she nurtures his desire until,
with a howl of submission,
his release echoes over still waters.

She sinks now,
below and away,
he can see her smile
so clear is the water,
until she twists
fish-like and is gone.

My comments

The choice of erotic words IMO make this erotic poem stand out. Instead the customary, fuck, cock, cunt stuff, we have buttocks, dark triangle, chill-sharpened nipples, sucking sea thing, thick throbbing dowel, bucking mulishly, rooted in her, and howl of submission.

Now I ask you, doesn't "sucking sea thing" with its alliteration and rhyme sound better and create a very different image than "cocksucker?"

"he is no voyeur,/cannot pull his eyes away" was pivotal for me to better understand the poem. The contradiction is that's exactly what he is, whether the naiad is a dream or an active imagination at work.

I don't think I would have used "turmoil" in S4, but other than that, I'd be hard pressed to find anything else I'd change.

"howl of submission" for me was the double entendre that brought the poem to its conclusion so effectively. On the surface one may think it had to do with orgasm, maybe so, but "howl" (ie anger) and "submission"(ie resignation) are two stages of grief.

I suspect this poem resonates more with a babyboomer than it does with the younger poets, but the melancholy I didn't think was overdone. Aging and disease are part of letting go, which is sad, but Walter's imagination triumphed. May he have many more "wet dreams."

Fantastic poem IMO.
Click to expand...
agreed, gm, about the erotic quality of this piece - it's actually my favourite poem by tristesse. it illustrates perfectly the benefits of selective word-choice; considering walter's generation, any assumptions the reader might make because of that, the avoidance of cruder language works in the poem's favour - it's sympathetic to the characterisation.

the erotica comes, first, from making the reader voyeur but, more than that, puts us inside walter's head, inviting us to feel what he feels. the secondary aspect is the sound and pacing of the words chosen - words that create ripples of both associated imagery and other words unpoken: in 'pale against dark ripples', i defy people to not hear/see an auditory/visual accompaniment of 'dark nipples'. tess' exquisite choice of 'thick, throbbing dowel' embraces all the associations of 'got wood' but with the eye-freshness of originality.

personally, i like the 'sucking sea-thing'- it has a coldness, an 'alien-not-human' quality to it that injects a note of unease beneath the surface of lust and also (thinking about this) combines well with the title to thread that sense of a mythological tale throughout.

i'm not saying this poem is perfect. i'd be damned if i knew how to improve on it though, and wouldn't change a thing.
 
pelegrino said:
As per submissions page
cathedral of bone
by butters


ribs
a vaulted nave
filled with pure notes that soar and swoop
curl
carry my heart
contain it lest it fly straight to the stars​



Why I like it?
I don't know what a cathedral of bone is in the poetesse's mind, but It helps me think of ivory vaults aspiring to bridge the gap with the sky.
It has an upward driving immense force therefore it tells me what a human heart is at its best.
It is very musical and very artfully crafted. Economy of expressive means is here of paramount importance, with the first four words a cathedral is already build, the next two lines capture the essence of its interior and yet the next two connect it to humanity in endless possibilities.
If I was to analyze it in music terms it would give me a fugue with its subject and counter subject, (ie an escapade in the original meaning of a fugue), but it also talks abut a literal escapade of the heart.
It is both Gothic and baroque in color (giving the essence of those eras), but through a 21st century observer's eyes.
I can almost hear the church organ playing by just thinking abut it. That's magic in art.
Click to expand...
wow, big sea green? :D and centered :D
thanks, P, glad you enjoyed it. :rose:

this one came from watching and listening to some cathedral music (probably from a link Byron posted). the architecture of the building was rib-like and vaulting, the music so incredible as notes flew and dipped and were held within the building, it was if my heart was trying to escape my own ribcage, so the two overlapped to create this - just me trying to write what i felt.
 
butters said:
wow, big sea green? :D and centered :D
thanks, P, glad you enjoyed it. :rose:

this one came from watching and listening to some cathedral music (probably from a link Byron posted). the architecture of the building was rib-like and vaulting, the music so incredible as notes flew and dipped and were held within the building, it was if my heart was trying to escape my own ribcage, so the two overlapped to create this - just me trying to write what i felt.
Click to expand...

This is just a wonderful poem, butters. Saying so much with so few words is a remarkable skill. I thought pelegrino made some spot-on comments too.

My first thought was Notre Dame in Paris.

You melded the physical with the metaphysical or our imagining it as the case may be. I don't how I missed commenting on it when you first posted it in Jan. 2014; my loss, but I've since added it to my favorites list.
 
Last edited:
greenmountaineer said:
pushkine, aka, Lit's very own venerable Tzara as I later learned coincidentally:

https://www.literotica.com/p/mosquito-wins-miss-america

Tzara is a master of light verse, although his inventory can send you in some pretty heady directions too.

Read "Mosquito Wins Miss America," and I dare you: Tell me with a straight cyberspace face you didn't chuckle.
Click to expand...
Venerable?
ven·er·a·ble
ˈven(ə)rəb(ə)l/
adjective
accorded a great deal of respect, especially because of age, wisdom, or character.​
Oh, well, OK. I thought it just meant old.

Which, in part, it seems it does. :rolleyes:



Thanks, gm, for the shout-out.
 
As a poet, I try to pay attention to every word I write.

"Culicidae" in Tzara's poem is a word, I'm sure, most of us never heard before. In fact, it may very well be a word the poet made up. Here's the skill IMO: It doesn't matter. The poet gave us enough context to understand its meaning.

I know there are good poems with plain words, but I also think poetry appreciation is a subtle psychological process. Poets who use their "tricks of the trade" to get the reader to pause momentarily and reflect on the meaning the poet is trying to convey without getting utterly confused, is skillful writing. For me, I want to feel like I'm discovering a new perspective when I read a poem, and that can be as a result of a stanza, a line, or even a single word.
 
This is masterful. If you would like to read the 15 comments in addition to the poem, go to:

https://www.literotica.com/p/animated-comfort


Animated Comfort
byAngeline©
Summer should not
be ripe for sadness not
when trees toss their hair
like casual schoolgirls
but stand otherwise still,
cool in blind assurance
like feckless flowers
or fruit waiting to fall
from the vine.

The world overflows
with secrets but crows
jeer no matter the season.
I hear them laughing
in the mornings knowing
they will be fat
as plums on the snow
when our ground is frozen,
our branches whip thin.

I toss my hair and flutter
my fingers but otherwise
am still at the window.
I can't pretend sovereignty
over trees or plums but here
stories in squirrels, pines,
dragonflies, nothing
like people but animate
them to feel something,
to glimpse an uncle
in the forsythia brush,
a grandfather shadow
in slanting afternoon.

I've been meaning to tell you
that the sky is closer
to the earth here. It's brighter,
the clouds have more
dimension. I've been meaning
to tell you but I don't
know who you are,
just that you are fleeting
as a butterfly wing
or dandelion fluff.

When the moon rises
I quicken the stars, beg
them to whisper my name,
gather tears in the palm
of my hand and pretend
they are mother's, sister's.
I fly into the night to comfort
the moon and tell it we are
some kind of family.

Report Story
byAngeline© 15 comments/ 5197 views/ 5 favorites
 
I once vacationed for a week in a quaint bungalow on the Isle of Literotia.






Heh hehe heh

I said bungalow.
 
greenmountaineer said:
As a poet, I try to pay attention to every word I write.

"Culicidae" in Tzara's poem is a word, I'm sure, most of us never heard before. In fact, it may very well be a word the poet made up. Here's the skill IMO: It doesn't matter. The poet gave us enough context to understand its meaning.

I know there are good poems with plain words, but I also think poetry appreciation is a subtle psychological process. Poets who use their "tricks of the trade" to get the reader to pause momentarily and reflect on the meaning the poet is trying to convey without getting utterly confused, is skillful writing. For me, I want to feel like I'm discovering a new perspective when I read a poem, and that can be as a result of a stanza, a line, or even a single word.
Click to expand...
I didn't notice this until today. Just to set the record straight, "culicidae" is the taxonomic family name for mosquitos and similar insects.

And, thank you, gm. I hope it doesn't matter that one knows that reading the poem.
 
Animated Comfort

GM, I just saw today that you included my poem Animated Comfort in this thread. Thank you for your comment and thank you butters for recalling the poem and favoriting it back when I wrote it. Looking back I realize that poem enabled me to write another poem, Chagall's Bride. I remember when I was writing Comfort, I kept thinking of those paintings where the brides are floating in the sky and the images kind of guided me through the writing. But afterward I felt I hadn't really said what I wanted and that morphed into the other poem. I wonder do others have this experience, where you feel you're reaching for something you just miss but that eventually leads to another poem on the same theme?
 
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