Go Back   Literotica Discussion Board > Main Literotica Forums > Poetry Feedback & Discussion

Reply
 
Thread Tools

Old 07-03-2018, 10:22 AM   #951
Piscator
Literotica Guru
 
Piscator's Avatar
 
Piscator is offline
Join Date: May 2003
Location: Canada
Posts: 923
Quote:
Originally Posted by greenmountaineer View Post
Lizzie
sight: pool table
touch: a shoulder
smell: popcorn
taste: Scotch whiskey
hear: Do-Wap
"Pool is merely an exercise in applied Newtonian physics and trigonometry." intoned the Professor to Lizzie as he unwound himself from the green table after sinking the eight ball. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, his face so close she could taste the Johnny Walkers on his breath, like him, an anomaly in the bar's atmosphere of Do-Wap, beer and popcorn.

No one knew his real name, some called him the Professor, because of his tweeds and erudite speech, others Icabod due to his tall lanky frame and then for some reason she thought of those long legged flies that appeared at her window each summer. Whatever, sighed Lizzie as she felt the triangle between her legs moisten in anticipation of another lesson in applied geometry.

sight: basement apartment
touch: worn leather
smell: mint
taste: morning after night before
hear: Doppler of passing sirens
__________________
Piscator

Something's fishy here

Last edited by Piscator : 07-03-2018 at 04:05 PM.
  Reply With Quote

Old 07-03-2018, 03:43 PM   #952
greenmountaineer
Literotica Guru
 
greenmountaineer is offline
Join Date: Nov 2008
Posts: 2,442
Foreplay

You asked that I wear that old sport coat
with the frayed suede elbow patches
while we listen to Beethoven’s moonlight
in your TriBeCa basement apartment.

Oh, we could see its reflection if need be
on the office windows across the street,
but sweet it is to imagine, eyes closed,
while holding hands here on the couch

amid the hurly burly of Manhattan
and dissipation of a siren uptown,
neither unsettling the harmony
of the sonata for us,

sipping our drams of peppermint schnapps;
discussing “The Second Coming”
by Yeats; Sunday will the Jets beat the Pats?;
and that schnauzer you loved as a little girl

before you tuck me in so to speak
on the couch with a good night kiss,
both knowing that tomorrow night
there’d be a fuller expression of lips.

Sight: two cats
Sound: radio
Taste: coffee
Smell: lilac through an open window
Touch: armrests on an easy chair

Last edited by greenmountaineer : 07-04-2018 at 03:47 PM.
  Reply With Quote

Old 07-08-2018, 05:12 PM   #953
champagne1982
Dangerous Liaison
 
champagne1982's Avatar
 
champagne1982 is offline
Join Date: Aug 2002
Posts: 7,481
Quote:
Originally Posted by greenmountaineer View Post
Foreplay
<snip>
Sight: two cats
Sound: radio
Taste: coffee
Smell: lilac through an open window
Touch: armrests on an easy chair
Lookin' For A Fight

You see your reflection in the window
and wonder where that other
cat came from, nose twitching
to catch the foreigner's scent.
Rival or insignificant?

Instead of pheremones, all you
catch in your whiskers
is the perfume of those soft
purple flowers, standing tall
on sturdy stems brushing
against the screen.

I watch you and take a sip
of coffee, relishing the sweet
and bitter roast on my tongue,
the noise of setting the cup
back down disturbs your intensity.
The stare and yawning game
of intimidation now lost.

Not willing to congratulate
the winner, you stretch out
on the arm of my leather recliner,
and your tail seems to keep time
with The Stray Cat Strut on the radio.

Sight: corn silk
Sound: bubbling water
Taste: bbq smoke
Smell: vinegar
Touch: paper napkin
__________________
Get Carrie'd away.
  Reply With Quote

Old 07-31-2018, 09:13 AM   #954
Piscator
Literotica Guru
 
Piscator's Avatar
 
Piscator is offline
Join Date: May 2003
Location: Canada
Posts: 923
Quote:
Originally Posted by champagne1982 View Post
Lookin' For A Fight
Sight: corn silk
Sound: bubbling water
Taste: bbq smoke
Smell: vinegar
Touch: paper napkin

Foothills Tritina


Fingers pluck last corn silk
then plop the ears in boiling water
Taber corn, it’s the best.

Low voice whispers, “You’re the best!”
fingers wiped on paper napkin caress hair like silk
in Calgary, city of clear running water.

Mélange of smoky ribs and vinegar swept away by cold water
then to the bench where the river view’s best
fingers seek portal past damp panties silk.

Silk parts, waters flow, Alberta’s best.

Sight: water bombers overhead
Sound: droning engines
Taste: fresh fish
Smell: distant smoke
Touch: canoe paddle
__________________
Piscator

Something's fishy here
  Reply With Quote

Old 07-31-2018, 02:53 PM   #955
greenmountaineer
Literotica Guru
 
greenmountaineer is offline
Join Date: Nov 2008
Posts: 2,442
Sight: water bombers overhead
Sound: droning engines
Taste: fresh fish
Smell: distant smoke
Touch: canoe paddle

Fire

There’s no buoyancy left the canoe,
tilted obliquely in the mud.
It’s paddle looks like a crutch.

Fish have ears that can hear water bombers
droning in the distance
that pulsates in the little water left

one beaver, too frightened to gnaw
the skunk maple on which one lone limb
stands a raccoon, nostrils flared,

facing smoke clouds sailing in the wind.
They know different because they are tired
of rainbows no longer fresh.

Sight: high noon sun
Sound: delivery truck horn
Taste: any kind of ice cream cone
Smell: Hibachi meat
Touch: porch railing

Last edited by greenmountaineer : 08-01-2018 at 10:12 AM.
  Reply With Quote

Old 09-10-2018, 02:08 PM   #956
Piscator
Literotica Guru
 
Piscator's Avatar
 
Piscator is offline
Join Date: May 2003
Location: Canada
Posts: 923
Quote:
Originally Posted by greenmountaineer View Post
Sight: high noon sun
Sound: delivery truck horn
Taste: any kind of ice cream cone
Smell: Hibachi meat
Touch: porch railing

An exercise to release writer’s block

Suddenly September reveals itself
steel grey clouds and dreary rain;
it’s twelve o'clock, but the sun is hidden.
I lean against the damp deck railing
a Brown truck’s backup horn pierces
the distant din of traffic, but at least
it's not one of those damned drones.

Too wet for the Hibachi but
the propane grill will work.
Chicken roasted on the rotisserie,
beans, late summer corn and
apple crisp with vanilla ice cream.
I can taste it now.

A feast for the return of
a non-prodigal son, briefly back
from the Arctic before he’s off again
this time to Berkley, leaving us alone
again but at least there won't be leftovers.


Sight: a paunch that won’t go away
Sound: labored breathing
Taste: tepid water with a hint of lemon
Smell: sweat
Touch: a puff of air from a rotating fan
__________________
Piscator

Something's fishy here
  Reply With Quote

Old 09-10-2018, 07:12 PM   #957
Polranny
Literotica Guru
 
Polranny's Avatar
 
Polranny is offline
Join Date: Jul 2018
Posts: 2,068
It certainly wasn't a martini, nor was it a g and t,
But after a night with him
A large tepid water with a hint of lemon
Tasted like heaven

His idea of foreplay
Was to please himself not me:
His self obsessed neurotic watch
a fat bastard with a paunch
That wouldn't go away
Was hardly an erotic watch.
His laboured breathing
Heralding a rank and sweat encrusted stain
Ejaculated into a kleenex
Discarded
Like some puff of air
From a rotated fan
Did not impress
Nor was it quite a Casablanca remake
On a budget

Sight: an alpine ski resort
Sound: parakeets
Taste: whisky sour
Smell:burning turf
Touch : molasses
__________________
Mature married man
Originally from the Land of Song, not far from Llareggub.

Sometimes I Lit and think, othertimes I just Lit!
Playgrounder #438
  Reply With Quote

Old 10-07-2018, 11:00 AM   #958
Piscator
Literotica Guru
 
Piscator's Avatar
 
Piscator is offline
Join Date: May 2003
Location: Canada
Posts: 923
Quote:
Originally Posted by Polranny View Post
Sight: an alpine ski resort
Sound: parakeets
Taste: whisky sour
Smell:burning turf
Touch : molasses
Late fall and a few tourists
trickle in to ride the chair lift
to see the alpine larch, golden
against the first wisps of snow.
Some even hike down to the lodge
but most return they way they came
to the new Irish style pub and sip
a whisky mix which really isn’t sour
and inhale the smoke of imported peat.

Time’s passage feels like molasses
yet the glaciers are melting.
Soon enough our grandkids will rise to
mountain parakeets rather than chickadees
but at least they’ll be above sea level.

Sight: clouds of more than fifty shades of grey
Sound: an overhead airliner
Taste: pumpkin
Smell: fall woods
Touch : fingers
__________________
Piscator

Something's fishy here
  Reply With Quote

Old 10-29-2018, 02:04 PM   #959
greenmountaineer
Literotica Guru
 
greenmountaineer is offline
Join Date: Nov 2008
Posts: 2,442
Sight: clouds of more than fifty shades of grey
Sound: an overhead airliner
Taste: pumpkin
Smell: fall woods
Touch : fingers


Fifty-one Stars

There are fifty-one stars
half-hidden tonight,
one of which is the moon,

as if they were falderal above
a loosely woven gossamer shroud
darkening our universe.

On my back porch I count them
with fingers like a little child,
somehow fitting with the last

of Margaret’s pumpkin pie
before I open an IPA
while the buzz of an airplane flies by.

I smell the rotting leaves of birch
and maple in the woods,
presaging gestational birth

which comes full term in April
with as many billions of things
as there are stars in the universe.


Touch: concrete sidewalks
Sight: snow-capped mountain(or mountains)
Sound: car door opening or closing
Taste: gum
Smell: diesel

Last edited by greenmountaineer : 11-08-2018 at 04:58 PM.
  Reply With Quote

Old 11-06-2018, 08:50 PM   #960
todski28
Literotica Guru
 
todski28 is offline
Join Date: Aug 2012
Posts: 2,715
Touch: concrete sidewalks
Sight: snow-capped mountain(or mountains)
Sound: car door opening or closing
Taste: gum
Smell: diesel


Flowers bloom from the cracked sidewalk
sun bleached crumbling dust blows
across the surface
the way I imagine
snow capped mountains might look
in a place where heat doesn't sink into
your bones
burying you in a lethargy of too hot
to breathe

where spittle flecks the side of your mouth
the gum's flavour is now charred mush
And the creeping diesel fumes
smell of resignation
after the dull thud of the car door closing

it feels like floating

sight- melting ice
Sound- a song you hate
Scent- melted plastic
Touch-metal
Taste- tang
__________________
todski28

As a favour to Tsotha
  Reply With Quote

Old 04-21-2019, 04:18 AM   #961
Lyricalli
Strange Little Bug
 
Lyricalli's Avatar
 
Lyricalli is offline
Join Date: Jul 2014
Posts: 3,836
Quote:
Originally Posted by todski28 View Post
sight- melting ice
Sound- a song you hate
Scent- melted plastic
Touch-metal
Taste- tang

Power Outage Aftermath

Holding tight to the stainless
freezer door
half-emptied of non-frozen food

Your hands slipping up my thighs
and I'm dripping
more than the ice melting off the shelves

And you think you're funny
whispering that fucking song in my ear

"Lightning and the thunder
Thunder, feel the thunder"

Sliding into me
a metallic tang on my tongue
from bitten lip
stifled laughter
turns to gutteral groans

Things are turning back on
and the faint scent
of burning plastic
might concern us
when we're done



Sight: hole in the wall
Sound: distant clanging
Scent: stale air
Touch: denim
Taste: alcohol
  Reply With Quote

Old 04-21-2019, 10:27 AM   #962
UnderYourSpell
Gerund Whore
 
UnderYourSpell's Avatar
 
UnderYourSpell is offline
Join Date: May 2007
Location: Somewhere over the rainbow
Posts: 15,295
Today is the day of clearing out,
it's been put off too long.
In the long shed I hear Patty Sue clad
in denim dungarees, squeal
then a distant clanging.
Opening the door to what was once
the chicken shed, I'm met by a rush
of stale air and a smell
difficult to decipher, sort of a cross
between fruit and rubbing alcohol,
and there's that hole in the wall
where Grandpa (God rest his soul)
proved giving hammers
to kids wasn't his best idea.

Today is the day of clearing out,
throwing out is another matter.

Sight: geese flying
Sound: sneezing
Scent: lilac
Touch: sand paper
Taste: liquorice
__________________
Blessed are the cracked for it is they that let in the light
They say a smile is a gift which is free to the giver and precious to the recipient.
But giving the finger is free, too, and I find it more personal and sincere.
If at first you don't succeed....skydiving is not for you ....
If you don't pay your exorcist .... do you get repossessed?
I shall always decide not to decide, unless of course I decide to change my mind.
....But I, being poor, have only my dreams, I have spread my dreams under your feet,Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.......
Nil Caborundum illigitimi
Sestina slut
Annie submits

Last edited by UnderYourSpell : 04-21-2019 at 10:43 AM.
  Reply With Quote

Old 04-21-2019, 02:12 PM   #963
butters
Literotica Guru
 
butters's Avatar
 
butters is offline
Join Date: Jul 2009
Location: home
Posts: 64,411
Quote:

Sight: geese flying
Sound: sneezing
Scent: lilac
Touch: sand paper
Taste: liquorice
all these years later
i recall the geese flying
shades of buff, cream and liquorice,
landing on the lake in the park
water drops thrown into sparkling air

and the train ride into london town
where the traveling gay
american violinist met me
before his AA meeting

how we strolled the banks of the thames
in april sunshine,
intoxicated by the perfume of lilacs&
ignoring people sneezing around us
complaining of sandpaper throats,

him reading aloud
from his sheaves of poetry,
how he called me sister


okay, i didn't necessarily use liquorice there as a real taste, more a colour but with its taste associations


sight: roadkill
scent: pomegranates
touch: ice
sound:wind chimes
taste: roast lamb
__________________
William Dement (the father of sleep medicine) said:
"Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives."


Last edited by butters : 04-21-2019 at 06:29 PM.
  Reply With Quote

Old 04-22-2019, 06:06 PM   #964
Piscator
Literotica Guru
 
Piscator's Avatar
 
Piscator is offline
Join Date: May 2003
Location: Canada
Posts: 923
Quote:
Originally Posted by butters View Post

sight: roadkill
scent: pomegranates
touch: ice
sound:wind chimes
taste: roast lamb

It seems there’s always frost, cold
against your fingers as you scrape
the windshield, prior to the drive
through Michigan to Grandma’s farm
on our annual Easter Pilgrimage and
I’m always surprised at the number of
roadkill deer revealed as the snow
disappears with the spring thaw.

Uncle Jim, who hunts, will comment
that if fresh, a deer leg tastes a lot
like the leg of lamb, which we’ll
have for dinner with Annie’s special
cheese-stuffed potatoes, Janes rolls and a
fragrant pomegranate-coconut oil syllabub
made by Margaret, who used to be Meg
before she married that professor from Ann Arbour.

After which, if the weather’s fair the ladies
will go out to the front porch to sip Prosecco
laced with Lorraine’s sour cherry hooch and
listen to the tinkling of Sarah’s wind
chimes while the menfolk do the dishes.


sight: first crocus of spring
scent: fresh prairie wind
touch: burrs caught in boot lace
sound: mandolin
taste: cumin
__________________
Piscator

Something's fishy here
  Reply With Quote
Reply


Thread Tools

Posting Rules
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts

vB code is On
Smilies are On
[IMG] code is On
HTML code is Off
Forum Jump



All times are GMT -4. The time now is 08:34 AM.

Copyright 1998-2013 Literotica Online. Literotica is a registered trademark.