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LIT CAMS (200 Free Tokens)ADULT TOYSVOD MOVIES

007 Challenge

#6

The Tao and physics of mature sex

The frequency may have decreased
but the amplitude remains high.
Together we are one.
 
#7

Water of Life

If no food
if no water
water gets you first.
Water for my Scotch
Scotch in my glass
Scots in my blood
blood Type A
blood runs true
true course hold
true to self
self sells fish past
self expiration date
dateline tomorrow
date next word
word of the day
word from below
be low sweet harlot
below belt line
line of demarcation
line of resistance
resistance is futile
resistance too late
late to sailing
late to vessel
vessel overloaded
vessel going under
under the ocean
under cover
cover my eyes
cover of darkness
darkness behold
darkness deep inside
inside trading
inside belly of beast
beast mode
beast burden
burden of lies
burden of doubt
doubt me not
doubt remains
remains of the day
remain deep down
down the drain
down stream
stream of consciousness
stream of life
life begat life
life in water
water
life.
 
Well done, Piscator. And instructive to me. Thank you for the engaging reading material. Made my bus ride go by more quickly. Also you can call me cos. Or cherries. Cos is easier.
 
Last edited:
Andrew Bird

Echolocations still hum
All down my longitude.
These are the plucked
Strings karate chopping
Expectant space.
From the loop flew
Out a whistle sharp
Bent and trembling as a saw
Awed to song by the shadows
Left on the floor of fthe forest.
 
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Beacon

Glass slide smooths
Feathers from neck down.
Callouses thumb against
Rapid chest cradled
Close beneath the climbing night.
 
Weft

Rats prefer the sewer
Hidey holes for all they've thieved.
When caught, they are largely
Released into the populace but
Tagged. Diseased with envy.
Plucked bald, obsessed.
Poor rodents warm all right
In scavanged dung and eat
Envy with the tiny hands
Which stroke at daggers
They will never lift.
 
Pianos

All maths and scales
Saved in notebooks,
Scores, pocket scraps:
The entire recorded arsenal
Waits for launch impatiently
Thus the leak. The bald whisper.
The panting piano
Loving you.
 
Progress

Stopped at an intersection
A boomerang spins around itself.
Eventually rings attend
Proffering tiny suspended diamonds
In rotation around boomerang
Planet.
 
Top to bottom

Field trips must be planned top
To bottom. Administration
Must be appeased, cajoled, petted.
Then forms, lunches lists.
Bathrooming plans but lowest
Bottom comes when the teacher
Pays $80 in tolls for two trips
There and back even as the
Teacher tax deduction for expenses--
Gonzo. Still, I sleep better
Than the asshole Republicans
Who want to see these gorgeous kids
Deported or in prison.
 
This alias rose on bubbles
Of carbon dioxide from a seven year
Well of happy marriage imploded.
Computer testimony: the man
Who spooned me, shielded me,
Rebuilt a house with me and for whim
I moved to northern Canada--
Turned out he liked little girls. The RCMP
Passed evidence to the Americans.
I handed it all over: hard drive and
Phone records. My heart, my sex,
Put them on ice. The pain was
Too hot to feel then. So I found
A softer place: snow, with the hope
That one day there would exist
Friends with blowdriers
To help me thaw.
 
THEY ALL DIE IN THE END - lit

By JCStreet, © 2018

They all die in the end,
once
they had pigtails and knickers and
opinions, but
those too are gone; perhaps

later in life we drank with them

to oblivion sometimes, the
brief respite of alcoholic stupor, but

they are all dead now. their
laughing eyes just memories, their
opinions perhaps not charming, but

ultimately proven right

-30-
 
Acids, bases and salts

ACIDS, BASES AND SALTS

By JCStreet © 2018


When she kissed me she turned
blue litmus paper red and,
when she left me, she
turned red litmus paper blue

-30-
 
blackbirds

BLACKBIRDS

By JCStreet © 2018


Blackbirds bring bleakness
November nights, caws
a reminder of coming dark
 
Les

Les

By JCStreet © 2018

I sent him emails but he
up and died, I
sent him emails with clips of
Keith Jarrett and Jan Garbarek
Tony Rice and Steve Winwood and that
buxom girl with the deadpan face
who plays double bass

I sent him emails with
clips of Mary Lou Williams, but
he up and died

That’s what happens when you’re old,

when you get no answer you think
does he not like me any more, or
has he up and died

how would you know, the
people who find him don’t know your name, they
don’t know you exist, they
ain’t gonna tell you

-30-
 
Valentine

For a Valentine, I sent her a
drawing of a flower, it had
red petals and a yellow middle and
green leaves and a kind of wavy line

representing the earth

I sent her a flower but she
up and died

that’s what happens and
no one tells you, they
don’t even know her username

-30-
 
Paltry Things

PALTRY THINGS

© 2018, JCStreet (c) 2018


I find meaning in

paltry things

meanness in greatness I

find

over-arching wonder

in the picayune; the small voices

of new flowers, in details

chance encounters I

find

meaning everywhere, meaning

I had not seen, had not

seen when in my cups those

40 years, I find

you burrowed in my bed

warm and nurturing

squirmy and comforting

snuffling into half wakedness

coiling into me I find

meaning in the need of the thrush

for the sweet ironies

of last year’s maunderings, loneliness

evaporates

as the bursting of a ripe plum

fulsome rather than sere, I find

meaning in partridges because

they seem to fit

the ethos of the moment

-30-
 
Prison Girl

Prison Girl

By JCStreet © 2018

I didn’t know there
was a kilo of grass in the trunk, I
told the cops that
but it didn’t help, I had
two years less a day to look forward to
up to Marionville, medium security

just

19 and condemned
to a criminal record, turned out
the car was stolen too
but Turner hadn’t told me that, I had
trusted him implicitly the way young girls do
naïve as I was . . . having had
no Dad to teach me the facts of life
I don’t mean procreation
I learned that on my own


-30-
 
I'm getting a resonance of CanLit in this one -a novel, two of whose protagonists worked in a museum in Toronto. Was it Margaret Atwood? I just can't remember.

However, THIS one races my heart till I drop a beta blocker

Andrew Bird
Echolocations still hum
All down my longitude.
These are the plucked
Strings karate chopping
Expectant space.
From the loop flew
Out a whistle sharp
Bent and trembling as a saw
Awed to song by the shadows
Left on the floor of fthe forest.
 
Prison Girl is sound. Even if it is cruel parody. Which, knowing you, it probably is.
 
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Sun day

Marvellously, pot holders
Are still a dollar at the 99 cent store.
Microclimate economics.
This, too, is a tiny planet.
No one of us is Saturn.
No one of us is Sun.
We gotta foot it.
Fuzzy socks were 2/$1.
I got extras. Sunny, this
Fuzzy green pair: all for you.
 
cherries_on_snow said:
This alias rose on bubbles
Of carbon dioxide from a seven year
Well of happy marriage imploded.
Computer testimony: the man
Who spooned me, shielded me,
Rebuilt a house with me and for whim
I moved to northern Canada--
Turned out he liked little girls. The RCMP
Passed evidence to the Americans.
I handed it all over: hard drive and
Phone records. My heart, my sex,
Put them on ice. The pain was
Too hot to feel then. So I found
A softer place: snow, with the hope
That one day there would exist
Friends with blowdriers
To help me thaw.
Click to expand...

Interesting note: at this time I was too broken to finish a set-up date. So I wrote a few poems here. I was given a tiny bit of support by men here. Women mostly ignored me but two women, the exact two women who should have been secure, instead attacked. And attacked. And attacked. For over a decade. I even moderated. Yet they attacked and got their lapdogs to attack as well. When I published, one deleted all record and changed magazine policy so I couldn't do it again. I am willing to forgive these bullies. But I want it to stop. And, if they had any class, they would apologize.
 
I don't think you know me at all. We've never exchanged any chat nor do I know you of yore.
 
JCSTREET said:
I don't think you know me at all. We've never exchanged any chat nor do I know you of yore.
Click to expand...

with all due respect I meant to add

Why did you select Prison Girl, of all the selections. It was actually the first para of one of my dozens of failed novels - ranging from a few paras to several pages

I turned it into a poem on the spur of the moment for your challenge.

I don't actually know any prison girls. It's more than 12 years since I've tripped the light fantastic out on the metaphoric Jacksboro Pike - a fantasy location on the wrong side of town.

Not sure where 'cruel parody' comes from. It's not the sort of thing that enhances recovery (which significant numbers of us are undergoing in some form or another - given that some of us have been damaged and some of us temporarily broken).

Ominos, nicht wahr?
 
If you are not annaswirls or jennifer van buren or the other dozen names she has here, then, I apologize and thank you.
 
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