Originally Posted by delicious_man
Call me old fashioned but when it comes to poetry I am a big believer in meter. In fact, I would say that rhythm is one of the primary distinctions between poetry and prose. I'm wondering if there is anybody out there in the world of literotica who shares my view and writes within any kind of metric form in their poetry. Please post any examples you have in the thread below.
To kick things off I'd like to share the following example. Since it was only recently composed and most likely needs a few tweaks I have not yet submitted it to the site but plan to do so soon. However, I'm posting it here as an example of meter in erotic poetry. This poem uses (or at least tries to use) dactylic tetrameter (although there are some lines of amphibrachs in the final stanza). Feel free to comment on the poem, especially if you think you might be able to assist with any necessary fine-tuning, as well as post your own examples.
lightly his fingers traverse her pale abdomen
trailing a course over skin soft as rose petals
breathlessly tensing with arms and legs writhing she
strives to make sense of conflicting emotions
stark contradiction both wanting and fearing him
wild with desire yet so young and so innocent
how could she let this man threaten her purity
hard to admit but she wants him so terribly
no one has ever before been allowed where he’s
threatening to go with his hands slowly wandering
lower and lower and dangerously closer and
nearer the place where she craves him so desperately
lying spread-eagled and trembling beneath him she
nervously thinks to herself that perhaps she should
stop this whole madness before it’s too late but she
knows that she can’t now he’s temptingly close to her
toes curling she clutches the bedsheets and closes
her eyes tightly shut and gives in to the moment
don’t leave me hanging she thinks to herself as his
hand lingers teasingly close to her clitoris
I use meter, and I'm almost fanatical about it. With the exception of Haiku, all the poems I have written, erotic or not, are in meter. I will include a few here:
A blowup doll has never said “I’m not that kind of girl.”
She never says “Don’t mess my hair, I just now did the curl.”
She doesn’t make me sit and wait while gabbing on the phone.
She never says “I’ll be right back,” and leaves me all alone.
A blowup doll is true to me and doesn’t run around.
And when I do not want to talk, she doesn’t make a sound.
She never says “Oh, buy me that,” of some expensive thing.
She doesn’t ever ask me for a golden wedding ring.
But even so, I have to say that women are the best.
A doll has some advantages but doesn’t have the zest.
A doll won’t wrap her arms and legs around me when we screw.
And doesn’t have the juicy pussy lips that women do.
Regardless of their negatives, I want to have it said,
You can not beat a woman when it comes to fun in bed.
So Buddy, if you’re looking for someone that you can fuck,
If you don’t have a woman, you are strictly out of luck.
To the supermarket Judy drove with burning cunt.
Thinking it a place to meet a guy.
Through the store she wandered on a strictly carnal hunt,
There to find a man and not to buy.
By the produce section was a tall and handsome buck
Checking out the apples and the peas
“That’s the one,” she told herself, “The guy I’m gonna fuck.
Gave his ass a friendly little squeeze.
Up to Judy came his wife and she was really pissed.
Rage and ire were rampant on her face.
“Leave my man alone and get away from him,” she hissed.
Judy left to try some other place.
At the meat department was another handsome bloke
Judy went to him to try her luck.
Subtlety was not her thing, so Judy plainly spoke,
“Hey,” she said to him, “I wanna fuck.”
“Oh, who doesn’t, Sweetie,” he responded to her plea.
Both his wrists were limp as any rag.
I am also looking for a man to jump on me.
That, and only that, and not a hag.
At the checkout stand there was a bagger, tall and trim.
Never had she seen a man so hot.
“I will need your help out to my car,” she said to him.
So they went out to the parking lot.
“Got an itchy pussy,” Judy whispered to the hunk.
Thinking she would give him quite a ride.
“I can’t tell imported cars apart.” He closed the trunk.
Left her there, unfucked, unsatisfied.
And, of course, I have a lot of limericks, which are always dependent on meter.