Sensual metaphors

[ruminator]

Originally Posted by quietpoet

Smiling... You... The Ruminator??? Speechless? I'm certain that is just a temporary condition! Tell me... Do you think I am fishing too? (I just got back from a nice morning on the water)..

qp

...never for very long am I without something to say.

The value might be questioned....

The question of fishing could have as many answers as the fisherman has tales.

Which would be the more humane endeavor, to lure a being that's naive into self destruction or take one out of existence without choice?

[quietpoet]

Your question is reposing in the vault of my grey matter... I'm not sure, but both of your options sound really Republican!

QP

[bluerains]

Originally Posted by ruminator

...never for very long am I without something to say.

The value might be questioned....

The question of fishing could have as many answers as the fisherman has tales.

Which would be the more humane endeavor, to lure a being that's naive into self destruction or take one out of existence without choice?

I will have to agree with QP on this one..you ..with 18,000 posts...speechless...
when you get your voice back...how about a bit of one of you metaphors

nice hearing from you rumi...

btw..QP suspects everyone to be an elephant...

[ruminator]

That takes the appearance of the lesser of two evils. Regardless of the choice, it's still evil.

It was just tossed in for mulling and consideration. Nothing more than that for value.

I think they both can be applied to the arts of seduction though. When fishing, we act on our interests to find the lures the catch will find attractive. In hunting, we know the habits and catch them when they are least aware of being caught.

[ruminator]

Originally Posted by bluerains

I will have to agree with QP on this one..you ..with 18,000 posts...speechless...
when you get your voice back...how about a bit of one of you metaphors

nice hearing from you rumi...

btw..QP suspects everyone to be an elephant...

Yes, 18,000+ posts,....but each one evidently had some importance to me.



I like the fishing metaphor but I'm afraid it doesn't really lend itself to thoughts inducing feelings of passion, or does it?

patience, waiting
beyond disappointment
for any small sign
of encouragement.

Lure selected
with consideration
of tastes, desires

Location surveilled
time invested
on the fragility of hope

Nibbles of interest
recoil in caution
taste again,
her dangerous bait.

[quietpoet]

This one is good, but not ours... Thanks Blue!

The Bait

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines, and silver hooks.

There will the river whispering run
Warm'd by thy eyes, more than the sun;
And there the 'enamour'd fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.

When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,
By sun or moon, thou dark'nest both,
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light having thee.

Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset,
With strangling snare, or windowy net.

Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;
Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.

For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait:
That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,
Alas, is wiser far than I.

John Donne

[bluerains]

Originally Posted by ruminator

Yes, 18,000+ posts,....but each one evidently had some importance to me.



I like the fishing metaphor but I'm afraid it doesn't really lend itself to thoughts inducing feelings of passion, or does it?

patience, waiting
beyond disappointment
for any small sign
of encouragement.

Lure selected
with consideration
of tastes, desires

Location surveilled
time invested
on the fragility of hope

Nibbles of interest
recoil in caution
taste again,
her dangerous bait.

can a falcon be tempted
by a feather...

[My Erotic Tale]

Originally Posted by bluerains

can a falcon be tempted
by a feather...

That I like...

or pressed by the wind to soar in its sky.

The Hawk's trust is obvious
perched upon your arm
blood trickles in small drops of love
as the Hawks talon's grasp clings
to your stability and faith
for if you scream and jerk your arm
never more will be the trust
and talons grasp will be even greater
sometimes it is best to swallow the pain
for trust and love to remain.

[sandspike]

Originally Posted by Eleanora Day

sand-salted feet
beads of coconut-
scented heat pressing
down sunglasses,
smeared on my legs
the wet braid of hair
ocean-dipped lethargy
and breeze plays
on the radio, but I
close my eyes
and think about how
to watch the sky.

Read, seen, and enjoyed.

[RhymeFairy]

dazzle me
with flyin strokes
of puddin pushin....
lovin your smack
ass lil booty baby...
nipples hard an stiff..
stiffning
your staff baby..
feelin you hard
and strong..
slappin into
my lil box lunch...

[bluerains]

Originally Posted by RhymeFairy

dazzle me
with flyin strokes
of puddin pushin....
lovin your smack
ass lil booty baby...
nipples hard an stiff..
stiffning
your staff baby..
feelin you hard
and strong..
slappin into
my lil box lunch...

never found my lunch box so full very humorous bit of allegorical lunch..

[ruminator]

Originally Posted by bluerains

can a falcon be tempted
by a feather...

Often precariously perched
in wait, alert with sharp eyes
scanning for stimulation.

Rankled plumed philosopher
slips into a stoic stance, here
hesitance spares a prey.

Peculiar to his nature,
antagonistic forces hold, our
anomalistic captive rogue

Wings unwrap, solitarily
in arching preparation,
extending wide as if to
launch in flirt's pursuit.

Trepidation does restrictingly
refuse a grip's release, retract
those agile wings, until
he recalls that he can fly.

[Eleanora Day]

almuerzo

eat every bite rest your head
between citrus lobes taste
tart midday sky of copper sun
here sherbet pink and sweet
feeding your mouth is dulce
sly fed tangerine pressed
cold breaking heat that dribbles
promise I can hear you swallow
I can swallow your breath

[bluerains]

Originally Posted by Eleanora Day

almuerzo

eat every bite rest your head
between citrus lobes taste
tart midday sky of copper sun
here sherbet pink and sweet
feeding your mouth is dulce
sly fed tangerine pressed
cold breaking heat that dribbles
promise I can hear you swallow
I can swallow your breath

eleanora...you make my male energy sizzle...with this awesome little bite of tangerine dreamin...smiles...

[bluerains]

Originally Posted by ruminator

Often precariously perched
in wait, alert with sharp eyes
scanning for stimulation.

Rankled plumed philosopher
slips into a stoic stance, here
hesitance spares a prey.

Peculiar to his nature,
antagonistic forces hold, our
anomalistic captive rogue

Wings unwrap, solitarily
in arching preparation,
extending wide as if to
launch in flirt's pursuit.

Trepidation does restrictingly
refuse a grip's release, retract
those agile wings, until
he recalls that he can fly.

and the wind beneath your wings sighs...

[bluerains]

I had pm about what inspired riven...here is the site I was pondering on...


http://www.fantasyhorses.homestead.com/water.html

and my metaphor for the day is cherokee rose ..just for ET...my inpiring poet...who has blessed me with courage to pen on...grins and smiles to you dear one...

[CharleyH]

Originally Posted by bluerains

I love sexual metaphors...the clever ways , the alliterated phrases,, and keen inspiring newness of making love poetic...what say U..there are so many on this site who write such unique pictures of bliss.. it is pure magic ...as are those who produce
verbiage to tingle the fabric of thought...

What is sensual though? There is also cliche'd sensuality. Is this sensual? Is it the metaphor - which I am big on - or the combination of sensual metaphor, and sensual usage - placement and cadence, rhythm and sometimes rhyme. In this - the above - you have some absolutely beautiful turns of phrases:

Cobalt frame is wonderful, as is the first stanza ... but the rest? The car ... is it metaphor? Is it sensual? Or is it cliche' and generic? Verging on Camp? Kenneth Anger comes to mind here. (not meant to offend, but the metaphors are too obvious - too much. It is TOO much in the way of kitsch - if you get me

[bluerains]

Originally Posted by CharleyH

What is sensual though? There is also cliche'd sensuality. Is this sensual? Is it the metaphor - which I am big on - or the combination of sensual metaphor, and sensual usage - placement and cadence, rhythm and sometimes rhyme. In this - the above - you have some absolutely beautiful turns of phrases:

Cobalt frame is wonderful, as is the first stanza ... but the rest? The car ... is it metaphor? Is it sensual? Or is it cliche' and generic? Verging on Camp? Kenneth Anger comes to mind here. (not meant to offend, but the metaphors are too obvious - too much. It is TOO much in the way of kitsch - if you get me

hum...lovers never fart...in that meaning..well I guess tis a good statement..and most of us don't mind the raw heat of diversion ..but to some that is all it is ...we want more...I think...make us see new vistas...beyond the past ...and I really like your feedback...thanks c...lol/blue

[CharleyH]

Originally Posted by bluerains

hum...lovers never fart...in that meaning..well I guess tis a good statement..and most of us don't mind the raw heat of diversion ..but to some that is all it is ...we want more...I think...make us see new vistas...beyond the past ...and I really like your feedback...thanks c...lol/blue

Thats not what I said love LOL ... and you know it But to see anew you must create anew - still using your car theme you can, but ... you need to use it differently for it to be noticed - it needs to be you, and not the way another before you used it. The car is an oft used metaphor.

[bluerains]

Originally Posted by CharleyH

Thats not what I said love LOL ... and you know it But to see anew you must create anew - still using your car theme you can, but ... you need to use it differently for it to be noticed - it needs to be you, and not the way another before you used it. The car is an oft used metaphor.

can anyone ever really ever know
a chaos being....
one in morphic appearance
in its chameleon rainbow
for all the world to see
as its
fathoms of light sheds
no depth
no width
nor height
nor center
but,
sees only its ME...

sweet charlie you do inspire...hums....

[CharleyH]

Originally Posted by bluerains

can anyone ever really ever know
a chaos being....
one in morphic appearance
in its chameleon rainbow
for all the world to see
as its
fathoms of light sheds
no depth
no width
nor height
nor center
but,
sees only its ME...

sweet charlie you do inspire...hums....

MUCH BETTER! love the snake and you never say it, I bet in metaphor you dont even need chameleon or rainbow. Use your favourite book or poem in your second line - what is change? I am sure you have read .... Semiotics are plentiful metaphor - simile - icon try an index

[Angeline]

Originally Posted by CharleyH

MUCH BETTER! love the snake and you never say it, I bet in metaphor you dont even need chameleon or rainbow. Use your favourite book or poem in your second line - what is change? I am sure you have read .... Semiotics are plentiful metaphor - simile - icon try an index

You should write a Glosa.

[CharleyH]

Originally Posted by Angeline

You should write a Glosa.

Oh you sexy GOADess, whats a glossa? :|

[Angeline]

Originally Posted by CharleyH

Oh you sexy GOADess, whats a glossa? :|

You'll love it. It's a wonderful form because you get to work with your favorite lines of poetry.

Glosa Poetry
A Spanish form also known as mote or retruécano, closely related to the cantiga.
In its strict form it is a poem consisting of a line or a short stanza called cabeza (or texto), stating the theme of the poem and followed by one stanza for each line of the cabeza explaining or glossing that line and often adding a refrain as the last line.
The cabeza may be any length or rhyme scheme and the poet is free to choose any other form.
Loosely the glosa is any poem expanding in the theme presented at the opening stanza and usually repeating one or more of the lines of that stanza.


texto:
As I sleep alone in this distant town.
An ethereal blanket keeps me safe and sound.
glosa:
The lonely night draw swiftly down
Covering the world in a deep black gown
Creeping softly in without a sound
As I sleep alone in this distant town.

I close my eyes, but sleep can't be found
Till your loving spirit wraps itself around
Then I'm covered and warm wrapped in love
An ethereal sheet keeps me safe and sound.

Teagan De Danaan


In the example above the glossing has been done by means of a short Rubaiyat. In the example below, Court uses an Envelope Sestet and repeats the glossing as the first line as well as the last line.

Western Wind

Western wind, when wilt thou blow,
That the small rain down shall rain?
Christ! that my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again.

--ANONYMOUS

Western wind, when wilt thou blow?
When shall the rivers begin to flow
Over this ice toward the sea?
When will the branches of the tree
Drop their mantles of rime and snow?
Western wind, when wilt thou blow,

That the small rain down shall rain?
Then may the willows in their train
Loosen their limbs upon the stream;
Then may birdsong burst this dream
Of winter to seek the sprouting grain,
That the small rain down shall rain.

Christ! that my love were in my arms
Where the grass greens and the bee swarms!
She is fair as the mountain heather,
Comely and kind as Maytime's weather
Over the land after April storms--
Christ! that my love were in my arms,

And I in my bed again
Where gladly I have slept and lain
Upon the pillow of her hair.
When shall I once more come there,
Her breast beneath the counterpane,
And I in my bed again.

--Wesli Court

This is mine. I love the form.

Glosa on Coole Park

But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
~ William Butler Yeats, The Wild Swans at Coole

But now they drift on the still water
Where once they rushed in tides,
Silenced by a distant daughter,
Lake’s mistress who abides

Mysterious, beautiful,
Laurel crown and empty hands.
Is this prison? Was she dutiful,
Married to the stands

Among what rushes they will build
Their nests, companionable in pairs,
While she alone and wise, stilled
By moon ennui declares

By what lake’s edge or pool
She might have made her home,
Or known how gentler rule
Might keep her safe as starlight’s dome

Delights men’s eyes, When I awake some day
From ancient dreams to find that dawn
Reveals a feather, will I shake away
Sleep from my limbs, and with a yawn

Exhale memories, unfold these wings
To flight, release hope to another day
And soar skyward as hours cling
To find they have flown away?

[bluerains]

now...ange ..c..I luv the both of of you..am over my head in glosa...but I luv it...and am inspired beyond rhyme...lol/to u both...blue

Originally Posted by Angeline

You'll love it. It's a wonderful form because you get to work with your favorite lines of poetry.

Glosa Poetry
A Spanish form also known as mote or retruécano, closely related to the cantiga.
In its strict form it is a poem consisting of a line or a short stanza called cabeza (or texto), stating the theme of the poem and followed by one stanza for each line of the cabeza explaining or glossing that line and often adding a refrain as the last line.
The cabeza may be any length or rhyme scheme and the poet is free to choose any other form.
Loosely the glosa is any poem expanding in the theme presented at the opening stanza and usually repeating one or more of the lines of that stanza.


texto:
As I sleep alone in this distant town.
An ethereal blanket keeps me safe and sound.
glosa:
The lonely night draw swiftly down
Covering the world in a deep black gown
Creeping softly in without a sound
As I sleep alone in this distant town.

I close my eyes, but sleep can't be found
Till your loving spirit wraps itself around
Then I'm covered and warm wrapped in love
An ethereal sheet keeps me safe and sound.

Teagan De Danaan


In the example above the glossing has been done by means of a short Rubaiyat. In the example below, Court uses an Envelope Sestet and repeats the glossing as the first line as well as the last line.

Western Wind

Western wind, when wilt thou blow,
That the small rain down shall rain?
Christ! that my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again.

--ANONYMOUS

Western wind, when wilt thou blow?
When shall the rivers begin to flow
Over this ice toward the sea?
When will the branches of the tree
Drop their mantles of rime and snow?
Western wind, when wilt thou blow,

That the small rain down shall rain?
Then may the willows in their train
Loosen their limbs upon the stream;
Then may birdsong burst this dream
Of winter to seek the sprouting grain,
That the small rain down shall rain.

Christ! that my love were in my arms
Where the grass greens and the bee swarms!
She is fair as the mountain heather,
Comely and kind as Maytime's weather
Over the land after April storms--
Christ! that my love were in my arms,

And I in my bed again
Where gladly I have slept and lain
Upon the pillow of her hair.
When shall I once more come there,
Her breast beneath the counterpane,
And I in my bed again.

--Wesli Court

This is mine. I love the form.

Glosa on Coole Park

But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
~ William Butler Yeats, The Wild Swans at Coole

But now they drift on the still water
Where once they rushed in tides,
Silenced by a distant daughter,
Lake’s mistress who abides

Mysterious, beautiful,
Laurel crown and empty hands.
Is this prison? Was she dutiful,
Married to the stands

Among what rushes they will build
Their nests, companionable in pairs,
While she alone and wise, stilled
By moon ennui declares

By what lake’s edge or pool
She might have made her home,
Or known how gentler rule
Might keep her safe as starlight’s dome

Delights men’s eyes, When I awake some day
From ancient dreams to find that dawn
Reveals a feather, will I shake away
Sleep from my limbs, and with a yawn

Exhale memories, unfold these wings
To flight, release hope to another day
And soar skyward as hours cling
To find they have flown away?