Challenge: Poetry for the People Part 2

Joined
Apr 21, 2007
Posts
5,507
Alright. Some of you may remember the Naughty Poetry thread. People wrote sexy poetry, and then I took everyone's work to My Bar and gave it to Regular People, asking only if the work turned them on.

My thing is audience. If in fact we think we'd like to offer poetry to Regular People, (and I'm not saying that's a necessary goal that everyone shares, or anything) then we should test it on real audiences of regular, non-poet types, to see what they think.

So. Since we are specifically here because we are not just poets, but ostensibly erotic poets, our audiences are ideally turned on by our work.

The previous challenge worked way, way better than I ever expected. For reports on the Bar Poetry Sessions, if you're interested, read this thread, particularly the last couple of pages, in which the editing sessions are described.

So there are, in fact, a couple of people at the bar who have asked whether or not we will ever do that again. Can you believe it? They thought it was fun to read and critique poetry.

So let's do it again. The challenge, specifically, is generated by the Bistro Underwear Festival, and goes like this:

Write one or more pieces, of any length or style.

The topic can be anything, but it must contain some reference to some form of underwear.

Ideally, it will be a sexy poem, because when I print them and take them to the bar, I will make it into a contest. The single question will be: Pick the top three sexiest poems.

This will generate critique, argument and hilarious editing, if it's anything like last time.

The Winner will be named PF&D's Sexiest Underwear Poet, and will hold the title either indefinitely or until we do something else with underwear poems. You can even put it in your sig line if you want, and stuff. Second and third place will also be given laurel leaf crowns and suchlike.

Deadline is, let's see. September 5th. Completely randomly. But that's right after Labor Day so it seems like a good boundary.

You can write as many pieces as you want, and you may post them any time. I'll print them all out and take them in hard copy to the bar, probably for more than one session, just to make sure they hit as wide an audience as possible.

Anyone ELSE who wants to do the same, that is, print out everyone's stuff and take it to a public place and hold the same contest, is more than welcome to do so. Their results will be tallied along with mine.

Questions, discussion and threadjacking are all most welcome.

So I guess that's it. Good luck, you sexy things.

bj
 
I am sooo in! ;)
Here's the one I already had. I'll add another later.

Better Than Naked

More sensual than the lure
of bare skin kissing air
is the prospect of femme curvature
swathed in ocular aperitif
A trip through your imagination
savoring the scenic route….
Luscious lace blooms, strategically
caress peaks, parading plunging vales
Satin drapes swelled perfection
Imprint my form in fabric and
the fiber of your memory
Diaphanous splendor clings
to heavenly hips
Hallowed femininity shrouded
in ornamental veil
Increments of naked flesh
between each destination
Itinerary for a journey worth miles
Half the joy found
in the bend of your smile
To reveal and hide
stoke want to need
is the majesty
of lingerie
 
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You whispered. I was
scandalized, but I knew
rightaway it had to be
the green satin panties.

Our favorite color forest green,
and we explored the forest
tangent, leaves and limbs
in a tangle where moss ended
or we began. When we laughed

I said I've never,
but your voice was silky hot
and you begged, said please,
please just a piece of it.
I just want to touch it.

Your man's voice
was plea and persuasion,
soft insisting you were practically
growling so I cut out the very best
part and I smoothed it right where

I knew you wanted it. My legs
shook, but I fell asleep, furtive
sleep fraught with expectation.
Dreamless hot sleep, clenched
in the moment

until morning when I put on
my day game, packed up
your prize, walked to the post,
shut that bin before I could
be monumentally dumb, withhold

that first promise. You called
it Lil Silky, a sweetly goofy
metaphor. You could say we met
that day, pressed our secrets
together like flowers in a diary.

Lil Silky lived in your pocket,
went to Home Depot, the Bear
Brew Pub until she finally settled,
redolent, on your mantle.

Last year I rediscovered her,
moved her to a dark corner
in the Gary Snyder Reader.
I don't think he minds a bit.
 
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Sateen

They're not see through
as much as translucent
not a garment, really,
more a decoration;

gilding the lily
as it were, but pretty
oh so shimmery
with the irridescent
weave aglitter

against even smoother
silk settled wet,
inside dark creases
shaping the fabric.
 
You whispered. I was
scandalized, but I knew
rightaway it had to be
the green satin panties.

Our favorite color forest green,
and we explored the forest
tangent, leaves and limbs
in a tangle where moss ended
or we began. When we laughed

I said I've never,
but your voice was silky hot
and you begged, said please,
please just a piece of it.
I just want to touch it.

Your man's voice
was plea and persuasion,
soft insisting you were practically
growling so I cut out the very best
part and I smoothed it right where

I knew you wanted it. My legs
shook, but I fell asleep, furtive
sleep fraught with expectation.
Dreamless hot sleep, clenched
in the moment

until morning when I put on
my day game, packed up
your prize, walked to the post,
shut that bin before I could
be monumentally dumb, withhold

that first promise. You called
it Lil Silky, a sweetly goofy
metaphor. You could say we met
that day, pressed our secrets
together like flowers in a diary.

Lil Silky lived in your pocket,
went to Home Depot, the Bear
Brew Pub until she finally settled,
redolent, on your mantle.

Last year I rediscovered her,
moved her to a dark corner
in the Gary Snyder Reader.
I don't think he minds a bit.

I don't think this can be topped. It's simply excellent.
 
Hopefully, I'll be in a panty writing mood before the deadline. I do have an underwear poem from 2005 I'll share, if that's okay. It's in print in Velvet Avalanche under the title Origami. They changed it. Don't know why. I like the original: erogami. You know... half origami, half erotic.

erogami


after last of the sashimi,
suggestions soar
to my palm.
his crane unfolds.

fade to mirrors,
privacy--a hinoki
space,

where water splashes
like tears, sweet and
without sorrow.

satin slides to ankles,
grasped and corners down,
creases are a butterfly. we fly

back to him,
with serene shakuhachi
accompaniment.

"sake?"

"yes, sake."

swallowtail flutters
beneath our table,
never alighting. instead,

folds of satin
settle on his dish,
blatant and blue.

i sip rice wine
in coral lacquer,
while his fingers,
conspicuous cool,
unbend my damp wings.

he inhales.
i know the scent is his.
even my skin
is scented with him.
 
These are all just fabulous so far.

And yes, published work is perfectly acceptable. You're just going for a new title to add to your long list of cred, at that point.

I'm excited. Working on a few ideas myself, even.

w00t.

bj
 
Fuck it. I'll just do my dirty 30 early:
Laundry Fetish

It's her bra
and it's bright red,
underwired,

big, and I've been charged
to wash it,
among her other things

and, shit, I'm perved
on how the nylon pooches out
to accommodate her curves

(though not so much
as I'd like to
be one with them right now).

Wow!
Sorry. Some little squirt
of stain remover

makes me wonder
Whose lips? How catsup
found this pointy place.

I know. Meow.
No, anyway, I want
to wash this thing

and get it really,
really clean,
because someday I

will be here, christening
this fragile fabric
with my kiss,

and, boy, do I like how
her long, stiff nipples perked
up this netted mesh

that I now drench with Tide
and then
consign, co-sign, resign

to a world named Delicate.
Not like I wouldn't be,
anyway, you know.​


Yep. Not 24 hours yet. I just couldn't hold it.

No incontinence jokes, please.



Hey. I am off tomorrow doing helpful parent things, so cut me some slack. Be smutty, y'all.
 
I don't think this can be topped. It's simply excellent.

Bless your heart.

Well, that was hot.

Whew. I now have a strange urge to read Gary Snyder. He's that mountains and valleys guy, right?

Exhale. Um.



Bad girl.

Yup, the truth is out. I'se a bad girl. You all knew that anyway, right? I'm just quiet about how bad I can be. Fool has understood this about me from the get go.

And thank you both for the compliments. I read the poem to ee last night and he actually blushed. Cause he remembers. :D

Every once in a while I think I hear Gary Snyder moan. Or maybe it's the pine trees.
 
In a good way, right? :D
I really don't think you could get any better than that poem. You're are my #1 poet!

It's a mutual admiration society, D. Always has been. Anyway like I said in the pm, it's good cause it's the truth!

Your poem is gorgeous. I love the way you write. Just. love. love. love. it.
 
It's a mutual admiration society, D. Always has been. Anyway like I said in the pm, it's good cause it's the truth!

Your poem is gorgeous. I love the way you write. Just. love. love. love. it.
Oh, stop it. I love your poetry!
uh... I'm feeling queasy. We must stop... now.
Hey, I found other poems about panties that I had stored away. Like what in the world is with me and underpants? lol Oh, I forgot that I wrote that poem, just a few days ago, about panties in a shoebox... um... horribly human air -- thanks to the weird inspiration you gave me.
 
The Panties link

his weakness is me
wrapped in ribbons
of barely there
ink peek-a-boo
and nothing else
but midnight fuck me
pumps that compass
the path to Jesus
 
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She eases on each silk stocking
smoothing, fingers lingering
travelling up a streamlined
pathway. Each caress
for his eyes only, opening
yet concealing still
beneath lace and satin
fripperies, the secret
entrance of his desire.
Warm, wet and enticing,
velvet waiting to enclose and yield.
 
She eases on each silk stocking
smoothing, fingers lingering
travelling up a streamlined
pathway. Each caress
for his eyes only, opening
yet concealing still
beneath lace and satin
fripperies, the secret
entrance of his desire.
Warm, wet and enticing,
velvet waiting to enclose and yield.
The word fripperies really makes this poem!
I do need to google it, though. ;)
 
Panties and Hot Wax

Her hand is professional, given that it is between
my legs, stroking muslin over warm wax
until it perfectly hugs the curve
of my tendon.

With one hand she sharply rips!
Strips me of cloth/wax/hair as immediately
the other hand cools my flesh
with cream. My neck falls long to gasp

at this delicate torture. After the sixth strip
she says I must roll over, cradling my ankle
against her abdomen and I know

with my toes she is soft as well as strong.
My readiness trembles as she paints
warm wax to the string
of the flimsy, disposable thong.
 
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Hopefully, I'll be in a panty writing mood before the deadline. I do have an underwear poem from 2005 I'll share, if that's okay. It's in print in Velvet Avalanche under the title Origami. They changed it. Don't know why. I like the original: erogami. You know... half origami, half erotic.

erogami


after last of the sashimi,
suggestions soar
to my palm.
his crane unfolds.

fade to mirrors,
privacy--a hinoki
space,

where water splashes
like tears, sweet and
without sorrow.

satin slides to ankles,
grasped and corners down,
creases are a butterfly. we fly

back to him,
with serene shakuhachi
accompaniment.

"sake?"

"yes, sake."

swallowtail flutters
beneath our table,
never alighting. instead,

folds of satin
settle on his dish,
blatant and blue.

i sip rice wine
in coral lacquer,
while his fingers,
conspicuous cool,
unbend my damp wings.

he inhales.
i know the scent is his.
even my skin
is scented with him.

That is a stellar piece. How dare they change your title?

Yet another reason why I don't bother to try to publish anything. Fuck that.

Example: an essay I published in a magazine long ago contained something like this phrase:

"She saw the natural world as dangerous, 'red in tooth and claw' (That's Blake, O best beloved)."

as in, "Hey kids, I am making a reference to William Blake here." The essay was written in a very casual, personal sort of style, with a lot of direct address. So it was appropriate to do a sort of Kipling thing there, y'know, 'listen, o best beloved...'

They changed it to (That's Blake, O Best Beloved). As if that were title of some Blake poem.

arg.

Besides that, though, it's a gorgeous piece. Though so far, they're all so hot I can't even decide who I'd back in the race...

bj
 
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