Everyday Erotica

[Tzara]

and for a wordy bastard like myself, this made me laugh my ass off!

f-ing hilarious as well as the open space after allows the reader to construct their own scene off the page, fun

Thank you, Tod.

I've been thinking about asking you to trade readings (recorded readings) of a selected poem by you (read by me) and one of mine (read by you). We have very different styles (as, I think, we are of very different ages, let alone from different countries). I think I'd like to read one of your wildly sexual free form poems to see what it might sound like if read by someone whose voice, at least, is pretty restrained. And I'd really like to hear your take on a poem of mine I might select.

If you're game, I'm game, though it might be a while before I can clear the time to record your poem. It's midterm, and I'm trying to work out what distinguishes the phenomenal from the noumenal world.

If you don't want to, it's OK, because it's metaphysics, and metaphysics is always trouble.

So forget it Tod, it's metaphysics.

 

[Enchantment_of_Nyx]

:

Haiku with No Seasonal Word Nor Cut Word

I want you tied, bound
naked, legs spread and opened
so I can freely



(you have no more syllables)

 

[todski28]

Thank you, Tod.

I've been thinking about asking you to trade readings (recorded readings) of a selected poem by you (read by me) and one of mine (read by you). We have very different styles (as, I think, we are of very different ages, let alone from different countries). I think I'd like to read one of your wildly sexual free form poems to see what it might sound like if read by someone whose voice, at least, is pretty restrained. And I'd really like to hear your take on a poem of mine I might select.

If you're game, I'm game, though it might be a while before I can clear the time to record your poem. It's midterm, and I'm trying to work out what distinguishes the phenomenal from the noumenal world.

If you don't want to, it's OK, because it's metaphysics, and metaphysics is always trouble.

So forget it Tod, it's metaphysics.

For me metaphysics is the best kind of trouble, because it can challenge preconceptions, as to phenomenal and noumenal.... all I can say is good luck, it’d take me a week of research to figure out what they even mean

Let me know when you think you’ve time and I’ll make it work my end, or send me your piece and I’ll try read it, and I can pick one of mine and you read it at your leisure.

The joys of owning a business and starting work at 3-4am means I get to have free time for half hour or so if I want to take it


As to this

(as, I think, we are of very different ages, let alone from different countries).

I would also add there’s a distinct class difference as well as education difference, but those lines are bridged by the poetic medium, for all the differences I believe we both enjoy words and that to me is more important than the rest and if my writing has got to a point where you think you would want to engage and read something, that is an honour, even though I believe that the word honour gets bandied about too often, almost to the point it’s lost the true depth of its meaning, I believe that to me this is an honour.

 

[champagne1982]

Thank you, Tod. <snip>

If you're game, I'm game, though it might be a while before I can clear the time to record your poem. It's midterm, and I'm trying to work out what distinguishes the phenomenal from the noumenal world.<snip>

<snip>

Let me know when you think you’ve time and I’ll make it work my end, or send me your piece and I’ll try read it, and I can pick one of mine and you read it at your leisure.<snip>.

I will be avidly watching the Let's Hear It thread for future developments on this. Please do it fellas unless you want to find me dead on the steering wheel.

 

[Tzara]

I will be avidly watching the Let's Hear It thread for future developments on this. Please do it fellas unless you want to find me dead on the steering wheel.

Well, we certainly don't want you dead on the steering wheel, Champie, though I'm confused about your metaphor. Tod and I are talking about reciprocal poems to read. I will likely (inadvertently) narcotize his extempore sexual free-form poems. I'm hoping he'll sex up my somewhat pedestrian takes on relationships.

Point of the exercise. We'll see.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Well, we certainly don't want you dead on the steering wheel, Champie, though I'm confused about your metaphor. Tod and I are talking about reciprocal poems to read. I will likely (inadvertently) narcotize his extempore sexual free-form poems. I'm hoping he'll sex up my somewhat pedestrian takes on relationships.

Point of the exercise. We'll see.

Mmh, you know, in German 'Tod' means death...so, your comments ring with a subtle humor in my ear

 

[Piscator]

Mmh, you know, in German 'Tod' means death...so, your comments ring with a subtle humor in my ear

Interesting a ski resort in BC near Kamloops change it's name from Tod Mountian to Sun Peaks for just that reason.

 

[champagne1982]

Well, we certainly don't want you dead on the steering wheel, Champie, though I'm confused about your metaphor.<< snip >>
We'll see.

Thank you, Tod.
<< snip >>

If you don't want to, it's OK, because it's metaphysics, and metaphysics is always trouble.

So forget it Tod, it's metaphysics.

The metaphor comes at the end of Chinatown...

 

[todski28]

The metaphor comes at the end of Chinatown...

Lots of things come at the end of China Town

 

[EllenMore]

Ownership

I stood on the deck and raised my blouse
as he reached for my breasts.

Then I saw my neighbor,
looking through his kitchen window,

his eyes like a film that coated my body
with his gummy disapproval. I winked at him

and let my friend fondle me,
because, because this is my backyard.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Ownership
...this is my backyard.

short, to the point, and a beaker full ambiguity!

I love it

 

[todski28]

There’s a stain of scent on my pillow
it smells of jasmine, vanilla, a hint of heather
earth, lust, loss, desire and a epigraph of the times
we lived
when you were salt in a wild fire
when your words lingered in the air as smoke
and we translated braile

a multifaceted hue
igniting memories of fingerpaintings made
in the dark
the soft whisper of breathless demands
drag out a painful exploration
of places that make you yield
make you shake
make you pull away then push back

I sank myself into depraved destruction
as your frantic demands
tore me apart at the seams
spilling seeds and sweat
your name curls into my palm
the stars watch on as I sink three finger deep
you stretch
settle with an opened mouth inhale
the pulse of you throbs a slow beat
I press the swirl of my fingerprints
inside
let you mark out my unique
fit
your heat trickles out
in a gasp

the swell of my demands rests in your hand
I trace a calligraphy alphabet on your
clit until the air is humid
a tropical summer
melting and fading away
until all that’s left
is a semblance of a picture
scratched into the dirt
frantic breath against my lips
and an unfathomable depth
sunk into with frantic urgency...:

I’m always sad when you drift off to sleep
shivering
because I lost the moment when you were mine
I always sag under the weight
of disconnection
as if flaccid is all that’s left
after an art lesson that lost its sense of proportion
went from life like with control
to the mess of discord
and flailing limbs

 

[todski28]

She was barely 18
hourglass and pert
hormones on overdrive
as if she’s the scent of spring
to a hummingbirds heart
she wraps her voodoo
tight about your throat

mood ring belly button
sparkles in the sun
something about her whispers
devilry
she would drop dirty words
from her glossy lips

she fascinates
the way fish glimmer below the surface
to a starving cat
hunger is a cataclysm
the epicentre of violent destruction

she hustles like a pro
gaming the day
her flirtations reeling in suckers
by the hundreds
the inhale of a cigarette
slowly curls it’s decadent lazy way
from her mouth before she exhales
she licks her lips
the taste of heaven replete with
the promise of wet

She took a short cut
through the backstreets
and concrete jungles
fully grown in the trauma of
the damned
as if by the grace of gods luck
she now has the tools
to turn the tables
embrace insanity
grind it until it succumbs to her will
discarding the wreckage
as a used husk

 

[Tzara]

Kind of Blue

That I want to bop you
in some modal key
to cover my loneliness with chords
speaks to the rancor and fear
of our lives.

I think of you as a spirit
who rises, above me, naked.

I want to caress your breasts,
but I fondle only air. Still,
I imagine you,

on a sofa in the rear of some room,
sipping wine and smiling at me.
Enigmatic.

Then the chords change
and you are no longer there.

 

[oneblueye]

The Night Speaks

the night speaks,
in the whispers of the midnight wind.
looks of longing in the gathering gloom
lips of a lover caressing your skin.

yeah the night speaks,
in the songs of the whipporwill;
of dreams and visions of fantasies
the scrape of denim on your windowsill.

yeah the night speaks
yeah the night speaks

yeah the night speaks,
in the fire of the touch of your hand.
as our eyes meet its my love you seek
there's nothing left to mis-understand.

yeah the night speaks
yeah the night speaks.

 

[Piscator]

I’ll take you in a
sleazy motel after
we’ve both had one
too many, and smile
as you giggle while
I fumble with the
key card until the
green light flashes.

We tumble into
the room, rapidly
exfoliating vestments
to reveal naked flesh.
You drop to your knees
engulf me in your
voluptuous mouth
and I’m glad the
alcohol slows my
too quick trigger.

You push me back onto
the bed and straddle me
me as I slide into your
slippery envelope.
Beads of sweat glisten
on your bosom as I
nip your left nipple
and the air conditioner
rattles in vain as we rut
in a humid haze of lust,
until I feel that squeeze
and explode with you
before falling into a
dreamless torpor.

I’ll awake, alone in
a disheveled room.
You are gone, as is
my cash but you’ve
left my credit cards
and your panties,
which along with
the itch of bedbug
bites are my only
mementos of you

 

[Lyricalli]

I’ll awake, alone in
a disheveled room.
You are gone, as is
my cash but you’ve
left my credit cards
and your panties,
which along with
the itch of bedbug
bites are my only
mementos of you

Just wanted to say that I especially like this part. It almost tells the story on its own. Hope you've got some calamine lotion

 

[JCSTREET]

The old urban myth that men think of sex about every 20 seconds has been squashed. Apparently men think of sex about 20 times a day and women 10, according to research at Ohio State University. That is still enough times for there to be a chance of an erotic poem surfacing in your imagination, should any of your sexual thoughts wander above your navel.

'quashed'

 

[GiadaRosetta]

A casual thought

Glance of emerald eyes
slowly takes in the beauty
of a desired.
Fingertips on lips
dragging down over soft skin
caressing my neck.
Wanting a deep kiss,
feeling your hot breathless mouth,
our bodies crush close.
Does that make you wet;
do you tingle nastily,
down between your thighs?

Giada

 

[todski28]

There’s torture in seeing
the beauty of a ransacked palace
a kind of longing for destruction
that the world clings to
as if sanity is in the crumbling paradigms
that we built in the hope they’d shield us
from our necessities

the place where the pulse races
at the thrust of an unwanted cock
or the bead of anticipation
that forms like an unwritten poem
on the brow of a strong man
at the thought of

a cage
and a woman with a whip

degenerate behaviour
that lurks below the surface of the
high rollers suit
and the handcuffs hidden
in the demure woman’s purse
as if we desire the fire of
pain to intersect like a religion
in our loins

prayer is held kneeling on grains of rice
and punishment makes you wet
or hard

and I try to understand
this as my fingers curl
around your wrists
and you beg me
harder

 

[Piscator]

Bumpity bump

 

[Lyricalli]

Strawberries
with their bright
red seduction have made
their way to the farmers market
picked from nearby morning fields
effortlessly coax my hand toward
their tempting display, choosing
those to invite back to my
place, to be lustily
devoured while
covered in
cream
yes
​

I don't remember if I've ever attempted a shaped poem before, and now I'm starting to think it looks more like a turnip. I'd thought to make it for the nonette when I started, but that didn't quite work out. This all started because of Harry and his cherries. Fond memories of yesterday's berries.

 

[HarryHill]

..
Looks like a lovely strawberry to me.
..
Cherries? Peas?

 

[Piscator]

mmmm the only thing that beats farmer's market strawberries is pick your own

 

[Lyricalli]

..
Looks like a lovely strawberry to me.
..
Cherries? Peas?

Yes, please!

And, thank you hehe

mmmm the only thing that beats farmer's market strawberries is pick your own

And eating a few right in the field. Agreed Haven't done that in years.