writing live

[GuiltyPleasure]

Clerihews for The Coronation

King Charles the Third
is a man of his word.
when he and Di split
Camilla was a fit.

Camilla P-Bowles,
what are her goals?
Is it to be queen?
Some say that’s obscene.

And the rest of The Firm
with their specific sperm?
On the real world stage,
they’d earn minimum wage.

Good luck to them all
in this extravagant ball
that involves the crown
to get the king nailed down.

 

[OtherMan]

The freckle
beckons begs
licking - thick
leg kicked
bent to neck.
Tongue flicks
brown fleck on
slick wet skin…
sent puckered
pecks lending
fucked mouth
sighs, thighs
parting while
smile slides…
rides bucked
hips… slips
slow lip…
laps ‘til sun
dot spot
on labia
is gone.

5/7/23

 

[butters]

weeding: best done 2 days after a downpour

so you've provided a bed
plucked out sticks and stones
made it soft for young'uns
planted neatly or haphazardly
(the vagaries of life)
you've tended them daily
made sure they had enough to drink
some proper nourishment
watched out for bugs
treated any disease
worried about frostbite
drownings, sunburn

now uninvited growth sprouts thick
clusters close, too friendly
small at first but taking hold
around your charges
and you know what first appears
is harmless
but left unchecked will
rob your happy seedlings
of all they need the most

you can't use poison
it'd defeat the purpose

so you wait for the inevitable rains to fall
as you know they must
watch the flash mob leap
to obscure the ones you care for
even as the soil dries hard
clings tight to all

and then still hold back
as deluge denies the watering can
and atmospheric tensions burst

the sun returns
but to wade, now, into the fray
before allowing things to settle
to drain a little
would be unwise
a sticky, muddy mess
let things breathe a little

day two works best

with soft hands gently riffle
just beneath the surface
& problems calmly ease on out
often to the smallest root
no arguments
no drama

always wait till after the rain
to weed

 

[29wordsforsnow]

It looks like The International Congress of Weed
in the little corners I euphemistically call garden
but knee-deep in the green, lionised with no intent
by flying species I'm too mindless to look up
in books of neatly ordered nature
it's amazing to see the magic at work
tight holes drilled into 'useless' trees
again abuzz with busy butts
that come and go and dare to be fruitful
this is - and no acclaimed writer has erred yet here - pretty wild

 

[butters]

at night

beneath the stars
blood looks black in the snow
breath's a faint grey mist
the passion of violence
colourless

 

[butters]

in life's rivers
rounded stones
shaped & smoothed
by time & tides
water glides past them
over beds of gravel

those further from the flow
feet buried in dirt
jut more sharply
fractures & splinters exposed
yet softened by moss
stains of oxidisation

in the blue distance
aloof, craggy peaks
snow-capped year round—
even they have rainier days
& meltwater resumes
its slow
patient
work

 

[butters]

thanks, Winter Fare... small changes appear in this thread, post 982

https://forum.literotica.com/thread...regrets-included.683066/page-40#post-96968761

 

[butters]

lessons learned

hold too tight
& we strangle

too loose
they slip through our fingers

a balancing act we strive to perform
as experience teaches us

as it teaches those we lose
in the process

 

[OtherMan]

I recognize
in some moments
the tree
in me lifted,
shaped by
circumstance
of ground
and sun
and rain
into a perfect
unique beauty
of form
and purpose,
and the glory
that fills
all things
so made…
is also
you.

5/26/23

 

[4degrees]

Now you’re forty six and
I am 53
The past will be the past
It was never meant to be
But days gone by
Will still remind and
I float on fantasies
Of times I saw
You as the sun
Burning right through me

 

[4degrees]

What’s a fool to do
But make rhymes
I tried
And got tired somewhere
In the middle
Of middle age
I don’t want to
Drink those memories
In anymore
But I do
Maybe some day
I won’t remember you
Or who, is the tattoo

 

[OtherMan]

There is this cut I drag through me
just healed this now and then -
the slicing of the want to be
so I can feel again.

6/25/23

 

[butters]

wait, what...?

heat and humidity
my daily whine right now
can't trust my brain
to hold onto a thought
let alone a

 

[butters]

grief eater

anxious in its greed
to feed
skips starters
moves straight to entree
snatches gluttonous bites
before wiping its mouth
then toys with its food
scared its main course
will be gone
before satisfaction's achieved

happens every time

and part of it wails
a lost child in need
of more more more
its adult self obliges
hangs around
delights in the pain
its actions cause
as—by the forkful—
it relishes dessert

 

[butters]

heretical thoughts on a hot day

i'm betrayed by this flesh:
blood beats tattoos against
the underside of skin flushed
in its steady push to expand surface area
on palms and soles, prime targets for a
body demanding to be cooled, dilating
veins, capillaries, speeding respiration,
boosting perspiration till this body is a cross i wear
and i wonder (in a quite non-violent way)
if i took a blade to these hands, these feet
released the pounding pressure
pricked my sweating forehead
pierced ribs beneath breasts
would the drumming slow
would my body cool
or would i simply feel
stigmatised?

 

[GuitarGawd41]

.

 

[HarryHill]

An anniversary just passed,
a time when cocksure finger and toes went tumbling down the road,
helped along by shoddy merchandise and my own big mouth.

I read back and want to delete all,
not share this twist in lifes highways,
deny reality, obsess in silence, keep that big mouth shut.

But then again, that wouldn't be me.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Oh Captain, my Captain,
see the wind in your fairy sails
hunting the sailorman's robin
in your back, never us, but the gales
carry the leftovers of homes sobbin'
upon the graves of the whales
dance along the midship's bobbing
so amain, aye, amain

 

[Winter_Fare]

I am water, not the weather.
Not the gully cut through mud
Complete in a lonely raindrop
Complete in the roiling sea

I owe nothing to the serpent
I owe nothing to the fish
When we all are rent to stardust
I will still be all of me.

 

[butters]

the visit

once upon a time
back in England
i visited a friend who'd moved
to the edge of the Norfolk coast
and we drove out to the tip
of the crest
of the curve
and she sat on the beach as i walked out to the furthest point the pier allowed:

more used to gently curving concave sands
i felt uprooted and unsure
for every where i glanced
terra firma had receded leaving only blue
except, i knew, that point behind me
i felt exposed
untethered from my land
adrift and maybe lost should i let go

looking down, my hands were wrapped
white-knuckled round the railing
and i wondered how an astronaut
might feel on leaving Earth for the first time
if they sense that same core need
to return to mother world, belong,
as they float clear of our precious
spinning globe

 

[butters]

the sensation of a guy getting kicked in the nuts

as a woman
i can listen
understand at an intellectual level
empathise

by drawing on my own knowledge of pain
even visualise the gut-sick, blinding burn
that white explosion
that prone foetal-position inducing
primal moment—a heart-stopping
noise-canceling, breath-denying,
throat-crushing mushroom cloud of being
where nothing
else
exists

but i will never
ever
know it

 

[Winter_Fare]

Before there was hatred
Before there was hurt

There was a mountain
A mountain of dirt
Blessed by the hand of the Lord

A beautiful land
Where by His command
The people gave thanks
rom the work of their hands

One gave up a white lamb
One gave a portion of wheat
And love undone in ignorance
Unkind
Became curse and cure
To this day blood is thirsty for more

Those that remain give the same
Until nothing is left but a mountain of bones

What is justice to the sky?
What is vengeance but a lie?
We are damned by the sins of our fathers
And the river has nowhere to go.

 

[butters]

false prophet

he said he was a fire-eater
so people prayed at his feet
placing their faith in his protection
even as his hunger faded
and their world burned
all around them

 

[butters]

scissors are not a simple machine


they're not a lever to your heart
nor do they revolve around
the greased axle of you
spinning like your ever-turning mind

i cannot pull them
to raise myself in your sight
nor use them to affix myself
—a screw in your psyche

they perform poorly as a wedge
to hold open your doors
and function not at all
as an inclined plane to your soul

i suppose i could snip
parts of .....me.......away
to better fit the shapes of you
but those are prone to changes
i couldn't keep up with

but i do know never to run
with them in hand
because accidents happen
and at a push they'd work
to aerate flesh—
scientifically-speaking
of course

 

[butters]

modified species deemed invasive, useless, and undesirable


twinned bradfords, 40-years old or so
stand quiet in the top front yard
toes dug deep in its gentle slope
the start of a sharper descent

their fellow trees naked
but for the odd tattered leaf
though evergreens boast silently
of countless verdant needles

it rained last night
not heavy, just enough
to lay the dust—temporary respite
grey skies blue to a peek-a-boo sun

greens are greener for the watering
and the bradfords sport
cherry reds and amber-fire
flimsier than their summer garb

in spring their pale fresh sprouts
prelude snowy, bridal whites
short-lived, frothy abundance
delicately brash show-stoppers

when winter's precipitation sits
on bare, generously spreading limbs
they only enhance the moonlight
and glisten frosty as stars

invasive aliens? we've still only two
undesirable? i can't agree
useless? living art can't name a price
but bring priceless joy, regardless