Spinner

[wildsweetone]

Looks like it's about time to bring back the

Spinner!

Non-Erotic Poetry

Erotic Poetry

Illustrated Poetry

Audio with Poetry




The idea... choose a spinner, click the link, click the spinner and share the poem you find. If you'd like to make encouraging constructive comments then please do so on the poem you have spun (if there is an open comments function).

​

 

[wildsweetone]

to start us off...

Non-Erotic

Siren Wind
by hippiedude ©

This is the sound of the siren wind
Erotogenic sea stone struck
Molested as a sand grain
Silken as a siren’s guilt
Prophetic as a mother’s hand

This is the sign of a sinews sounding
The oracular night of the minstrel legends
Heaven’s throng standing by the tree of thieves
Until the pleasure-bird cries the steel blue end
And the Abaddon wind blows through

This is the season of the sea-girls’ omen
When venomous darting raped the virgin seed
Where tongue laps the corpse land dust
And suffers not the tender ones
To thaw her frozen juices

This is the pulse of plowshares
Beating with the blood moon harvest
Like the breaking of the living heart
And the endless flag draped flinch
Yet this I take with forgiving numbness

 

[arienette]

I needed a laugh...

Erotic

12 Naughty Days (of Christmas)
by ALSCOTSMAN ©

On the first day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me,
A blow job before my cup of tea,

On the second day of Christmas
My true love gave to me,
Two nipple rings,
And a blow job before my cup of tea,

On the third day of Christmas
My true love gave to me,
Three Viagra pills,
Two nipple rings,
And a blow job before my cup of tea,

On the fourth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me,
A face full of pussy,
Three Viagra pills,
Two nipple rings,
And a blow job before my cup of tea,

On the fifth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me,
Herself wearing just a purple bow,
A face full of pussy,
Three Viagra pills,
Two nipple rings,
And a blow job before my cup of tea,

On the sixth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me,
A night of fucking with her and a tasty blonde,
Herself wearing just a purple bow,
A face full of plenty pussy,
Three Viagra pills,
Two nipple rings,
And a blow job before my cup of tea,

On the seventh day of Christmas
My true love gave to me,
A long slow bath with her sitting on my cock,
A night of fucking with her and a tasty blonde,
Herself wearing just a purple bow,
A face full of plenty pussy,
Three Viagra pills,
Two nipple rings,
And a blow job before my cup of tea,

On the eighth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me,
A long lie and a massage,
Cock rejuvenating cream,
Four cans of glucose,
And plenty rest cuz she wasn't done with me,

On the ninth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me,
A blindfold that I was told to wear,
Tied to the chair,
I was licked and sucked,
Got ridden 'bout 3 times,
And not once did I bloody get to see,

On the tenth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me,
The video of the night we had before,
I watched as I sat,
Tied up and blind,
Big grin on my face,
As her 2 sisters took their turns riding lucky me,

On the eleventh day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me,
A tub of lube and her lying on her face,
She looked round at me,
With a wicked grin,
and said "Please lover, take my anal virginity",

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me,
an invite to-oo an orgeeeee,
there we spent the day,
Being sucked and fucked,
so good I forgot about what's under our tree.....

 

[The Mystery Valiant]

Whaaaaaaaa?

support your local fire department
by WickedEve ©

air is sweat-scented
and gators are skewered,

kabobbed, no scales
robbed of their tails.

small town pockets:
buy me cherry coke.
pat my bottom like you own it.

spin up, down,
horses go round--
like that best.

boy, do anything
for cotton candy pink.
swirl me on a stick.


8-23-04 ad

OK, I clicked Non-Erotic Poetry. But this seems to to be quite euphemistic and carries some real undertones. The symbolism seems to be skating the edge of idealic meaning and escorting the poem into some fair-ground antics. But the title then becomes a window dressing to a ring-toss booth? Ok, so it's a little fun, hard to capture..., but funny.

 

[Angeline]

9
by smithpeter ©

9

it’s almost 9:00 night, doing nothing
shirt tail out
scruffy
good strong thighs
velvet elvis
low scoop beauties
black sheen
anti gravity cat
pro gravity dog,
ethereal tome of
literary violence
mentions
the brief shining moment
when America is convinced it’s on fire
buried in fat
drowned by rapacious blood weapon

a curious thing, metal and tough plastic
three triggers
one each for each flag color
near its butt a tank of 3 liters
containing micro storm energy
true John Wayne grit all twisted up
down shaken braided comprised of
decomposition

stolen design of court of lost mission
clouded agents assigned to roam
slice, absorb culture, roam slice
a limp of gathering
priorities were/are:
adult male,
strong women,
weak women,
weak men,
children,
pets,
antique furniture,
broaches with a victim’s mother’s face
the list goes down and down

those were tough times
common smoke
uncommon water
common dry wind
no such thing as art
less pleasure

perk up
spend some happy
aim your mirror, smile dammit

 

[vampiredust]

Figurines
by RazzRajen ©

Plaintive figurines walking in the shadows
ephemeral visions, hardened minds
coalesced feelings,
may they make the trills rise,
those ripples in the still waters,
whence came they?

a hard abide , a soft fall, boughs are what make the wind sigh
Take from the skies what peals of laughter reside,
wrap them slowly and make them pretty,
your glances, your soft whispers, those make the heart glad

who is there to watch the bird fly?
rise high and take flight,
Carry the song to the ether ,
yet again

 

[wildsweetone]

Paris Blues
by Angeline ©

I know Paris.
It's black and white,
fits on a small screen.

There's a little jazz club there,
where Paul Newman
and Sidney Poitier play,
but they’re no actors.

They're struggling jazz musicians.
Sidney is pragmatic. Paul,
a dreamer, is lost somewhere
between the smoky cavern
of restless blues and the lure
of responsibility, personified
by his cassoulet-cooking mistress.

Once Louis Armstrong played
at the club. He wasn't Louis
Armstrong though, but Wild Man Moore.
Even so, the small screen knows
he's a jazz king, and so will you
when you see him arrive
victorious at the Gard du Nord,
carried off by the jubilant crowd.

Anytime now Joanne Woodward
and Dianne Carroll will enter
this mise-en-scène, only to complicate
Paul's and Sidney's carefree lives
by being women.

Relationships will bud, love
will bloom and meander along
the moonlit Seine. There will be
passionate rain-slicked kisses.,
promises will be made and broken,
Madame Cassoulet will not be pleased.

I watch Paris unfold like a flower,
but I am passive as a pint of sky
poured into the living-room chair.
Unmoved, I understand
Sidney's reluctance to return
to the States, and approve
Paul's choice to stay with Joanne.

This is my Paris.
I’m not leaving, I'm staying,
sitting at a table toward the back
of that club, listening
to the soundtrack play.

 

[wildsweetone]

non-erotic spin

Forget-me-Not
by Tygrehart ©

Give me a sign,
Let me know where stand.
Do I still hold your heart,
In the palm of my hand.
Great rivers run between us,
Both imposed and self made.
But will we ever dare to cross them,
Or let sleeping dogs lay.
This distance is Hell,
This silence is not gold.
I yearn for our past glories,
To relive the days of old.
Your memory is still on my lips,
My hands still feel your flesh,
For you to say you want me back,
Would be my fondest wish.
As I watch you from the distance,
I feel a swell of pride.
I curse the fate, the god, the master
Who keeps me from your side.
Please never doubt I love you,
Or shun to cause you pain.
All ask is to know truly,
That you haven’t forgotten my name.

 

[J.Doe]

9th spin results for something non-erotic

The Power of No
by just pet ©

Knowing the power of no
she arched
to let the chips fall
where they may
a thousand shattered images
cascaded from her
to lay upon the empty sheets
in pools of his disappointment
coating the rills and valleys
of the night before

two strangers
seeking recognition
in the awkward silence
of bitter coffee
and light jazz
she is drifting...

no
she has told him
no

 

[wildsweetone]

non-erotic

The Equinox Experiment
by Rybka ©

I tramped the fields of spring today
to catch the sun's first scarlet ray
and while awaiting day to grow
heard psalm in voice of dove and crow.

I drove my stakes in frozen clay
to fix the sun with solar stay
and watched as morning brightness grew
till spring's first rays a shadow threw.

Out in my field of last year's hay
where summer boys and calves will play
I measured lines and angles straight
and now for spring's first sunset wait.

 

[Guest]

walking pretty in ankle weeds
by smithpeter ©

what sounds are sexy?
the low end of my zipper, a YKK not Scoville.

Check your zipper,
take a look-
is it steel, copper, brass or
plastic?
take a lick
sharpen your long and growing,
glowing magnetic stick

The readings often grow wrong because
the length is easily transferred to girth
very low, stretching sounds near bursting

Pay no attention-
The walls are pancake thin
and we enjoy sex in our socks
off the cold floor, on edge of beds
and leaning on sun girdled walls
warming each a side of our most pressed

you in your
short short
sleeved black skirt
reaching behind me
with intent to probe
or, was it tickle?
what did we laugh about? that email
about me, this man bending and you,
the woman leaning with shifty intent.

with stubby, smiling, oriental product
labeled and shipped from that district-
San Francisco, CA,
welcome frisk-O-freak-treat

and so you become the woman
who creates smoke through friction
with me-
you manage to make both sticks flame

then love, the tip of sentences
the others,
the request to shove two dates
into her mouth
just for fun

her lovers choice

he selects the blonde and the blonde's cousin,
Alan, the weatherman, with the berserk flower garden

riddled with smutty corn
a delicacy

 

[The Mystery Valiant]

Choice: Illustrated

I picked "Illustrated Poetry" this time to break the rhythm.



Cheyenne Michelle
by angelicminx ©

Child*of*my*blood******* Majestic*
Hellion*at*times********* Innocent*
Energetic*and*sweet***** Charming**
Youth*flying*past******** Headstrong**
****************Pointing the way to*****
Evolving*with*age******** Emotional***
Nothing*stands*in*her*way Loving*****
Needing*my*guidance***** Loyal*****
Enchanting*all*in*her*path* Excitable*


http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y169/whistlemaker/36_4_13.gif
Huuuuuummmmmm. Well that just sucks! Where is the heart that's illustrated down here?! Sorry for the substitute, The heart is w/o the smilie and says, "MY HEART" in the center of it!




http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y169/whistlemaker/earthlights_dmsp_bigpipe.jpg

 

[Paasha]

I'm feeling a bit nostalgic and I searched this thread while thinking of a poet who left this world for a better place. So with his spirit, on my 12th spin I found this poem by clutching_calliope. She always had beautiful poems that were beautifully edited:



The Horses We Run
by clutching_calliope©

There is nothing wrong with stable mates
when the appaloosas are tethered
to them. Geldings and mares of amiable
temperament, strong in gum and hoof.
Their guardianship of the wilder ones
is the barn’s great equalizer.
There is nothing wrong with stable.

Let those spotted ponies on the loose
if just to watch them run. The stallions
will rut any filly, be wary
of the beautiful nature,
far too raw too sustain. Left to their own wiles,
they are cannibals,
consuming paint spots
outlined in lead, chasing each other’s tails,
biting more than fleas. These plains take,
and they take rough. Rope them

to a stable mate
but let them loose to run.

 

[jthserra]

Amid all the anti-prose poetry furvor

I found an interesting one on my eigth spin. Though not perfect, it had a nice density, an interesting asphalt metaphor, and proved to be very sensual too:


Goodbye, Hello
bysusansnow©

Fall is moments post climax when the heart ceases racing and breathing begins to slow. Sweat beads and settles, stops in its tracks and sinks salty beneath the skin. Memories of tongue against nipple like sizzles of vanilla ice cream against sun saturated summer asphalt. Her lips rested upon my lips. Her tongue, a scouring pad, dry and abrasive, shred my neck and breasts and body; a serpent's kiss. Your witches brew, satan's stout, wasted, weeping from the corners of my mouth. Her limp arm lands across my belly, she curls and coils close, humps and heaves and smells like dish soap and rancid food and dried leaves

and

me.





Click on the link and make a comment and give it a vote...


jth : )

 

[Paasha]

666 spins later to find one hot erotic poem by SeattleRain that makes me purrr:


beg your confession
bySeattleRain©

~

You,
behind those mirrored glasses,
baby I see right through to
what you want to tell me,

and you will

tell me.

Tongue traces you from underneath,
loosen up that clenched jaw and those lips
pinched in a tight sarcastic snarl.

Teeth grind through the string
behind every tiny white button down your shirt
popping into my mouth onto tongue
with clicks and whispers
another?
another?


Head down on your bare chest, waiting
for the hum of words to evolve
into acknowledgement,

some version of truth where you find yourself begging

on knees
naked above me
to please rise a little higher
begging me to finish you off.

Still I wait for the confession:
tell me how your gloved and oiled hands slide
over this image you carry
jaw dropped and waiting.

Confess baby confess you want me there
and this tongue you feel in fantasy will
surprise you with its living hunger.

So baby,
take of those glasses and pull back your jaw,

we can start slow
just stand above me, make your aim,
with open body and closed eyes I wait in silence
for your confession to fall down on me.

~

 

[Paasha]

I remember when the illustrated poetry section on Literotica was only two pages long with mostly weak things so I'm pleased to only spin 3 times to find a very appealing illustrated poetry by Esperanza_Hidalgo:

Making Love at the Beach
byEsperanza_Hidalgo©

The toes at the bottom of your feet,
the moist valley between your thighs,
the breasts that I suckle so fervently,
and the lips that gently touch mine,
cause me to blossom in my want of you.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Spree-10 by icingsugar (happy days- good times)

 

[Paasha]

Spree-10 by icingsugar (happy days- good times)

Icingsugar had written one of my favorites: avalanche.

 

[jthserra]

Crescent Moan... an interesting erotic poem... nice one

Crescent Moan
byKR©

strains of a jazz trio soft and subliminal
slow disrobing
musical swaying hips
searching fingers tangled by round things pushed
through slotted cloth what--
oh yes buttons
pop pop oops
who cares don't stop don't stop
storm rises from within
rushing winds of breath on heated skin
hands like brands
cupping breasts
gliding up along that neck graceful and arched
thumbs teasing bobbing throat
swallowing the flood of
mouth-water
do you feel it--
yes oh yes i want you want you
pulse-beat keeps time with plucked strings
of the bass
senses swirling
scented flesh touched by tongue
ahhh heavens
the miracle of a crescent moan
slowly rising
over passion fallen to earth




Follow the link and give it a vote and comment...


jth : )

 

[twelveoone]

Winter Suit
byWickedEve©

She wants to wear me,
like a smooth-skin suit.

Wheeled closer to flurry skies,
she presses her palm
to the home's winter glass.

I remember cold.

Her voice is snow,
amazing as it falls.

She melts
when I offer lavender polish.
Young nails always glow her.
Perhaps her Alfonse will notice
next time he's out of bed.

I tell her I will visit
again, until old ladies
no longer want to wear me —
December suit, wrinkled
near the window.


-
copyright d. dixon
12.14.2004

6 or 7 times, I forget, was dismayed a bit.
The amazing thing about WickedEve, is the amount of sympathy she generates for the characters. Nothing pleading, just there it is. Don't think anyone does it quite as well. For me, always one of the best.

 

[Angeline]

Moogala Mediocrious Fecalishious
bySmaugfire©
5/20/02

dregaor in the fisby
leaking cookaba on
the smarmy bastadoop
we all trip-hop in the hizzy

cicky-wiky the flippant
fouldom in the fowls
sulphery ass-to-pi, nok
for nook in popalopa slippant

wee waa your hair, snook
stringy licks, quodooble helix
for spiddours and gobbies
the kinkamooga goopa pook.

 

[Maria2394]

Moogala Mediocrious Fecalishious
bySmaugfire©
5/20/02

dregaor in the fisby
leaking cookaba on
the smarmy bastadoop
we all trip-hop in the hizzy

cicky-wiky the flippant
fouldom in the fowls
sulphery ass-to-pi, nok
for nook in popalopa slippant

wee waa your hair, snook
stringy licks, quodooble helix
for spiddours and gobbies
the kinkamooga goopa pook.

That almost sounds like Vogon poetry

 

[Angeline]

That almost sounds like Vogon poetry

Could be. That smaug boy wrote some great stuff. Hope he's still writing wherever he is.

 

[champagne1982]

salt water taffy 1
by lobomao©

Relish mouthfuls of salt water taffy
A curious kid in a candy store
Cross tongue and teeth and down and down
Left wanting need wonting more

The ocean brings briny kisses to my tongue
Lapping like cats up at my shore
Wave upon wave upon tender wave
What I have leaves me wonting more.

Your lips leave their watermarks on my skin
Indelible timestamps of what’s come before
And here I am in the hereafter
Left wanting need wonting more

 

[Angeline]

Lobomao is good, too. Look what my eyes delighted to find on about the tenth spin:

Nomenclature
bysmithpeter©

The Eggs

they are identical
my eggs with salt and pepper
hard boiled grains and flecks
in tiny ¾" square bags proclaiming
"iodized" and Bremen, GA

so washing my hands on Sunday morning
with flavored soft soap is not too strange
except for it's proclamation,
cucumber/watermelon, corn on the cob scented
soap in squirt bottle

~
The Chips

plastic bagged
ripped open
then nose to hole
potato chip fart
fresh and wholesome
original and ruffled

~
The Dip

Made With Real Sour Cream!

is smooth and just as lumpy
as should be
squat and low
in potassium,
wonderfully nippled,
cleavaged and dimpled,

we wait for late night
plunge at your ho-made
waterpark slide swing
teeter-totter

~
The Lesson

as we bend together
we expose what we want
the other to want
then give in private and public
in a closet and on the train to
Mittenville along side
a minister, a farmer and a lawyer

------------------------------------------------


I love a guy who can write a great potato chip fart poem.