I like this poem because

[KillerMuffin]

This is the positive feedback thread. No cheerleading allowed.

Pick a poem, any poem, that you like. Copy and paste it here. Then explain why you like. What, specifically, is good about it. Some prompts:

I like this poem because...
I thought it worked well when the poet used...
The poem spoke to me by using...
The words were effectively used when...
The overall feeling was good because...

It's not hard. Try.

 

[JUDO]

Searching...

(After the raina littlesunshine. Eh, KM?)

It's not hard, like you say. I didn't have something readily in mind, so I looked down the new list. After about 20 reads or so, I found this:

Wicked Woman

by WickedEve ©

Something wicked comes to me,
and wayward pleasures come to be.
Teasingly, she stirs my simmering pot
of lustful image and erotic thought.
She peels the layers of what lay hidden,
seductively feeds me fruit forbidden.

I ravenously consume her wanton feast,
insatiable is my lascivious beast.
I devour each morsel without shame.
Sinful creature, she is to blame.

Memories of innocence continue to linger.
In my mind, guilt's pointing finger.
Lewd writhing limbs entangled,
images I thought I forever strangled.
Twisted shadows in far reaches,
taunting as my conscience preaches.

Lost righteous girl swallowed up
in wicked woman's pleasure cup.
Thirst unquenchable in newfound whore,
indulging woman gulps down more.

These desires, right or wrong,
denied the flesh for far too long.
Into depths of decadence I plunge,
body and soul into hellfire lunge.

WE uses all of the things I love about poetry: word choice, a message, subtext, form, rhythm, rhyme. And yet, it's pretty fluid, not forced; succinct to boot.

She sets up the 6line stanza, 4line stanza and sticks to it. Closing the rhythm with the repitition of the four-line stanza.

I like the sex as food symbolism: stirring my simmering pot, peel fruit, wanton feast (Hmmm...won tons for dinner, anyone?)

By pretty fluid, there's my only critique. Perhpas it's the way I read it, but the second stanza would seem to flow more rhythmically like this:

I ravenously consume her wanton feast.
"Insatiable, my lascivious beast."
I devour each morsel without shame.
Sinful creature, she's to blame.

Yes, I know, this is very picky, but the rhythm tripped me up here as I read it aloud. And there are many ways to change the accents and rhythm for taste.

By the time, I've run to the last stanza, she one-ups my expectations by word choice. Strong words like: plunge, decadence, body and soul,hellfire. This is no small committment.

I love the religious, judgemental subtext she implies with the words "righteous girl, desires right or wrong, sinful creature and fruit forbidden." It gives me the very erotic sense of someone whose sexual side, long denied, will judge against the erotic creature they encounter. Thereby, attempting to lay blame to the "sinner" rather than accept themselves for what they are.

Plunging willingly into that delightful hellfire, indeed.

Yum, yum, I eat it up.


- Judo

 

[daughter]

Mariner
by corazon ©

I take you wrinkled-soft
into my mouth and
rock
like the ocean,

a gentle pull
the tide beneath the moon;
an old rhythm.

Just lightly
touching, gently
moving,
my tongue

a warm, wet trough,
and from your skin the
taste of ocean salt.

You stir, stretch and
I feel the blood flow,
the warmth spread.

You lengthen and harden,
a blunt desire
reaching
toward the back of my throat.

Your hands reach down
blind – instinctual –
in the still-blue light of morning
and touch my hair.

You sigh and murmur to the air,
eyes closed,
navigating by constellations
that bear my name.


I like this poem because...

corazon's imagery is deft, vivid, hypnotic. It transports me.


The poem spoke to me by using...

metaphor. corazon introduces a metaphor, develops it and is consistent with it. This poem is sensual, sexual. Fellatio becomes more than a sexual act, it is art and love and that which is magic.


The overall feeling was good because...

This poet speaks volumes without shouting. She is subtle and brilliant, and gifted. Nothing moves me more than one who draws me in to listen. She doesn't scream at you.

Her work eptiomizes what true eroticism is: It's all that sexual intimacy ought to be.

Her skill is what I aspire to be.

Peace,

daughter

 

[lovetoread]

Goddess
by McTeach ©
She smiles at me with words unsaid
My heart unfolds and crumples
Like an old newspaper
To kindle a fire

She whispers to me softly
and tiny wisps of smoke
Unfurl to warm my heart
And burn me with desire

She thrills me with her touching hands
My body starts to smolder
My heart ignites in flames
And the flames climb higher

She pulls me close inside her
Now seared in naked warmth
Conscious thought reduced to ash
My only thought, to satisfy her

And then as we are welded, joined,
In Love's ultimate embrace
The blaze engulfs, the world is gone
But the oneness she inspires.

As fires lag we lie entwined
In the glowing embers of love
My hands seeks to caress her
but my soul, to deify her.

She shimmers from that pedestal
Where I've placed her, her admirer
But who can blame one consumed in love
Who has found his Goddess of Fire.



I like this poem because...

McTeach wrote this poem in a simple,straight forward way.


The poem spoke to me by using...

Simple words. It wasnt a huge puzzle to figure out. You get what he means without a huge amount of thought.


The overall feeling was good because...

His writing is simple,sweet,and understandable.

 

[Whispersecret]

Her Legs...
by Guy_Mondo

arisen from the earth
twin columns of mahogany
& dark moss of fine & soft hair
like a sable brush
caressing paint to canvas
imitating elusive intimacy
for the world to view
ignorant & jealous

I like this poem because it's short and sweet, and yet communicates quite a bit.

If you know me, you might be surprised that I was not irked by a lack of punctuation, although I will admit the use of ampersands tweaked me a little. This poem isn't even a complete sentence, and yet, its other virtues pull it through my Standard English filter unscathed.

The language is rich (arisen, columns of mahogany, sable brush, dark moss).

When I read this, it makes me think that the poet pictures his woman as grandly as that colossal Greek statue...you know, the one whose legs straddled a strait of ocean...?

I feel that masculine sense of possession in that last line as he smirks about how the world may view her and admire, but can never really know her and is envious of his intimate knowledge.

I hope you all enjoy this as well.

 

[Ded Poet]

He Tore My Favorite Panties
by SexplorN ©

He tore my favorite panties
with desire, he'd lost control.
the sight of white ruffled lace
I'd worn to play the role.

I slyly lifted up my skirt
to give a schoolgirl's view
of virgin mound and pussy lips
only seen by few.

His eyes filled with desire
his cock began to rise
innocence was lost that day
amid my grownup cries.

He tore my favorite panties
he said he'd buy some more
We'll buy them by the dozens
I'll be his schoolgirl whore.[/B]


I like this poem because...
Straight up, it's sexy! I have to admit that very few poems actually give me a woody, but this one, whoe baby!

I thought it worked well when the poet used...
Very explicit language and imagery, playing with one of the most common male fantasies, and contrasting the speaker's willingness to go along and enjoy the fantasy with the fantasy imagery itself.


The poem spoke to me by using...

Words and phrases like this:

I slyly lifted up my skirt
to give a schoolgirl's view
of virgin mound and pussy lips


The overall feeling was good because...

It conveys the sexiness and fun of fantasy role-playing with your lover.

DP

 

[RisiaSkye]

HIV +
by CRaZy ©

I remember once
at height of schoolgirl folly
trying to seduce you
so you leapt,
hollow, trapped, ghastly eyes
glaring in the half-light,
even the nervous giggles
couldn’t hide your repulsion.
In the end we laughed hysterically.

Now the same visage stares
dementia-creeping, wrinkled youth,
sallow-faced, meaningless humour
to ease my embarrassment
transfer my pain,
stop me shaking with the effort
of hiding my revulsion
at your vacant body.
In the end I force a smile.

Treasured the reflected glory
of piano recitals,
turning the pages of Bach
as deftly as your smooth, manicured fingers
teased notes to greater depths,
my mere presence
was all important you said
but true brilliance came long after.
In the end I needed the support.

Avert my mind
from the gnarled claws
contorted by drugs, illness, pain,
cannot bear to think of you
playing St. Johns Cathedral,
that moment of celestial acceptance
descended into hell of waiting
to see if mind or body succumbs first.
In the end I cannot clutch your hands.

Later I recall
fleeting introductions to Greek gods
who completed your manhood
they are absent now
afraid the crystal ball reflection
will shatter their mirage,
it’s my destiny to seduce you
with coffee cake and words of hope.
In the end I must not cry.


*****


I like this poem because it sets the beauty of music and performance spaces against the pain of loss. The complicated relationship between the narrator and the dying friend builts emotional weight in each stanza; the juxtaposition of the missing "greek gods" with whom the AIDS victim was intimate tells much about the intimacy of true friendship.

The images convey the loss of perfection, the death of beauty, which works for the overall idea of heartbreak and tragic ends. The refrain gives it coherence and unity while incrementally adding to the accumulating hurt the author conveys to the reader.

Yes, it's been read before, and likely seen by many. But, it's a good exemplar for non-erotic poems that *work*.

 

[Debbie]

A Dance
by
a look of desire reflects in soft green eyes
a soft smile spreads across sensuous lips
a smouldering lust burning deep within

hand slowly trailing between her breasts
caressing the soft curves of her belly
gently resting on her rounded hip

fingertips play on her taut thighs
hips rock slowly in small circles
holding his powerful gaze

painted nails tracing upturned breasts
nipples pushing out into firm buds
straining the confining fabric

breasts with harden tips arch at him
swollen in anticipation of a touch
she pauses just out of reach

her fragrance weaves its way through him
her dance is he knows for him alone
she sees just him her eyes afire

she melts in true submission to her knees
her wrists crossed she lifts her arms
begging for her Master’s touch


http://literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=30645

WOW! Look what I found.
I like this poem because...
I thought it worked well when the poet used... her fragrance weaves it's way to hum, subtle but it works. This poem uses what I like in poetry. Our senses. Smell, (fragrance) touch, (painted nails tracing upturned breasts) sight, (a look of desire reflects in soft green eyes) So many images that formed a picture of what she looked like, what she is doing. Very expressive.

The overall feeling was good because...To me I felt the sensuous, provocative dance that she does just for Him. I was able to imagine/visualise through the words the dance, her body shape, her Master's presence. The final verse was great.
"she melts in true submission to her knees
her wrists crossed she lifts her arms
begging for her Master’s touch"

Melts, a good word to use here. Fluid motion from the dance to supplicating herself at her Master's feet begging for his touch.

But who wrote it? No one knows. I get a message this member does not exist. Mystery writer? This poem was well written and enjoyable. Thank you for the Dance.

 

[KatPurrs]

Dogwood by smithpeter

Not in point or concept
Would any but a fool
Attempt to sway a delicate
White pink flower to a cage

Already in custody of the
Loving branches, in turn
Possessions of the trunk
For whom she sports
A cleft between
Her luscious lower petals

Holding her to light
The slender stems bring
Nourishment, umbilicals
Of life, till the need is met
Dropped, folded, renewal

Foolish too to capture,
Cut, snap or twist her free
To die in vessel clay
Or glass, looking forlornly
Over the edge, drowning
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This poem grabbed me in ways few do. I think it's absolutely breathtaking.

The lines that really worked for me were:
Aw, hell, they all do!

The use of this metaphor:

"Already in the custody of the loving branches"

and-

the imagery:

"Holding her to light, the slender stems bring nourishment"

"Looking forlornly over the edge, drowning"

I found I had to read this poem over and over and over again. And then, I had to read it out loud.
And it was so easy and so much fun to do. In fact, I think I'll go do it again!

Kat~