neonflux
Out and about...
- Joined
- Nov 15, 2005
- Posts
- 4,233
Support for my first Literotica poem + request for community feedback on a second
Hello, fellow LGBT-ers. My first poem written since I joined Literotica has just been published on the site. Am hoping folks will be willing to read, and if moved to do so, vote and comment. Desribes an experience with a man, but he is bi-queer and the poem itself is expressive of both our identities - I would love to get feedback from the community...
Here's the link:
http://english.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=232547
In the meantime, would also like to invite comments/feedback on the second poem (I know, it's long) to the same person (p.s., silence has been resolved!), only in it's 5th re-write so not ready for submission yet. I emailed Etoile and she said it would be OK to post here rather than in the poetry forum, since for me it's most important to get feedback "from my own."
Thanks in advance for the support! The second poem is long (5 sections: spirituality, carnality, silence, loss, and thanks). Also it is missing italics, indents and bold formatting because, while I know html, am not sure of what the right tags are here. If you're interested in seeing the formatting, PM me and I can perhaps find a way to send it to you in pdf form (to guard against viruses).
Thanks in advance!
~ Justine
---------- second poem -------------->
Untitled
i. spirituality
Taboo (Polynesian) – “excluding something from use,
approach or mention because of its sacred and inviolable nature”
The angel Lucifer like Prometheus
was light-bearer before His fall
and i too defy -
i defy those who would defile
a woman claiming her sexuality
and would deny as taboo what was
ONE...
one short hour spent
in one small room
one small atom exploding
into galaxies unexplored
FOR…
for This Connection - This Compulsion - This Obsession…
not only leads towards mutual self-discovery
but carries back to light and life
after years of darkening soul-pinching numbness
spent in a love-lost-sexless relationship
“I'm complex and love intense and spiritual connections,” you wrote.
if you could see yourself through my eyes
you would (i do) wander in the wonder of you
and understand how one short hour spent in one small room
could explode into uncounted Bacchanalian
worlds of mind-body-soul consuming desire
This is spiritual, This is intensely sacred
This is the mystical opening
into parallel worlds waiting to be discovered
This is not ordinary obsession
for i have lived long enough to know
THAT…
that This Connection - This Compulsion - This Obsession…
you cannot find in
a thousand (passingly pleasant) encounters
and so, i will guard it jealously
against the intrusion of the mundane
i will gladly drown in the seas of you
share not only fantasies
but work and art and dreams
STILL…
still you and she are safe
in the life you have built together
for i have no desire to “share a life”
to lose This that-IS-so-sacred-spiritual-intense
in laundry-bills-housecleaning-and-what-should-we-cook-for-dinner-tonight?
to submerge it in ordinariness
ii. carnality
urgently whispered: have you? could you? would you?
yes! whispered softly in reply
yes! yes! yes! (i consider)
yes i would dress in drag and pack
(how big should i be?)
and invite you to boy-fuck me
(quick!) would you turn switch?
if yes! then now I return the pleasure
urgently whispered: have you? could you? would you?
yes! gasped urgently in reply
yes! yes! yes! (i trust)
(you said that you enjoyed the sharing)
cocks fucking (both) cunt and mouth
eyes locked on yours alone knowing
that you will not let the inherent slyness
of other men harm or infect
urgently whispered: have you? could you? would you?
yes! moaned longingly in reply
yes! yes! yes! (i imagine)
sharing as you suck another’s cock
placing a small but forceful hand on your back and neck
(on top of his?) thus participating
while i, other hand to clit, revel
in that exchange of male energy-power
urgently whispered: have you? could you? would you?
yes! asserted fully in reply
yes! yes! yes! i dare!
to break taboos
to explore the boundaries of pain-pleasure-relief
to make healing fantasies live
…a watched over hasty feel and fuck in the porn theater
… boundaries of physical roughness and pain pushed beyond limits
…playing your South African Miss Anne (one exception to humiliation)
knowing full well what each means
what we risk and what we might obtain
urgently whispered: have you? could you? would you?
urgently whispered in reply: i haven’t! but i can! i will!
iii. silence
Your final e-mail, “Last night wasn't great, I'm troubled by it…
What I'm NOT troubled by is you, I miss you”
Your last text messages (both in one day):
“Thinking about you!”
“I want so much more of you!”
…and then silence
…and i wait,
…and i email
…and i text message
…and i wait
i wait in the silence
a silence that is harder than death, although death entwines it
a small, slight 13 year old girl wakes
rushing to the entry of her home
to find her mother holding her father
(both lungs atrophied black and collapsed)
to find her mother holding her father
(his face and fingers ashen grey )
to find her mother holding her father
(who at this age is her life)
as her mother closes the door
she in desperation yells
“go back to bed”
leaving silence in her wake
this silence filled with the pain
of not-knowing and of abandonment
this silence that lasted 8 days
after which her father came back home
now brain-damaged and
when she looked at him
now-not-her-father
family taboos making the loss
impossible to voice or mourn
in this silence
filled with the pain of not-knowing
I wait to hear from you
this cutting silence
filled with a foreboding of abandonment
that i have lived with for 25 years
and which though caused by leaving is ironically
the only feeling that never abandons me
i seek release from this silence
with household tasks
and it will not come
i seek release from this silence
with meditation and unending work
and it will not come
i seek release from this silence
with others’ bodies and minds
and it will not come
iv. loss
i cannot forget
as my fingers circle my nipple
(you were here!)
as my fingers follow the round form of my breast
and trail down the side of my body
dip then curve from waist to hip
(as you dipped and curved)
pass over thigh to touch my now aroused clit
explore the recesses of aching cunt, now revealed
by labia opening wetly to the memory of your touch
tracing my body, i feel your presence
which you have etched into my skin
with your soft lips, skillful hands, insistent cock
tracing my body i discover that
you have (are!) cut even more deeply
moving past skin to reach muscle, and sinew, and bone
you travel hanging
onto the (life-giving) red corpuscles in my blood
you fill my adrenal glands
causing my blood pressure to rise
my heart to beat ever faster
to give endless sleepless nights
as over and over in my head
plays one line (Jeanette Winterson)
“Why is the measure of love loss?”
v. thanks
i conceived exploring This-that-we-shared
until all that was left was desire spent
and the afterglow of a warm friendship which
eventually calm rather than frantic needed only
the (leading to sex or not)
semi-monthly lunch for sustenance
a relationship that quietly radiated with
the warm comfort of coming home
i ache to write,
…i ache to call
… i ache to ask…
did i transgress?
(help me understand the boundaries)
did i scare you off?
(i too am terrified – let us jump headlong into our fears together)
are you protecting your relationship with her?
(you needn’t worry)
did i move too fast? seem too possessive? get too pushy?
(i can slow down, i will never grasp, i have backed away)
do you need time away?
(only inform me - one short line in a single email is enough)
mourning for potentiality that never was
i sit silently with my grief
(i am good at that)
i rock back and forth in my chair
hand moving to and from cell phone & keyboard
thinking of women who have miscarried-aborted
and are expected (simply)
to pick up and go on with their lives
i go through the motions of mine
and then the Muse speaks and i write
i have not written for so long
– 7 years -
trapped in the limiting boundaries of
a buried-alive relationship
i have not written for so long thinking
that She had also abandoned me
but now the Muse is here
think, She says
….feel, She says
…. see, She says
what he has given you
and i think-feel-see
that i am alive to myself again
recognizing that you have given me this gift
a gift which i refuse to let be stolen a second time
a gift with which i am eternally blessed
and for which to you i will be eternally grateful
whatever may (not) come
Hello, fellow LGBT-ers. My first poem written since I joined Literotica has just been published on the site. Am hoping folks will be willing to read, and if moved to do so, vote and comment. Desribes an experience with a man, but he is bi-queer and the poem itself is expressive of both our identities - I would love to get feedback from the community...
Here's the link:
http://english.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=232547
In the meantime, would also like to invite comments/feedback on the second poem (I know, it's long) to the same person (p.s., silence has been resolved!), only in it's 5th re-write so not ready for submission yet. I emailed Etoile and she said it would be OK to post here rather than in the poetry forum, since for me it's most important to get feedback "from my own."
Thanks in advance for the support! The second poem is long (5 sections: spirituality, carnality, silence, loss, and thanks). Also it is missing italics, indents and bold formatting because, while I know html, am not sure of what the right tags are here. If you're interested in seeing the formatting, PM me and I can perhaps find a way to send it to you in pdf form (to guard against viruses).
Thanks in advance!
~ Justine
---------- second poem -------------->
Untitled
i. spirituality
Taboo (Polynesian) – “excluding something from use,
approach or mention because of its sacred and inviolable nature”
The angel Lucifer like Prometheus
was light-bearer before His fall
and i too defy -
i defy those who would defile
a woman claiming her sexuality
and would deny as taboo what was
ONE...
one short hour spent
in one small room
one small atom exploding
into galaxies unexplored
FOR…
for This Connection - This Compulsion - This Obsession…
not only leads towards mutual self-discovery
but carries back to light and life
after years of darkening soul-pinching numbness
spent in a love-lost-sexless relationship
“I'm complex and love intense and spiritual connections,” you wrote.
if you could see yourself through my eyes
you would (i do) wander in the wonder of you
and understand how one short hour spent in one small room
could explode into uncounted Bacchanalian
worlds of mind-body-soul consuming desire
This is spiritual, This is intensely sacred
This is the mystical opening
into parallel worlds waiting to be discovered
This is not ordinary obsession
for i have lived long enough to know
THAT…
that This Connection - This Compulsion - This Obsession…
you cannot find in
a thousand (passingly pleasant) encounters
and so, i will guard it jealously
against the intrusion of the mundane
i will gladly drown in the seas of you
share not only fantasies
but work and art and dreams
STILL…
still you and she are safe
in the life you have built together
for i have no desire to “share a life”
to lose This that-IS-so-sacred-spiritual-intense
in laundry-bills-housecleaning-and-what-should-we-cook-for-dinner-tonight?
to submerge it in ordinariness
ii. carnality
urgently whispered: have you? could you? would you?
yes! whispered softly in reply
yes! yes! yes! (i consider)
yes i would dress in drag and pack
(how big should i be?)
and invite you to boy-fuck me
(quick!) would you turn switch?
if yes! then now I return the pleasure
urgently whispered: have you? could you? would you?
yes! gasped urgently in reply
yes! yes! yes! (i trust)
(you said that you enjoyed the sharing)
cocks fucking (both) cunt and mouth
eyes locked on yours alone knowing
that you will not let the inherent slyness
of other men harm or infect
urgently whispered: have you? could you? would you?
yes! moaned longingly in reply
yes! yes! yes! (i imagine)
sharing as you suck another’s cock
placing a small but forceful hand on your back and neck
(on top of his?) thus participating
while i, other hand to clit, revel
in that exchange of male energy-power
urgently whispered: have you? could you? would you?
yes! asserted fully in reply
yes! yes! yes! i dare!
to break taboos
to explore the boundaries of pain-pleasure-relief
to make healing fantasies live
…a watched over hasty feel and fuck in the porn theater
… boundaries of physical roughness and pain pushed beyond limits
…playing your South African Miss Anne (one exception to humiliation)
knowing full well what each means
what we risk and what we might obtain
urgently whispered: have you? could you? would you?
urgently whispered in reply: i haven’t! but i can! i will!
iii. silence
Your final e-mail, “Last night wasn't great, I'm troubled by it…
What I'm NOT troubled by is you, I miss you”
Your last text messages (both in one day):
“Thinking about you!”
“I want so much more of you!”
…and then silence
…and i wait,
…and i email
…and i text message
…and i wait
i wait in the silence
a silence that is harder than death, although death entwines it
a small, slight 13 year old girl wakes
rushing to the entry of her home
to find her mother holding her father
(both lungs atrophied black and collapsed)
to find her mother holding her father
(his face and fingers ashen grey )
to find her mother holding her father
(who at this age is her life)
as her mother closes the door
she in desperation yells
“go back to bed”
leaving silence in her wake
this silence filled with the pain
of not-knowing and of abandonment
this silence that lasted 8 days
after which her father came back home
now brain-damaged and
when she looked at him
now-not-her-father
family taboos making the loss
impossible to voice or mourn
in this silence
filled with the pain of not-knowing
I wait to hear from you
this cutting silence
filled with a foreboding of abandonment
that i have lived with for 25 years
and which though caused by leaving is ironically
the only feeling that never abandons me
i seek release from this silence
with household tasks
and it will not come
i seek release from this silence
with meditation and unending work
and it will not come
i seek release from this silence
with others’ bodies and minds
and it will not come
iv. loss
i cannot forget
as my fingers circle my nipple
(you were here!)
as my fingers follow the round form of my breast
and trail down the side of my body
dip then curve from waist to hip
(as you dipped and curved)
pass over thigh to touch my now aroused clit
explore the recesses of aching cunt, now revealed
by labia opening wetly to the memory of your touch
tracing my body, i feel your presence
which you have etched into my skin
with your soft lips, skillful hands, insistent cock
tracing my body i discover that
you have (are!) cut even more deeply
moving past skin to reach muscle, and sinew, and bone
you travel hanging
onto the (life-giving) red corpuscles in my blood
you fill my adrenal glands
causing my blood pressure to rise
my heart to beat ever faster
to give endless sleepless nights
as over and over in my head
plays one line (Jeanette Winterson)
“Why is the measure of love loss?”
v. thanks
i conceived exploring This-that-we-shared
until all that was left was desire spent
and the afterglow of a warm friendship which
eventually calm rather than frantic needed only
the (leading to sex or not)
semi-monthly lunch for sustenance
a relationship that quietly radiated with
the warm comfort of coming home
i ache to write,
…i ache to call
… i ache to ask…
did i transgress?
(help me understand the boundaries)
did i scare you off?
(i too am terrified – let us jump headlong into our fears together)
are you protecting your relationship with her?
(you needn’t worry)
did i move too fast? seem too possessive? get too pushy?
(i can slow down, i will never grasp, i have backed away)
do you need time away?
(only inform me - one short line in a single email is enough)
mourning for potentiality that never was
i sit silently with my grief
(i am good at that)
i rock back and forth in my chair
hand moving to and from cell phone & keyboard
thinking of women who have miscarried-aborted
and are expected (simply)
to pick up and go on with their lives
i go through the motions of mine
and then the Muse speaks and i write
i have not written for so long
– 7 years -
trapped in the limiting boundaries of
a buried-alive relationship
i have not written for so long thinking
that She had also abandoned me
but now the Muse is here
think, She says
….feel, She says
…. see, She says
what he has given you
and i think-feel-see
that i am alive to myself again
recognizing that you have given me this gift
a gift which i refuse to let be stolen a second time
a gift with which i am eternally blessed
and for which to you i will be eternally grateful
whatever may (not) come
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