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04-30-2008, 06:28 PM
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#1 (permalink) |
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Tilted
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Yeah, poetry!
These suckers were written for a creative writing course, for which I have to turn in a Grand Portfolio at the end of the semester. Of course, the poems have to revision quality, and I thought, where better to get some advice?
oh, and I apologize for the form poetry - I was forced! How Do I Tell You? Fifteen porcelain pretties, bedecked with roses and covered in gold detailing, such faux-rococo opulence, But you love it. They come with their own saucers, And if the salesperson scents money, Your own special bag of jasmine green tea And a lavender sachet. Eau de Mary Kay follows you Where ever you go Like the whimsical stuffed lamb That was looking at you so fuzzily-eared And pink nosed that you paid $35.00 To bring it home, even though Your children have long since left you. A doily on the Victorian side table of life, You are. All lacy edges and channeled estrogen All power-walks and dichrome cat brooches And over-large handbags That have seen a thousand thousand tampons, Brushes, nail files, and oily lipsticks All tinged with wintergreen gum. Overstuffed, those purses, like you are, Too much baggage In an increasingly leathery package. Here, have a mimosa or a mojito, Or some other middle-aged drink, While I sulk. It’s just that, old bag, No one layers noodles, sausage, and ricotta like you, No one else tells me I’m beautiful With any conviction No one else is so uniquely talented… At being embarrassing, I mean. I mean, The world is your teacup, Complete with rosebuds, And you are generous with the sugar. Late Night at the Coffee House with Engineers (written during open mic at Higher Grounds in Golden, CO) Don’t move I want to preserve the vision Of the white sock curving Around your ankle and the creamy Scuffed shoe cupping your heel, strange How beautiful it is And funny how connected my sternum is To the guitar. I feel the strumming, moving Sine-wave through my diaphragm, my body cavity strangely Resounding to the singer’s vision. But my thoughts are a creamy Oblivion, my brain is off on its own path, curving. Look at that nose-curve! That’s what personality is; A pair of nostrils, not creamy Good looks, because that bugger Time moves, And it’s carving out its favorite vision Not smooth skin, no, but a schnoz: masterpiece of strange This crowd is usually estranged. Tonight is a curve-ball, But we’ve hit it off, we share vision (bifocal, horn rim, such as it is) We’re all together, parallel minds moving. It’s too good, must be fattening, creamy. The coffee needs cream It’s watery, washes strangely Down the throat, dirty tsunami wave, it moves In great curves - Strong in the esophagus. How is It that this is perfect in the owner’s vision? The songs turn off, softly fading vision I’m feeling all cat in the creamy. But the end of the night is Here, and to be alone again is strange At least these will never leave me, my curves, They come with me out the door – time to get a move on. Goodnight kisses are like cream Curving lips dance a strange saliva exchange. Blur my vision, move me, I’ll never know what loneliness is. Bus Ride Image Poem (I know, great title. Suggestions?) Electric-green pedestrian signs Blare above traffic cones Like giant neon-orange douche nozzles And the seat adjacent is a bright blue bath Filled with hot, hot multicolored confetti. Color drains away, there’s the mall. Light brown bricks stacked into more rectangles, A blandness reborn in a thousand ranch style homes Lined up zombies along pot-holed roads. The white dashes on the pavement Lead to a scuzzy white plaster building Crumbling like feta on the outskirts Of the street of Pearls. Then pink relief, a cupcake of a dress Lace and glitter and fantasy in a shop window. A child’s dress with room for breasts And a gelato shop there around the corner To cure the craving for it. The red of the Target sign is a bright lure for cheap. Red cups in the creek spell idiocy, And red John’s restaurant seems so cozy and warm I just want to stop the bus, and plop right down. |
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05-19-2008, 08:31 AM
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#3 (permalink) | |
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Crazy
Location: New Hampshire, US
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Quote:
My taste in eroticism leans more towards the written than the visual. So if you want to post a poem about titties please do so and I will try to be the first to cooment.
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The sands of time past keep shifting according to how we remember or forget or refashion it in hindsight, which is no sight at all. Kajal Basu |
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05-27-2008, 10:27 AM
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#5 (permalink) | |
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Crazy
Location: New Hampshire, US
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Quote:
Maybe your write will inspire me to create something to match.
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The sands of time past keep shifting according to how we remember or forget or refashion it in hindsight, which is no sight at all. Kajal Basu |
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05-27-2008, 05:54 PM
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#6 (permalink) |
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Tilted
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Alright.. I have one... it didn't turn out to be about breasts in particular, but is definitely erotic.
What The Pope Doesn't Know What compares? Cornelians? from carne - flesh or cornele - cherry Yes, the carnal stone: warm warm red, one imagines a gift given to favored courtesans. Or coral - honey pink on a Victorian decolletage, something simmering beneath it in that white bosom. But coral and carnelian don't match you, no matter how lovely- Nothing parallels, even approaches the color of you; We may all be the same on the inside, but no other could have this same dusky dark rose pink to take my deep heated red. Alright, here's another. Not satisfied with it quite yet... Vices Here’s my only vice, right here in this little baggy Got ‘em from a seller I know Oh yeah, I’m addicted. Couldn’t live without Heavy metal. Oh yeah, I was on barettes for a while But those little plastic fuckers kept breaking. No, I needed stronger, harsher. Yeah, Heavy Metal: Toothed, chained, with weights- The high is insane, pulling, pulling Yeah, up from so deep, Then warm oblivion. Coming down is fucking raw But I just can’t leave them alone And next week I’ll be here again in nipple clamp heaven Last edited by HedwigStrange; 05-27-2008 at 11:23 PM.. Reason: Automerged Doublepost |
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05-29-2008, 01:12 PM
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#7 (permalink) | |
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Crazy
Location: New Hampshire, US
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Yesss definitely erotic HedwigStrange ...
It's raw, uncooked; tastes so much better that way. when you have the clampon .... I have a chain to my lip ring ! Quote:
LOVER’S REUNION we meet again after many years absence there is no way of concealing the feelings of lust we can see in each other’s eyes OUR LOVE WAS SO STRONG BUT SO SADLY PARTED TOGETHER AGAIN AT LAST ….. REUNITED !!! our passions burning hotter than anytime before we take time to gently caress relearn the pleasure places moisten from the touching reawakening the senses tasting near forgotten flavours look into her eyes seeing she longs for more she brings her mouth to mine lips to lips tongue to tongue kisses all over her face touching each of the senses gently kissing eyelids down the ridge of her nose take the tip into my mouth now each of her ears nibbles on lobes hot breath flittering tongue inside were it tickles back around the mouth down to the chin wetting her whole face kissing and blowing breath all around the neck away down her spine tongue tickles under arms looking down at her chest my memories flooding back her skin so creamy white little freckles everywhere my gaze and appetite now turns to her sweet small breasts kiss and lick a circle around each one pinkness of areolas small cherry tips of nipples i long to take them into my mouth to suckle on each one in turn first a lick around areolas now quick flicks of tongue barely touching tip of nipple areolas shrink into little pink wrinkles tiny goose bumps swollen erect nipples now my mouth waters for sweet cherry buds zero in on one right licking the hard nip tiny circles all around into the warmth of my mouth suck in between teeth make it dripping wet with hot breath she moans in delight writhes under my touch arching her back twisting to present left breast to my mouth moving to her left between fingers squeezing dripping right cherry nip take offered left breast wholly into my mouth wetting it between hot panting breaths she groans with lust i long to nurture in her warm breast for days and days on end but the lust growing in our loins demands that new attentions be paid mouth leaves breast swollen and dripping fingers on nipples still gently squeezing kissing below breast ribs across tummy to ribs circling around the navel tongue plunges in seeking poking the bottom she giggles and squirms leaving a warm puddle look below to seek where rich treasure lies buried there’s a narrow path of downy blond hairs leading down from the navel a treasure trail to follow with kisses leading to discovery of ever more riches I give her back my heart in guttural animal moans OH BABY I LOVE YOU SO HOW COULD I EVER HAVE LET YOU GO .. .
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The sands of time past keep shifting according to how we remember or forget or refashion it in hindsight, which is no sight at all. Kajal Basu Last edited by Bees; 05-29-2008 at 01:27 PM.. Reason: Automerged Doublepost |
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| poetry, yeah |
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