Love. The Sexual Kind.

Love. The Sexual Kind.

Morning glory,

Yes this is a real story.

I smell your scent,

Warm, lazy and copulent.

From a night of wild,

Crazy passion.

A dance, a play,

We got our end,

Away in the fury of,

Fuzzy feeling and,

Release of gold.

Do you still,

Ring,

Sing,

Feel the potion,

Cradle you,

As I release,

Within,

My lasting token of desire?

Sweaty and slick,

My pulse is quick,

You suck my,

Ardour into life,

And know,

Below,

The fires glow,

A weeping show,

Your golden flow.

Beneath you,

I ride true,

Deep within,

You and then,

When I buck,

You feel my craving,

For you reach the peak,

Nipples I tweak,

Slap hand on cheek,

Skin palpitating and sleek,

Your body flops,

Becoming weak,

So Chic......

 

 

 

 

An Original poem by Guilhem Du Mas.

The Walkers.

The Walkers.

An original poem by Lynn Barnard.

 

Feet begin trekking towards the crest of the hill,

Friends fondly chatting, new friendships form,

Sunshine peeking through marshmallow clouds,

Morning dew glistening below on the ground.

Boots working, stomping their way up the slope,

Laughter, companionship, new stories told,

Skin being warmed from the fast rising sun,

Fresh as a daisy, folk having fun.

Breath coming fast as they climb to the top,

Sun risen high now, feeling wonderfully hot,

Stopped still in their tracks, a gorgeous meadow below,

Grass swaying gently, almost saying hello.

Five poppies swaying beside the stone wall,

Sheer crimson petals on green stems so tall,

Walkers march past, searching adventures ahead,

Behind are the poppies, left to honour our dead.


This is a really good first poem, by any standard. I loved it and knowing Lynn makes it seem so much more alive. Well done and keep em coming.... x

Life in the fast lane.

Life in the fast lane.

A poem by Dazed, Ben Dlugokecki.

When I woke up this morning,

I had a sausage sandwich.

I fancied a coffee,

But the sandwich was all I could manage.

I called up BOYD,

But he was still in his slumber.

Three hours later

We were bumper to bumper.

So let's not race to the ending,

Let's not be so rash.

I'll tell you the tale

Of our mad crash...

Rewind, back to Boyd's house,

We loaded the car.

We set off on our journey

To Leicester---shire..

Bags full of sausages,

Jelly and sweets.

Set for the journey,

With our tasty treats.

Straight up the M3,

Then M25.

It was on the M40,

Where we nearly died.

We were rocking it out,

To Boyd's I tunes.

In a few moments later,

We were running from fumes.

We then, rear-ended a chap,

Who didn't seem to mind.

As we stoved my Ford focus,

Into his behind.

He braked real quick,

We drove into the back.

He was a good looking chap,

Called Jack.??

We called up the AA,

And the RAC.

Little did we know,

What a chore this would be.

£180

Or would it be free?

What will be,

Our relay fee?

The bonnet looked like,

A total wreck.

Imagine Aiden's face,

If he looked like Shrek.

At least it was sunny,

Not a bit rainy.

While Boyd had a chat,

With the AA trainee.

We called up a superman,

In the name of BOB.

Are you busy today,

Do you fancy a job?

Could you get the band,

All the way to Leicester?

We've had such a day,

It will certainly test you....

So here we are,

Happy to be alive.

Looks like we'll,

Make it by 5.

Here's to a good gig,

I hear it's a sell out.

Shame about the money,

We've had to shell out.

The route to the venue,

The Sat Nav has shown us.

Oh what a shame,

I've lost my no claims bonus......

Signed.

Ben, Boyd, Aiden.

As read by Ben Dlugokecki

I hope you enjoy the tribute, as did all who saw the Gig at, The George Ward Center,

Barwell, Leics. 6/4/2012

I'd Like a Little Flashlight

Friday, September 16, 2011

I'd Like a Little Flashlight

and I'd like to get naked and into bed and be hot radiating heat from the inside these sweaters and fleeceys do nothing to keep out the out or keep my vitals in—some drafty body I've got leaking in and out in all directions I'd like to get naked into bed but hot on this early winter afternoon already dusky grim and not think of all the ways I've gone about the world and shown myself a fool, shame poking holes in my thinned carapace practically lacy and woefully feminine I'd like to get naked into bed and feel if not hot then weightless as I once was in the sensory deprivation tank in Madison, Wisconsin circa 1992 I paid money for that perfectly body-temperatured silent pitch dark tank to do what? play dead and not die? that was before email before children before I knew anything more than the deaths of a few loved ones which were poisoned nuts of swallowed grief but nothing of life of life giving which cuts open the self bursting busted unsolvable I'd like to get naked! into the bed of my life but hot hot my little flicker-self trumped up somehow blind and deaf to all the dampening misery of my friends' woe-oh-ohs and I'd like a little flashlight to write poems with this lousy day not this poem I'm writing under the mostly flat blaze of bulb but a poem written with the light itself a tiny fleeting love poem to life hot hot hot a poem that would say "oh look here a bright spot of life, oh look another!"


Rachel Zucker

Madness By Chance

 Madness By Chance

It was not by chance 

you walked into my life

Took my heart 

and changed my life

Such sweet tingling 

the brushing of lips

a soft 

yet desperate 

stolen kiss

One that rocks your body

to the core

melting you 
into one 

leaving you 

wanting more

Frantic texting

begins 

back and forth

Revealing secrets 

gaining trust 

Oh how my heart

leaps

when you tell me that it's 

love

When really I know  

.....its just lust

Never underestimate 

the hypnotic power of

a passionate embrace

Supreme energy 

A smile that lights 

from the inside out

This if becoming 

increasingly 

difficult to hide

Feelings so strong 

surely this cannot be so 

wrong ...

Conveniently 

forgetting that you 

have a wife

Flames this strong 

burn too fast

all too soon our time

has past

Cant sleep

wont eat

You hide from me

My hurt has become

inevitable

I know that you’re lying 

yet convince myself

.. you’re not

 It’s an all consuming

madness 

Can't believe who I have become

Obsession

Watching

for you

Listening 

for your car

Waiting 

for your light

Seeing 

that your home

Stalking

your wall 

your pictures

Looking 

for signs

that all is not lost

That we’ll be together

no matter

the cost

Inner self knows

Its time 

to break free

to let go

Time to forget 

that something

which now 

I'm not sure

that we did 

or did not share

Time 

to rejoin my life

to take back control

to stop stalking your wife

Time 

to say goodbye

to press delete

This I know but I need
..... just one last peep


Take a look please @Wildernesschic poetry.

I Am

I AM

I am a fat worm plucked from the front lawn by a robin,
then fed to its chirping chicks.
I am the whiskers of the cat
who sits grooming himself on the fence post,
patiently waiting for a fledging
to fall out of its nest.

I am the fine mist of dew
that drapes the earth at dusk
I am the loon's cry rippling across the lake,
and a cricket, readying myself to perform
the night's symphony.

I am the rustle of veils pushed aside,
the uncertainties that crumble in the dark,
and all the inhibitions tossed at the foot of a bed.
I am the perspiration beneath a pendulous breast,
the softness of human touch,
and the moan that gets caught in your throat.

I am the flight of the 10 o'clock plane
that flies over my house every night,
always en route to a different destination.

I am the feeling that lingers
when you wake from a dream,
the uncertainty that tugs at your brain.
I am the coffee cup held tight in the morning,
the cream that swirls its way
to the bottom when stirred,


I am the aftertaste in your mouth.
I mmm...I am

This is  a poem by a woman from Quebec Canada.

Mademoiselle Azphodel.

Exclusion

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Exclusion

Deviant behavior starts at a young age

when bullies begin reacting with rage.

A minuscule flea sets despots off

so trivial and trite the peers scoff.

It grows and it festers this irritation they get

taking out on others without regret.

If not nipped in the bud truants they'll be

or grown-ups excluding people like me.

 @laurie kolp

in an imperfect world..one can only hope to hingle imperfectly together

By way of a link from a picture, I found on Google an interesting poetry site.

Erospainter erotic theme park.

There is an interesting amount of poetry here, so don't delay.

Content may be explicit..

Prudes don't click link...

'Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night'

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dylan_Thomas





 I loved this poem. A truly great creative writer.

Dylan. You da man...

http://youtu.be/g2cgcx-GJTQ