Monday, 5 November 2012

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,
Feel the potion,
Cradle you,
As I release,
My lasting token of desire?

Sweaty and slick,
My pulse is quick,
You suck my,
Ardour into life,
And know,
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.

Saturday, 30 June 2012

The Walkers.

The Walkers.
An original poem by Lynn Barnard.
 20120620_144722 (1).jpg

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

Saturday, 7 April 2012

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.

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......

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

Friday, 6 April 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

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
back and forth
Revealing secrets 
gaining trust 
Oh how my heart
when you tell me that it's 
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 
difficult to hide
Feelings so strong 
surely this cannot be so 
wrong ...
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
I know that you’re lying 
yet convince myself
.. you’re not
 It’s an all consuming
Can't believe who I have become
for you
for your car
for your light
that your home
your wall 
your pictures
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
to rejoin my life
to take back control
to stop stalking your wife
to say goodbye
to press delete
This I know but I need
..... just one last peep

Take a look please @Wildernesschic poetry.

Monday, 26 March 2012

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.

Saturday, 24 March 2012


Wednesday, March 7, 2012


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

Wednesday, 29 February 2012

in an imperfect 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...

Monday, 27 February 2012

'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.

 I loved this poem. A truly great creative writer.

Dylan. You da man...