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Poetry Please start one thread for your own poetry and just add to it! |
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#81 |
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Oh miss, psssssssst, pssst, can I tell you Relationship Status:
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Please master can I touch your cheek
please master can I kneel at your feet please master can I loosen your blue pants please master can I gaze at your golden haired belly please master can I gently take down your shorts please master can I have your thighs bare to my eyes please master can I take off your clothes below your chair please master can I kiss your ankles and soul please master can I touch lips to your muscle hairless thigh please master can I lay my ear pressed to your stomach please master can I wrap my arms around your white ass please master can I lick your groin curled with soft blond fur please master can I touch my tongue to your rosy asshole please master may I pass my face to your balls, please master, please look into my eyes, please master order me down on the floor, please master tell me to lick your thick shaft please master put your rough hands on my bald hairy skull please master press my mouth to your prick-heart please master press my face into your belly, pull me slowly strong thumbed till your dumb hardness fills my throat to the base till I swallow and taste your delicate flesh-hot prick barrel veined Please Master push my shoulders away and stare into my eye, & make me bend over the table please master grab my thighs and lift my ass to your waist please master your rough hand's stroke on my neck your palm down my backside please master push me up, my feet on chairs, till my hole feels the breath of your spit and your thumb stroke please master make me say Please Master Fuck me now Please Master grease my balls and hairmouth with sweet vaselines please master stroke your shaft with white creams please master touch your cock head to my wrinkled self-hole please master push it in gently, your elbows enwrapped around my breast your arms passing down to my belly, my penis you touch w/ your little fingers please master shove it in me a little, a little, a little, please master sink your droor thing down my behind & please master make me wiggle my rear to eat up the prick trunk till my asshalfs cuddle your thighs, my back bent over till I'm alone sticking out your sword stuck throbbing in me please master pull out and slowly roll into the bottom please master lunge it again, and withdraw to the tip please please master fuck me again with your self, please fuck me Please Master drive it down till it hurts me the softness the Softness please master make love to my ass, give body to center & fuck me for good like a girl, tenderly clasp me please master I take me to thee, & drive in my belly your selfsame sweet heat-rood your fingered in solitude Denver or Brooklyn or fucked in a maiden in Paris carlots please master drive me thy vehicle, body of love drops, sweat fuck body of tenderness, Give me your dog fuck faster please master make me go moan on the table Go moan O please master do fuck me like that in your rhythm thrill-plunge and pull-back bounce & push down till I loosen my asshole a dog on the table yelping with terror delight to be loved Please master call me a dog, an ass beast, a wet asshole & fuck me more violent, my eyes hid with your palms round my skull & plunge down in a brutal hard lash thru soft drip-fish & throb thru five seconds to spurt out your semen heat over & over, bamming it in while I cry out your name I do love you please Master. http://www.butchfemmeplanet.com/foru...es/shocked.gif |
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#82 |
Timed Out
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Silentium
Speak not, lie hidden, and conceal the way you dream, the things you feel. Deep in your spirit let them rise akin to stars in crystal skies that set before the night is blurred: delight in them and speak no word. How can a heart expression find? How should another know your mind? Will he discern what quickens you? A thought once uttered is untrue. Dimmed is the fountainhead when stirred: drink at the source and speak no word. Live in your inner self alone within your soul a world has grown, the magic of veiled thoughts that might be blinded by the outer light, drowned in the noise of day, unheard... take in their song and speak no word. -- fyodor ivanovich tyutchev |
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#83 |
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I like my nouns Pro Relationship Status:
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if i love You
if i love You (thickness means worlds inhabited by roamingly stern bright faeries if you love me) distance is mind carefully luminous with innumerable gnomes Of complete dream if we love each (shyly) other, what clouds do or Silently Flowers resembles beauty less than our breathing ee cummings |
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#84 |
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given up looking *sigh* Join Date: Apr 2010
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A monk sips morning tea,
it's quiet, the chrysanthemum's flowering. ---Matsuo Basho Lady_Wu
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I'm the Yin in the Yang and the Yang in the Yin. |
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#85 |
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![]() The Mortgaged Heart
The dead demand a double vision. A furthered zone, Ghostly decision of apportionment. For the dead can claim The lover's senses, the mortgaged heart. Watch twice the orchard blossoms in gray rain And to the cold rose skies bring twin surprise. Endure each summons once, and once again; Experience multiplied by two--the duty recognized. Instruct the quivering spirit, instant nerve To schizophrenic master serve, Or like a homeless Doppelgänger Blind love might wander. The mortgage of the dead is known. Prepare the cherished wreath, the garland door. But the secluded ash, the humble bone-- Do the dead know? |
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#86 |
Member
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![]() Witch-Wife
She is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than she needs; In the sun `tis a woe to me! And her voice is a string of coloured beads, Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all that she can, And her ways to my ways resign; But she was not made for any man, And she never will be all mine. |
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#87 |
Member
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The Distant Moon
by Rafael Campo I Admitted to the hospital again. The second bout of pneumocystis back In January almost killed him; then, He'd sworn to us he'd die at home. He baked Us cookies, which the student wouldn't eat, Before he left--the kitchen on 5A Is small, but serviceable and neat. He told me stories: Richard Gere was gay And sleeping with a friend if his, and AIDS Was an elaborate conspiracy Effected by the government. He stayed Four months. He lost his sight to CMV. II One day, I drew his blood, and while I did He laughed, and said I was his girlfriend now, His blood-brother. "Vampire-slut," he cried, "You'll make me live forever!" Wrinkled brows Were all I managed in reply. I know I'm drowning in his blood, his purple blood. I filled my seven tubes; the warmth was slow To leave them, pressed inside my palm. I'm sad Because he doesn't see my face. Because I can't identify with him. I hate The fact that he's my age, and that across My skin he's there, my blood-brother, my mate. III He said I was too nice, and after all If Jodie Foster was a lesbian, Then doctors could be queer. Residual Guilts tingled down my spine. "OK, I'm done," I said as I withdrew the needle from His back, and pressed. The CSF was clear; I never answered him. That spot was framed In sterile, paper drapes. He was so near Death, telling him seemed pointless. Then, he died. Unrecognizable to anyone But me, he left my needles deep inside His joking heart. An autopsy was done. IV I'd read to him at night. His horoscope, The New York Times, The Advocate; Some lines by Richard Howard gave us hope. A quiet hospital is infinite, The polished, ice-white floors, the darkened halls That lead to almost anywhere, to death Or ghostly, lighted Coke machines. I call To him one night, at home, asleep. His breath, I dreamed, had filled my lungs--his lips, my lips Had touched. I felt as though I'd touched a shrine. Not disrespectfully, but in some lapse Of concentration. In a mirror shines The distant moon. |
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#88 |
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Let fate do her worst; there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; Which come in the night time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features that joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd! Like the vase, in which roses have once been distilled - You may break, you may shatter the case if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. ~ Thomas Moore (1779-1852), Irish poet
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“purple does something strange to me” -charles bukowski |
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#89 |
Member
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OFOS Queer Stone femme Preferred Pronoun?:
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given up looking *sigh* Join Date: Apr 2010
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thirty spokes share the wheel's hub
the center hole makes it useful shape clay into a bowl the space within makes it useful cut windows and doors for a room the holes make them useful benefit comes from what is there usefulness from what is not Laozi Lady_Wu, ![]()
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I'm the Yin in the Yang and the Yang in the Yin. |
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#90 |
Timed Out
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Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
Glum is the sky, by night imprisoned, [9] As over it the dark clouds creep, [8] Not menacing or wistful is it, [9] But plunged in dreary, torpid sleep. Alone the streaks of lightning, bursting Through cloud and shadow, seem to be, As they flare up and blaze, conversing Like deaf-mute demons soundlessly. As at a signal, for an instant A strip of sky is lit, and Lo! - From out the murk the forests distant Emerge, set suddenly aglow. But the light dies, the darkness fleeing That cloaks the startled, wakeful sky, And all is still... Is a plot being Hatched in the silent wastes on high?.. |
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#91 |
Infamous Member
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I Long to Hold Some Lady
I long to hold some lady For my love is far away, And will not come tomorrow And was not here today. There is no flesh so perfect As on my lady's bone, And yet it seems so distant When I am all alone: As though she were a masterpiece In some castled town, That pilgrims come to visit And priests to copy down. Alas, I cannot travel To a love I have so deep Or sleep too close beside A love I want to keep. But I long to hold some lady, For flesh is warm and sweet. Cold skeletons go marching Each night beside my feet. Last edited by Soon; 05-29-2010 at 01:24 AM. Reason: didn't separate stanza breaks and went cukoo in the head |
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#92 |
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Love rules the court
the camp, the grove, and men below, and the saints above, for love is heaven and heaven is love.
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1 Kings 19:12 |
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#93 |
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To the Years
TO-NIGHT I close my eyes and see A strange procession passing me-- The years before I saw your face Go by me with a wistful grace; They pass, the sensitive shy years, As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears. The years went by and never knew That each one brought me nearer you; Their path was narrow and apart And yet it led me to your heart-- Oh sensitive shy years, oh lonely years, That strove to sing with voices drowned in tears. Sara Teasdale
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#94 |
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Peace
PEACE flows into me AS the tide to the pool by the shore; It is mine forevermore, It ebbs not back like the sea. I am the pool of blue That worships the vivid sky; My hopes were heaven-high, They are all fulfilled in you. I am the pool of gold When sunset burns and dies,-- You are my deepening skies, Give me your stars to hold. Sara Teasdale
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#95 |
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When I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv'd with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that follow'd;
And else, when I carous'd, or when my plans were accomplish'd, still I was not happy; But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health, refresh'd, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn, When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear in the morning light, When I wander'd alone over the beach, and undressing, bathed, laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise, And when I thought how my dear friend, my lover, was on his way coming, O then I was happy; O then each breath tasted sweeter—and all that day my food nourish'd me more—and the beautiful day pass'd well, And the next came with equal joy—and with the next, at evening, came my friend; And that night, while all was still, I heard the waters roll slowly continually up the shores, I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands, as directed to me, whispering, to congratulate me, For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night, In the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face was inclined toward me, And his arm lay lightly around my breast—and that night I was happy. - Walt Whitman
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I'm a fountain of blood. In the shape of a girl. - Bjork What is to give light must endure burning. -Viktor Frankl
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#96 |
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I'm a fountain of blood. In the shape of a girl. - Bjork What is to give light must endure burning. -Viktor Frankl
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#97 |
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I'm a fountain of blood. In the shape of a girl. - Bjork What is to give light must endure burning. -Viktor Frankl
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#98 |
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Alvin Lau
Full Moon For the Breakdancers What Tiger said Shira Erlichman one of my very favorites: Daddy's Parking Lot Sermon 6 tips for how to be a straight girl Free: Protect the Future of a Pro-Choice America
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I'm a fountain of blood. In the shape of a girl. - Bjork What is to give light must endure burning. -Viktor Frankl
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#99 |
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![]() A Match With A The Moon WEARY already, weary miles to-night I walked for bed: and so, to get some ease, I dogged the flying moon with similes. And like a wisp she doubled on my sight In ponds; and caught in tree-tops like a kite; And in a globe of film all liquorish Swam full-faced like a silly silver fish;— Last like a bubble shot the welkin's height Where my road turned, and got behind me, and sent My wizened shadow craning round at me, And jeered, “So, step the measure,—one two three!” And if I faced on her, looked innocent. But just at parting, halfway down a dell, She kissed me for good-night. So you'll not tell. Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart.
It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.” Judy Garland |
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#100 |
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An Alter-Flame
EVEN as when utter summer makes the grain Bow heavily along through the whole land It seems to me whatever while I stand Where thou art standing; and upon my brain Thy presence weighs like a most awful strain Of music, heard in some cathedral fanned With the deep breath of prayer, while the priest's hand Uplifts the solemn sign which shall remain After the world. Thy beauty perfecteth A noble calmness in me; it doth send Through my weak heart to my strong mind a rule Of life that they shall keep till shut of death: Death—an arched path too long to see the end, But which hath shadows that seem pure and cool. Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart.
It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.” Judy Garland |
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