Best Concupiscence Poems
She senses before she sees
The manicured nails - the elegant fingers
Holding out the hundred dollar bills - enticingly - so temptingly
A generous nights takings of busking here
In one proffered hand
She grabs at it petrified it might be an illusion
Evaporating in a puff of smoke
Fingers hold it back, teasingly
Compelling eye contact
She looks up sceptically
Dark eyes meet her aqua blues, sparking a sort of affinity
‘Eyes are the window of one’s soul’- so it is said in all sincerity
But the magnetic dark eyes of her enticer are fathomless in their intensity
His type she has encountered before - money for favours
Well she is no novice - a living after all - a girl has to make
And his generous offer rivals his devilish good looks
But she senses a darkness favouring the energy emanating
A cold shiver runs through her veins like someone just walked on her grave
Fear ripples down her spine akin to a stroking finger chilled in ice
The spell he casts foreboding
The calmness of the night has taken flight
In its haste to set the macabre scene
Mesmerising are the eyes that bore into hers
Projected thoughts furtively slip into her mind
Infiltrating it like a slithery snake
Bringing with it forbidden thoughts of desire
She falls into the inky black abyss
Succumbing to heady dark passionate conceptualization
However the chilling message is coherent
This is not a mere opportunistic one night stand
That he desires
This is more - so much more
This is taboo concupiscence unleashed
This is her life in exchange for what?
Her life for immortality?
Surely not!
Yet his eyes eloquently convey it all
The hunger so unconcealed - so transparently flagrant
To yield to darkness
Satisfying his appetite for
Death of a different nature?
Obliteration of life as she knows it to be
Tenebrous Immortality in exchange for her blood
A prelude to his finale of taking her soul
And then a metamorphosis
From Prey to Predator
Video clip -
Like a Vampire- Catrien Maxwell
Ella Hyde
1857- 1898
That cad with the freckle on his forehead,
That rascal man beast,
Handsome as a Greek
But devastatingly insecure,
And so deliciously young!
He was the one who stole my pride,
There, behind the Hadley tombstone in the moonlight,
And who,
Breathlessly and with trembling hands,
Unlatched the ruby red necklace
From around my naked neck that night.
It was he.
That cad who swooped down upon my innocence,
Like a maniacal Zeus
In one of his crazy costumes of concupiscence,
And carried me off to nights of brazen episodes,
Splendid spectacles in light and magic,
Of him and me embracing wildly, madly,
In dreamy dances with caresses and kisses.
Only the truly passionate
Could understand these mad scenes in the dark!
I met RS on many a night
In the long concealing shadows of Central Park.
He was my man, but he didn’t know it.
I lived my life here in this dusty town the best I could.
I believe I left my mark in some small but universal way.
At least I knew when to say no to Roscoe Settle.
Now I’d like to go back to my grave and sleep.
I am tired of this rant about The Man Beast.
At 41 I entered here after my bout with diphtheria.
The trees here are my shadowy friends now.
But I sometimes secretly wish I could meet RS.
Just as it was in 1897,
He and I kissing in the garden Gazebo at Central Park,
His hand on the small of my back.
Me trembling with monstrous want,
My ultimate Prince.
Who lied to me like a rat!
LUST
flesh screaming of sin
found pleasures deepening skin
raising body heat within
escaping passion
carnal knowledge attraction
attaining satisfaction
volcanic fluxion
viral viewing seduction
stimulating consumption
sexual craving
concupiscence behaving
eroticism enslaving
magic hypnotic
display actions exotic
thirst and hunger demonic
5-7-7 Syllable count
...can also be read backward~just saying
Music by Ariana Grande - 'Dangerous Woman'
Oct.15.2018
One of The Seven Deadly Sins
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Placed 1'st
[7'th of 15]
Spray your love in the masochistic mist,
shapely satisfying the illicit itch...
With handcuffs upon the wicked wrist,
narcotic nectars that will bewitch…
Salacious secretions that must assist,
appeasing appetites that shall enrich...
Salivating on parts hardly ever kissed,
exploring erotica within its niche…
Licentious desires amidst negligent night,
engulfing erections are craving...
Passionate pistils partake in their plight,
tender thoughts are misbehaving…
Bodies in motion divulge in delight,
as animalistic aphrodisiacs are raving...
Concupiscence convulsions do bite;
willing wanton wizards are waving…
Hold me tight as we twist and twitch,
upon luscious landscapes yearning...
Libidinousness lactations in their stitch,
beauteous breasts are burning…
Carnal covetousness stings their pitch,
for evocative emulations returning...
Leaving humble humanity in the ditch,
lacrimal lewdness upon learning.
Oct.15.2019
Itch, witch, glitch or twitch
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter
Background Music...Sade
"No Ordinary Love"
With Female Virtual Voice
N/A for contest
(*********************************)
Beautiful Scenes, Golden Gifts True Love Brought,
third poem of three.
True-love ...
Depths that heart swells,
longings that birth hot flames
night-gems, true eternal treasures
True-love.
With desires born, heart wedding sweet love dreams
songs, a most eager spirit dares sing,
heart swelled so near to bursting at its seams
gems of life's most precious of renderings.
The beauty of true heart, its greatest song
scenes of gasping nights and her hottest kiss,
love with joyous fervor that brought along
sensual heat and most heavenly bliss.
She that beauty's sharpest eyes sets apart
a rare gift that mortal longing desires,
for nothing greater rewards seeking heart
and nothing on earth lights hotter fires.
Goddess, both rejoicing in love-born fires.
United by love that never expires.
Soft-touch ...
kiss that invites
concupiscence, and more
nights, hot waves of raging desires
Soft-touch.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-10-2020
Cinquain, Sonnet, Cinquain
(CSC)... three of three
Final poem in series
Syllables per line:
0 2 4 6 8 2
0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
0 2 4 6 8 2
Total number of syllables:184
Total number of words:128
MY NATURAL BEAUTY
O bizarre beauty,
O eclipse of a perfectly contrived creature.
O rustful bonny frame cladded with muck,
Made fleshy with its suppleness as lime soot.
O dark glinting hair like fleece interwoven, that soon
Would turn grey sky in Northern Arid Savannah
O Artiste physique, well endowed-
Like Benin feminine bronze sculpture;
An obsolete craft, to wane into gloomy oblivion.
O brilliant ebony skin with the wafting allure
Of ambergris to suffuse the whiff of odorous incence.
O passing beauty –
By Circadian or Accidental dissipation.
How best can I appreciate you, my beauty?
Except to behold you,
As a precious mound of carcass
Bedecked of sands and worms and air!
When I behold you as such, and still my heart is lured
With an irresistible longing to
Rouse this masculine flesh into verveful concupiscence
From this raw natural state,
This be a perfect beauty, a perpetual love.
And so will my soul drink content,
A brimming measure of this natural lee of love
And thirst no more to find beauty!
O Magog,
from the sterile land of Gog,
thou rejoicest over how thy biological idol father
hast devilishly embraced thee
Spiritual mathematics
offer free radical theorems
of probability analysis
Doth thy Gentile nuclear goggles
allow thee to see
the virtual microbe mushrooming variables
in a decaying half-life reality?
O bastard son
of a thousand fathers
Raised on sour milk doctrines,
from the hard paps —
Udders on an impudent heifer mother
of a thousand harlots,
has weaned thee
in the ways of greed and destruction
Canst thy cannibal siblings,
Tiras and Meshech,
help save thee
with their scientific, canine calculations?
O Magog,
from the mutated land of Gog,
will thy incestuous father’s
Tubal-cain covetous leprosy
overtake thee?
Thou loveth thy beauty spots
inordinately
Brimstone salt cities of wanton lasciviousness
pepper thy mutilated land
The merchants of concupiscence
travel ceaselessly upon thy algorithm waves
Slavishly trafficking tainted wares exponentially
in thy free marketplaces
As the integer worms of digital reproach
feed upon the Kittim kabuki faces
Probability analysis
predict with prescient accuracy:
The radioactive remnants
of a cancerous tumor civilization,
shall struggle mightily
to revive it’s flag half-mast past glory
O Magog,
the war dogs of death
howl oppressively for thee
Thy merchant ghost ships
of Tarshish
has become floating debris
Glowing green false profit wreckage
washes upon
thy polluted Gog shores continually
O Magog,
who shall account for thy losses?
Does not the tabulated numerical conclusion
reveal the astronomical costliness
of thy prolific, propagating cloned vanity?
Which of thy mariner children
shall read
the technological epitaph
on thy submerged Titanic tombstone?
Triple digit uncertainty doth statistically vex thee ...
because of the frightening probability analysis,
which thou vile reptilian mind didst not take heed
O Magog,
chief Gentile prince
from the barren hinterland of Gog —
There is no upraised hand
to retrieve thy dropped divining scepter
The sprout of momentary illusion,
the voyage of a derelict dream in place of a lie,
the lure of April, the deceit of May concertized in December,
in wintry snow, mocked,
miscarriages of a well worn organ,
the grin of February,
suspended in September,
the burden of unconquered Lust,
the armies of censorial secret "bedders",
begging for the abandoned rottenness on my path,
obsequious frenzy of the hasty oath at Ikoyi,
the stealthily lure of a defiled bed before the oath,
the desperation of "a wanna be" by crook,
hurried by the mascara coated looks of a postponed "dowried hariotery,"
A bedfellow from the red zone,
an unrepentant Gomer,
The armies of bias exes overwhelmed the gaze with suspicions,
compelling through diurnal and surreptitious escapades in dark corners,
allured by unfinished lust,
to the city centre for a quickie,
And myriads of men hides in ambuscade save one,
with threats of kill for suspending their “off home” secret lush
The public mistress unfit for their homes, Yet suited for their Lust by turns
she warmed our beds they say'
purloined for your Fall of a few days,
The bawd roamed unrestrained,
'Don't talk to me' she says.
Unbridled concupiscence her forte,
forty plus years in the trade,
well versed in the art
The sneaky nights,
the secret calls,
the Stygian services,
and countless gift of libidinous frivolities.
Yet their victim must remain mute,
as truly the drama unfolded ,
all appeal rebuffed by arrogance,
as they taunt with permissive perverse Laws
convinced on the first day.
Converse for four weeks,
conscripted in one week
“conbedded” on arrival in same day,
Correction of a fool,
concluded at the Court.
Then in retrospect, Delilah revived.
Aesthesia you say, while sense is the moral
Stop signs gone,
let's go on,
lets go further
Your heart, in a state of pathetic deprivation
deprived from love,
from faith,
two souls in segregation
Did destiny plan this?
Were we meant to be friends?
Or is it a test for our sincerity,
to see if it bends?
Never concupiscence it was,
but rather a happy angel
Pouring tears of joy over two birds
kissing like no strangers
Again, I think with a heart filled with optimism
A new heart, filtered, accepting no criticism
accepting to die and vanish with your death
accepting to cry your tear,
while giving you a last breath
Dignity, pride, sensibility,
all crush to the shore
the shore of the love ocean,
letting out the sweetest roar
and positive thoughts all over
in my dead heart
gives it hope, a sacred hope for a new start
Slaughter not my dreams,
for they're yours as well
let us share this life between us,
and on the past not dwell
and if your heart became solid rock
that ocean of love, would melt it,
and within me it shall be stuck
Oh, such captivating concupiscence ...
I am lost to your thrall, your virtue's vassal
You are the perfect impish angel - raw sensuality, incarnate
You are hunger, insatiable and wry, and I your food
I watch you speak, breathe, speak ... phrases matter not
Chili pepper lips part to tempt me, as if in slow-motion
Plump, dewy, spicy-smooth, and salacious - fun-fruits, ripened
Unblemished sugar-cube teeth nip your lower lip and hold it
Mouth corners turn haltingly up in a vexing smile
Eyes sparkling, mischievous, coy, demure
Tugging like a lost puppy at my heart, spirit
Core, attending and rapt ... close, closer, closer still
Your eyes close, (mine stay open - I want to watch, NEED to)
Adoringly, I place a bent index under your mink-soft chin
Gently pull it up to mine ... the chilis part further
You release your sexy nip on them, mouth slowly opening
To the dance of a sweet, pink, bubble-gum quarry inside
It seeks mine out even before our mouths meet
Licks my lips as if ice cream, and they part to taste you
Tenderly, as if unknown, your soft blond tresses fall between
Mixing in our nectarous and esurient feast
Is there any candy yet as sweet ... as compelling and sublime??
Were it not for the life-sustaining needs of the human condition
Or the requirements of responsibility and motivation
I would lose myself - us - forever, in your clasp
In the exquisite, licentious, pure, and carnal enchantment
Of your consummate and delicious mouth
Locked away in the round-tower of your appetites
Slave to the flawless ecstasy that we create ...
With our love ... with our kiss.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Love Poems for Her (That Special Romantic Interest) Cash Prize" Poetry Contest, Team Poetry Soup, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Slave To Love" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
I longed for a love pure like driven snow,
untouched and vestal in the spring years to come;
the years came, and were gone until my woe
over love now lost filled my present autumn.
Virgin, and never a princess have I met,
or rustic maid with whom to spend a night;
I dwelled in solitude with great regret,
for Eros and young love were not my right.
Still young and fresh, and naïve and innocent,
stained by concupiscence ever the least,
I cast'd aside my youth's indecent bent;
and lived my life as if I were a priest.
Now old and bootless, without lust's searing fire,
I've never pierced the tunnel of desire.
one seventh heaven fantasy of this middle aged hetero
sexual mwm would be to take the playbook of the late
(recently deceased) Hugh Hefner. Said reverie constitutes
servicing a gamut of women, whose plethora in numbers
constitutes insatiable sexual propensity sans propinquity
perp hussy.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
despite mine middle aged (baby boomer) mwm base line
balled (though non bald) sans truth, isle be quite Ernest
and frank to state boldly, how thine bass concupiscence
trumps ambience, dalliance, essence, fragrance, generates
hefty indulgence (je nais se quois) juice kissing libidinal
makeup nursing omnipresent phallic quintessential reverent
seduction triggers unflaggingly (leaving me starry eyed for
stripes sakes) vision watering x2c (to the x power of infinity)
yielding zesty adulterous blessed coital consummation,
delicious expeditious fulfillment, generous gentle hormonal
insouciance, judiciously kneading lusciously marvelous
natural occurring pleasance, quiescent radiance, rousing
somnambulant threnody ushers victorious waltzing X-rated
yearning zeal to take a page from the playbook of the very
recently deceased Hugh Hefner housed within the PlayBoy
mansion. Game gamines gestalt gifted gonads, gopher
'Tis in a manner far from thrasonical
That I come to you in full canonical
What I chose to do was to instill my love
On acolytes below while I was above
When the holy Church I entered in my prime
I, the Church,entered many, time after time
Those altar cherubs whom I picked out to spoil
I anointed warmly with my sacred oil
How could I resist faces so innocent
Wreathed in the swirl of the thurible's scent
To hold them close tightly and their soft flesh feel
Made my whole self dizzily tingle and reel
How truly uplifting was my fierce,fierce joy
When I had communion with a chosen boy
They knew our closeness was clearly God given
And that in confession would I be shriven
For all the worldly good I did on God's earth
Then entry to heaven is my deserved berth.
Alas,your Grace,you cannot in all conscience enter here
Too much dark concupiscence on your soul sits,I do fear
Too concentrated were you on carnal desire
That leaves you to roast now in the eternal fire
Begone! For scandalising the young
Round your neck must a millstone be hung
And into the depths of Hades will you descend
There to endure your torment without end
I have been dead so many times.
My mortal body can handle this hate no more.
I was in the flesh, the motion of my sins.
Those sins take occasion by the commandment,
Deceived me, then by it..killing me.
Wrought in me all manner of concupiscence.
I can feel Me. A wretched human being.
I let desperation stole my soul.
Who can deliver me from this body of this death?
Whenever I would do well,
Evil and hate are present with me.
And now..where am I?
A windless rain,
Poring of green,
Effervescent kisses,
Pigment on the lips.
Concupiscence silence,
Every moment it whispers,
Voiceless vacuum,
Like the noise of silk clothing,
Or leaves blowing in the wind.