Best Dermal Poems
you course in my veins with prurience, wild
immersing my marrow in urge, recompiled
teceptors abducted the instant you smiled
love's effigy flaming, my sinews defiled
all virtue forsaken, as tears from a child
fidelity's prospects are henceforth reviled
I inject you, narcotic - my opiate, pure
a caustic and carnal contingency's cure
delectably dressed with diabolic allure
such dermal sublimity, surface demure
I taste of your shapes, corporeal contour
skin softly savored, goosebumped and bare
your tang on my tongue, the nectar I share
our sugar rush potion for ravishment, rare
mixed in a kiss with the strands of your hair
your ecstatic delirium inculcates my core
I'm lost to a lust that's not lasted before
tinged with an aching that day would abhor
velvet and warm are the walls of your fire
addicted to you with a crave to be higher
you are my medicine, the tonic I chug
I am infected, lubricious and riled
lavished in sensual senses so sure
imbibing the essence of you without care
mixed in like poison, I stir you and pour
swallow in gulps, the consequence, dire
you are my opiate ... you are my drug.
addicted to you.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Choice M, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
( This is a new form I created named "Minuanetta", with a rhyme scheme of aaaaaa, bbbbb, cccc, ddd, ee, f, abcdef g (title) ).
- breath blushes blue between us ...
you ask the question
THAT question
so, you're requesting rationality, lucidity
when you stand before me dressed in pure starlight
ONLY starlight, with moon drops in your eyes
splashing your coy smile like rare south sea pearls
damp from our cool evening swim, you shiver
dancing drops of dazzling diamond dew
shimmer like dermal constellations
turning your sublime surfaces into an ocean of sprites -
haute couture by the Cosmos
precious few and precious, times like these
when those definitions of love made in youth -
those confusing impulses of the emotional and physical
swirl and spin and wrap me like fleece
passion, desire, beauty … and love
spun together like soft cotton candy -
sweet and sticky and warm on the lips
melting together with THAT question, THAT concern
but what IS true? what defines "reality"?
what will last beyond this intense need to have you
to know you, taste you, every tender centimeter
every curvaceous, sublime, secret spot?
you stand there, perfectly imperfect, pert and saucy
form covered in tiny bumps of enticing invitation
your body’s braille, pleading
steam rising into the cool evening air
like a sigh from your skin
waiting for my answer - my affirmation
but I am mute ...
entranced ...
numb …
- I will let my body … speak.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Splash" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 24" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Screwed XVIII" Poetry Contest, Rob Carmack, Judge & Sponsor. (No cliche's via PS Cliche Finder).
~ 10th Place ~ in the "Best Free Verse In April - Not For A Contest" Poetry Contest, Laura Loo, Judge & Sponsor.
oh dear heaven ...
how impeccant …
how subtly innocent and eager!
are you truly as oblivious as you seem?
oh, I am sure of otherwise …
or would there not be so much unsullied skin laid bare -
so few garments that thus adorn the masterpiece?
utter innocence, burning in the motion of your stride ...
a fortuitous feast of flames for the common!
the gods themselves feign deference to such fair symmetry,
and barter the heavens for but a grace of your shadow -
you are pristine virtue, annotated ...
you are torturous fare for the plain and fallow,
and envy for even the inimitable …
innate sensuality trickles from your feathery brow
to your Lilliputian toes, (painted bubblegum pink),
tracing an unblemished dermal landscape
that any hormone-hewn human would consider a dream destination …
you exude a connate allure, inexplicable,
enchanting even the stars -
sky weeping in exquisite anguish for sake of your fluid movement,
saucy, exposed hips,
tossed with coy yet libidinous intent,
their immaculate and fluid rhythm
catching in chests like a cardiac event,
pulling the breath from lungs around you like taffy,
(and not returning without discerned effort),
every gaze in your line swinging in matched tempo,
stupefying all within your affect ...
a mass hypnosis inspired by your walk alone -
ponytail braid and pink ribbon sway in opposite tempo,
adding to the sassy attitude …
eyes, pure white arctic spheres
with polished onyx centers,
set to possess the soul, should they find your focus …
faultless, blue-white smile,
framed by sugar plum lips, shaped to perfect bows ...
oh dear heaven!
such resplendent rapture should they whisper your name!
such divine intoxication should those eyes affix yours!
the gods themselves are weeping wonder ...
the gods themselves!
* SECOND PLACE in the "Free Verse On Love" Poetry Contest, Laura Loo, Sponsor. *
your eyes close …
mine stay open, bewitched
my lips move soft along your cheek -
a sublime dermal journey
from nape to mouth
I brush yours with mine, as if
miming a sigh
and they part ... slowly ... sweetly
I pull back, slightly, then press again,
tender …
our lips fit … perfectly
the way my fingers fill the spaces
in yours - the way our
bodies merge like buttery heaven …
tongues touch and dance
twisting, loving, playing ... exploring
I taste, then tickle your teeth
running my tip along their
clean smoothness, as a stick atop
a white picket fence
(or fingers across piano keys)
seeking every corner ... every flavor
I savor each delectable nuance
that your pretty cheeks hide -
the wonderment of saucy spices
guarded by that dazzled smile
for me alone …
craving, you share the tang of mine -
remnants of your nectar still
clinging like honey …
it all mixes and swirls with
our sugary tongues -
a delicious delight …
a few stray strands of your platinum
herbal tresses caught between …
relenting to my fantasies
and the electric sensations that
flood my core -
our mouths devouring, hot
my eyes finally close
and I plunge your depths
lost in you ...
in our HUNGER.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Completely Your Choice (21) Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Pick F, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Love Is The Answer" Poetry Contest, Lu Loo, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Completely Your Choice 21, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Yes, you're one sexy witch, dear love, but now it's Halloween,
And I've a witchy tale to share, so keep your broom between ...
Five decades hence I knew the thrills of flesh, and did imbibe,
Yet there's but one that's apt to still pop up, let me describe:
It starts with just a tickled tip that twitches toward my toes,
As oft' can be a grandeur glitch, until what's grander, grows.
In dermal terms, my skin can squirm to feel infirmed and wet,
What fairer sexes call 'the glow', (we lesser-fair's call 'sweat').
Now when that glow has burst, I'm first immersed in finding you,
For you've the spunky junk to free the monkey from his zoo.
I'm damned if I can speak, my cheeks just bubble up with suds,
The things that hang or dangle, cursed to tangle with my duds.
I'm apt to find my fingers filled with zippers, buttons, snaps ...
And spouting things like "I love you", to fill the awkward gaps.
Those tickles turn to tingles and they mingle through an urge,
That brings our things together 'midst a single clinging merge.
Its fever gives new meaning to the old phrase come-and-gone,
And your sexy pose, (and fewer clothes), will always bring it on.
Now please don't fear, my vixen dear, when tickling has begun,
No stopping what is popping up, there's lots of hopping fun ...
The barrel of my kitschy gun has schemes it needs to hatch,
And when my love-lust itches, hon, it's you I aim to scratch!
Written and submitted on October 21, 2019
For the "Itch, Witch, Glitch, Or Twitch" Poetry Contest
Nina Parmenter, Sponsor.
Heaven's always weeping
Just to grace your lash
Cobalt iris' peeping
Midst your eyelid sash
Gem-like water shimmers
Rainbows on your face
Shiny dermal glimmers
Spark your sultry grace
Misty tresses dancing
Through a soaked ballet
Raindrops softly glancing
Scattered with your sway
Stormy weather magic
Conjured by your smile
Chances, waxing tragic
Should it not ... beguile.
* FIRST PLACE in the "88 Syllables" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Sponsor. Syllables checked at HowManySyllables.com. *
* FIFTH PLACE in the "Early March 18 Premiere" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor. *
oh dear heaven ...
how impeccant
how subtly innocent and eager
are you truly as oblivious as you seem?
oh, I am sure of otherwise
or would there not be so much unsullied skin laid bare -
so few garments that thus adorn the masterpiece?
utter innocence, burning in the motion of your stride ...
a fortuitous feast of flames for the common
the gods themselves feign deference to such fair symmetry
and barter the heavens for but a grace of your shadow
you are pristine virtue, annotated ...
you are torturous fare for the plain and fallow
and envy for even the inimitable
innate sensuality trickles from your feathery brow
to your Lilliputian toes, (painted bubblegum pink)
tracing an unblemished dermal landscape
that any hormone-hewn human would consider a dream destination
you exude a connate allure, inexplicable
enchanting even the stars -
sky weeping in exquisite anguish for sake of your fluid movement
saucy, exposed hips
tossed with coy yet libidinous intent
their immaculate and fluid rhythm
catching in chests like a cardiac event
pulling the breath from lungs around you like taffy
(and not returning without discerned effort)
every gaze in your line swinging in matched tempo
stupefying all within your affect ...
a mass hypnosis inspired by your walk alone
ponytail braid and pink ribbon sway in opposite tempo
adding to the sassy attitude
eyes, pure white arctic spheres
with polished onyx centers
set to possess the soul, should they find your focus
faultless, blue-white smile
framed by sugar plum lips, shaped to perfect bows ...
oh dear heaven
such resplendent rapture should they whisper your name
such divine intoxication should those eyes affix yours
the gods themselves are sobbing ...
the gods themselves.
to swim the abyss ...
dark depths of a sparkling gaze -
your coy, captive eyes
to touch electric ...
my fingers find warm welcome -
your dermal landscape
to kiss hot and sweet ...
tender chili pepper lips -
your fiery flavor
to savor and sip ...
the places hushed and hidden -
your nectar, luscious
to imbibe you whole ...
honeyed, sour, tangy, and tart -
your wine ... drunkens me.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Best Haiku Ever Old Or New" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 10th Place ~ in the "Multiple Haikus" Poetry Contest, Jamie Pan, Judge & Sponsor.
Hypochondrial Delusion
A mind corrupted canker
Of cystic self failure
Even gastric anorexia
And fluttery throb to alight the fear
An adrenaline generated tachycardia
That matches respiration
And causes hyperventilation
With invasive pacy rhythm
And palpitating violation
To anxious infarction
In schizoid arrest
A hepatic paranoia
of dermal yellow
And lily liver assault
That feeds a life non start
Of malignant low self esteem
A delusional malaise
Of apoplectic panic
And stressful apoplexy
A localized dorsal twinge
To further worry
Lumbar or thoracic or
Renal calculi or a case of
Bulimic nausea and peptic ulcer
To stoke the festering psyche
Of somatic obsession
Embolic anguish that leads to
A hypertensive strain
With muscular tremor and distorted vision
And a full blown occulogyric crisis
Ensued by catatonia
Comatosed by
Psychotic breakdown and
Inactive body systems
A perusal of the medical book
Confirms the diagnosis of
Life threatening
Hypochondria
all my senses ...
long to make sense ... of YOU
what greets my gaze is perfect imperfection
lines and curves and shapes and
colors and movements
mingled with sacred intent in sublime symmetry -
features that alone might be found disconcerting
collectively arranged in ways that
steal the steadiest of breaths
and define envy
for the gods themselves ...
then, a scent ethereal ...
weaving its quiet way into my head and blood
bewitching my mind with a rarefied air of
you and Je Reviens -
an intoxicating mix of essences, visceral
aromas that rival breezes from the
of Gardens of Babylon
and send the mind spinning ...
tumbling ...
to say your voice is music
would be doing it an extraordinary injustice
like some anointed dove from heaven
it lilts on the atmosphere
and when you press it tenderly to
my ear in wafted whispers
its voltaic song penetrates my coursings
and ignites my core
harmony and heat and will ...
aria and fire ...
I live for the feel of you ...
your skin is warm satin and silk
a catkin corporeality -
electric and responsively raw
sexy little bumps erupt at my touch
your perky bow lips -
an alluring mix of raspberries and chili peppers
and the indescribable perfection of
your hand in mine
as though your fingers were created from
the spaces between ...
and oh, your taste ...
the many flavors of you are like a
banquet of rare piquancy
your mouth a tangy, sugary bubblegum treat
dermal surfaces, savory and salty -
a tease for where they lead …
and your unique angelic nectar
like some exotic potion
created and sanctified to bind my
marrow biochemically
and render me ...
unhinged …
yes -
all my senses ...
long to make sense of YOU
yet I pray like a child that they never do
for the joy is in the journey ...
and the divine …
discovery.
~ 5th Place ~ in the "Five Senses" Poetry Contest, Viv Wigley, Judge & Sponsor.
Electrical
Tiny dermal vibrations
Tingly, soft of exquisite texture
Warm, of porcelain delicacy and tone
Your skin pulse mixes with the thrum of mine
Tender touches cuing tiny shivers of your surfaces
Small flutters where my fingertips dance, barely brushing
Squeaky little deep-throat moans tell me it's what you're desiring
I continue my touch games as I trace sexy words on you
Little hand prances that make your soft places jump
Shudders and sighs as I explore every surface
Sensual journeys that end in the spots
That only I know of and attend
With special caresses
The sensual rash
Goosebumps.
Cpt. kirks future predictions- Food tubes {supplimitarium A B C D E}
Universal united nations {u.u.n} tying all the galactic species in celestial socialism
Robotic republicans & dimensionless democrats
All humanities races will melt together into a weird orangey color
The soviets will turn Cruthnie into a super secret nuclear facility
All drugs will be trans-dermal
Gluttony will be glorified
Itll be illegal to naturally procreate "pick up a kid or pet at the genetic clinic
Garbage will be used as fuel
Itll be cool to be mindless
In my visions i see sky cities and underground dwellings segregating classes
73 eyes on the beasts back and 96 paratoidals to an orbital octant... end transmission
maybe it can see?
indescribably complex colors.
a myopic genius without an epic.
maybe it can hear?
half the world is sleeping anyway..
metric sighs narrow in the ear.
maybe it can feel?
the age of some dermal mother,
she's given to much already.
maybe it can sense?
the distance between winters still births
or springs equinox spinning on a
celestial crown.
maybe it can taste?
malt liquer and little else.
such a devine herbicidial palate.
key rattle, chain rattle, a keychain rattles
hanging from my wrist, it sways back
and forth keeping time as i walk.
keeping the metronome and sundial
disk near to me, nearer to me still is
my life so precious to me.
now cyclones of hardened gravity
pull with cement fingeres at my shadow
and grasp at my skin.
crumbling sidewalks...epi wrinkle , dermal sigh.
holy seperation....
a little warmth mixes
in with the thin sleeves of my body.
returning back again into
the aged cellar.
where the timeless sinews of the heart
shelter every visiting creation.
would, that there were four of me
the ways that I could pleasure thee
each tentacle to tender tickle
fancied freckles, firm or fickle
one all-at-once massage, divine -
all hands on deck, in grand design
perceptive palms with petting jives
could raise a rash of ‘rotic hives
oh, goosebumps of the finest kind
quadrupled thus to blow your mind
four tens of fingers, fixed just SO
to warm the embers down below
mass touches placed with dermal love
bear moans from zones rare spoken of
pray how could one but NOT adore
a mate like me, (and mine) …
times FOUR?!?
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, March 16, 2023