Best Groins Poems
They enter the strip
joint like the last
flurrie of flakes.
She hears the music,
hears the voice of the
D.J. Wind, enters on cue.
Her cold poles await her
as she moves to the beat.
One south, one north.
She works them both.
They call her Storm
she is the feature act.
Drawing her minions
in for months now.
Quickly the starkness of ivory
starts to melt off her body.
The long blanched gloves
covered those particular
patches are the first to go
revealing the fresh lustre of
bare skin once again exposed.
Sexy,
she's a professional!
She stares out
noticing the skeletal
frames once only
shadows,
now with a glimmer
of light.
She knows her time
is short now
feels a hint
of life in her
domain of
dead stares.
Hears sounds
that are telling.
Was that really a chirp
or just a whistle?
The pulse of warmth starts
to pump through her veins.
Now her shiny robe
falls to the ground and
you can sense the smell
of want in the air.
The flow of liquids
previously frozen stiff.
Storm the stripper
slowly teases the crowd.
Down to her Victoria Secret
garb she tugs at our groins
knowing her audience craves
more.
In this case that also
means less.
I personally will miss her
in this present form.
Her tidy white lingerie
against her tanned skin.
Covered peaks,
rounded mounds.
You just want to
ride up, and maneuver
your way down.
The timing is wrong.
I know she will strip bare
as first the top goes then
down to a G-String of snow.
Naked,
winter stands
in front of me.
She will meander a bit
shake with a breeze
of perfumed cold.
Slide onto the floor as she undulates
with her come ons that near a finality.
She saunters off the stage
and me I watch winter's end.
Spring, on winter's barren
ground starts to peek from
around the curtain,
with her touch of green.
Warm breezes.
Her array of pastel colors.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Winter has left the building,
Spring is here!
01~19~2015
Sponsor: SKAT A
Contest: Winters End
Animalistic Love
How can I describe making love to you?
So many words I would like to use
Love to use
I know they are offensive to some
Maybe some have never experienced such passion
Others may have but not known the words to describe it
In that dark room with the curtains drawn
We found worlds beyond our own in every touch
There was a choir singing above
Yet they could not drown our primitive screams
There are so many words out there
Used in normal conversation around the world
They should be used since the passion was there
Animalistic instincts from pre-ancient times
Before man was man
Before moralistic views came into play
The instincts are still there
Raging as a fire deep within out groins
Yet, modern sensitivity limits the words describing those emotions
The raging passion will never be restricted by others
That one moment of total sharing
What words can tell of those pure feelings?
How can I describe making love to you?
I can’t!
Watching Homer struggle
to explain how a god wounded by a mortal
cannot die but may hereafter live with minor pain
and the humor when that god
complains to Jove that His supervision of His daughter
is inadequate and His Love too unconditional
while Diomed (or Tydides)
wreaks havoc on the Trojans and Hector
gives it back (in kind)
anatomically correct descriptions
of spears piercing jawbones (and groins)
sons without fathers hunting and fishing thereafter
alone. Written
amazingly presciently!
as a metaphor for Vietnam (our war)
forgotten consensually
as this generation slips lazily away
to Hades (or kayaks to the huckleberries)
where the lights are always blue, gentian actually,
supper's served at 4 and former adversaries
pass the heavy hanging time playing pinochle (and pool).
We're selling the house to pay the taxes.
Pallas Athena wars among the men
from the axle of her chariot
and Venus is injured by Diomed,
standing in the field of battle where she never should have been,
in her adorable hand.
What has this to do with Solomon in jail.
Not the Jewish king, a black American male,
same thing.
Your children can be failed at school and marched to war.
You can be taxed and sent to gaol for the honor of it.
anyone lived in a pretty how town.
We have no obligation
to perform the Iliad or read poems and even Homer
considers Achilles effete (compared to Hector)
and Odysseus is wrong even when he's right.
Therefore, modern man explores
the mathematics of circles in coordinate planes and their tangents
when (sooner or later)
the secret of warp speed is discovered
expansion of the species will be limitless and permanent.
War and Harmony
I caught the red eye to meet my warrior only to be met with war.
A night of hot passion that time has caused us both to long for.
A harmonious melody fills the room from fulfillment and bliss.
See you later sealed with a kiss as our throbbing groins persist.
I walk with a jolly gait in my step until I a single gold earring stubbed my toe.
Now filled with fury as I wonder whom else has been sleeping with my G.I. Joe.
Salty water now free to flow from a broken gaze as I noticed the typewriter in my peripheral.
I take a seat to compose a letter to him about how this love was to be a duo and not a Trio.
He left a half of pack on the desk within reach, he must have known that I’d be needing one.
Smoke caused a fresh pair of lungs to gasp and cough like a beginner at the end of a long run.
I pecked the keys abruptly as I added cigarette butts one-by-one to an already filled ashtray.
Which resembled a two toned rainbow of bright red and gold with its backdrop in gray.
I slip my hands into a pair of soft white lace gloves as I walked towards the nightstand.
My fury is softened as I realize that loyalty must be a requirement and not a command.
I opened the drawer to discover two plane tickets to Hawaii, paper clipped to a wad of cash.
A note which read “If you found the earring don’t jump to conclusions and leave in a dash!”
“I need your full trust so I hope and pray that your assumptions don’t lead you to act rash!”
“Oh and about the earring you will find the match to it is located in the purple velvet sash.”
I opened the sash to find an invitation, he wrote, “Please become my wife underneath the sun!”
Now feeling foolish beyond measure, I’m reluctant to read on any further, for I already feel stunned!
He said, “I hope that your search led you to a desired treasure, Please say yes, because World War II may come fast.”
“I need to know that when I return home that you will be my future from a more pleasant and harmonious the past.”
Garden sentinel, carrion he’s stripping
Woolf tail wagging white fangs ripping
Stream-of-consciousness telling, spewing
Dog’s breakfast masticating, chewing
Mourning doves cooing, woo-OO-ing
Backyard cricket legs rubbing, chirping
Hot summer night simmering, squalling
Beginnings long day ending, waning
Winged silhouette floating, rising
Sleepy canine lies dreaming, chasing
The stranger rises--ascending, falling
Moonlight beaming, shadow stalking
Temptress appears emerging, merging
Tip-toeing apprehensively disrobing
Sonnets in Portuguese leather binding
Fanning pages dog eared, Browning
Arm extended reaching, grasping
Reaps a sweet pear salivating
Biting, sucking juices dripping
Raped senses senses raped
Rapture erotica
RESIST SISTER!
Nibble, nibble
Fluids dribble
Fires sizzle
Nero’s fiddle
Plays in-fidelity
Forum stories burning, pages turning
Read on dear, dear read on
Groins churning tongues exploring
Stranger disappearing, stealing
Into the night’s secret pages folding
Apparition’s serpent slithering
Lithe away twisting, vanishing
Eve repenting, dawn rising
Righteous ebbing, malevolent trysting
Hew hay glorious Yahweh
Angels singing, trumpets playing
Sins Original ne’er forgetting, e’er forgiving
Lost haven, Milton’s paradise lost
Rue the stranger, spare Adam’s rib
Lust’s garden grows at night
Whilst gluttonous wolves too tired to bite
The lotus
of our passion
blossomed, petal by petal,
blushing pink,
caressed by moist misty morning-dew,
encircled by the amorous bees
buzzing in honey-sweet intoxication!
Musky smell of sweat slithers in the
valley of your bosom’s cleavage,
heaving my dizzy head
in the comfort of your lavish lap,
while waterfall of your brunette tresses
cascade on my flushed face.
Random jingles of your silver anklets
tickle my eager ears,
and my kisses linger
slowly sipping the sensuous wine.
from the chalice of your luscious lips!
As I open the curtains of your person.
my butterfly fingers flutter, in anticipation.
Bathing in diaphanous fog of bashfulness,
your nakedness envelopes mine -
and I wear you like my second skin
in hunt of hidden treasures
of physical pleasures!
Snakes of sensuality slither
in the burrows of engulfing groins
as we plunge into pits of rhapsody.
A stunning spectrum of erotic illusions
radiates in kaleidoscopic delirium
and our confluence bursts into
climax of charismatic colours…
Part I: Sin
Mariah of Magdala
The cursed one among women
Better that you were not born
The one full of black evil
Queen of prostitutes
None of modest can be traced in you
Yet men still Adour you
They still come crawling even in black dark
They do not care if day is scorching bright
Neither if its black pitch in deep groovy woods
They hunt you from the cave you hide
When they smell your shadow Mariah
They cannot hold on their dripping appetite
That made wet their groins
What charm are you using Mariah!
Why don’t you share with other women?
Do you want all the men to yourself Mariah?
They are all over me! See my ankles, my loins and my groins....
This one along my chest, most ugly, uh?
And the one across my tummy?
How can you call me beautiful?
May be if this mirror is a damned liar.....
I used to detest them but now I love
them.
I love scars.
I love my scars.
They tell a story.
They tell my story
Better and clearer than none could.
That I am a fighter, a warrior, a
survivor, an overcomer and a story
teller.
I love scars.
I love my scars!
Torrero sans l’aide de Picador
Such artful courage sans pareil :
Gored in the loins
No need to shout who Bad Guys stand for
Mean lances of the Picador slay
Split Toro groins
Speak not of Bad Guys in the same breath
As of fighting bulls and bull-fighters :
Can courage die
Seek not Bad Guys’ ultimate death
Shakespeare says they ever die blighters :
Let cowards lie
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
You are a woman, with numerous names –
Whore,
Harlot,
Courtesan,
Street Walker,
Concubine,
Lady of the night,
Prostitute,
a sex worker???
Bird of prey -
eyed by predator pimps,
numerous numb nights
spent in bleak brothels,
flocked like cattle in filthy sheds,
Time-etched face -
worn-out profane beauty
concealed in mask of makeup
lures lewd customers
to satiate their lusty appetite
in the jungle of devouring groins.
Whirr of rickety wall-fan drowns in
cacophony of coughing customers
caricature of intercourse doodled on cracked walls
painted with betel-nut spatter stains…
Blemished ruffled bed and
stink of semen-soiled sheets
mingles with fumes of cheap liquor
and whiff of stale cigarette stubs.
Your wasted life –
a snapshot of soiled images,
a tarnished tapestry -
smeared and smudged
with sexually transmitted diseases.
sheds tears of anger, hurt and deceit
for the relics of
dreams of a dignified life…
I would rather call you -
Mother of manifold miseries
Sister of silent sufferings
Daughter of decaying despair
Wife of worldly woes!
Yes, you are still to me -
a woman with numerous names
and weeping eyes…
How will you measure the wide
gulf between words and hyphens ?
The apostrophes will give you
restrain and isolation.
The predators will sit and
wait for the fallouts. The night
was your domain to start
sinning; in erasing the numbers.
The midnight grief during the
assault of moon. Were you ready
to unmask the hidden inter-
polator ? The merciless thrush ?
Candidiasis ? It was eating
away your smell, your taste
and moments of glimpses
of the fire in the groins.
Satish Verma
A fallen villain;
Slayer of the innocent and lover of pain;
A gifted mystic who prostituted the endowments of Nature,
And thus drunk her cup of fury with mysterious pleasure.
Sharks found a rare meal of flesh and blood
That they would not have had,
Thanks to the seasond American commandos
Who supplied so full its dose.
With a huge sigh I mark your simple end,
And still mourn your complex trend
That maimed bouyant lives of both young and old.
Some you may meet in hell and seek revenge hundredfold;
Others yet shall forgive you as they dine in paradise.
My condemning cry does now rise:
May Satan, your treacherous mate,
Scold your brow with utmost hate,
For he has no ally when his mission's done;
Let him torch your groins and your hairs burn!
Smell of scent, tiger rage inside
Touch of heart, loving depths of soul
The feel of your skin bare in the mist
Slick as the moisture runs, gleaming shine
I feel you in darkness, shiver of love's fire
Longing to be devour your eager thirst
Beneath the moon ray pushing through glass
Candle flickers like a spirit flows
The soul hungering for touch love cries
To feel passion of penetration is wetness
To feel like you deep inside someone skin
Wanting to be deeper, just crawl inside
Love's fire burning your groins ever desire
A taste of your juices my excite erotica
As if you can feel temperature rise
Hitting it harder, beads of sweat droplets converge
Upon our bodies pounding emotion to explosion
Your heart race breathless times passing
Inside, love for sex or partner we share
Doing the wild thing, it's a natural instinct
Only love's fire turn you on as good as me
Smile... you just got teased
Her skin, though, lustrous, white,
Develops a pallid, yellowish tint,
Avoids sunlight to prevent solar tan,
And yet develops a mahogany tan.
Pigmented palms and soles and knuckles,
Scattered on the face are numerous freckles,
On the tongue, lips and inside of the cheeks,
Bluish black patches or brownish streaks.
Her days of hay,
Do not blossom May,
Her youth’s vigour,
Begins to wither.
From groins and armpit the hair is lost,
In prime time of life, has libido lost,
Anaemic, pale, her body cold,
Beautiful she may be but not ‘bold’!
Hiccup, yawning, fainting, restlessness,
Loss of memory, pessimism and drowsiness,
Even at rest she may be breathless,
With brawny looking muscles has progressive weakness.
Many symptoms yet no conclusive sign,
Urging doctor’s suspicious mind,
For further investigation,
To diagnose the disease of Addison!
You remind me of some man
Tall, dark and ... Ah! May.
His wallet was a handful dripping
His masculine hands were short with
a bright, cheerful face
His speech was deep,
Brain full yet racing
Well organised and viper canning
His lips oozed out of wisdom after knowledge
He had pulled legions of followers.
Women, yet most girls, were his sweet pie
He loved to chill within
Excited to cool the wind at devil's best hours
You remind me of someone
whose well-known name to them fame chasing
He knew his value on his groins
The strength he gems with idolatry
Those dresses, I pity them
Whoever got the comfort around his chains,
Volant, who could spot the red dot
His nose knew no scent, not as any normal person would
Blinded by his ego, swollen viz pizza bread,
He would mention the name of a woman to a girl
Too stubborn to his wasteful quest