lace like
a barbed wire fence
the last line
of defense
before everything
becomes senseless
again
for a while
that feels like
eternity
and we don’t want
to be anywhere else
don’t you look
demure
slipping casually
out of it,
straps fall past
your shoulders,
all that I dreamed
the look in your eyes enough
to set an army at attention,
what is it
sex and war?
is it in vulnerability,
passion and violence
of fighting?
could be why wars last so long
why there are always more after one is over
prolonged copulation
without conscience
or lingerie.
In my recommendation of my syncopation
Gathering of humanoids rhythmic sensations
copulation dramatization rescape Rufus reggae beats
Ginuwine Drumline rat a tat tat
attack on this yet you're all that
Blilighten crest muscles flex
myself being sweet to myself
I can release by myself
when I'm by myself
I am the glory of the rhythm person above and below dancing in the streets walking
Attuned yet sleeping awaken in summers dream
I witness
as I write this
Boom a bout' a bing drum beat
Tis beat mi rhythm my
Mine boom ta bangity crept
As I, write a beat to myself
Booya
The apple fell already bitten upon,
a mossy soil coated where the tooth-cleaved.
Soon grubs worked their way out
of the pith
creating a teeming mulch.
Adam had fallen asleep again,
in his gut overripe grapes fermented
turning now to drunken snores.
The apple was changing, morphing,
the earth had gone into labor.
This had not happened in paradise before,
this was self-regeneration,
the copulation of dirt with air.
It was the flood of the moon;
Eve squatted. Her body was changing,
tidal rains washed her blood,
travail begot a tillage of arousal.
Her belly swelled,
instinctively Adam built a nest
of straw, green shoots and saliva.
She grew large, gravid, a tad snappish.
she sensed deep in her belly
that this coming birth
would be both sour and dewy,
an innominate delivery for sure
riddled with good and bad seeds,
and she knew not what to call it.
We came from
modernity for
teach beings
underdeveloped,
we found that
totally unhappy
are these retards
aliens
race scum
human... these
that segregated in
colonies where everything
happens equal to
the ancient days...
live impure,
dirty,
accumulating garbage...
live persecuted
by bacteria,
infected by
promiscuous contacts:
touches,
hugs,
kisses and
mating...
Practices since
long time banned
in modernity...
these practices
are animal
atavistic fruit
addictions...
copulation and
dual enjoyment...
we all realize
that the enjoyment is
individual...
each one has
his share of pleasure...
these addictions
prehistorics.
are so filthy
how to eat the
in opened air,..
or how they mix
Ingredients:
carbohydrates,
starches,
fats...
poor things!
unhappy that
survive
in thoughts
Out of reality of
Modern...
poor creatures
who still dare
practice love
with body
present...!
I think to draw, to paint, to write
is like copulation – for the artist
the need and desire
far outweigh any risks;
to control art
is to fail
as an artist –
as to be a
predictable lover
is to be a complete
bore in bed....
The serpent moves, drawn in by the current
Magnetised emptiness within present
Paths hot and cold are the two narrow grooves
Awakening our single eye sinews
Each node of form, in ecstasy content
Central funnel enables quick ascent
Root to crown; beyond, if not hesitant
Energy balance, in the void ensues
The serpent moves
Divine yearning, within heart resident
Both beginning and end of sentiment
Cosmic egg in head splits! One becomes two
Copulation in heart, bliss throb renews
Our presence hallowed and luminescent
The serpent moves
13-April-2021
~Sexual Desires~
I will not fear a single thing
Or any evil this existence can bring
So I won't ever hide in shame
I will always proudly shout my name
As insanity spreads through society
A lack of morality brings notoriety
Death flows freely in conjunction
While the masses drown in dysfunction
Although the dollar resulted in scheming
There are a few souls still worth redeeming
While we’re selling the innocence of truth
That’s stealing the beauty of our youth
Seems the price of physical copulation
Is absorbing the planets population
While casting us into eternal fires
With our animalistic sexual desires
(Book 4 ©1999)
"The Journey Reviewing the Lessons"
When I wrote these words, I wanted a title that people would read in sort of a test- I posted 2 poems at the same time on my other writing site and waited 24 hours for the results. More than 85 people read this in one day, which was almost a record breaker for me- 32 people left a comment. The other poem had a religious title. Only 3 people read that one. It only had 1 comment. Hmmmm... God Bless and Best Wishes My Friends...Peace
The apple fell to earth. It was bitten through
it rolled; mossy soil coated the tooth-cleaved part.
Already grubs were working their way out
of the pith creating a teeming mulch.
Adam had fallen asleep yet again.
the overripe grapes fermenting in his guts
turning to drunken snores.
It was the flood of the moon.
Eve squatted behind a mulberry bush
wishing she were more fair and slim
like the angels in her dreams. Her body was changing,
tidal rains washed her blood
and that travail begot spawning buds,
the tillage of arousal.
The apple was changing, dissolution morphing
into beauty; the earth had gone into labor.
This had not happened in paradise before,
this was self-regeneration, death, and life,
the copulation of dirt with air.
Eve’s belly swelled, growing as round and burnished
as an autumn apple. Instinctively Adam built a nest
of straw, green shoots and saliva.
She grew large, gravid, and snappish,
stamping her feet impatiently;
this birth would be a paradigm of progeny to come,
a dewy innominate offering
quilted from angelic and demon seeds
and she knew not what to call it.
This practice involving copulation seems taboo
Whilst all it asks of us to unendingly renew
Cessation of action just at the point of fructification
Purity of intent choosing instead kundalini ascension
Or if the act ends in orgasmic climax of union
Breath should be retained within in celebration
No exhalation
For the puritans the practice asks for cessation
Between the urge to act and it’s actual culmination
In an aspect meditative
Intuitive
The pause between cognition and association ...
The gap between memory recollection & anticipation ...
Disclaimer:
Such is the practice in the scriptures so written
If it does not resonate we needn’t do as bidden
Why on this meditation alone dwell
When we can choose from one hundred & twelve
And yet if we would know the truth stark
We should walk without fear in the dark
17-August-2020
Love renders us to bloom.
Lust stifles us into gloom.
Feeding food with care is love.
Surrendering body for hunger is lust.
Cajoling for copulation everyday not knowing
the mood of the girl is pure lust.
Accepting the denial of her with smile portrays love.
Smoldering looks stirs the heart:
where in,
Implosion becomes love.
Explosion becomes lust.
Kissing from heart is love.
Fondling from persuasion is lust.
Thus,
Love gives happiness.
Lust kills happiness.
LUST~
Salacious skin always luring to commit the sin.
Hurried lips keeps exploring in hunger to devour the forbidden fruit to seek pleasure, incurring pain.
LOVE~
Penetrating the eyes with delicate gaze,
And thrusting the heart with tender care
paints pure love.
Me:
When you always intend to have coitus..Where comes the love?
Does making love promote love or lust?!
Soul:
If it is exceeds a restricted limit it is supposed to be called lust and not love.
Finally, I would compare love to a soft petal and lust to a spine.
3-7-2020
Note:Love or Lust Poetry Contest
Sponsored by D.W.Rodgers.
Militate on one another with great passion
the nonperson,
The fusty one.
Nothing fancy, delightful or bonvivant
Having a genteel attitude, but impassible
Vagabond. Loner. Prodigious.
Yet no blandishment.
Complicated as a merman
Porous because of mutilation
The obsequy closed with an
Elegy
Rigmarole. Rigmarole.
Not the booby hatch which
hosts may
The railroad tied on knots.
Big as an intrusive blunt forced
object
The copulation of blood and oxygen
Wins over the slightly manipulated mind.
From inside, out
Hapless haploids creating the uselessness of existence
Making, permanently each place
devoured
Feeling the blades and molar impressions piercing through each layer.
Lead us NOT into temptation
Just deliver copulation
You may think it odd
That we pray to God
But 'tis caused by desperation!
Do not weep do not mourn
Do not move like a pawn
Back into his tight grasp
For that mans like an asp
Cleopatra is gone thanks
To his venomous pranks
Oh the fatal bite
Delivered so trite
Vipera aspis, get lost
You too, Naja Haja, tossed
Like a common adder
Becoming cannon fodder
Vipera berus berus
All green eyed, jealous
Follows the woman around
Copulation one bound
To lose in mating season
The dance of the adders, reason
No rear up, push his head under
Else, white flag it, blunder
For this contest I’m asked to abide by the rules
and thus I sit and pen my thoughts obediently
but cannot check the renegade’s sweet rebellion
Limit cussing and cursing:
however I am told that people who swear are profound not profane
No erotic poetry:
but once Eros is tamed Thanatos prevails says a slippery Freudian
New poem:
yet life is a cycle and true stories have no beginning
Date name and sponsor:
A fig leaf instead to hide sensual muse
Cursory token when flipping salvation
Blame the prompter for devious words
Is imprecation blasphemous?
Is romance risqué is erogenous lewd?
Concession for praise where it belongs!
Conclusions:
I vow to wash my mouth with lubricant . . .
Copulation extrapolates couplets and rhymes . . .
I’m grateful for rulers because they help with the lines . . .
30th May 2019
Contest: What makes you flinch
Sponsor Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
The #Old-Last-Act, Act I, Scenes 1 - 13
Anticipation
Expectation
A flirtation
Titillation
Osculation
Masturbation
Perturbation
Copulation
Consumation
Ejaculation
Expiration
And prostration
Termination
Sub Categories
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