Prurient Poems

i 2 u

i …

swim you ...
like a river, wild
feral flesh, fiery ... merged
my press to your moans and motion
clasped in warm rapture
minds, mouths, mids
emotions spin
like sugar into cotton candy
the Stylistics float, dreamy -
musical hooka smoke that swirls
moody tendrils that wrap us, sexy, smooth
i surge to your source
touch and taste and twist and tickle
timing all with prurient precision
to free your flood
your legs about me, demanding
nails burning sensual glyphs on my back
you kiss my tongue like sweet, tender fruit
then devour -
it, me, my sanity ... my selves, desires
"murder me," i whisper, moving deep ... forceful
"please" ... begging
for my will is no longer ...

my own.

Marcel Duchamp

Marcel Duchamp
(French Dada artist, 1887 - 1968)


Marcel Duchamp is most celebrated
for a woman rushing down a stairwell naked,
a painting critics mocked from the start
as degenerate French modern art.

Wives sighed relief she’s less than revealing
so invited their husbands for a viewing.
Duchamp painted her stripped of any garb
apropos to the art of the time – avant garde –

a style abstracted from reality
and untouched by prurient vulgarity
devoid of any libidinous knowledge,
unless her many overlapping legs.

I suspect her lover’s knock she heard
had her rushing hurriedly and blurred.
Who he might have been is still unknown –
some think Duchamp, discreetly not shown.

Prurient Manuscript

Suck and lick my delicious fiction,
I’m lecherous taste the distinction;
A story you’ve wanted to be real,
now before the writer you will kneel;

The chapter filled with hanky-panky
describing a skimpy lace panty?
I know that vision is honey dipped,
it’s such a prurient manuscript;

Keep my fantasy by your bedside,
wanton desire you simply can’t hide;

On every page my hunger has dripped
not a single detail has been skipped;
Let your eyes devour lines greedily
I’m giving voyeurs a glimpse of me;

A scene readers are welcome to steal,
I know you long to feel what I feel;
Baby, help me write the description,
suck and lick my delicious fiction.

Spider Protection

Been screeched 
      heap 
         things
           demoness
               strumpet
                  scoundrel
               with 
           wings
      thumped
   lizard
of 
     myth
         legend
              since 
                intonates 

Darkness 
   scarpered
        whilst
            famished 
             soul
                prominent
                   &
                sharp-witted 
                  by 
              prurient 
          screams
       not for 
     shadows
   but 
untamed
    spawn
        sighs

Written: April 26, 2023

A Brian Strand Standard No 1212 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand

NOTE::THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.

Super Sunday

A fiery glow envelops those assembled
    A revival meeting, uncannily resembled 

  The vast amphitheater packed to the gills
    Worshipers revel in vulgar thrills

  Once the festivities are underway
    The skies blacken to an evil gray

  Viewed: Prurient pleas for salvation
    Heard:  Satanic shouts, incantations

  As knights of darkness and light take the field
    To beer, blood and lust all inhibitions yield

  America, in the throes of gluttonous shame
     ~ forgets that 'Super Sunday' is just a football game

Paratrooper Stu

Plunged to terrain plagued, tasty female options 
Surge of adrenalin pulses choices unsuitable 
Piquant aroma pulls him closer, allure accosting
Sentient favours solacious flower so beautiful

Hurtled descent drops watchful onto hillock haze
Swayed seed laden willow heads have halos
Hedonistic impulse picks silken stems with craze
Seraphim surround a torn aura in dewy daos 

Preordained mistake palates spasmed heartbeat
Shrews drawn to Stu allude to transformation 
Prurient dripping pores warble wanton indiscreet
Strident serpentines permit desire incubation

Heathen has escape, wrapped parachute harness 
Preparing his tortured innards for due launch
Hazards bring unbridled enthusiasm for newness
Pride hides a tarnished ego, attempts reforge 





11th February 

Whenever waking, 
Lady tailor making

I 2 U

i swim you ...
like a river, wild
feral flesh, fiery ... merged
my press to your moans and motion
clasped in warm rapture
minds, mouths, mids ...
emotions spin
like sugar into cotton candy
the Stylistics float, dreamy ...
musical hooka smoke that swirls
moody tendrils that wrap us, sexy ... smooth
i surge to your source
touch and taste and twist and tickle
timing all with prurient precision
to free your flood
your legs about me, demanding
nails burning sensual glyphs on my back
you kiss my tongue like sweet, tender fruit
then devour ...
it, me, my sanity ... my selves, desires
"murder me," i whisper, moving deep ... forceful
"please" ... begging
for my will is no longer ...
my own.






~ 1st Place ~  in the "Strand Completely New (2) Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.

''George Gordon, Lord Byron's Improbable Lament,'' Rescripted

I longed for a love pure as driven snow
     and fresh as spring 'ere Youth's brief joys succumb;  
but a love never transpired; and, although  
     denied, I carried on to life's autumn.  
A maid, princess, or queen have I never  
     loved or with an ardent nymph passion-proved  
lust's all-consuming fire; deprived forever,  
     I disavowed former hopes for a beloved.     
So, thenceforth unblemished and innocent,
     without sin and virtuous from west to east,     
I surrendered my youth's prurient bent
     and forswore my lusts to dwell as a priest.
Now old and bootless, I ne'er knew desire;
or pierced the flower of a maid on fire.

Daring Damsel Dangling

smirk seeped'n acme
damping dainty drips
of salient scrunchies
punctured puke pitched
on callous crest
pluming pulpy pests

hoisted aura hankering
fostering flattered feelings
callous contractions crumbling

la-de-da limbs lurching
aiding cranky catastrophe
on prurient priest

costly commotion vying
daring damsel dangling.
    20:01:06:11:55

Note: A lady passing by...

The Cadence of My Heart

Morning found me on a river bank
basking in the warmth of the sun
I thought of myself as a turtle,  
believing my shell was armor
shielding my heart from everyone

I started to doze in placid tranquility
The sun's sultry breath laving my skin
Then I heard a splash and fear set in
as you swam across the lake to me

Cowardly, I ran. Deeply hidden was I
or so I mistakingly thought
beneath barren branches, I quietly lie
amongst Autumn leaves on forest floor
trying to lull the cadence of my heart

You breached the surface
body glistening in sunlight's splendor
I moved farther into the forest
shivering, not from a chill, but fear
as your treading steps drew near

I closed my eyes but could not dismiss
thoughts surging through my mind
I had no control over any of those
Your hands lifted me from cowering pose
Your lips touched mine in prurient kiss

Not a word did either care to utter
but there was need of none
Mid morning found us basking in the sun
Your sultry breath laving my skin
My heart pulsing,  aflutter

Lickety Split

L ost deep, the woods of tender age,

I feigned to quell my prurient rage ...

C aught amidst a gleam and glower,

K ept 'tween pages, pressed a flower.

E ach new and tragic love was meant

T o supplant that passion, abhorrent,

Y et as those windings wound to you ...


S ighs and moons came far too few.

P ushed by dreams we hoped to see,

L ife pulled our wings too recklessly -

I n fragile time, we burned our stars

T o precious ashes ... and tender scars.





~ 1st Place ~  in the "Acrostically I Stand Tall" Poetry Contest, James Edward Lee Sr, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 5th Place ~  in the "Lickety Split Acrostic" Poetry Contest, Debbie Guzzi, Judge & Sponsor.

Pokey Mon

He just can’t seem to control himself,
always placing his hands on someone else
Poking around in sensitive places,
mon dem fingers love groping at de silk laces

Always has a salacious sneer 
to offer reluctant gender opposites
Mon loves giving a lewd leer,
as his prurient poking never quits

Pokey sits pouting in a pokey today ...
in de dog pound there’s a lot of strays
Mon don’t feel bad for him, no — 
he in de right place where de social trash go

Chance's Loves Lost

In the short youth that came, I longed for love—
love pure, untouched and virgin. But for some,
love never comes to pass. Comforted of 
God, I instead sought Him in my autumn.
Now agéd , I have ne’er a maiden met
or a fair lady courted for a night
of true love. (Alas! ‘tis best to forget
my lovelorn heart’s vain hopes for such delight.)
So, free from sin; naïve and innocent;
and unspoil’d by life's vices and its yeast,
I have cast aside lust’s prurient bent
and turned from my desires to be God's priest!
      To serve Him and deny my heart, I've lost
      the chance to love for such a great, high cost!

tempted two -

Demoness ...

Tread soft near me, pray thee ...
          tread light and soft ... shall I yet awaken
     to the warmth of your hellfire?

I am your infernal progeny,
          birthed of you and Heaven ... I have been
     torn with your ire ...

I have been rent and
          burned by the cold flames of your
     skin on mine ...

Dare you mix such immaculate flesh
          with this gypsy, forsaken? I am thrall, with but
     a taste of your dark nectar.

Oh, to pierce you with the keen blade of
          truth, to slay your hot impiety, kill you with love, and
     sate the horrid heart's hunger.

We swim the moonlight and
          each other ... bare and bold, torn and told of
     sacred secrets gained in treason.

Let that lie be our salvation ...
          we rise in desire - we soar erotic, prurient,
     woven, interlaced ...

          One.





~ 1st Place ~  in the "Brian's Choice 4, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.

Shape of An Hourglass

How  I lavishly relish the outline
of an hourglass shaping curves
which  unveil  your  ripened  form--

cleavage of your silky back
fires imaginings of an enchantress
so prurient, worldly.
How sands of time glint on your mounds
tracing  voluptuous bosoms
like a marvel of art --
and  I will remember your silhouette
through  dusk-eyes’ canvas , drying--
for my  brushstrokes can never paint your essence



Brian Strand's Standard Contest 60

• Short Prurient Poems
• Famous Prurient Poems
• Best Prurient Poems
• Read Prurient Poems
• Long Prurient Poems
• Prurient Quotes