Top 25 Results (Member Poems)

You searched All Keyword(s): chatterley in category: All and form: All with 10 minimum and 5000 maximum characters.

Back

Details | Narrative | Chatterley "Chatterley" Scent of rain splashed honey tastes of crushed scarlet cherries touched naked breeze of soft golden wattle kisses velvet quivering Chatterley pressed against the wet weeping willow, shivering shimmering bluegum ghost leaves (LadyLabyrinth / 2023)

Details | Narrative | The Stories That Flow When Not Thinking "The Stories that Flow when Not Thinking" Collaboration in the corner with poets and lovers well hidden in the noise of words not said mouths are moving not speaking minds watch on watching stories unravel at the party lines are drawn the watcher watches on reads between choices, flowers plucked from walls freshly bending inwards where mouths don’t speak at all minds plant another language hypnotic in bodies moving Munch music magnetised the stories that flow when open and not thinking gardens tenderley cajoled, tendered, their Picasso Blues heard the gardener like a Chatterley lover, with no tongue watches on (LadyLabyrinth / 2023)

Details | I do not know? | Daisy Chain Poetry DAISY CHAINS Chains of daisies evoke memories, of H G Wells's Ladies Chatterley lover. Of me out in the fields with my beloved. O happy days, making daisy chains. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ RED CLOVER CHAINS Chains of red clover evoke memories, of we as a loving family, pinic days, down woodland glades, wildflower meadows. O happy days, making red clover chains. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ LOVE CHAINS Chains of love, everyday getting longer. Our children, their children's children, then their children's children. O happy, exciting days, making love chains ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ #daisy-chain-poetry Daisy Chain Poetry Single stanzas, can be as long as you like, must end with first word of line one. No other restrictions. Creator unknown. Check last stanza.

Details | Ballad | The Gardener The Gardener She’s twenty-three and he’s eighty-six He walks with a Zimmer, she watches Netflix He has a mansion and a Maserati car She has her diamonds and uplifting bra They have a gardener, Chatterley like He calls her miss, she calls him Mike The Zimmer frame plods, slow to react The house has a mystery, lover’s pact. She shops online for all she desires Mike cuts the wood, mends fences, builds fires The Zimmer makes its way until out of sight She fills up with chocolate, champagne and sprite Mike is now naked stripped to the bone The Zimmer appears a long way from home The Gardener obliges and helps him undress Kissing together out of sight of the press She buys designer clothes, Armani, Dior He is quite happy when she asks for more The paperazzi claim, she’s dug up her gold! Zimmer loves the gardener his story’s untold. David Cox 17/06/20

Details | Personification | The Jacket It still hangs there, there on the back of my door. “Wa d’y lev ut thur?” I can hear you say in that Chatterley-esque accent of yours, rippling through me. “It’s so I can smell you” I’d reply if I could: a waft and scent of your neck, hair… whenever I’d leave the room. When I’d enter it. If I just pass by. I’d tell you that, at night, my arms loosen their flesh and peel on the cotton, a needle sews blood afresh into my seams. At night, the zipper puts my chest back together and holds my knocking heart in place…. my ribcage ivory buttons, poached. My beard grows longer to the left, matching the lopsided drawstring I pulled in a prank. At night, the frayed knitting weaves its way into my arm hair. The smattering of chest hair that made you laugh is now indistinguishable from where a sewing machine once clamped shut. At night my fingers become the tips of each sleeve – just out of reach of your hand but forever trying. “It still hangs there” I’d tell you, if I could, “there on the back of our door.” It hangs there, it hangs there still

Details | Ode | What Intended To Be Praise of a Cold Shower What Intended To Be Praise Of A Cold Shower... (became something else (tau welled), and tolled at this hour). Though hermetically sealed within this temperature controlled quite bare able (sixty degrees Fahrenheit, the lowest possible central air conditioned setting) insulated one bedroom unit at clear lee maintained Highland Manor Apartments (where vacant units frequently available at this low cost facility, (deer and the antelope play amidst a wooded strip) fair, lee enshroud above this tranquil, serene, and hare wren there, a quotidian refulgent quite pastoral lair ideal nooks and crannies to read, which non paid for plug 'ere) won can seclude themselves from the madding crowd gear ring up to see return of the native sob bummer, day dreamer, flounderer Matthew Scott Harris, whose shut eye evoked, a place he did revere within the outer limits of the twilight named Willoughby, while in deep sleep he did mare to his quasi (caught in moat oh) mistress sweet heart Lady Chatterley (in an storybook parable setting) analogous to Sleepy Hollow where a lookalike of Rip Van Winkle only added insult to injury, when the "FAKE" headless donned horseman got trumped by a transexual, queer, nudist, k9, homosexual, eunuch corn, where a cold shower shook and didst scare away every last vestige I swear so realistic disappointment arose, when vision didst appear.

Details | Personification | Cupid Sets Hearts On Fire Every February fourteenth, (reference Gregorian Calendar see High Middle Ages his Saints' Day) which combs thee day after morrow aye decree Tweedledum and Tweedledee mine near one and same mean mein near best buddy donning Harris tweed plus sundry other manifold couture to express free expression like... once upon time innocently naive barenaked lady Chatterley young hippy feeling groovy, albeit (think psychedelic) swiftly tailored Harry styled vested gentry twills nonetheless seam, née upon aforesaid occasion intoxicated spree formerly honored when animalistic glee burst asunder courtesy biological key hormones thawing lovely frozen bones buzzfeeding, delivering, exuding earthy primal propensities originally linkedin with Lupercalia nonetheless, encompassing various animalistic, erotic, narcissistic... needs ye not not necessarily be apprised, where altruistic festive folk would easily agree to hunker down no matter sheepishness prevalent within wooled wide web re: guarding Islanders at their homes Islands named total more'n three amidst Lewis, Harris, Uist, Barra and several pertinences, all fertile like lasses christened Galilee, yet all known as Outer Hebrides. Now really as one ewe man misanthrope to another I advise Cupid doth surprize god of desire, erotic love, hoop fully experienced before permanent demise, where mortals whisked no matter sullen sensate (human and/or other) being vainly, morosely, and futilely cries passion play his trademark guise plus tell tale sign tear streaming eyes (think head over heels lovestruck gals and guys) willingly yoking, where (of quartz) romancing stone temple pilot paunches face (case toward albeit point yours truly) applies young and old paramours recognize steeped within storied mythologize as one after another arrow (whipped out quiver) guise nocked, molded then loosed courtesy once taut than slack bowstring bedazzles lovers with stars glistening in their lovestruck blind eyes any unspoken inapropos prurience, I eagerly, honestly, and readily, apologize.