Short Climaxed Poems

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now, pelter climaxed
coruscating glint annexed
iridal hues burst!

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With yearning lips that need her kiss
The purest Love on which to reminisce.

Praise to silver moons, rejoicing this romance
Passionate foreplay, arousal at a glance.

They both climaxed
How this Love felt right....

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Her crimson lips begged for a kiss
The lost love that she could reminisce. ..

The silver moon had once witnessed the romance 
Infinite passion and foreplay at a glance 

Her love climaxed 
In the glimmering twilight...

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After she climaxed, I reached for my pen to jot down the impossible 
What was then the improbable transitioned into my truth
In awe of my previous experiences 
She lies comfortablely by my hip 
Shocked but pleasantly surprised by her athleticism 
This was the championship round and she was victorious 
Surrealism is my current reality...

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In the night
Our bodies 
played
With every 
dip
And 
every 
sway
A lovely melody

A song 
so sweet
Of hearts
 that meet
and 
beat
 as one
sang love
in
 perfect harmony

heart strings
burning 
in the fire
of desire
plucked 
with passion
reaching 
higher
higher
higher
climaxed  to
crescendo 

In a melody of love...

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  My love,
the time has come
to turn a leaf, anew
for our union, succumbs to end.
So let's have our last supper, this evening
drink down the wine of destined times, 
linger on luscious lips,
until next time,
My love. 

12 July 2022
Radical Rictameter Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger 
Checked via Poetry Soup Syllable Counter ...

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When he was Infant Bob 
Often had had to sob 
For a freely shared cob…

As Grown-Up Wrangling Bob
Angrily yanked off knob
After a half paid job… 

Now Climaxed Adult Bob
Would at friends spit a gob,
Each time he missed a mob
That folks attacked to rob,
The lot shutting their gob,
Since they’d dared forget Bob…

Same Bob at each level
His one guide: The Devil....

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She was the consequence of lust
In a cheap room over a bar.
He remembered as though it were
yesterday. Her naive mother
Was only nineteen and single
at the time; him? He was married,
Separated and twenty-eight.
Below, in the bar, the jukebox
Was blaring an instrumental
Whose deep, bass guitar synchronized
with every copulating thrust.
The tune ended before the sex
And climaxed with a gestation
To Diana Ross’s “Love Child.”...

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We were three, though unequal but warriors
Like the herdsmen we were
A glance tells of Our Genesis
All bound in one future

On our way came ghosts white
Scepter they posed  
Extorting and painting us white
Suddenly we woke, we the warriors

In extricate we intricate
Till they went as they came
Our dreams climaxed in one faith
Far not from there, one said to another

Thou are a ghost
What I heard was groans, our fate I know not....

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A vage blush;
her bloom sojourns
within its female purse,
yet this bright morn
Adam is rampant,
his stamen a brazen phallus.
A raindrop alchemy,
charms and countercharms.
Genders gather together
as one blossom on a single stem.
By evening, Eve will return
to fold moist lips
around her twilit womb.
Adam will sleep
at ease in his dreaming sap.
A floral erotica
has climaxed to silence.
Ying and Yang
have rung their temple bell....

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Somnambulist’s Awakening


the malamute ceiling flying in my hearing
buzzes my acrid thoughts with the climaxed annoyance 
when the shadowy light lifted in the nightmare

Einstein in Grayling jumps into nothingness
tasting his own fear
“Relativity, my dear Watson” he mumbles
he touches it touching me.

the Everest with obsidian face calls
“For ever, ever, never.”
is the relativity of tomorrow
and the numbers are shredding in mirror formation
without meaning for today....

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WHAT. THE WORLD NEEDS IS CHRONIC CHANGE, CONCILIATION AND CONVERSATIONS ,CULMINATING IN CLIMAXED COMMUNICATION.

WHAT WE NEED IS OUTSTANDING  OBVIOUS OBSERVATION. 

WE NEED MORE MEDITATION, MODERATE MEDIATION AND 
MAJOR MODERN MONETARY MACHINES.
WE NEED POSITIVE PROLONGED PARTICIPATION.

WHAT WE NEED IS LITERAL LIBERALISM AND A  LITTLE  LITIGATION
ABOVE ALL WE NEED LOADS OF LOVING LECTURES AND LASTLY,
LOTS OF LOVE.

ONE CRUCIAL  CONCERN:  ALL NEEDS ARE  CHRONICALLY  CONSTANT....

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Would you on the spot succumb,
When someone told you “Welcome?”
The fine time to act a lamb
One’s closed door hold on its jamb
While the key to it arrives 
And door-unlocking strength strives?

A woman I had seen, stopped
And besought by a head cocked 
To quaff a bottle of stout
And perfectly look The Scout
She’d seemed to want to be 
But couldn’t have from just tea…

And a bottle became Two,
Drinker’s mind divided, too;
Later, climaxed it to five,
Drinker no longer alive!...

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