Titillated Poems | Examples

By the Streetlamp

on our way back from a trip,
got down by the bright streetlamp.
hunger raged, bowels rumbled.
the inviting smell of food,
wafted from nearby cafe.
noodles and spicy meat fry,
with a cup of steaming tea,
titillated our palate.

Gemini Garden,Silent One

“hope floats from purple petals to ebony buds” 
- Silent One

In darkness, I dreamt in color,
with eyelids fluttering like butterflies.
I’d thought I’d see sunlight,
before I fell into a trance, but hope
tickled the air and the sandman was there,
not to torture but to divine adventure.

“Purple petals and ebony buds,” like pollen
sticks to the fluttering wings of butterflies.
In cruising altitude, felicity is decked out.
The garden site’s lit up with fairy lights.

Trellis rose blooms, suave in velvet,
like a smartly dressed groom in a new tuxedo.
I float, in my restful state, as a bright butterfly,
better than ever, testing my titillated wings.

In darkness, I dreamt in color.
In sunlight, I awaken to the tease
of a truant dream, a rose plucked
and tenderly tickles my cheek and neck;
silent is the touch of a purple leafwing.

Xylophone

X marks the spot - teeny fingers tap colors.
Youngster’s attentive to the rainbow bars.
Language of a rambunctious or prissy toddler.
Oscar music songbook exalts experience.
Potent stick and head, of a kinetic hammer,
Hones in on the eight tones, piercing the eardrum
Of the voracious student sounding the glockenspiel.
Newness of counting, colors, pounding, music;
Eyes, ears, and fine motor skills titillated.

4/28/2023
Contest: Writing Challenge - Words with 'X'
Sponsor: Constance La France

My Artistic Situtation

For some reason, I feel especially vindicated
Learning recently that I won’t be syndicated,
I know many of my dear family are titillated
Since they are of my readers most dedicated.
In my writings, over the years, I’ve indicated
That with superb honors I’ve been inundated,
Still, I’ve made every effort to be insulated,
Although lately I’ve been rather stimulated
And, for the most part, yes, entirely pixilated;
That is, when I am not totally inebriated!

written December 20, 2021

One Last Night of Passion

One Last Night of Passion

Shimmering starlight reflects on his face,
in the throes of our final fervid embrace.
Each sensual caress weakens my defenses, 
and our frenzied kisses ignite my senses. 
Inhaling musky perfume of ardent fire,
hearts reel from this rhythmic dance of desire.
Wantonly, we love all through the night,
entwining with beams of waning moonlight.

Riding tidal waves of breathless lovemaking,
we're intoxicated pulsars … pulsating. 
Tingling, sweaty skin titillated by friction
of bodies entangled in flaming motion.
Passion Flowers laid bare on a ripened vine, 
I'm his and he's mine.
But the silver moon dreams the night away,
departing with my heart at the break of day. 


Date:      09-23-2020
Contest:   The Night of Passion and Desire Poetry Contest 
Sponsor:  Faraz Ajmal 
Placement: 2nd Place

Sometimes

Sometimes sun rays feel deliciously nutritious
in delightful ways upon my then titillated skin.
Sometimes early dawn’s ideal golden streaks
smolder atop the ocean in ways that awe me.
At those times, I flounder trying to unscramble
my power to articulate all my feelings convey.
When ocean waves cascade then fade crashes
with a blustering, continuing bombast-style,
it seems a brag of guile lacking any inhibition.
Sometimes my emotions sense a divine providence
of mysterious insist in a glorious, intricate sea.
Sometimes I feel an existing cryptic, dolorous and 
lecherous content equally miraculous in sea depths.
At all these times I feel with breezed emotional might
that I am truly focused as a neophyte of life.




... CayCay
June 11, 2019
written for a contest that required the following words:  1. Neophyte, 
2. Inhibition, 3. Flounder, 4. Dolorous, 5. Bombast, 6. Lecherous, 7. Providence, 8. Smolder

If Ever I Had a Country : Lxxiii - Continued

IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXIII

IF ever I had a country re-made by the Revolutionary
And if ever I were that Corsican Napoleon who appropriated the Apollonian sanctuary " gymnase " and the " lycée "
I'd let no fifteen-to-eighteen year old lycéen or lycéenne barricade the portals of their holier than holy Athenian lycée to camp on rubbish bins en grasse matinée
Luscious objects of voyeurism for the highly titillated TV-public and the uniformed police and grande armée
But, believe me, I'd stuff these nubile kids in the plastic garbage cans and seal them all air-tight with searing burners, yes, Sirée
And then let their cohorts yellow-jacket teachers all products of the Sexual Revolution generation torch the bins and choke in the resulting chemical fumée
Yes, Sirée, that's what the present Philosopher-King ought to do before he too joins or already joined the ranks of the revolutionary sexually-emancipated lycée
And even if I never ever were tutored in no lycée blessed by Apollo of Lykeios in gaie migrant-purée Paris

© T. Wignesan - Paris, December 8, 2018

Sovereign Toast

Within a whirlwind of change
The mouth of modernity passes
And we casually cast images
Of past protruding post-hate
We find ourselves fiddling
With harpoons to harken our
Wayward wise dominion of doubt
And plush positivity ponders
Upon the usual ubiquitous volumes
Of man towards twinkling power
Positioned round the bend believing
Boasting of boring casualties causing
Catastrophic reams of reality
Revealing the end of times within
Our open hearts, removing the hatred
That harvests there at times titillated
Where wisdom comes lost 
And heartache can hone in
We actually activate astounding
Painful pastimes that masturbates 
The mind into dynamic dimples of
Doom, postulating the position
Of one’s own imagining, boasting
Of belief within the timelessness
Brought on by harvesting honor
Oh the horror, we feast upon fowl
And never do we accomplish the 
Activities needed to sway a sovereign 
Toast towards twin minds left to
Meander within most grave moments
But left to leave us blind and longing  

Russell Sivey

Chops of Insanity

In the mid summer hues 
Oh in the Kingdom of thee 
Pillars of lust so lofty 
Dither boneless men like bees 
Only to mesmerise the seer 
For its beauty & valhallain 
 A fine glass of amethyst 
Toped to its impious brim 
With a prime vermouth 
Titillated with placid fervours 
Vexed in secular cravings 
Fellated into an ebullience  
Oh shrivel mankind

Lives Had Been Jaded Horn Haiku

Lives Had Been Jaded Horn Haiku

Was not highly related
Went to sleep while sedated
And was elated.

Me and my wife had mated
Wanted things procreated
And not ill-fated.

We both then contemplated
Also anticipated
After we dated.

Our love was decimated
As well as desecrated
Never had waited.

We like our cheese best grated
Toilet seat titillated
When constipated.

From bad deal we then skated
After living lives jaded
We were berated.

How is this for an ending.
Maybe you can do better.

James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Another 7-7-5 Horn Haiku

Denouement

She thrilled my senses
and titillated my heart
like a creature of nature.
Always moving, never still,
her ethereal presence
was surreptitious,
clever and lithe.
The penumbra, 
backlighting
a gossamer forest, 
expertly woven 
and imbricated
labyrinthine,
a vestigial empire
of silken threads.

A talisman was needed
but could not be found,
to expose the calculations
and the furtive plot.

When I fell in, 
I was weightless,
defenseless,
an epiphany
of seduction.
The arachnoid
and nemesis
slowly devoured me.

Autumn Oak Trees

Autumn Oak Trees

Titillated by nature’s sweet caress, 
leaf by leaf oak trees undress.  




11-19-2014

Titillated Fingers

Gentle vibes through extended fingers crest
Through your coiffed locks in playful jest
Your frivolous quotient to wryly test
In coy response, you addle your head on my vest
Against my sinewy contours, lubed lips are pressed
My titillated digits from your silken strands digress
Down suave, smooth neck with tender strokes caress
In tantric harmony, our twined pulses coalesce
At your behest, stimulated tentacles broach throbbing chest;
Then swivel into the funnel of your bleating nest
Nimbly, coarse fibers massage each palpitating breast
In rhapsodic chorus, each mound swells in gleeful duress
'Till warm blood in each rendered, reddening pap rests
Pleasing each tap until sweet nectar each tendril doth bless

Lover's Leap

Just around the bend
Hopes to blithely blend
Libidos vigorously ascend
Seeking Lover's dividend

Below, town lights the solemnity doth amend
Above, translucent stars romance suspend
Precipice, a lofty adventure doth portend
Surrounding shadows with suspense contend

Steamy moonbeams brew a spicy cumin
Stardust cloaks with a glittering resin
Orion's piercing arrows passion lend
Starry-eyed  lovers lap lust like gin

Floodlights dim in lover's cozy den
With a tender kiss carnal libations begin
Twining tendrils preen like a doting hen
Then in drunken revelry titillated parts spin

Charming potions stream from lamp of Aladdin
Enlightened hearts glow like a sparkling sequin
Tuned limbs perform their amorous requiem
Enjoined bodies in fatuous chorus sing carpe diem

A Jim-Jam Mickey-Mouse Poem

A Jim-Jam Mickey-Mouse Poem

I think that you might never see
A poem as weird as this might be
For I’ll use luscious words
That otherwise might sound absurd
This poem may turn out silly-sally
Or even a bit dillydally
In hindsight this whole kit and caboodle
May come across as dipsy-doodle 
I’ll find a rhyme for titillated
That’s quintessentially outdated
I might include a foxy lady
But not written like my friend Slim Shady
So there won’t be some randy blowhard
Gender-bender sleaze-ball retard
No hooligan with gizmo manikin
No easy rider glissade shenanigan
No penny pincher prude nitpicker
And of course no cowboy old ****-kicker
And I would be recalcitrant
If I were to use this poem to rant
Though I know at times I vacillate
I shan’t lambaste this tete-a-tete
I haven’t worked in balderdash
Bloke or codger or mish-mash
No Tallulah, no Colleen
No rambunctious Charlie Sheen
And there’s no dubious diddlysquat
But that’s abso-bloody–lutely all I’ve got

Mdailey	3/30/12

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