Titillation Poems | Examples

Echoes in the Empty Wine Glasses

another glass poured—
questions ripple in the glass
each sip slow savored
swirled to reveal the secrets
tart on the tip of the tongue

your hand grasps at mine
arms entwine beneath the cloth—
a feast set for two
titillation passion served
pleasure decanted on course

hollow goblets clink,
laughter's dessert shops on lips
that join for quick kiss—
yet the night seeps through fingers
like the wine we cannot keep

Tests of Humanity

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?"  taken from The Merchant of Venice, Act 3 Scene 1

bleeding scarlet by laceration 
audibly amused through titillation 
beautiful ladies diminish survival
launches second shoe in reprisal

Pain or Pleasure?

When they took him there
did you hear what they did?
Was there call or grunt?
Laugh or scream?
Joy or lamentation?

We perform the strangest or most grotesque
of auditory communications.
Such a mixed bag, such a miscellany!
Torture or tickle? Titillation or skin sensation?
Can we choose to hear pain or pleasure?

(13 Feb 2023)

Samsara

("Bristlecone", 2016, original pen and ink)

Samsara

Beneath the titillation of Samsara
the veneer of morality waits.
Or is it the opposite?
Beneath the veneer of morality
the titillation of Samsara awaits.
Either way, it’s the same thing,
the whole damn mess
being one giant game of seduction.
But that sucking sound
at the heart of seduction….
pulling us in 
to a void
that's impossible to avoid
the force at the core
that makes the ten thousand
whirling contents irrelevant
Ah, that!
“Darkness within darkness
The gate to all mystery”
the old sage mentioned…

(9/19/23)

Titillation Nation

Only forty-six days
          that Ukraine’s been razed

        Media’s bored
          with the war

        Onto something new
          to titillate you

The Great Promise, the Sweet Hope

The Great Promise, The Sweet Hope

morn's beauty, a new seed sprout
illumination
dawn's glow, whisper not a shout.

Robert J. Lindley, 8-01-2021

*******

From The Fields A New Harvest

high noon, soft radiant heat
earth's titillation
treasures set at mankind's feet.

Robert J. Lindley, 8-01-2021

*******

Waiting For The Moon's Beauty

red sunset, soft burnished rays
waiting sensation
harvest from another day.

Robert J. Lindley, 8-01-2021

Three poems 
LindR 7,5,7 form

"illumination, earth's titillation, waiting sensation"

Three Irishmen and the Clergy's

Three Irishmen by a window in stare
At a building just over there
From their heads their eyes pop
Their mouths all agog
So close they all are to swear

"Would you look at that!" the first Irishman says
"I've never seen this in all my days"
The Methodist Pastor so near
Into the building disappears
"I don't think this is the place where he prays"

No sooner are the words from his lips
When a Rabbi appears from the slips
With a quick look around
He disappears without sound
From his cassock, they see is a whip

Lost for words so agape they now see
Their Catholic Priest in front of them three
With a knock on the door
Like he's done this before
Appears not a total mystery

"Ah, now dat's sad." says the third Irishman
"As usual they've allowed him to go in
"One of da girls must have died"
It's why they let him inside
Be Jesus, it's a brothel, he's never to sin

Now the Church Heads have finally disclosed
That their clergy's have been so exposed
No more their visitation
No more their titillation 
That this place of ill repute's now closed

Can You Dance With Me

Can you dance with me?
Can you match me step for step?
Are our souls in sync, 
Our bodies a natural fit?
Does the music playing harmonize our soul movements?

The precarious titillation of those first steps.
Matching skill for skill,
looking earnestly for grace.
Counting the beat,
listening for the inner rhythm
so necessary to the development of the dance.

Should I stumble,
can you turn a misstep into a newfound movement?
When you artlessly spin me a bit too hard,
can I capture the force and turn it back again?

Can we play this through,
with grace and laughter,
tears and awkward bumbling?

All these questions before the first step is taken.
Perhaps the dance begins before the dancers take the floor.

Lost Restraint

Upon our first meeting, fear ran to my fingertips.
Within a few choice words,
The tingling became the titillation of lust.

You opened a door, its hinges rusted,
its boards warped by time.
The sirens in my soul sang to me, warning of the danger
yet luring me to walk with you 
upon a net-less rope above the sea.

All that I once knew of seafaring dangers
was washed away on the tide of hopeful innocence.
I caste aside all thoughts of peril with childlike laughter.
I paddled in the water, floating freely, unfettered by restraint.

The First Dance

Can you dance with me?
Can you match me step for step?
Are our souls in sync, 
Our bodies a natural fit?
Does the music playing harmonize our soul movements?

The precarious titillation of those first steps.
Matching skill for skill
While looking earnestly for grace.
Counting the beat
While listening for the inner rhythm
So necessary to the development of the dance.

Should I stumble,
Can you turn a misstep into a newfound movement?
When you artlessly spin me a bit too hard,
Can I capture the force and turn it back again?

Can we play this through,
With grace and laughter,
Tears and awkward bumbling?

All these questions before the first step is taken.
Perhaps the dance begins before the dancers take the floor.

Relieve My Heart of Its Ache

These trembling lips cannot bear to remain mute
when their quivering begins in my deepest root
Surf upon the wave's crest of a stimulating ride,
Enter my secluded orchard upon a flowing tide

Saunter into my arbor and taste my honeyed fruit
Allow each nibble to entice with unbridled pursuit
Warm yourself in the sun as we sensually collide
Ripen with me until temptation is languidly descried

Inhale the fragrance of my skin on fleshly curves 
Embrace the throbbing titillation of tingling nerves
Unshackle your heart, and have it not be denied
Caress every part of me as your fingertips glide

Hold my blossoms as they call to your heartstrings
Drink deeply of my nectar; flit your pinioned wings
Pluck me for your pleasure, with hands that shake
I await your touch; to relieve my heart of its ache

The Old Last Act

The #Old-Last-Act, Act I, Scenes 1 - 13

Anticipation
Expectation
A flirtation
Titillation
Osculation
Masturbation
Perturbation
Copulation
Consumation
Ejaculation
Expiration
And prostration
Termination

Shorter Than Short Shorts

Watching young girlies walk by at the mall
Can still get a rise out of me
With their shorter than short shorts and halter tops
Tsk, tsk, thinking bad thoughts, are we?

Just purely for their copious youthful energy
This exuberant younger generation
It's got nothing to do with gawking or ogling
Tsk, tsk, think I've succumbed to titillation?

Really much more sophisticated than that
My sweetie would tell you, just ask her
In fact, there are many times I even look away
Now now, I'm not a child molester

Just like every other of earth's male inhabitants
I admit I enjoy nice scenery
Especially shorter than short shorts and halter tops
Tsk, tsk, thinking bad thoughts, are we?

Food Fusion

PORRIDGE PERFECTION
SOUP SATISFACTION
NOODLES KNITTED
MISU MARVEL
SALMON SMOKED
DEADLY DESSERTS
CARAMEL CRUNCH
TRIFLE TEMPTATION
CREPE CREATION
TASTE TITILLATION
ENHANCED EATING
GASTRONOMIC GLUTTONY

When I Awoke -2-

For my sister

When I awoke
Her taller frame was wrapped ‘round me
An arm choking this small draining tube
Her sleeping hair tickling my neck
Titillation of breath warm
Comforting

When I awoke
I carefully freed the drip and smiled
While she slept on
Warm against my cold self
I relished in her sun
In her caring selfless self

When I awoke
The world changed itself to fog
And mist in my clouded brain
Fear and helpless terror
Anxiety made me cling desperate
To and in her warmth

When I awoke
When the pain shook me
She slowly rocked me, hummed a song
If in my life I have to love one woman
It must be her
My sister
When I awoke

***

February 12, 2017

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