Whittling the point
paring it down
cutting the volume
honing the sound
Sharpening each line
words drop and fall
meaning to thunder
— lightning recalled
(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)
Silk word play crosses in two and subtle mind games,
both entangle me; whetting my appetite for war.
Served as a weaponized aphrodisiac;
sharp double edge sword hors d'oeuvre.
Lured toward a subtle intoxication;
true motives ceremoniously exposed.
You trace the contours of my every word;
the renegade now juxtaposed.
We traverse to foreign places unaware;
time itself intensifies, yet slows.
Demons spill from lips to fan the flame of desire;
our spirits overflow.
There once was a lady of the night
wearing dresses short and tight
she coaxed her johns
showing a titillating thong
whetting their appetites.
The Plot Against the Giant:
First Girl
When this yokel comes maundering,
Whetting his hacker,
I shall run before him,
Diffusing the civilest odors
Out of geraniums and unsmelled flowers.
It will check him.
Second Girl
I shall run before him,
Arching cloths besprinkled with colors
As small as fish-eggs.
The threads
Will abash him.
Third Girl
Oh, la...le pauvre!
I shall run before him,
With a curious puffing.
He will bend his ear then.
I shall whisper
Heavenly labials in a world of gutturals.
It will undo him.
-by Otieno Elvis Gikoi
A gutted mirror invents a tangled human scheme
My back might be found crooked from the jabber,
A puddling curb tried throwing the twisted dream
None bound for the scope spawned by a blunder.
My back might be found crooked from the jabber
Singing in heaven embeds tune of moral goodwill,
None bound for the scope spawned by a blunder
After a few years, you'd be ditched with side-will.
Singing in heaven embeds tune of moral goodwill
Straying guilt whetting shock and clear dismay
After a few years, you'd be ditched with side-will
The ridiculous concept of a fantasy hiding way.
Straying guilt whetting shock and clear dismay
The abstraction of waning grace is a little hazy
The ridiculous concept of a fantasy hiding way,
Tons of metal swords shattered by bared facility.
The abstraction of waning grace is a little hazy
A puddling curb tried throwing the twisted dream
Tons of metal swords shattered by bared facility
A gutted mirror invents a tangled human scheme.
Written: May 07, 2022
APPETIZER
flavorful, tasty
savoring, inviting, whetting
hors d’oeuvres, antipasto; flan, chocolate
mouth-watering, finishing, salivating
delicious, homemade
DESSERT
June 2, 2021
The Church ladies love tongue-tied vicars
Adept at removing their knickers
For many have found
That whetting the mound
Just beats the Hell out of bootlickers
Love Is That Split Moment
Open your hands my dear
Love is splitting the moon.
Two halves joining in cheer,
A partnership swoons.
One for you, one for me,
forever an indelible mark.
Our eyes tacit and free,
our hearts rising from the dark.
Your hands in mine sweat
And the touch of your face sparks.
Our hearts thrush a duet
As our moons finding it's marks.
Love is taking that split moment,
whetting together into a bestowment.
connie pachecho
8/18/17
Inspired in writing this poem after
reading entries to the "Love Is" contest.
the kitten and boa rendezvous
she slithers in the tall grass
looking for cute ass
through rock bottoms pass
to tall oak trees mass
her eyes continue moving
for some grooving
two days drought
makes her shout
a little light filters in
she sees a boa and gasp within
is this too much for the kitten
no, she lets out a purr
in wake of her rising fur
with burning desire
she jumps into the fire
... onto a rising flame
frame by frame
the heat feels good
as it should
a little light filters out
as she preens about
the last log turns to ash
not before whetting her cache
connie pachecho
4/10/17
Devoured by intensity,
words that quench the soul
an enchanting intoxication - -
like a spirited ******
whetting a voracious thirst,
plunging in for another swallow
of adoration's satiated climax
I never always truly sometimes
Wish I could be just like you
Better than not just good enough
One of the rare unlucky few
To be calm cool and uncollected
To be at the bottom of the perceptual top
Bopping to the sound of a dyslexic drummer
Whetting appetites I just cannot stop
To be imprisoned in the prison of freedom
Doing those things I shouldn't want to do
Left right forward back at the beginning
Like a child size adult version of you
I never always truly sometimes
Wish I could be the only one me
A little eccentric somewhat normal
Wondering towards who I wish to be
For nothing is everything I wanted
Now everything is nothing worthwhile
I live in the moment of forever
Trying to turn back a broken fixed dial!
Twas the night before my cousin's
wedding
He reluctantly gave in to the
bachelor party vetting
A burlesque, tawdry strip club was
the setting
Unbeknownst to him, the bridesmaid
was his appetite whetting
With gratuitous lap dance, began
the ribald feting
In drunken stupor, the enamored
groom his fealty forgetting
Released his inhibitions all of his
clingy garments shedding
Strode platform, in sync with
bridesmaids erotic moves duetting
In tantric rhapsody, she released
pheromones his testosterone
subletting
Enraptured with his riposte jaunts,
her matrimonial bond shredding
The enamored bridesmaid with lust
his bare essentials began petting
His betrothed parts to her
dominatrix will indebting
As the groom climaxed, his phallus
got entangled in her fish netting
Two truant souls now writhing;
spent body parts bloodletting
Dislodging their carnal chains, into
frothy night jetting
To hotel that lodged devoted bride;
their remaining passions bedding
Lurid, tawdry tryst not regretting;
but o'er bawdy exhibition sweating
Wedding contest
September 14, 2012
Into the jungle, the realm of all hazards
With love and a tucked-spear armed
The infatuated sphingid his way bravely wended
Heedless, the hostile beasts all around scuppered.
In shady corners their merciless fangs sharpening
The sphinx moth the orchid’s love shielding
All perils boldly daring, all around hovering
His sweetheart frenziedly for eons seeking
Never flinching, never faltering nor huddling
Breezes he rode whilst his love whetting
His sweet maiden’s scent to his senses wafting
His wing beats to her fabled nectar guiding.
These times search for souls the muse can ken
With balms for barren bowls
Before the empty eyes of starving children.
These times here despair prowls
Up and down the land of greed, for we learned
Nothing from the ants, nor think
The seasons could bring us to brink
Consequences no statistics could have discerned.
These times are not the fault of the weary poor
Whose labor makes others wealth
And they more dispossesed than ever before.
All that power became the stealth
That coded language littered about the dry place
Whetting tongue of race and class
Churning discontent to distract the global space.
These times will never bring again old days gone
Poets must tell proverbs and lay
Like a star mangering for an other-centered dawn
The river has washed its banks away
O children crawling from the water to desert sands
Go past the bitter rock to find
The Jordon sperming fruit to vine
These times un-singles us ere the coming locust lands