JUST SEX and POETRY

PESCreate

“Just a lil' humor there.....”

Since: Sep 12

OR NOT .... <[;-)

#4351 Nov 17, 2012
SOBRIQUET DeVINE wrote:
Come one, come all
To the Topix masquerade ball
For a night of merriment
To be had by all
The ball poses a picturesque scene,
With porcelain masks and swaying dresses
And painted smiles with china doll eyes,
Laughter escaping their pearly white teeth
Over sips of flowing red wine.
All spectators dance harmoniously in unison,
Creating quite a spectacle to observe,
With wailing music that inflames the passions,
Against the backdrop of a stunning glass palace.
The glass serves faithfully as a mirror,
Reflecting the scene in its entirety,
And allowing the seeker to observe
Their unmatched kingly and queenly beauty,
Enhanced by the magnetism of the magnificent mask,
So that the world may stand aghast in awe.
Cologne and perfume coalesce in the air,
Avarice gleaming in starry eyes,
And bills drip from pockets and mouths,
Golden coins spinning on the ivory floor,
As stains of red wine appear on suits and dresses
Wholly composed of a luscious green fiber.
The night concludes with cheerful partings,
The music coming to its royal consummation,
And the wine having taken its seductive toll;
And so, the grand ball has succumbed to the morn,
While the masks are placed gently on nightstands.
Excellent Piece.
You really are one of the greatest.
:)))

PESCreate

“Just a lil' humor there.....”

Since: Sep 12

OR NOT .... <[;-)

#4352 Nov 17, 2012
It's nice to see you out here playing word games of a different sort ~A.
:)

I like trying to follow your words.
What's for Brunch???
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4353 Nov 17, 2012
PESCreate wrote:
It's nice to see you out here playing word games of a different sort ~A.
:)
I like trying to follow your words.
What's for Brunch???
brunch has left....

it's now lunch time (her name is Dianne)

“Want A Friend, Be One”

Level 9

Since: Mar 12

Smiling :o) all the way....

#4354 Nov 17, 2012
Never trust a guy that dont like to fish,aint ever got mud on the tires,cant shoot a gun,or wont shake your daddys hand!!!!!

PESCreate

“Just a lil' humor there.....”

Since: Sep 12

OR NOT .... <[;-)

#4355 Nov 17, 2012
SOBRIQUET DeVINE wrote:
<quoted text>
brunch has left....
it's now lunch time (her name is Dianne)
LOL
Ooooh, you are sumpin else there mister.
:))
I don't want to know what you ate.

**funny guy**

“Eleanor, Where is your heart?!”

Level 6

Since: Nov 11

Location hidden

#4356 Nov 17, 2012
Dianne is such a weird name for a cow.

“Want A Friend, Be One”

Level 9

Since: Mar 12

Smiling :o) all the way....

#4357 Nov 17, 2012
Love is like life,No path is so clear,and no step is so easy....
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4358 Nov 17, 2012
I fish wrote:
Dianne is such a weird name for a cow.
Ah, dear sweet April, once again showing us all the quality of being magnanimous : loftiness of spirit enabling one to bear trouble calmly, to disdain meanness and pettiness, and to display a noble generosity.

Jealousy is bred in doubts. When those doubts change into certainties, then the passion either ceases or turns absolute madness.

“Eleanor, Where is your heart?!”

Level 6

Since: Nov 11

Location hidden

#4359 Nov 17, 2012
SOBRIQUET DeVINE wrote:
<quoted text>
Ah, dear sweet April, once again showing us all the quality of being magnanimous : loftiness of spirit enabling one to bear trouble calmly, to disdain meanness and pettiness, and to display a noble generosity.
Jealousy is bred in doubts. When those doubts change into certainties, then the passion either ceases or turns absolute madness.
And there I was doubting that you had Dianne for lunch...unnless she was a cow. Okay fine Dianne is a woman...You're not afraid of women. How's that for faith?
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4360 Nov 17, 2012
I fish wrote:
<quoted text>
And there I was doubting that you had Dianne for lunch...unnless she was a cow. Okay fine Dianne is a woman...You're not afraid of women. How's that for faith?
The guiding ideological principles of some American spinsters are entropy, chaos, procrastination and lunch”

Should you ever decide to have a meal with a member of the opposite sex, I suggest you start with the "cold shoulder" followed up by the "hot tongue".......both of which are "Cow Products"

and

A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.

Word of Advice: Stop treading on your lip.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4361 Nov 17, 2012
Wet with you

showering
with you

nothing
between us

but bubbles
vanishing

as silently
as we touch

in wetness
together
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4362 Nov 17, 2012
Her skin, I love to touch,
I love to touch her skin.

Soft, succulent, delicious skin
on legs, belly, breasts, her folds.

I love to touch her skin.

Our mouths,
with gentle suction,
pulling and drawing,
Our tongues,
entwined in rhythmical dance,
sliding, swirling,
simulated movements when united.

My long, thick erect
protrusion enters her skin,

Her skin,
I love to touch.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4363 Nov 17, 2012
Moving on,
Going no where.
Caring 'till dawn,
Sounds that seem to care.
Music low,
Hearts beat,
No one must know,
Panting in the street.
The two as one,
Lovers in the night.
All night long,
'Till they're done.
Coming together -
to make everything right.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4364 Nov 17, 2012
Her mind screamed out "Make love to me"
Her body screamed out "Make love to me"

She did more than that

Without a word
Without a thought
She touched, licked, kissed,
nibbled, and sucked
on places that my body
thought had lost feeling

Passion, Desire, Lust
She knew just what I wanted
From the top of my head
to the tip of my toes

I shivered
Cried out
Then hardened

The rush of sensation passed through my body
It made all the tiny hairs stand up on end
Just a touch and all of my feeling
came back to me
From just her touch

I fell asleep that night - peaceful
Only to awake the next morning
and realize that she was already gone

Just a dream
I don't know;

But when she comes back
we shall start all over again
and again
and again
and again........

“Want A Friend, Be One”

Level 9

Since: Mar 12

Smiling :o) all the way....

#4365 Nov 17, 2012
I knew you were special because no matter what kind of mood I am in you always manage to make me laugh...
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4366 Nov 17, 2012
How many times have I thought of you
And the many things I'd like to do with you.
I sleep at night with you on my mind,
One night with you, would be just fine.

Your white robe is what I see,
I wonder, wonder, how it would be.
If I could touch your lips with mine,
The thought of this is so Devine.

I want to see you without that robe,
Your body to touch, caress, and probe.
I'd lay you down, your body to admire,
One look at you, sets my soul on fire.

I want to feel you, touch, and kiss,
send you into .... heavenly bliss,
I want you, need you, feel my desire,
Me inside you, I would never tire.

I could make love to you all night long,
It would feel so good, it couldn't be wrong,
These are my thoughts, what I fantasize,
You're all too perfect in this man's eyes.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4367 Nov 17, 2012
An Open Letter from Adrian DeVine....

"TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN."

It is strange, but nobody seems to have told us what exactly is the proper business of criticism.

There are many critics who might tell us, but for the most part they are amateurs. So have the critics nearly always been amateurs; including the best ones. They have not been trained to criticism so much as they have simply undertaken a job for which no specific qualifications were required. It is far too likely that what they call criticism when they produce it is not the real thing.

There are three sorts of trained performers who would appear to have some of the competence that the critic needs.

The first is the artist himself. He should know good art when he sees it; but his understanding is intuitive rather than dialectical—he cannot very well explain his theory of the thing. It is true that literary artists, with their command of language, are better critics of their own art than are other artists; probably the best critics of poetry we can now have are the poets. But one can well imagine that any artist's commentary on the art-work is valuable in the degree that he sticks to its technical effects, which he knows minutely, and about which he can certainly talk if he will.

The second is the philosopher, who should know all about the function of the fine arts. But the philosopher is apt to see a lot of wood and no trees, for his theory is very general and his acquaintance with the particular works of art is not persistent and intimate, especially his acquaintance with their technical effects. Or at least I suppose so, for philosophers have not proved that they can write close criticism by writing it; and I have the feeling that even their handsome generalizations are open to suspicion as being grounded more on other generalizations, those which form their prior philosophical stock, than on acute study of particulars.

The third is the university teacher of literature, who is styled professor, and who should be the very professional we need to take charge of the critical activity. He is hardly inferior as critic to the philosopher, and perhaps not on the whole to the poet, but he is a greater disappointment because we have the right to expect more of him. Professors of literature are learned but not critical men. The professional morale of this part of the university staff is evidently low. It is as if, with conscious or unconscious cunning, they had appropriated every avenue of escape from their responsibility which was decent and official; so that it is easy for one of them without public reproach to spend a lifetime in compiling the data of literature and yet rarely or never commit himself to a literary judgment.

~DeVine.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4368 Nov 17, 2012
Two men walk on a path.

One has a blade in his pocket.

We do not know if the edge
is grimed with paint, or butter,
or is clean as a newborn tongue.

One has an apple in his pocket.
Put a horse at the end of the path
and he is kind to animals.

Leave the horse out, and he is hungry.

They can stop and sit together,
knife licking away the skin
in perfect, blush-red strips.

One will look over his shoulder.
One will fail an appointment
he promised to keep.

But they can have this meal,
if they choose.

Then keep walking.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4369 Nov 17, 2012
We passed the baby over the bed, and later we passed tissue,
and her Bible with its onion skin pages, its highlighted lessons
and dog-eared parables she kept handy with bookmarks
whose tassels hung and swayed as her hair
might have done when she was very sweet and very young,
and when we had finished what reading we would read,
we stopped a little while to register the pleasant song
the woman on the stereo was singing, and then the baby
cried for milk, and so we passed her back across the bed,
which is when someone asked if there was any more water
and we passed the water over her lips with the swab the nurses gave us
just for this, a square pink bubblegum lollipop-looking deal
like the treats she used to give us when we were very sweet
and very young, and someone came with roses,
and though we smelled the flowers because we hoped for something better
than the smell that lingered all around us, hothouse flowers
look alive long after their lively smells have faded, so when someone came in
with cards, we passed the cards and flowers over the bed and stood them up
with the other cards and flowers on the little stand of white plastic and chrome
that passed for a bedside table in that place, and when a friend came in
who hadn’t met the baby, we passed the baby over the bed
and the friend said, she’s so sweet, and when a cousin came
who knew things few of us knew, we listened to stories
from when both of them were very young, and when someone cried
we passed the tissue over the bed, and when someone said, she’s so small now,
we remembered the pink square bubblegum lollipop swab,
and when the nurse said, you can tell by how she breathes,
someone got the Bible from the little chrome and plastic stand,
and when someone said, it’s okay to leave, we didn’t want to
do a thing, and though several days later someone told me
people somewhere in the Deep South pass a baby over the bed
of a dying person to say there will always be new bodies
to celebrate and mourn, that night we only knew the baby needed a change
and someone had to take her, and so we passed the baby
over the bed and decided who would stay to watch her go.&#8195;
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4370 Nov 18, 2012
Sharing shards of shattered sympathy,
Marking muddled moments of misery, my
Feelings; flowing freely from
Pen to paper; printed,
sometimes published; poetry.

Not now, no, nevermore
Will whispered wishes,
wandering wants, wake
Another aimless animation;
Agitated, restless,
revelling in regretful reluctancy.

Darkness; Dying. Dead…Dawn
Brings brightness, but
I, inking in infinite iterations,
I like little light;
in little light, love lives to lift
My mood, my mind, myself, me.

Sugar sleeps softly, supplying sweet
Therapy, to this thinker,
this thankful throwaway;
to thyself; that
My madness may move to
One’s One-ness oncemore.

Reason for respite;
rest & recuperation.
Reason enough to evoke enlightenment;
Even peace, perhaps. Pacified,
Insomnia isn’t an issue.

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