JUST SEX and POETRY
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4371 Nov 18, 2012
our eyes are darkened-
a cloud hangs over us-
we are a myriad of dreamers
lost in unforgiving hopefulness

there are shadows
on the walls of the cave

they flicker;
they seem real
because we stay so still

but perspective
gives us clarity-
we see them
for what they are,
the silver dreams
enticing fantasies
comforting
unrelenting
unrealities
that others
wrote
for
us

and
we accepted
their scratching in the sand
that would always be washed
away, in the end
by the rising tide


because we believed
in an educated kind of nothing

we should write
dreams
for ourselves
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4372 Nov 18, 2012
I’d like to know the curves of your body,
Like I knew the turns of the creek
That ran through the woods of my childhood.

Somewhere safe and familiar,
Yet always hiding something new
To be discovered;
Always bursting forth with life,
Begging me to come play.

I wasted hours in the sun
Swinging from vines and catching minnows,
Forgetting half constructed forts
In favor of chasing a new friend,
And I know that I could
Step into you, and get lost,
Just like I did in those woods.

I want to see your skin
through slanted blinds,
With the warmth of a new day
Rolling across our backs.

I want to hear your sighs,
And mumbled sleep-talk,
And try to decipher your dreams.

You spark a deep curiosity in me,
And I feel like there is an endless wealth
Of answers to be found.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4373 Nov 18, 2012
This tuft that thrives on saline nothingness,
Inverted octopus with heavenward arms
Thrust parching from a palm-bole hard by the cove⎯
A bird almost⎯of almost bird alarms,

Is pulmonary to the wind that jars
Its tentacles, horrific in their lurch.
The lizard’s throat, held bloated for a fly,
Balloons but warily from this throbbing perch.

The needles and hack-saws of cactus bleed
A milk of earth when stricken off the stalk;
But this,⎯defenseless, thornless, sheds no blood,
Almost no shadow⎯but the air’s thin talk.

Angelic Dynamo! Ventriloquist of the Blue!
While beachward creeps the shark-swept Spanish Main
By what conjunctions do the winds appoint
Its apotheosis, at last⎯the hurricane!”
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4374 Nov 18, 2012
"LOVE'S BRUSH-STROKES."

Tell me which painter

inflames your soul,

and I will tell you

what our love will be…

Is it Miro, with bright

splashes of colour?

Our love will sparkle

like a clear night sky.

Perhaps it is Magritte.

painting the impossible?

We will defy the odds,

loving long and epic…

Now maybe Modigliani

makes you deeply sigh?

Our souls will twist in

tight and sad beauty.

Picasso move you then,

in ways not seen before?

People will wonder why

we love, but never understand.

Van Gogh’s thick strokes

have caught your attention?

Swirling and contentious,

full of passion is our love.

You like the precise nature

and beauty of Mondrian?

Our love will fit, in perfect

harmony and last and last.

Which of these is ours?

Perhaps all or none…

Our painting is not yet

begun, and never will be

finished.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4375 Nov 18, 2012
all he wanted in life
to write hundreds of sonnets
comparing his lover’s hazel eyes
to a spectacular sunrise—
but life made him a murderer
to write little haikus
suggesting the jewels in her updo
were frozen tears of saints
the way the light danced over each piece
when she practiced pointe
blinding
magnificent
he had thousands of adjectives lined up
like cartridges nestled in the clip
to immortalize her plump lips
perfectly pursed
sipping her tea
patient & pensive on the balcony
while he typed the last verse
writing line after line
cooing over that burgundy smile
the way, after dinner, her pink tongue poked out to lick
a misplaced drop of wine off her lipline
as she scraped the last bit of red velvet cake
from her plate
devouring every crumb
satisfactory licks
a giggle

her indulgence, her leisure, once his greatest pleasure
but now

in deep regret
wielding knives for pens
shooting bullets as real time verbs
in place of written words
an odious fate an outlaw must take
when he chooses to forsake his coveted mistress
for a hit list of imaginary foes

always a mission before he could finish
a line, a verse, a rhythm
it was always them vs. him
picking fights with the electric company
over every little penny
instead of painting the poetry
of his lover’s beautiful ballet
no time for love
there are injustices to solve
he missed most desserts
spent most of his time cursing
his former bosses for letting him go
when he couldn’t produce the prose
they kept asking for
stopped watching her rehearse.
she spent hours in the mirror
primping, placing every pin so neatly
hair he used to adulate
twirling legs once mesmerizing

a vexing curse he nursed
so bitter at the world
first he lost his words
then his doting girl
fighting the world alone
them against him
sword against pen
but everyone knows –


world always wins
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4376 Nov 18, 2012
It was
one twenty
in the morning
when
she
rolled around
and
he
kissed
her

one thirty
in the morning,
when the spaces
between fingers
are
filled

and
atoms
are
built
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4377 Nov 18, 2012
Between us silence lies.
No canyon or chasm yawning,
But a lake, bottomless and broad.
Its shores grasping at the horizon.
Its surface placid, but underneath
Fed as it is by hidden springs
A tumult rises.

Or such is my hope.

Nevertheless, my eyes defy its depths.
Undaunted, drawn to your motion.
Your fingers dance across your braid
Swift fins flitting beneath the water.
As your eyes sparkle with laughter
Like the first stars rising
Against the sunset of your blushing skin.

Unfurl yourself unto me.
Water lily, soft petaled wallflower
Bloom out of distant, muted winters
Into laughing, vibrant spring
Where the blithe breeze exhales
Silence and warmth in the same breath
Caresses young flowers and ripples glassy waters

“Want A Friend, Be One”

Level 9

Since: Mar 12

You'll Know Your True Friends.

#4378 Nov 18, 2012
I want someone who knows that I am not really perfect,yet he stares at me like I am the most perfect woman he has ever seen!!!

Level 8

Since: Jun 08

Location hidden

#4380 Nov 18, 2012
I am the sweet spooned into bitter
I am compassion flung at cruel
I am the one that they all run to
For advice and gentle fuel

But how shocked they would be
At the filth in my mind
That my dreams throw me down
And pull my hair from behind

That one look can undress me
Just one kiss becomes a lay
Yes my love falls on it softly
But my 'safe' word is gray

modernhippie

i hope she doesn't mind...... but she posted this on another thread...... i thought it was well placed here...... i will tell her of course...... and thank her ..
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4381 Nov 18, 2012
Desiree Rose wrote:
<quoted text>
Perhaps Leon says it best...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v =tn-br0h4rZkXX&feature=rel ated
Perhaps he does ?

The morning comes, it's time to leave the den

Where I feel no wrongs, and walk about, minus sin.

See my mask of emotions hanging upon my wall?

Place it on me, I leave without time to stall.



And into the sun, my mask does hide

The pain, hurt, frustration pent up inside.

I become the man who bore witness to better things yesterday,

Proclaiming to all the wonders of things to come today.



People relate to me as the boy with charms,

People relate to me as one approachable with open arms.

My mask does work a wonder,

Keeping all scars beneath me, under.



I try to kiss my past, leave it behind

And share with no one it's awful crime.

But it latches to me it's silent bond,

Only to my worthlessness is it more fond.



And in this day, this blessed hour,

Her thoughts I try to wash away in my tearful shower.

I speak to no one of the shame I feel,

And how my battled heart lay emotionless on the glorious field.



People relate to me as the boy with charms,

People relate to me as one approachable with open arms.

My mask does work a wonder,

Keeping all scars beneath me, under.



The mask that works itself unto me

Molds itself to live along side me.

Forget about the past? That's absurd when I only believed the lies,

I only remembered the truths that turned stale and died.



"Her beauty is indescribable, marvelous as anyone could say,

And for her to be mine, this is what I pray."

But which one, which girl do I refer?

They're all one and the same, all their lives from me do deter.



People relate to me as the boy with charms,

People relate to me as one approachable with open arms.

My mask does work a wonder,

Keeping all scars beneath me, under.



A foreign thought, they all come to be,

As something unheard of to my new mask and me.

Proudly I walk down the halls of unspoken wishes

And see the path given to me throughout many visions.



Living a life where what matters most is me,

Self-centeredness here is the thing that reigns supreme.

No need to worry about anyone else,

Of the girl who chooses to live along side someone else.



People relate to me as the boy with charms,

People relate to me as one approachable with open arms.

The new me is really nice to be

As I smile the smile of forgotten troubles I no longer see.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4382 Nov 18, 2012
Watching the rain soak and stick, your shirt form of your breast,
The slow heaving, breathing motion of your chest,
Eyes dare not glance, towards yours, and meet,
And, as a matter of fact, I'd best just look at my feet.
The rapid tempo of the rain tending,
Crashing waves of beating drums trying my heart, un-mending,
Helping me, remain free from comfort
This trial, encroaching my mind for all this to sort.
But, I, you see, said you were special ten times over,
Cared for you, you know, thousand times, even when sober.
I never though, as I recalled,
Said, "I love you",'member, always stalled.
Fair skin, soft and a bit red when blushed,
And when she would smile at me, I felt flushed.
Long, golden hair, smells delight my senses,
Felt warm when she was around, during those harsh winters.
She was the one, years past still, wish to be mine,
And you were lovely, please don't cry, you are divine.
A gift of God you no less are to me,
But, she and me, I want for us to this time be.
Dare I look within your watery eyes,
And even the rain pouring down, incessant from the skies,
Couldn't mask the tears still cascading,
And this glance at you, eroding soon, my persona, awaiting.
You move not, you remain motionless, still,
Looking, not staring, no loathing, no will.
You try to capture the essence of me, perchance,
Remember my image and how we used to romance.
I sit on the ground, soil my pants, no concern, though,
And you sit, too, gazing still in my eyes, following the flow.
Depressed, you mouth to me, "I understand,"
And I felt a bit relieved, and reached out to hold your hand.
We sat next to each other for some time after,
Head rested on my shoulder, and asked some things about her.
Rain slowed some, and you kissed my cheek, wished me the best,
And for one last time, on my shoulder, there you would rest.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4383 Nov 18, 2012
Before dawn had slipped away,

I felt as if I needed to say,

For the fallacies and infidelities

Spoken by chance when I wasn't really me.....

The days and nights drag behind.

My ways without you are so hard to find.

Often stop to think, to consider

How life without you is making me bitter.


And if whence you said hence

My time with you since

I left was the better hours of your life,

The thought makes you glad that you won't be my wife,

I'll then leave you be

And suffer with the thoughts of past you and me.

But before dawn had slipped away

I felt as if I needed to say,

For all the fallacies and infidelities

Spoken by chance when I just wasn't me.....

I won't this time deny or venerate lies.

It pains me to see truth through these eyes.

I'd rather not reflect on the effect it left,

It just put me on a course to your heart I'd hope be direct.

I know just how I did you wrong.

Sounds all too familiar, just like the songs.

I tossed, turned all night in my bed,

Just how could I have been so misled?

I'd thought you'd be mine

Despite the things I said, despite the lack of love shown over time.

That's why before dawn had slipped away,

I felt as if I needed to say,

For all the fallacies and infidelities

Spoken by chance when I just wasn't me...

To you, the one I think of always,

My undying apology........

I'm so very Sorry.

“Want A Friend, Be One”

Level 9

Since: Mar 12

You'll Know Your True Friends.

#4385 Nov 18, 2012
You cant be "Just Friends",with "Someone"that you're "Madly In Love" with!!!!!
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4386 Nov 19, 2012
stacked and proud wrote:
I am the sweet spooned into bitter
I am compassion flung at cruel
I am the one that they all run to
For advice and gentle fuel
But how shocked they would be
At the filth in my mind
That my dreams throw me down
And pull my hair from behind
That one look can undress me
Just one kiss becomes a lay
Yes my love falls on it softly
But my 'safe' word is gray
modernhippie
i hope she doesn't mind...... but she posted this on another thread...... i thought it was well placed here...... i will tell her of course...... and thank her ..
Every foolish drunken poet,
boorish vanity without ceasing,
(never may I warrant it,
I of great noble stock,)
has always declaimed fruitless praise
in song of the girls of the lands
all day long, certain gift,
most incompletely, by God the Father:
praising the hair, gown of fine love,
and every such living girl,
and lower down praising merrily
the brows above the eyes;
praising also, lovely shape,
the smoothness of the soft breasts,
and the beauty's arms, bright drape,
she deserved honour, and the girl's hands.

Then with his finest wizardry
before night he did sing,
he pays homage to God's greatness,
fruitless eulogy with his tongue:
leaving the middle without praise
and the place where children are conceived,
and the warm quim, clear excellence,
tender and fat, bright fervent broken circle,
where I loved, in perfect health,
the quim below the smock.

You are a body of boundless strength,
a faultless court of fat's plumage.
I declare, the quim is fair,
circle of broad-edged lips,
it is a valley longer than a spoon or a hand,
a ditch to hold a penis two hands long;
cu nt there by the swelling arse,
song's table with its double in red.

And the bright saints, men of the church,
when they get the chance, perfect gift,
don't fail, highest blessing,
by me, to give it a good feel.

For this reason, thorough rebuke,
all you proud poets,
let songs to the quim circulate
without fail to gain reward.
Sultan of an ode, it is silk,
little seam, curtain on a fine bright cun t,
flaps in a place of greeting,
the sour grove, it is full of love,
very proud forest, faultless gift,
tender frieze, fur of a fine pair of testicles,
a girl's thick grove, circle of precious greeting,
lovely bush,
God save it.

Editor notes
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4387 Nov 19, 2012
You wanted to get myself back, but you didn't want to lose what you had.
To preform particular sacrifices means things have potential to go bad.
Giving into temptation and curiosity means letting your guard down.
Turning your head away from the waves, assuring yourself not to drown.
Time flickers as you catch your breath and open your eyes.
When they do open and all you can hear are lies. The lies that arise within yourself, and from a dark place.
They haunt you, they mock you, and you disappear without a trace.
Your soul purpose to regain yourself has surly drifted.
Who's to say that where you were before isn't when you were gifted?
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4388 Nov 19, 2012
With the corner of your eye

Touch me

With a careless brush of your hand

Touch me

Swing your head and with your hair

Touch me

With half a smile upon you lips

Touch me

With tenderness of a passing thought

Touch me

With a whisper in your sigh

Touch me

With the flower you picked for prayer

Touch me

With the water in your tulsi leaves

Touch me

With the edge of your saree

Touch me

With the sensitivity of your prayer

Touch me

With the rudraksha mala round your neck

Touch me

With the sandal touch from your forehaed

Touch me

With the bell on your anklet

Touch me

With the sindoor in your puja tray

Touch me

With the jasmine mala round your neck

Touch me

With your mangalsutra's ringlets

Touch me



Touch me

Touch my soul

Touch my entire being

Touch my inside with your body

Touch my being or non being



Touch me to renunciation

Touch me to sin

Touch me that I may have to go

Touch me that I may have to die

Touch me that I have fever

Touch me beyond my longing

Touch me beyond belonging

Touch me make me sinner

Touch me make me saint

Touch me and who knows what might happen

Touch me that nothing is same again.

~DeVine.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4389 Nov 19, 2012
"KAMA SUTRA.
(Part One)....

The sad thing is,
while walking through
the basement of a
used book store
snubbed by the scent of
rotted pages and queasy quiet,
my body is bellowing sick
thoughts and cravings;
dizzy murmurings like
rape me in a bookstore,
break this silence with your
groans of gratification,
I am in the self-help aisle
find me.
because I am standing anxiously
against the wood of a book shelf,
skimming through the kama sutra.
there is a young man
with an earring and mohawk
reading erotic comics.
I see his lap pushing at his
zipper like soup boiling
over the stove.
he looks up desperately and
turns to leave when an
employee asks if she can
help him.
her dress envelopes her ass.
her sender had licked her locked
tight, stamped her eyelids with:
confidential.
"yes ma'am," he says,
"could you show me the way
to the bathroom?"
she can.
she leads him away while swinging
her right hand. when they pass me,
it grazes my thigh.
I wish I had the reflexes to
grab the fluke of her fingers
to keep them there and
guide them up my skirt.
I am in the self-help aisle
but I cannot help myself here.
they are halfway to the bathroom.
begrudgingly I think to myself,
she could have
just given him directions,
now they're off
to the most private section in here.
one graze of a fingertip made her mine.

With my paperback lust,
I leave the aisle to follow them,
holding my palms close to my hips
to keep me inside myself.
the basement floor is gray and
grimy under my shoes. dirty
down to my toes.
everybody knows.
the craving for one more stroke
of luck feels so loud, I'm convinced
I'm disturbing
the peace, crying like a baby
over shoe shuffles and whispers.
all the customers wonder who
was stupid enough
to bring in a baby a babe what a babe-
I try to dismiss the image of infancy
in this hopeless moment of
oversexed torment. I resent
at all costs feeding into my
chemistry. she
is no longer leading him but
looking at him and
laughing at him and
lowering her eyelids
and curling I want you
smiles. they reach
the door. he goes in.
she doesn't.
she goes into the women's.
she had to use the bathroom, too.
the bathroom is the most private
section in here. the most human
section in here. I often find myself
there just to be alone, enclosed
in 4 thin walls, the weak latch lock
working well as a do not disturb sign.
in my most desperate moments of
isolation, I surrender to perpetually
using the bathroom.

I follow her there and watch
her enter a stall. in the foggy
mirror I notice my nose
is shiny with sweat and
the black has slipped from my
eyelid. my cheeks have reddened
as they often do. I try to
brush off the shame as her heel
clicks on the tile
twice
like an
invitation.
I enter the stall next door
and stand, wavering,
toes crushed under tense,
trembling weight.
until her heel scrapes against the
tile to touch my foot.
this coquetry must be
coincidence. because most intrigue
is actually accidental.
after a silent moment she says,
"sorry" and pulls back her
holy stocking........

(Continued........)
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4390 Nov 19, 2012
"KAMA SUTRA."
(Part Two).......

I think, at this junction,
the best I can do is
piss out my libido
and get the hell out
of here. but I don't.
I wait until her door opens to
give up my faux-relief.
I go with her to the sink.
she watches me wash my hands.
I use more soap than usual.
she sucks in her stomach
and pushes her breath against
her chest. I can tell.
making conversation and
subsequent sexual advances
is not as simple as porn
makes it out to be.
she closes her eyes and rubs off
the dark ink. the residue sticks
to her fingertips. I’m still drying my hands.
I think about the young man.
I speculate over whether he returned
to the self-help aisle, or if he helped
himself enough.

I linger there, at the sink, touching
each facial feature to justify my
loitering. I hold my ring finger
at the corner of my mouth.
I used to like my lips.
sometimes I'd push them out
to look like I was always kissing.
now I part them slightly,
top teeth emerging timidly,
to offer a slightly mystified,
slightly hungry expression,
left open with infinite sexual appetite.
but I’ve become uglier and don’t want her
to know. I sigh by accident.
she turns to me, shocked by a sound
in such stifling silence.
I feel the uncomfortable sensation of
my eyeballs pushing themselves
towards her. I look at me again, then
her, then me. she’s still looking at me.
she’s still looking at me.
something must be growing from out
my cheeks. a crowd of pimples or
a city of unusual hair or
a tattoo of leftover sauce or
a stamp of black and blue or or
or anything
else other than
beauty. I feel like I’m naked.
“can I help you?” I bitch.
she turns away with a scowl.
“sorry,” she groans,“I just
really like that skirt.”
she smooths down her dress over
her ass and smirks. suddenly
the tension transcends to
friction. I part my lips slightly.
“thanks.” I don’t sound grateful.
she probably didn’t mean it.
she probably didn’t mean any
of this.

I should leave now, I think.
she’s fixing her hair. she
breathes out. she sounds grateful.
I can’t help but see her
breathing heavy against the bathroom wall
while I pass my tongue down her neck.
my mouth feels dry and empty.
I gulp but not because I’m nervous.
I am nervous but I don’t want her
to know. but now she thinks I’m
nervous because I gulped.
I start to depart. my skirt
swishes with my speed and
brushes her backside.
“goodbye,” she says.
“bye,” I say, and go for the door, trying to
think about books. scholarly things. intellectualism.
I should go to the self-help aisle.
there is something there that I need.
and I’m never done with the kama sutra,
though that’s not something you can
help on your own.
I’ve seen the positions a hundred times
now. they require too much focus and
balance. both of you must be strong enough
to keep each other up.
one accident
and all the tension
could slip from under your feet.
and who knows where you go from there.
you might be better off
alone.
now the sad thing is,
while walking through
the bathroom of a
used book store,
my hand is still wet from washing. I used
too much soap. it slides over the door handle.
she is leaving now too and I’m here
having trouble opening a door.....

I almost ask for help.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4391 Nov 19, 2012
Perplexed dreams and convoluted swarms –

Of indignation

Smiling at the forms;

The trial’s designs

Within a vacant, yet chosen mind;

Sweep through me

These passion’s alarms –

In the breadth of the doubt

That fosters the tempted

To escape thine soul’s harm –



Vanquished memories

Steal from the mind

The energy of the broken:–

Wills of the blind;

To the banished chills

Of a frozen intellect

Out of the foiled and the mired –



For requisition

Found the multitude at fault –

Freed from the norm

To be ushered out from the vault;

The escape bound by truth,

And foiled from this dominion –

The vociferous youth,

Still anguished at the decision; –

The canons of reason

Echo upon this horizon,

The actions and proof

Never escaped the salutation

Of the promises for a future –

Always enabled,

And never dissolved;

The reclamation upon an edifice

Upon which the actions of only being

Were replenished and of surety solved –



From this, it is that the species

Should be given

To the evolved –

The troubles so free from the taken,

In this awakening of faith

And resolve,–

The solution

Brandished by the ways

Of the forever making

Through the beauty of the days –

Given, and never forsaking

The emotions,

Of bitterness and hatred;

Only to be replaced by an affection

That is cold and naked,–



Yet compelled within the belief

That the dearly departed

Should fill the grief

Of a life-borne clemency

Bound at the steps

Of the flawed and ill-fated;

Caress this adulation

Within the disputes

Of whom shall be first

And what shall be nascent; –

For by way of thine descendants

It is that this should be fulfilled

If only to the foiled,

That they should escape the world

Of the ascendant; –

Spirits that escape this resignation –

And upon these wings

Transcended the soil.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#4392 Nov 19, 2012
I hate this pain I'm going through and every tear I've cried!


I hate the way I feel for you and every way you've lied!


I hate the way you play your games and keep the truth inside!


I hate the way you lead me on and keep me wasting time!


I hate the way i think of you and how I'm left behind!


I hate the way you hurt me so and how it's justified!


I hate the way I'm there for you and then you change your mind!


I hate the way I'll take the blame and you'll be satisfied!


I hate the way I've loved you so and how hard I've always tried!


I hate the way I give my all and you stay full of pride!

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