JUST SEX and POETRY
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5426 Jan 5, 2013
In ecstasy, there is often a sense of heat -- filled with immense love -- that permeates the body.

This warmth seems to emerge from the seat, flares in the belly, and rises upward, fanning out at the heart.

As this fire moves through the body, it also moves through the awareness, consuming all thoughts (or, more accurately, the tremors from which thoughts emerge).

This fire burns away even the thought of "I" -- only the sense of this living flame remains.

This is such a wonderful fire that mystics often describe it as a flame of love, so enchanting that, like the moth, you want to dart in and be utterly consumed.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5427 Jan 5, 2013
it is here
in the breath
it is here
in the stillness between breaths
it is here
in the active mind
it is here
in the resting mind
it is here
in the dream's panorama
it is here
in each moment of awakening
it is here
when all is well
it is here
when fear has nothing left to fear
even then
there is pure noticing
even then
there is no need for doing
no frantic searching
can find the obvious
no seeking needed
to find that which seeks
it is here
where it can never be lost
or found.....this moment,

why fear this moment
when no thoughts come
at last I lie naked
in the arms of experience

why fear this moment
when no words come
at last I find rest
in the lap of silence

why fear this moment
when love finds itself alone
at last I am embraced
by infinity itself

why fear this moment
when judgment falls away
at last my defenses
fail to keep intimacy at bay

why fear this moment
when hope is lost
at last my foolish dreams
are surrendered to perfection
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5428 Jan 5, 2013
words do not come
there is no need for profound utterances or
deep truths
here is an ordinary evening
why spoil it with dramatic overstatement

the silence amidst the noise
the gem at the core
of every experience
is polished by simple attention
into shining magnificence

~DeVine.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5429 Jan 5, 2013
Do you know my heart,
Oh maiden of the night,
Prayers to and for you
Seeking mercy and respite
From the agonizing days of light.

You alone are the vision
Which occupies my mind,
Lending promise to my sorrow
Bent by suffering sublime.

The smile is only disguise,
The laughter but a ruse,
For I know so little
Of what I might do
With the tragic loss of Muse.

She was nothing more
Than a tramp;
Disloyal and promiscuous at best,
As she partied her way
Through the darkest nights,
Leaving me without my rest.

She scoffed at my feeble complaints
And heckled me for my needs,
Taking far more than she ever gave,
Such were her evil deeds.

Now I am but a shell of man,
Ink has truly run dry,
Rumors have the whore here and there,
Spreading her seed far and wide.

This darkened den is my prison,
Smelling of cigarettes and rye,
And this pestilence, I think,
Will follow me…
Til’ the wretched day I die.



“Geez..”

Level 3

Since: Oct 12

Greensburg, IN

#5430 Jan 5, 2013
DeVINE KNIGHT wrote:
<quoted text>
ENOUGH ALREADY!!
Hey Princess......it's about time you packed your stash, and left here...okay ?
I've asked you nicely before......now I'm asking you once more...
Kindly take your sugary quotations to some other web site so that I don't have to read them anymore.....(Actually I stopped that long time back)
I sometimes wish you would take
another holiday, A longish break.
Are you really convinced you have the right
to badger me by day and night?
There’s other things I want to do.
I love to write that is quite true
But these inane quotations you continually post here
are really exceeding what is sufficient or necessary....
STOP IT !!
I’d like a little time for fun
A bit of time to paint and draw
I don’t have time to anymore’
I have some books I want to read
but constantly you fill my head
with this ,more than is needed, desired,
required, or appropriate....
IT IS JUST superfluous CRAP....IN NO WAY IS IT POETRY
(not even sexy)....
cannot YOU see
Sometimes I need some time for me....
GO AWAY !
~Adrian DeVine.
to much jerking off your own tail huh? why don't ya STFU!! your post is quite disturbing already and leave the lady alone.

“Geez..”

Level 3

Since: Oct 12

Greensburg, IN

#5431 Jan 5, 2013
DeVINE KNIGHT wrote:
<quoted text>
I INAUGURATED SITE WAY BACK....SO I DO HAVE MORE CLAIM TO IT THAN MOST.....ESPECIALLY YOU, who is rappidly becoming a "Real Pain IN THE ASS" ........this site is for just what it was intended by ME....."Just Sex and Poetry"
NOT SOME excessive or maudlin sentimentality, or some syripy quotations about the silly unrequited love, you keep posting here That is love, that is not openly reciprocated, or understood as any form of VERSE.
THERE ARE OTHER"QUOTATION" WEB SITES FOR YOUR TYPE OF SCHMALTZY CRAP......YES YOU ARE BOTHERING ME !!
Post some poetry.....make a contribution....or please go away......
LOL you screaming like a lady?
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5432 Jan 5, 2013
I sit anxiously at the top of the monkey bars, swinging my feet and waiting for something worthwhile to happen. My friends rang my doorbell about 15 minutes ago, begging me to hang out with them at the local park. They promised me it would be fun. Fucking liars.

There's Ashley and Dylan, who are surely going to hook up soon. Right now they're on the swings, side by side, laughing and talking about some bullshit probably. There are a few other girls in a circle gossiping off to the side, and then finally Jeremy and Dan dribbling a ball around the cement walkway surrounding the playground. Everybody is doing something except for me. Not anymore, though.

I stand up and walk over to a bench nearby the dribbling boys. I've had my eye on Jeremy for a while now. Chocolate skin, luscious lips...A promising bulge in his pants that I always notice, no matter how hard I try not to.

Ashley suggests we continue walking around the bend edging the whole park.

Every time I go for a bike ride around that bend, I notice the wooded area right beside the bend. For some reason, I always imagine the things that could happen in there, that no one would know about. So secret, behind all that greenery and trees. The place just gives me sexual vibes, as if I've always sensed something will happen there to me in the future. Turns out I was right.

As we start walking in our large group, Jeremy saunters up beside me and gives me a startling smack on the ass. I smile at him.

"Having fun?" He asks me.

"Barely."

"Do you want to have some fun?"

"I would absolutely love to have some fun."

"How exactly would you define the kind of fun you're looking to have?"

I take a swift look around. The whole group's ahead of us.

I grab his crotch, quite a handful.

His face grows desperate, and he glances at the wooded area. "Will this do?"

I start kissing him on his soft lips as he picks me up and carries me into the forest. I kiss the smooth skin on his neck, my arms wrapped around him as he shoves his hand directly up my skirt.

"How nice of you to wear a thong for the occasion."

He grabs a handful of my ass with one hand and throws his other up my shirt. He swiftly unsnaps my bra and it falls onto the leaves and dirt. Jeremy pins me against a tree trunk and I kiss all the way down to his jeans. I watch him carefully as I pull down his fly and tug out his huge black cock. He starts groaning before I even get my mouth on it. I lick the tip slowly, sensually. He grins in lust and furrows his brows in desperation for more. I suck slowly down the whole shaft, bit by bit, until I have as much of it as I can possibly hold in my mouth. I can feel it in my throat, warm and beginning to throb.

"Oh," He musters as I feel my mouth fill with warmth.

I show him my tongue, smile, and swallow it all.

"Come here, you fucking hot little bitch."

He picks me up and gets me right against the tree trunk. I wrap my legs around his waist and he bunches my skirt around my waist. I watch as he pulls aside my tiny pink little thong, and rubs his head around my clit slowly.

"God, yes." I cry as my vagina moistens and starts dripping down. I hear the plop against the leaves on the ground as droplets hit.

His cock rubs my pink labia for a moment, and then he plunges himself deep into my tight little hole. I scream and moan as he pulls his throbbing cock in and out of my soaking little pussy. I can feel the urge approaching, but I hold back for a couple minutes until he explodes inside of me. I can feel the hot spunk sliding out of my pussy, down my asshole. I tip my head back and shake in pleasure as my orgasm hits me. I can feel myself squirting like crazy. I look up and see him grinning as I squirt all over the ground.

As we finish off and I bend over to pick up my stray clothing, I feel him whip my ass one more time before grabbing my hand and leading me out, back to our group of friends.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5434 Jan 6, 2013
The faithful flock to the cathedrals,
churches and chapels, book stores,
cafes and schools, take their seats,
fill the pews, listen and recite
“The Word ...”

Outside on the street those starving
for faith congregate as heretics
and apostates shout out blasphemy,
“Poetry is dead!“
while true believers retort,
“There is resurrection!”

But, everyday agnostics and atheists
pass by, deaf to the debate, rapped-up
by the incessant rhythm and rhyme
of a pop-culture sublime that blurs
the line between art and entertainment.

They are blind to the figured wheel
that rolls down the road, through
the meadow and out into the wasteland
over the decayed stone wall where
an old black hearse without gilt
or polish lies buried in the high grass
next to a red wheelbarrow.

At night, you can hear the howl
of the wind bellow and echo
through coffee shops, poetry vaults
and library basements.

Here converts, novices and deacons
still toil down in the catacombs
creating poems from old poets’ bones.

Language becomes image,
The Word is among us.
We bear witness to it here.....
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5435 Jan 6, 2013
I'm tired of Love lost,
of cookie-cutter me missing you
and all of the ridiculous rhymes that ensue.
More and more I am fed up,
plainly sick of inflated ego's insulated by chosen ignorance
or inborn imbalances,
maybe a history of inbreeding
from a catalyst of parochial need.
You are a parody of mental health
shaping the shifting black and white
to propound cheap love, I feel this as a slight.
Committing any wisp of originality
to become an unconscious marketing ploy,
you're looking for glory in methods unlearned
now butchered, bleeding clichés
to stain pages and pages
with your sullen insecurities.
For that I name you an idiot,
a slavering jowls dripping greedy soul.
Comprehend there is no invalidation of your emotions,
just a damning of self neglect and hidden pride in suffering
all laced with the unspoken demand for my respect.

Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5436 Jan 6, 2013
I am the wind that stirs the thoughts of sails
And sends the bright flags fluttering in your heart;
I am the gull that’s blown on last year’s gales
To slice the present and the past apart;
I am the trace of brine upon the breeze,
The whiff of wanderlust upon the air;
I am the sigh of undiscovered seas,
The whisper of a wilderness somewhere;
I am the map you never need to read,
The lodestar shining through a summer’s day;
I am the engine registering your speed,
The compass twitching with you as you stray;
I am the fate no freeborn heart disdains:
I am the road that runs within your veins.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5437 Jan 6, 2013
"... a becoming-wasp of the orchid and a becoming-orchid of the wasp."

A Thousand Plateaus

Hiding its one
terrible testicle
underground it rises
Venus-like, immodest
bloom, complete with eyes,
antennae and wings,
its prominent labellum
(“covered in long dense,
lustrous reddish hairs”)
“similar in colour and structure
to the female wasp’s
abdomen.”

It even smells the same:
“a floral
scent that imitates
the sex pheromone.”

Suckered by this
counterfeit come-on, it
attempts copulation
(properly ‘pseudo-
copulation’)–
mounting the labellum
“with vigorous waving of
wings and abdominal
probing”,
“the genital claspers
at the tip of
the abdomen partially
open.”

The wasp is
a part of the orchid’s
reproductive apparatus.
The wasp is an orchid.
The orchid is a wasp.

...

Having plucked
its rose it rests,
horns of pollinia
on its head, before flying
on to the next false female.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5438 Jan 6, 2013
are bodies in disguise
mixing sighs and
tears in a lost garden.

An air of importance
permeates these
cosmonauts of
compost,

which the pomp of sky and stars
ignores.

Foolish men
inhabit their bodies like
metaphors.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5439 Jan 6, 2013
Naked on a bed, the sex in shadow,
not caring if man or woman.

Something of the caged beast, captive, fallow,
odour of unclean linen.

Darkness beyond everything.
Nothing visible except

limbs turning, seeking rest,
arms and legs bending, unbending

like a puppet examining its joints.
The head moving from side to side

as if struck by invisible fists
from different angles, from inside.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5440 Jan 6, 2013
Our falter, whose art is Heavy,
Halloween be thy name.

Your kingdom’s numb
your children dumb on earth
moldy bread unleavened.

Give us this day our
wayward dead.

And give us our
asses as we forgive those
who ass against us.

And speed us not
into wimp nation
nor bequiver us
with needles,

For thine
is the flimflam and the sour,
and the same fucking
story in leather
for never and ever.

Ah: gin.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5441 Jan 6, 2013
Roused, as breath my sleep had
seized returns—a pink bud swelling
like a peony from this lizard’s throat.
As mate or threat, what strange excess
translated from some foreign grammar
of ornament. Poised on my laptop
he looks like evolution’s little scar,
the digital evergreen of midnight
currency transfers and failing pulses,
ceaseless milt and molt of information.
Though his elbows jut like epaulettes
and an azure eye patch surrounds each
obsidian, mordant bead, revolving
separate, he isn’t miniature or minaudière,
not toy or clown, but a philosopher-king
catechizing the rough or honeyed skin
of things. Head swiveling imperially,
he picks unseen locks, but can’t escape
his nature, all zeroes and ones, void
or integer as god. Being, then watching,
then gone, withdrawn to his peripheries,
returned to that alert, invisible world.
I raise my sleep-numb arm and shed
its thousand scales, my fused bones
lightening, fraying to feathers, to fingers
that begin the day’s unraveling.

Level 6

Since: Apr 12

Location hidden

#5442 Jan 6, 2013
Thank you DeVINE.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5443 Jan 6, 2013
Humhainna wrote:
Thank you DeVINE.
Awe thank you so much Humhainna..........appreciated !
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5444 Jan 6, 2013
For certain, past silence,
swifter truths may come....
perhaps between the blade of a rising sun
perhaps in nightmare,
a distant haunting yet undone;
for it will come
the way retrospective dreaming does
clad in yellow
years stretch and deserts fade
long echoes leaving proof
phantom's leap of memory
welcomes the dawn in constant pulse;
maybe this world is falling far behind.


Would the morning sun tempt and bring claim,
wipe pain of yesterday's yearning
forlorn and weeping,
trembling one more day
the spectator stares and stands;
waiting for advantage beyond the realm of heaven,
to claim a name
a mirage that moans out of chaos.


Pale lamp lifts across the austral night
burrowed bodies in-despite
the current hasten of mortaled feet
those which trod transparent
and question the worth of it
where memory lingered
upon the dash of vanquished laughter.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5445 Jan 6, 2013
Another posture finds me numbed amongst the struggle
the fear of rhythm dance in spoil;
poor is the afternoon adrift in myriad dysfunction -
I stare at poetry; my escape useless,
the cancer of my humanity, departing moreso
into the eternal sulk of touch.
With dare I think myself
the weight of sun with eyelids shut,
I'm not quite the person I was before.


Earthbound; underneath roiling skies, a staccato person
whose catapult is held:
in a catalytic heart
in granite-eyes
in the anthem of despair,
consuming the passing-day of joylessness.


Convince the world ? My supposition would be too belligerent;
I cannot abandon the undeniable aroma...
the faint resemblance of mortalness pressed in rose
the burn of life I inhale;
the elongness of my fingers too thin to grasp,
the flesh of poems forgetting stars
can any prose rise above the hum ?


In masquerade, this life be more than my staccato,
a man wandering in search of blood and earth
and longer songs above a whisper
fed by truth, dispatched by intolerance.


Destiny no longer exists. And shade carries its own horizon.
An inscription honing in-self:
the ash of time and lingering smoke deftly surrounds the heart;
how could I ever hope to conquer it ?

Would I listen for your return; for mine ?
The sea is dying, the surge of sense agreed.


I try to rest my head against clouds;
made notations with one eye open
'can't take me home' is all I hear.
Would Socrates question God -
live between the lines and write above them ?


I await an answer.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

#5446 Jan 6, 2013
Watching the late evening sky
Though dying day light there is hope.
The sunset bleeding purple red
I'm in a kaleidoscope.

Over spilled with silver hush
My life lies bare, what a view!
Missing a sparkle of laughter,
A dreamer's touch like dew.

My heart beats for awakening
Makes a frozen past conquered,
Did I find a soft-toned soul
Help my days in bitterness traveled?

Hope won't die, we always need it
Else the path of life turns narrow,
Coiled the light of eternal flame,
Resolved every state of sorrow.

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