JUST SEX and POETRY

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Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

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#5419
Jan 4, 2013
 

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empty now
the red chair
where I sit
to write of love
no naked body easing down
opening hard
in this rocking of
out bodies
as we join
and move again
breast to breast
I face your hunger
wet and in need
we came here always
to this meeting place
where now there is only
silence quiet breathing
and the sound of
words moving against words
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

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#5420
Jan 4, 2013
 

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At the edge of the forest
In the middle of the darkness
There is a hand,
As cold as copper,
Like a river
Stretched over wide stones.
Despite the hard rocks
And the furious wind
I love her
Like a flock of birds
Or a mild herd come to drink
For the exquisite rage
And sleek moss of her art.
There is something about a poem
That is violent
That is just another way to die,
Each time we realize our mysteries
We are weakened.
When I am writing I often scatter
Across a lascivious empire
Of passionate flowers.
They all seem so subversive
Even the ones with all their clothes on
They are so obsessed with the minute
Implication of who they are.
I believe if there is a struggle
It should go on
Where real lovers are.
I no longer regret
That I have smelted into one piece
For the sake of this poem......
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

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#5421
Jan 4, 2013
 

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I turn my body to the side
where formerly you lay
asleep
or whispering
or hot
where you are not
now
or ever
close
to me
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

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#5422
Jan 4, 2013
 

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I am a wandering child
etched in female palms
and male boots

By the window
I offered my breasts
but the vultures
took to them

Men and woman
separate
like the
wrinkles of a
bull dog
he leads
then I lead
painting similar
landscapes
making babies
but not facing
each other
who am I
who is she
this complement
that doesn’t get
reckoned with
my breasts drip semen
his penis menstruates
we sleep
together
not touching toes

Equality has nothing
to do with love
it has everything
to do with power

I fear my wants
hers are the drip
of a faucet
I maintain
that I am at once
victim and cypress
matriarch and whore
mother invincible
needing but unable
to receive
so I with
strength
worn as a banner
and she with
diminishing power
gets burned like
The Maid of Orléans

Level 6

Since: Apr 12

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#5423
Jan 4, 2013
 

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Princess Hey wrote:
truth is if I could be with anyone,I would still choose you!!!!
Thanks princess Hay. How nice of you?
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

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#5424
Jan 5, 2013
 

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I know this happiness
is provisional:

the looming presences --
great suffering, great fear --

withdraw only
into peripheral vision:

but ineluctable this shimmering
of wind in the blue leaves:

this flood of stillness
widening the lake of sky:

this need to dance,
this need to kneel:
this mystery:

Days pass when I forget the mystery.

Problems insoluble and problems offering
their own ignored solutions
jostle for my attention,
they crowd its antechamber
along with a host of diversions,
my courtiers, wearing
their colored clothes;
cap and bells.

And then
once more the quiet mystery
is present to me,
the throng's clamor
recedes: the mystery
that there is anything, anything at all,
let alone cosmos, joy, memory, everything,
rather than void:
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

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#5425
Jan 5, 2013
 

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Scraps of moon
bobbing discarded on broken water
but sky-moon
complete, transcending
all violation
Here she seems to be talking to herself about
the shape of a life:
Only Once

All which, because it was
flame and song and granted us
joy, we thought we'd do, be, revisit,
turns out to have been what it was
that once, only; every invitation
did not begin
a series, a build-up: the marvelous
did not happen in our lives, our stories
are not drab with its absence: but don't
expect to return for more. Whatever more
there will be will be
unique as those were unique. Try
to acknowledge the next
song in its body-halo of flames as utterly
present, as now or never.
Anonymous

Brisbane, Australia

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#5426
Jan 5, 2013
 

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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

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#5427
Jan 5, 2013
 

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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

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#5428
Jan 5, 2013
 

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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

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#5429
Jan 5, 2013
 

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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

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#5430
Jan 5, 2013
 

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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

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#5431
Jan 5, 2013
 

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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

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#5432
Jan 5, 2013
 

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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

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#5434
Jan 6, 2013
 

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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

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#5435
Jan 6, 2013
 

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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

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#5436
Jan 6, 2013
 

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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

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#5437
Jan 6, 2013
 

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"... 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

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#5438
Jan 6, 2013
 

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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

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#5439
Jan 6, 2013
 

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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.

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