JUST SEX and POETRY
Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5586 Jan 19, 2013
"FORGOTTEN."

Midnight; and she sits alone in the dark of her room
Watching the changing of colors from her rocking chair
No longer able to rock but remembering the sway of the motion
The simple movement of being motionless
Bringing a childlike remembrance to her senses

She wonders what tomorrow will bring; if anything?
Life or maybe even death? Who knows .. and who would care?
She would turn on the lights
If she could move without the pain,
And wonders; when did that happen?

She sees the yellowing of the old lace tablecloth,
draped across her mother's antique chest
Where layers of dust sleep deep enough to catch flies
Those dead filthy things that lay waiting to be devoured
By the daddy long legs that wait and watch from all corners

Oh God; how she hates spiders! They terrify her ..
But they too are waiting .. She doesn't want to think about that!
She remembers being a young girl drawing pictures in the dancing dust;
Nothing there now but forgotten ashes, and the cold muted shards of sunlight that dare to rest there

For no longer do the innocent lines of a child's drawing remain; the ones that no one cared about, not then; not now.
Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5587 Jan 19, 2013
Come closer;
so close that I can feel your breath whisper against my skin

Lean in;
so close that I am consumed all over by your presence

Inhale me;
until I am part of the essence of your soul

Whisper my name;
softly, over and over until I can barely breathe

Look deep into my eyes;
until I am lost in their smoldering flame

Touch me;
ever so softly, cradling my face with your gentle tender hands

Tease me;
as you linger against my soft trembling lips

Kiss me;
as we bend and arch to feel the magic of us

Take me;
for I am ready and willing; more so than I've ever been

to surrender at last to my mortal lust.
Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5588 Jan 19, 2013
Someone tried to steal my bleeding heart long ago, I now guard it with pure absolute restraint

I sit inside; near my solitary large window, watching the darkness

The old amorphous glass separates me from what lives outside

The night sky splashed in deepest indigo
Streaked in reds and gold and hues of rainbow

Beautiful to watch but dangerous to breathe
Better off alone for I trust it not

But this desiccated night I see no thieves in sight
But nonetheless, I dare not go into the light

My inky eyelashes brush my stained albino cheeks, My innocence oppressed and distressed

My pendulous weeping keeps me awake
Content to sit here, watching and waiting

For the early dawn to descend all around me,
And breathe in the lingering morning dew.
Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5589 Jan 19, 2013
A flame wihout its
heat is as useless as a poetry without a thought.
What is man without a soul?
Can he be called human at all?
How useful is an empty house that stands on a barren hill?
A man not capable of thinking? A blank book? Or a sun without the grace of a fire?
How good is the wind without the trees? Or the birds that worship its strength? How good is the ocean without the fishes?
Or the human that embraces its wealth? All things are interconnected and interdependent.
Like air to mankind and to the trees. And trees to mankind and to the soil. Like air to the waters.
Waters to mankind. Waters to the soil. As fire to man as to the trees. Mankind to the trees and
to the soil. And trees to the soil, fire to the soil, man, fire. Fire and man. The fire within a man. Enflaming
the soul of another man. We are all relatives in the dance of life. We are integral part of the earth.
The air, the waters, the sun and the moon. Everything is hitched to everything else. The air,
the waters, the sun and the moon. The salt of the ocean is in our blood. The calcium of the rocks
is in our bones. The genes of ten thousand generations is in our cells. The fire of the sun king is in our spirits. The might of the winds is in our lungs. The most powerful element of the universe is in our hearts. The mighty winds
rage and we bend for them. The fields yield and we kneel for them. The blossoms open and we rejoice.
One could not pluck a flower without hurting a star. The wolves could not haunt for a
meal without troubling a heart. An atom could not deteriorate without worrying
the universe. But along
the way man seems
to forget. And most
of the time, man does
not pay attention to
its depth. Man be-
comes too ignorant
to understand. That
man is the heart of it
all. The pulse that keeps
the system alive. Man ne-
eds not observe but feel. M
an needs to penetrate quite-
ly as earthworms. Underst-
ands as soils absorb water. Pon-
der as the winds gather strength. Spread
as the vines that overrun the yard. Let your flame be the guiding light........

Do not let it be the fire that burns.

Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5590 Jan 19, 2013
Ideas becoming ink for your pen to bleed
Visions seen, held still on once blank pages to be viewed for eternity
A whole life’s experiences boiled down
Like Crack
To powerful words that, once touched by the tongue is nothing less than ecstasy
If spoken able to bring you back to a place and time once known
A time machine for you and your audience to travel in
Time being bent like young bamboo sticks to the whim of the speaker
If spoken traveling through the air targeting the ears of the ignorant like a snipers bullet
Able to hit you square between the eyes
Blindsiding its victim
Stopping in the frontal lobe
It is hear where the bullet is digested
The face goes blank, no expression
Eyes roll back starring at the bullet now lodged in the brain
The person brought back to life to experience it all over again.....
That is poetry

Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5591 Jan 19, 2013
F uck your unbecoming

Rant Like a child
Saying things far less mild

Feeding Soliloquy
Deep within the Willow Tree
Keeping the third-eye satiated

Blackened remorse as we follow the course
Of the mare, riding into oblivion
Set with the setting sun
Break with the wind
Somber up immortality
Lessened by your falsities

We all believe in something
But it doesn't mean we're right
We all believe in something
I'm sure we'll learn to fight

"Blessed are the ignorant,"
Is a line I'll never say
For "ignorance is bliss"
Is a lie so far away

Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5592 Jan 19, 2013
Wounded fragments of shattered dreams stain the pavement and sidewalks while we all move in a pattern unknown and unseen.
Poised perfectly in the sky are the ends of strings that pull us along, and we follow, apathetic to the vile disgrace of not being in control.
The sun neither rises nor falls, we circle around to have him stare at us with curious and diminished eyes.
The stars wink and shine like diamonds in a fog, long after their reign has ended and their souls have departed.

Half forgotten synapses and faded photographs are the pinpoint of realization in the half written tragedy and comedy of man.

Can we feel the shattered slice into our feet? Do we drink of the cup of color or our we drowning ourselves in a cesspool of grey?
Frayed and patched we are.
The wolf is ignorant while the sparrow is enlightened. They chase each other. Dream by dream, thought by thought, reaction by action, into the depths of our souls. Neither can triumph over the other and perhaps that is the design. Blueprints hidden carefully by an architect far beyond comprehension of morality and sustenance are the makings of an encore, a time for roses after the curtain falls.
For none can know the beauty and mystery behind the short circuit of synapse and the ceasing of beats.
Perception of dimensions beyond us our limited and jaded, causing lies disguised as truth. Fear of the mystery causes fear of us all. We are all that is here. We are the tourniquet and we are the axe.

Oh child of wonder… Oh traveler of distance. See us all.

We are two sides of a spinning coin. We are everything and we are nothing. Perhaps the strings will be cut. We will overcome the misfortune of breathing in that which is farthest from the truth. Be the crack in the pattern.

Be the narrow path.

Be better than us.

Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5593 Jan 19, 2013
Illiterate girls are the ones I have no respect for.
They show they're body, then go back for more.
I'm not one for ignorant names, but then they wonder why they get called a whore.
They think getting high is cool. They don't know what they're in for.
They don't know that one time it's going to be too much when they go back for more.
That's when they'll regret ever sneaking out their back door.
They'll drink their sorrows, just for fun, reasons I don't even know what for.
Then they'll never go home because all they want is more.
I don't understand how anything but getting "too turned up" is a bore.
Girls that show their body and then talk about it, who knows what for;
It seems like they have everything and still keep wanting more.
It's so sick how when they get smashed they're keeping score.
Females give themselves a bad name, when they get insulted, they wonder what for.
Every day I see it, and every day I hate it more and more.
Girls, respect yourself.
And please, "you are" is you're.
Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5594 Jan 19, 2013
Shallow mind.

Too lazy to find.

Perhaps too dull .

A hollow rind.

Life's love of intricacy.

You know complexity.

On a level that boggles one's mind.

Our creation is full of this.

Plain and simple.

We are wired this way.

Complexity.

Too dumb too dull.

No way just being lazy I say.

But to a half wit hey.

Life's still full and strong.

So loving no matter if the minds gone wrong.

There's a difference you know.

Cunning so sharp this mind that we have.

Yet so few use it wisely they say.

They roam about in ignorant bliss.

Oh the wonders of creation they do miss.

So reach out.

Much to do.

Experience the writing art and the languages too.

Or sit with half closed mind.

And become a fool.

This experience we call life.

Is so vast.

Use your mind to make it last.

Complexity.

The taste of the Devine.

It's a beautiful experience.

I'm not lying.
Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5595 Jan 20, 2013
If I could move a mountain
With nothing but my hands,
And I could make the rain fall
An all drought tortured lands,
If I could make things better
On every single day
I could still not change opinions
And make others think my way

It is futile that we think
Another's mind could be shaped,
That with just our simple words
Their ignorance has escaped,
And yet no one does consider
That they might just be wrong
'Cause to find a new opinon
Could take too very long

When others disagree with you,
Ignore them.
When others say what you are,
Warn them,
When others tell the truth,
Assail them.
When your argument fails,
Berate them.
When they use your tactics against you,
Report them.
When your illusions are challenged,
Exalt them.
When all else fails,
Lie!
Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5596 Jan 20, 2013
Simple was the myth
That had been told
Many times over
Yet still known not

Something within
made it ordinary
In the most
special of ways

People lived by it
for something?
And people based ideas
around the ideal
that I haven't begun to fathom

(Or perhaps I just don't care
to stare at the reflections there;
I am uncertain in regards to minds
hardened by pointless morals)

Strange was the way that ghost
had explained it to me then,
But I didn't really pay much attention.
Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5597 Jan 20, 2013
I just lay awake,
trying to get some sleep.
but still I concentrate
to force a lucid dream,
of you and your eyes

It seems to last for days,
I still swim in the wake
as I rise...
along with the sun there's rain.
rainbows cascade inside,
outside, through my mind
nothing like a nightmare

Another perfect day,
filled by some simple things,
every time I blink I see
perfect little symmetrical
brown tidal waves
on the inside of lids
that cover mine,

I see your eyes
everywhere I look,
every time I blind,
I see green...
Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5598 Jan 20, 2013
In my silent canvas I paint expectations of perfection and beauty.

Each note is like a crystal of rain. Its own size, its own shape, its own speed, its own shade.

Each tiny diamond helps drench my soul filling me with emotions otherwise lost.

Completing me and keeping me from wilting into a dry broken mess.

As my lips touch the soft reed, crystalline water flows from the bell. It creates a perfectly analogous circle of sound and in an instant evaporates into the air around me.

It leaves me the homely vibrations until they soak into my silent canvas.

~DeVine.

“Quite Contrary”

Level 3

Since: Nov 12

Location hidden

#5599 Jan 20, 2013
LOVE

To be
The first to come.

Rene Char
Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5600 Jan 20, 2013
NinaRocks wrote:
LOVE
To be
The first to come.
Rene Char
Poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action.

Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives.”
—
Audre Lorde.
Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5601 Jan 20, 2013
"PARADISE WOMAN."

Oh, to be ready for it, unfucked, ever-fucked.
To have only one critical eye that never
divides a flaw from its lesson.

To play without shame. To be a woman
who feels only the pleasure of being used
and who reanimates the user’s

anguished release in a land
for the future to relish, to buy
new tights for, to parade in fishboats.

To scare up hope without fear of hope,
not holding the hole, I will catch
the superbullet in my throat

and feel its astounding force
with admiration. Absorbing its kind
of glory. I must be someone

with very short arms to have lost you,
to be checking the windows
of the pawnshop renting space in my head,

which pounds with all the clarity
of a policeman on my southernmost door.
To wish and not jinx it: to wish

and not fish for it: to wish and forget it.
To ratchet myself up with hot liquid
and find a true surprise.

Prowling the living room for the lightning,
just one more shock,
to bring my slow purity back.

To miss you without being so damn cold
all the time. To hold you without dying otherwise.
To die without losing death as an alternative.

To explode with flesh, without collapse.
To feel sick in my skeleton, in all the serious
confetti of my cells, and know why.

Loving you has made me so scandalously
beautiful. To give myself to everyone but you.
To luck out of you. To make any other mistake.

Since: Dec 12

Location hidden

#5602 Jan 20, 2013
Come to me my lover and let me show you the love of a woman

No my sweet darling I will get those clothes for you for I have longed to undress you

You watch as I glide my hands up your body and slowly unbutton your shirt

Deliberately I kiss each inch of your skin as it is exposed

I gently slide your shirt from your body and throw it to the floor

Sliding my had down your chest to your pants I undo your belt

And I wonder will you spank me with it later.

I begin to undo your pants and hear your heavy breathing

I must admit how much I like that

And

It makes me moist

But I do not stop there

Gently I slip my hands in your briefs and slide your pants down slowly landing kisses on

You as I do.

I let my silk sarong wrap fall to the floor

We are face to face in all our nakedness and for a moment I want to enjoy the view for it is so very lovely.

You scoop my into your arms and playfully throw me to the bed

I feel the heat between my thighs rising

I straddle you and begin to sensually rub you with my body

I offer up my breast in which you feverishly suckle my pink nipple

And when I rise from my position I find your firm hands about my waist

Eyes full of passion

You want me

And

Yes love, I want you

I shower you with feather like kisses upon your nipple and taking the tip of my tongue I bring it to full erection.

Slowly and seductively you are moving underneath me

I my tulip begins throbbing

I begin moving down to that special place all the while landing soft kisses on your body

I enjoy sucking your dick and love when I can bring you to full climax

I like the look on your face and enjoy feeling you taut and trembling

I feel powerful in that moment knowing that every slight and clever movement of my mouth strummed the stretch nerves of your soul.

Your climax was beautiful

O so very beautiful

But I am not through with you and tell you so as I begin to mount you

Nothing compares to your warm entrance and I gasp as you enter my garden

Your hands are firm on my waist as I move by body first slowly and then picking up rhythm

Your hands cupping my full breast all the while

Moving rhythmically in tune with each other

Until the initial throbbing becomes something more

I am reaching orgasm

Throwing my head back and arching my back

You pull me down and drive me up

Until I am shouting in pure ecstasy and finally I soak you with my nectar



Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5603 Jan 20, 2013
F uck this. there is no universal “kind of girl” worth coming back for or worth marrying or worth risking heartbreak for.

I am so f ucking tired of being told that if I were some certain, magical way, my hypothetical future partners would be willing to make grand romantic gestures or even smaller, simple ones.

There is no “kind of girl” worth coming back for, no hair cut or sense of humour or world perspective or education that makes all men able to love you more or harder.

There are simply some people or maybe only one person to whom you are worth coming back and they are the ones who love you.

“Quite Contrary”

Level 3

Since: Nov 12

Location hidden

#5604 Jan 20, 2013
Homunculus Nebula wrote:
<quoted text>
Poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action.
Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives.”
—
Audre Lorde.
You think I was being cute. The point being poetry does not have to be long winded to be effective. Rene Char joined the Surrealist group in 1929, and edited a collection of poems with Breton and Eluard in 1930. I discounted it as well the first time I read it until I realized that he had to have meant more by it. Maybe the woman he was with didn't and so he felt his manhood was threatened or that she really didn't love him the way he loved her.
Please don't condescend to me. I am well aware of how much poetry means.
Also, I am to tired for this, so goodnight, sir.
Homunculus Nebula

The Gap, Australia

#5605 Jan 20, 2013
I hate the way my coffee turns cold. It reminds me too much of ours days together.

How our warm feet pressed against the cold floor boards, and our lips met with rush.

Yet these days have no impact upon you.

I don’t remember when I lost you. All I know is, I did.

We walked this drafty house. Heads low. Sullen glances. You uttered not a word. Was it your medication that made you so melancholy, or was it my frozen distance?

You seem to not remember my warm laughter. I can’t seem to remember it either.

Your anger only add miles to my distance. Your immaturity is just reassurance of my choices.

Yet all I want is to not be so far. When did I lose you?

I wanted to love you. Lay our heads upon the bitter floor boards one last time as I kiss your flushed lips. Now it is too late.

I lost myself within this frigid love.

I am your broken heart

I remember your first love

I once tried to mend and you kept me torn

repeating memories of loss

and words like “I cannot be fixed”

beings are not broken

see I see this

I am your broken heart

I remember your last love

and the different ones that could have been loves

if they only knew

if they only knew

to not listen to you broken heart script

of telling on yourself

of saying there is no other way so leave

I am your broken heart

and while you heal I am here to remind you

that you can love again

and while you begin

I can mend enough to let love in....

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