Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5767 Jan 23, 2013
She raises the smooth
brass kaleidoscope
and watches as coloured glass slivers
conspire together.
New worlds create themselves before her eyes.

Garnet spires flirt with sapphire
and turquoise.
Topaz and amethyst meet in harmony,
a selenic mystery.
A melody of stars singing a tune only she
can hear.

Eclectic patterns shiver and shimmer
then splinter,
sparking off at tangents of
tourmaline and jasper.
An image complete in itself.

I had a kaleidoscope once.
Sometimes
I still see oblique patterns.

Slowly she turns the wheel, finds
a jewelled tapestry
to her liking, and hands the kaleidoscope
to me.
For a time I see the world she sees
and it is good.
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5768 Jan 23, 2013
The house is silent
now she is gone.

Outside my window
a mountain of firelight
bleaches the sky.

In the wind
a cinnabar shimmer
as leaves fall.

Raining fire
the Liquidambar
heralds in the winter.

Soon a skeleton stands,
waiting.
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5769 Jan 23, 2013
Exposed by shell fire, the mosaic,
with colours vibrant
as a butterfly’s wings,
rises from the ashes of war
and twelve hundred years of earth.

Under the guidance of a padre
schooled in relics of the past
that intrude on the present,
the tile mosaic emerged slowly.

As the workers lifted the treasure out
the padre saw a chalice of green.
‘ Shall I not drink this cup?’
The words hum in his head
with new meaning.

Sacrifice is common here,
lives laid down like cards –
Open Misere.....
The padre has seen crosses enough
to last a lifetime,

At the east end of the mosaic
is an inscription in Greek.
Austere in black and white
it contrasts with the green and gold
of the Shellal Mosaic.

Below the inscription,
pale as yesterdays,
they find the bones of a saint.
The workers saw the mosaic
but the padre saw only the bones
and their stark reminder against the earth.

These days the Shellal Mosaic rests
in the Australian War Museum,
but the bones of the saint, where are they?
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5770 Jan 23, 2013
Tense as fisherman’s reel, irrigating dry furrows deep

into gnarled roots, scratched and acid etched/

anxieties and misconceptions disconnecting spirit

in tarnished dull silver spirals, silted canals, cracked

craniums, depleted uranium, a half-life half lived/

rigoured bodies ossifying in isolated vile madness/

pulping your liver in masticating teeth/ emasculating

yourself without the usual misogynistic assistance/

you crawl through an oedipal underworld, an Orpheus

spell bound by flickering television light/ a web of

black Lilith’s spells woven round your panicked head,



fragmenting

fracturing

splintering...



You are a dichotomy, an anomaly: an idiot

on a ship of fools; you levitate and fall; crashing

through the cotton candy fog of mindless mind.

Soft as pus, you sag, ragged and sunken:

a doll-form with big doll eyes.

Love me, love me, love me, you cry, semen

arcing in parabolic, diabolic flight; and you implode

in the ashes of night - a quantum step away

from the epicentre of your being.



Dissolving in the boiling cauldron of the crone moon,

all sense of self: you erase all memories,

like so many bar room brawls and midnight fucks;

slamming tequila in the lowest circle of hell, with

Dante by your elbow whispering red flashbulb light

into your retina...



A soft vulva hotly enfolds you.
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5771 Jan 23, 2013
It’s Friday and they don’t send flowers anymore. There is no opening in this door:

just a punched hole of perspex, warm and smoky against my cheek. I see...



A void of chequered floor, an empty corridor, no-one allowed to visit anymore.



No more tripping of days in a blind haze of city streets, high on the secretions

of forbidden adrenal glands. No more soft-centred clapping of hands.

No more passes for the day. And all for my own good, they say.



Would that I were past caring: past wanting to share in the mad rambling circus

of life... would that I could resign to a life confined: would that I could endure,

but their pharmacology cannot affect a cure.



Yesterday, I ran helter-skelter, naked as a baby, all the way down the high street:

handing out fistfuls of fivers to any woman I saw with sad brown eyes:

any woman who looked like you.



I am burning my wings, my beautiful angel wings. The flames are carmine,

scarlet, vermilion and crimson: hot as painted canvas; raw and violent

as unreciprocated dreams.



There are shadows within the shadows. The ward is filled with shadows;

and I am kept awake thru’ the pre-dawn hours. The lithium, they say, is ineffectual.

I am unresolved: their science, a library of undifferentiated symbols.



I cannot sleep. The blood rubs rough against the thin walls of my arteries: a skein

of chemicals, devoid of volition, simmering in a gurgle of de-oxygenated agitation.



I smoke too many cigarettes. The nicotine clogs up, but does not dissolve,

the acid salts beneath this skin. I am too thin: these protruding bones,

a too prominent intimation of my mortality.



Autumn winds blow rusted leaves past the ward windows. Pensioner women wear

poppies and think about dead lovers. And every time I close my eyes I see your face.



There is too much time for remembrance: not enough television to confuse

the senses. I hear a sad trumpet. The queen lays down a wreathe

in the blue flickering light. Summer is a closed door.

It’s Friday... and they don’t send flowers anymore.



Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5772 Jan 23, 2013
The passing is of your own making my friend,
The unanswered letters
The lost and twice changed addresses,
The visits that time always managed to excuse,
The leftovers from a feast of memories scattered on a paper plate
While the guests that never came, stand on a faraway doorstep
Begging the door to open.

It’s hard to take the stitches from a tapestry and leave no shadow,
Harder still, on cloth so rotten, to use fresh thread.
Bleach and starch and bold brushed colour shall take me now,
No overlay but a single stroke,
Unbroken and easy
On the ticker tape of tomorrow’s yesterdays.
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5773 Jan 23, 2013
Poetry it’s a black, white, yellow and red thing,
A love, hate, mad and mellow thing,
A “I’ve got to break out of the middle of my head and tell the world I’m not
dead,” thing,
A “Let’s cut the bull and it exactly how it is,” thing,
A “I need to caress that woman with words,” thing,
A “I’ve never told anyone how I feel,” thing,
It’s a way down deep thing,
It’s an odd thing,
It’s a god thing,
It’s a flesh and spirit thing,
It’s a “What can I do,” thing,
An understanding you thing
It’s an “I am of value thing,” thing
A freedom thing,
A truth thing,
A word thing,
And in the beginning…………………………
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5774 Jan 23, 2013
Whiskey and ginger,
Van Morrison,
A log on the burner
And I’m feeling
Sentimental
Alone
And happy
With you curled up
In my imagination.

&fe ature=share&list=AL94UKMTq g-9AUNAYj2Z85igZHoONeeilJ

“Just a lil' humor there.....”

Since: Sep 12

OR NOT .... <[;-)

#5775 Jan 23, 2013
Humhainna wrote:
Genius poets here
Isn't this the most fantastic thread ever? I only arrived at Offbeat in July of this past year and when I decided to look in here I was astounded. I blushed, I laughed, I cried and I felt almost every emotion there is to feel. Some of it is more than I can take, but so what. I agree - Genius poets here.

I also agree with those that would like to know who they are that have written them. I like Adrian, but dang - he is a tough one and doesn't make that easy to do. I would love to know which ones he has actually written. No matter, I intend to continue enjoying it.

Shame that those who don't care for him have to stop in here at all. They say they want to protect the rest of us from him. They say he's hurt them in some way. They fell in lust with him as so many do. One fed me a little information one day and when I thought A was being rude to me, I posted a few words that meant something to him, but I never intended to hurt him in anyway, nor do I know anything more about him and I've already even forgotten what I posted to him. I don't save stuff like so many do to use at a later date.

Who can help but be curious? If he wasn't 22 years old as he states he is -- I'd want him to be my neighbor.:)))
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5776 Jan 23, 2013
This is really crazy;
Three thirty in the morning
Sleepless
And not even a hard on.

I should at least
Be worrying about tomorrow’s interview
But my head is filled with mythical journeys
And memories of shared moments with giants.

Ginsberg gentle in a black trilby
The students had given him in Milan
Leaning forward in a hill country guest house
To try on Nancy’s matching scarf.
Pure wool and long it hung over his grey overcoat
All the way the floor.

The next morning Bob served him breakfast
While Allen resplendent in his underwear
Signed old L.P.s and an ancient copy of ‘Howl’.

Later we all had photos taken in the garden
On the camera Ross lost at Kereville a few weeks later.

When Ginsberg died he made the front page of ‘The Times’
And Bob took to the road writing me long letters
In Pop Hicks Route 66 Diner which he never posted.

They sit in his notebooks and he won’t let me read them.
Says they have to come by mail
But I long to glimpse into the shape of his madness
See how much I recognize
As he retraced his steps across America
In search of lost communes and Ramblin’ Jack Elliot.

I have been through his visions of decay
And need to know how much difference vastness makes.

Literature has this trick
Of making moments as long as legend itself
While the rest of wonder
Why our lives don’t measure up to what we have read.

We even know the lies
And how Orwell ran back to his mother between chapters
Of ‘Down and Out in London and Paris’
And how Kerouac never cut the apron strings
But documented the images he had of his angelic friends
In a series of novels
That took a whole generations across the globe
With nothing but their rucksacks
And some crazy sharing of consciousness
That I have never seen repeated.

There was a power in those dog eared paper backs
We all carried in our souls that does not diminish
And even now
With decades and families and a thousand journeys
Under my belt
They still reach out disturbing my nights
With their dreamtime cries of endless movement

And Bob and me and those cowboy poets
I have shared fires and whiskey with
Take turns at an endless vigil
With a willingness we never question.

“Just a lil' humor there.....”

Since: Sep 12

OR NOT .... <[;-)

#5777 Jan 23, 2013
General Disarray wrote:
hmmm interestly boring
Interesting
A brand new profile (SOCK) created seven hours ago and three hours before you made this post - now showing 119 posts on this Jan. 23, at 12:49pm Central Time.

General Disarray - Created profile at 7am (central) with FCUK The Tomorrow as Headline and location reads The Mariana Trench.

Why stop - why post here at all? I'm sure you find yourself much more interesting, but we who come here to enjoy don't find you interesting in the least and you can just take lb with you and get lost. Have a nice day.
:)

Level 6

Since: Apr 12

Location hidden

#5778 Jan 24, 2013
Homunculus Nebula wrote:
CAUGHT IN BETWEEN GLADNESS AND SADNESS
CAUGHT IN BETWEEN HOPE AND FEAR
CAUGHT IN BETWEEN NEAR AND FAR
CAUGHT IN BETWEEN WHEREEVER YOU ARE.
Nice.

Level 2

Since: Jan 13

Location hidden

#5779 Jan 24, 2013
Sex is full of lies. The body tries to tell the truth. But, it's usually too battered with rules to be heard, and bound with pretenses so it can hardly move. We cripple ourselves with lies.
Jim Morrison

At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.
Plato

Since: Aug 09

Location hidden

#5780 Jan 24, 2013
But a douche .... 2 fer 1,

What that hell

Stick in your guys bum

Assdrain would love it

His round frame will sux it

Poetry gay or hetro

Has two meanings

With no feelings

A freak Dude prowling

Both sexes

An old Man lovin his demented ways

Hey give me you naked peni$ photos

Ill give ya mine
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5781 Jan 24, 2013
It was 104 degrees yesterday
We met at the ice house
Sweat dripping down my face
My hair braided
I wore a white t-shirt, no bra, shorts
We met upstairs
You told me to undress
I did as requested
You took out a long, thin piece of leather cording
And ran the cording through my ass crack
Pulling tight
You ran the cording through my p ussy lips
Pulling tight
You ran the cording through the pulleys on each wooden beam
Pulling tight
You pulled on the leather cord
Tying it tight to the beam
Pulling my hair
My head bent backwards
You watched the leather stretch my p ussy lips apart
You bent down and lightly lick my clit
I moaned in delight
My nipples
Erect
Hard
You took two clothes-pins
Attached them to my nipples
Twisting my nipples as you attached them
The tips of my nipples sticking out
You flicked your fingers on the ends
Flicking harder each time
Flick
Flick
Flick
I moaned
Pain
You bent down
Running your hands down my thighs
You attached a clothespin to my clit
You attached clothes-pins to my p ussy lips
You tugged on the leather cord
My head bent further back
The cording digging deeper into my ass
Spreading my p ussy's lips wider
My legs burning
I want to step down, I asked
You smiled
The leather is tight in my ass
I beg you to loosen the leather
You smiled
You ran your hand down the length of the leather in my hair
Over my wrists
Down my ass and through my p ussy
I was dripping wet
You smiled
I licked your fingertips
Licking my juices
Tasting myself on your body
You whispered in my ear
"I am going to inflict
Slow, steady pain on your ass, your p ussy, your tits”
My eyes are wide in fear
You step back and raise the flogger over your head
Slowly bring it down on my ass
Again and again
My ass turning red
I dance on my toes trying to avoid the next hit
The clothespins on my clit clicking together
My clit and p ussy throbbing in pain
Again and again
You hit my ass with the flogger
Tears
I beg you to stop
You step in front of me
Raise the flogger over your head
Strike my tits
The clothes-pins fly off
Hitting the floor
Slapping my nipples over and over
With the flogger
I scream in pain
I beg you to stop
You raise the flogger and slap my p ussy
The clothespins click together
Hitting each other
I scream out in pain
Please, please, please stop
Please take the clothespin off my clit
Please take the clothespins off my p ussy
Let me step down
My legs are burning
You smiled
You step behind me
I heard you unbuckle your belt from your pants
You immediately slap the belt on my thighs
"Are your legs burning", you ask
Please stop, I beg you
I scream
Please stop
You slap my thighs again
Harder and quicker
Slowly moving the belt strikes
Higher up to my ass cheek
I sob
"Count for me," you demand
"Ten strikes, five for each cheek," you demand
I sob
Please no I beg you
"Count," you yell
One, I whisper
You strike my ass
Two, I whisper
You strike my ass again
Three
Striking harder
Four
Harder still
Five
My eyes burning
Tears streaming down my cheeks
You strike
My ass full of red welts
Intense pain
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
I scream with each strike
You smiled
Intense pain
You untied the leather cord
I fell to the floor on my knees
You grabbed the braid
Holding it over my head
My mouth opened wide in pain
My cheeks covered in tears
You shoved your hard c ock
Deep into my mouth
You pulled and pulled on my braid
F ucking my mouth
Pulling my braid
Twisting it in your hand
F ucking deep into my mouth
My eyes closed tight
Your c um down my throat
Soothing
Pleasure
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5782 Jan 24, 2013
I want to take you to the edge
and then over
now, I should be sleeping now,
right now
I should have been sleeping
a long time ago
instead im thinking of you
and how long long long its been
since you were naked
warm naked next to me naked
hot and inside
and fuck it ain't no way
I'm falling asleep easy tonight
no, not tonight,
it's not tonight anymore,
tonights over:
it's already tomorrow
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5783 Jan 24, 2013
tucked away near a hidden hollow
is the stone cabin peppered
with smattering of fresh white snow

a long grey wispy trail of smoke
rises into the cloudless cyan sky
and turns southward by winter's gale

inside the safe sanctuary it smells of soup
mixed with the rising homemade bread
taking me back to childhood joys

I hear her softly singing as she cooks
the cats weave through her steps
and graze her calves peeking from black gown

I enter her domain to fill my cup
with Kenyan coffee and a touch of cream
she smiles impishly as if recalling the night

a kiss exchanged as my hands slip between
soft silk and softer warm thrill of skin
finding nothing but flesh underneath

she giggles as I lift her lithe lovely body
placing her at the edge of the counter
her legs wrap tautly around my neck

my tongue snuggles between her pink gate
as I drink from her endless fountain
lapping her sweet musk scented sex

till her moans punctuate each wicked flick
and her river flows freely feeding my lust
a succulent dessert enjoyed before the main course
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5784 Jan 24, 2013
Laura Beth wrote:
But a douche .... 2 fer 1,
What that hell
Stick in your guys bum
Assdrain would love it
His round frame will sux it
Poetry gay or hetro
Has two meanings
With no feelings
A freak Dude prowling
Both sexes
An old Man lovin his demented ways
Hey give me you naked peni$ photos
Ill give ya mine
I just love to write this poetry,
In my erotic state of mind –
It does relaxing things to me,
Life’s stresses just unwind!

I love to share my fantasies,
With those who like it too –
It is my fondest fantasy,
To know I “got to” YOU!

So here you are receiving this,
Please vote your favorite ones –
And leave a comment for me too,
I would appreciate it tons!

T H A N K Y O U !

~Adrian DeVine.
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5785 Jan 24, 2013
120 Days in Wonderland.......
Alice has grown older now,
the lines on her face betray her age like
the princess seams at azure dress burst open;
Lolita's gone and gotten fertile.
fleshy teardrops hanging
blonde areolae straining
Goosebumps on her breasts when the Man in the Moon comes out.

This is what he always wanted to say.

Man in the Moon holds a clinquant monocle
over his gimp eye
watch Alice grow her forearm out long;
lipstick fingers nubbed by bitten-down
pinky-grey fingernails
while the caterpillar sucks his hookah
like a cock and drinks the precum smoke
while his hundred hands
make an orgy of himself,
and the Cheshire Cat prepares
The Rape of the Kyoto Serissa.

Serissa is a dryad-
all carmel-skinned Moore
with twining bushy spirulina hair.
Chesh plies a square of tawny bark,
it is the peeling of a stocking
from a plump thigh.
Cat whine a feline howl
full of heat and lust scratch
into her phloem; her xylem
open up blood vessels full of sugar.

This is what it always was.

Alice manipulates
her clit in the hollow of her wrist
her ulna, stripped of nail and flesh
penetrates her sweet asshole which is
blonde like her nipples,
her arm grown out long like a trunk
curling around her legs to spread,
to lift, to make her lower half
a doll.

General Caterpillar fucks himself with his hookah,
the knitted fabric pipe knotted
around his balls, and
asphyxiates his orgasm.

TigerLily and Rose explode together in unending climax,
leaves pull one to the other to fertilize,
stamens actively fucking pistils,
yellow cockheads spewing powder on
the stem of an ebony shaft.
How fascinated he was with you.

Cheshire's claws rip
from his paws and
Alice grinds her teeth
when sticky honey pours from her
tight, protuberant snatch
until they shatter like
caramel candy, sheathed in
a thick but destructible chocolate shell.

Feet embed in belly buttons when
they all fuck the air and mesh up together,
root structures take up home in vaginal orifice,
in open mouth, in cupped hand.
Form a circle as orgasm commences,
blend their colors
sounds together,
lose consciousness and
glass shatters all around when Man in the Moon drops his monocle.
Homunculus Nebula

Brisbane, Australia

#5786 Jan 24, 2013
120 Days in Wonderland
Alice has grown older now,
the lines on her face betray her age like
the princess seams at azure dress burst open;
Lolita's Gone and Gotten Fertile.
fleshy teardrops hanging
blonde areolae straining
Goosebumps on her breasts when the Man in the Moon comes out.

This is what he always wanted to say.

Man in the Moon holds a clinquant monocle
over his gimp eye
watch Alice grow her forearm out long;
lipstick fingers nubbed by bitten-down
pinky-grey fingernails
while the caterpillar sucks his hookah
like a cock and drinks the precum smoke
while his hundred hands
make an orgy of himself,
and the Cheshire Cat prepares
The Rape of the Kyoto Serissa.

Serissa is a dryad-
all carmel-skinned Moore
with twining bushy spirulina hair.
Chesh plies a square of tawny bark,
it is the peeling of a stocking
from a plump thigh.
Cat whine a feline howl
full of heat and lust scratch
into her phloem
her xylem
open up blood vessels full of sugar.

This is what it always was.

Alice manipulates
her clit in the hollow of her wrist
her ulna, stripped of nail and flesh
penetrates her asshole which is
blonde like her nipples,
her arm grown out long like a trunk
curling around her legs to spread,
to lift, to make her lower half
a doll.

General Caterpillar fucks himself with his hookah,
the knitted fabric pipe knotted
around his balls
asphyxiates his orgasm.

TigerLily and Rose explode together in unending climax,
leaves pull one to the other to fertilize,
stamens actively fucking pistils,
yellow cockheads spewing powder on
the stem of an ebony shaft.
How fascinated he was with you.
Cheshire's claws rip
from his paws and
Alice grinds her teeth
when sticky honey pours from her
tight, protuberant snatch
until they shatter like
caramel candy sheathed in
a thick but destructible chocolate shell.
Feet embed in belly buttons when
they all fuck the air and mesh up together,
root structures take up home in vaginal orifice,
in open mouth, in cupped hand.

Form a circle as orgasm commences,
blend their colors
sounds together,
lose consciousness and
glass shatters all around when Man in the Moon drops his monocle.

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