JUST SEX and POETRY
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6663 Apr 24, 2013
The consequence of sex

A hurried fuck

Do the right thing: stop living

Forced into a nightmare

Marital bliss

is not the drink you ordered

Lose your anger on your wife

Assert your independence

The stupid cow who changed your life



Flirting with the skirt

Mistakes are home sleeping

Dad’s a game you sometimes play

But soon get bored of

You soon get bored



Bedtime stories

Toys on the floor

Endless questions

He started it....no she started it

First day at school

Riding a bike

Trips to the zoo

Parents Evenings

End of term reports

Pocket money

Summer Holidays

The facts of life

Puberty

First kiss

First girlfriend

Putting up with mood swings

‘You just don’t understand me!’

16th birthday

Revising for exams

Driving Test

‘Can I borrow the car?’

A levels

Off to college

Graduation

First job

The boy becomes a man



You missed all of these

You missed all of these

You never missed any of these
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6665 Apr 24, 2013
You are fresh words
on the old stone of time.

Here, silence honors you,
here now, the earth turns,
the sun beats, the rain sings.

You are not adrift
among the wheeling constellations
but held by the hoop of love.

Ancient as the ring of standing stones,
prophetic as a snow-ring round the moon,
marriage is.

Wear your vows well when laughter
is the wine between you

or when night lies like a bolster
down the middle of your bed.

May the cold shoulder of the hill
always afford you shelter.
May the sun always seek you
however dark the place.

We who are wordless know
thorns have roses.

And when you go from this day
the burnished stars go with you.

When you go forward from this day,
the love that grew you
grows with you

and marriage is struck,
iron on stone, hand in hand.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6666 Apr 24, 2013
The first time we lay naked
in my bed
we did not have sex
but weathered the worst together
I kissed your scars

And read Plath to you
and we laughed of how cliché,
we are.
Billy Joe Jack

Peakhurst, Australia

#6667 Apr 24, 2013
Roses are red
Violets are blue
This poem is over
How bout we screw?
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6668 Apr 24, 2013
I told you
it was liberating in a way
once I found out
you can be in love
with more than one person
at the same time

but maybe I was lying

we were standing on the edge of spring
and the skies were clear and the road was clear
and I thought I could see into the heart
of the mountains so I told you what I saw

now summer is coming and my own heart spins
like the slender shadow of a sun dial
until I’m not sure where I stand
and will I fall at my own feet?

still, I have loved every flower
I have pulled from the side of the road
and I would not wish to put them back

but what does it say
that I find it so sweet
to rip their lives from them
just to put them in your hair
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6669 Apr 24, 2013
I’m waiting for you
to join me tonight
as the prelude
to a long summer
reveals itself
through fluid lines
of cross winds
ribboning
a soft exhale
up entwined curtains
dancing like wings
upon the song
of an angel
fluttering
on my windowsill

“Want A Friend, Be One”

Level 9

Since: Mar 12

Almost Half Way There...

#6670 Apr 24, 2013
it hurts to have someone in your heart but cant have them in your arms!!!!
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6671 Apr 25, 2013
Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine -- tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
of the fiddlehead fern in forests just washed by the sun.

Your traveled, generous thighs between which my whole face has come and come --
the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there --
the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth --
your touch on me, firm, protective, searching
me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers
reaching where I have been waiting years for you
in your rose-wet cave --
whatever happens, this is.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6672 Apr 25, 2013
You remind me of my needs
Floating by me in your summer dress
We were alone, but you kept yourself
All I wanted was your kiss

Fingers gently rolling off your lips
A goodbye fell from your tongue
I couldn't be more affraid
Forgetting your face, your lips, your eyes

You told me what you wanted
I darkened the sky so you could see the stars
I removed the earth so you could fly
You were all I needed
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6673 Apr 25, 2013
The allure of everything bad

The allure of vices that nullify circumstances which make living seem sad

The 'Hollywood' cigarette, the hard liquor... cocaine, crystal meth

All very romanticized but in reality, isn't that really just a self-induced slow death?

We don't talk about it, until we watch from the sidelines

If only for a second

When partaking one repeats quotes like 'it is what it is'

'I am not a quitter'

You've built up a tolerance for one, so you beckon

The bartender to pour you a second

Social trend like a hot topic on twitter

So now you want more

You ignorantly jab the needle inside you like you don't know what your signing up for

In a sense you don't, for you choose not to

Addiction entraps... but who?

Not you

And the moment you decide to go cold turkey

It appears more enticing in another movie, or in the hands of a fellow druggie

Impossible to reject

Relapse... rubber band effect

Yet even he that doesn't use gets a little curious

One day the stress becomes too much to handle, he's peeved

He's furious

He's heard of pills sold over the counter, and also of those available from dusty cobwebbed shelves

By dealers with hollowed out eyes, ghosts of their former selves

In an alternate reality

Where 'it's all good'

It's all about finding solace in one happy, high family...'It's all hood'

A distorted image of zoned out smiling faces

Floating around in temporary elation

These vices have comforted and haunted many, way before our so called 'X-rated generation'

The druggie, the alcoholic or the sex addict you see... could be your's or someone else's dad

Or it could very well be you or me

Seduced by the allure of everything bad

I write this expecting it to be misunderstood by many...

For a judgement between bad and good

I myself could be affiliated to one of these vices... or many

Someone reading this may have already renamed it 'The allure of everything good'.

Level 6

Since: Apr 12

Location hidden

#6674 Apr 25, 2013
Poet is a poet. Don't ban the brain. This is cruel. Poet is the only person who can reach up to your soul.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6675 Apr 25, 2013
"ADOLOSCENCE."

In love they wore themselves in a green embrace.
A silken rain fell through the spring upon them.
In the park she fed the swans and he
whittled nervously with his strange hands.
And white was mixed with all their colours
as if they drew it from the flowering trees.

At night his two finger whistle brought her down
the waterfall stairs to his shy smile
which like an eddy, turned her round and round
lazily and slowly so her will
was nowhere—as in dreams things are and aren't.

Walking along avenues in the dark
street lamps sang like sopranos in their heads
with a voilence they never understood
and all their movements when they were together
had no conclusion.

Only leaning into the question had they motion;
after they parted were savage and swift as gulls.
asking and asking the hostile emptiness
they were as sharp as partly sculptured stone
and all who watched, forgetting, were amazed
to see them form and fade before their eyes.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6676 Apr 25, 2013
It starts with
so much beauty. In a drop
of sweat down your body…
a feeling of liquid—of
empathy into entropy.

Then it’s
My head against the bed,
face down into fluff.
All of the things float away;
the things are just stuff…
You are really here. I can feel
your warmth, though my kiss is blue—
It’s chilling as ice, but it’s true.

Still we’re
funneling energy
from one’s soul into the others’.
Electrical charges, our body’s ties.
I could die, I could smother,
and as I did I would smile.

Now I’m
melting beneath you, kindled by your fire,
cause what’s between us in this moment is pure and it’s sweet.
You taste salty like the ocean and I sense
the motion of the tides, against your skin, now I’m feeling the heat
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6677 Apr 25, 2013
I give myself five days to forget you.

on the first day I rust.

on the second I wilt.

on the third day I sit with friends but I think about your tongue.

I clean my room on the fourth day. I clean my body on the fourth day.

I try to replace your scent on the fourth day.

the fifth day, I adorn myself like the mouth of an inmate.

a wedding singer dressed in borrowed gold.

the midas of cheap metal.

tinsel in the middle of summer.

crevice glitter, two days after the party.

I glow the way unwanted things do,

a neon sign that reads;

"Come, I still taste like someone else’s mouth."
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6678 Apr 26, 2013
I went to my mother’s room at thirteen
past midnight, and told her I was dying.

I’d wet the bed, I’d had this crazy dream,
about a sexy neighbor I’d been spying
on....... Well, I didn’t tell her that.

I mean, the day before she asked who I was eyeing
when I didn’t want to go outside for ice cream. The truck was parked out front, and she was buying, but I couldn’t join the other screaming kids — not with Candy applying suntan lotion
to her voluptuous teenage skin.

Stretched out on a beach towel in her front yard, her body mystified and excited me at the same time, while mine seemed happy to defy me.

My dick would tent my cut-offs at the sight of her.

I wore two pair of underwear, but even then I thought I’d burst right through the seams.

So I didn’t dare tell mother what I’d dreamed,
though she did think to ask me.

I’d have been a fool to tell her that.

She thought my blush was any boy’s, puzzling out his sexuality, but I swear it was as much because the fantasies were always older girls......
some from my schools softball team, some the girls in higher grades at school,

But usually Candy. She was flying naked in the dream I had that night, the one that made me think that God was mad and killing me.

I was lying (also naked — and hard as cinder block)
on the beach towel I’d seen her lay across the grass the day before.

I tried to understand the signs implying
I might turn into some kind of freaky thing.

But it would have been cruel to tell my mother that, especially when she was already crying,
and trying not to laugh at the same time,
when I showed her what came out of me.

She apologized for throwing such a scene,
said I was growing up to be a man, that’s all it meant, said it was normal for a boy my age’s thing
to start uprising like a metal beam.

She apologized again that I didn’t have my dad around to train a twelve-year old boy in the ways of puberty.

I was as stupefied as I’ve ever been.

She never mentioned him.

And I have never turned a deeper red than I did then, at twenty-six past midnight, when my mother helped me change my sheets, and said the next day she’d teach me to wash them.

And then she said she’d ask the man across the street to talk to me.

Would that be okay?

Or would I feel more comfortable with someone younger, like his daughter Candy who is studying nursing at college ?
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6679 Apr 26, 2013
Late at night, I no longer speak for effect.
I speak the truth without the niceties.
I am hundreds of years old but do not know how many hundreds.
The person I was does not know me.
The young poets, with their reenactments of the senses, are asleep.
I am myself asleep at the outer reaches.
I have lain down in the snow without stepping outside.
I am frozen on the white page.
Then it happens, a spark somewhere, a light through the ice.
The snow melts, there appear fields threaded with grain.
The blue moon blue sky returns, that heralded night.
How earthly the convenience of time.
I am possible.
I have in me the last unanswered question.
Yes, there are walls, and water stains on the ceiling.
Yes, there is energy running through the wires.
And yes, I grow colder as I write of the sun rising.
This is not the story, the skin paling and a body folded over a table.
If I die here they will say I died writing.
Never mind the long day that now shrinks backward.
I crumple the light and toss it into the wastebasket.
I pull down the moon and place it in a drawer.
A bitter wind of new winter drags the dew eastward.
I dig in my heels.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6680 Apr 26, 2013
Just like every other day
She comes home to face her misery,
Numb from the daily horrors
Of the excruciatingly long day.

She gazes at at the picture
of her baby brother and sister,
With whom she never got to meet.

She begins to cry out
"Why me, and not them;
This useless waste of a life?"

Ready to join them on the other side,
She raises the pills to her mouth,
With the alcohol ready to force them down.

Suddenly she hears a whisper
Calling softly but strongly, saying......

"Do it for us. Be strong for those who cannot,
and we promise we will do the same for you!"

She lowered the pills away from her mouth,
and dumped out every last drop of alcohol.

And with that, her strength was restored,
And lived on on honor of those who couldn't
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6681 Apr 26, 2013
Some mornings are like this,
the stupor of longing or pure light,
stillness in a rifled grouse,
the black woods legible to a woman
whose heart is made of false starts,
the ruddy life of a hill gone blank
or what the face in the window
wants to believe of her past,
architecture of a white house,
this draft of rooms, paramour planets,
children with gentle hands, kindling
piled near the moon’s pillar, this draft
of despotic love, then distance, vacancy,
then forgiven words accumulating
like snow, just when the world
is finished with us, we build a wall
with rocks and the work is the whole
body inside the idea of belonging
somewhere, even if not for long,
mineral world of slate and flint,
numinous like these days and others
wintering, we test what will hold,
attenuated voices that lean
and fall, the argent sky, the worry
we don’t need anyone.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6682 Apr 26, 2013
Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.

Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.

I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.

I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.

When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.

I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.

When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#6683 Apr 26, 2013
We met in a coastal village
spent a lovely night without leaving an address
going separate ways. Three years later
we meet again by coincidence.
The whole
three years spun a novel
we abandoned:
They fail to recognize themselves
as though meeting in another story
for an encounter.
One asks: Who are you, so cold and weary
The other says: I only know a thread is loose on my sweater
The more you pull it, the more it lengthens
until I completely vanish.

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