Members
60/M/USA
Lazy sage
Canada
what if, what if.
Poems
izzy w Dec 2011
// feral feels fantastic
izzy w
Dec 2011
god i just did it! i got so ******* feral i didn’t care
about iyou for a momnent””””””””’
i felt fayrull faerill *f ehrel
feral in the teeth and in the heart
when youre feral you can do anything
and anyone”””””””””””””””
wishlist:
- i want to pull your hair ferally
- i want to slap you in the face ferally
- i wantyou to love it with feral passion when i bite you
with my fehrel *fayrehl *feral teeth
questions:
- what does it feel like to not have a conscunce?
- what does it feel like to **** someone and then
refuse to look them in the eye
- what does it feel to **** someone withot them knowing”””””’
i want to get feral and know i could do all those thing s
but wont because i want to love the wurl d ferally
and everything in it
with my teeht and nails”””””””’
about iyou for a momnent””””””””’
i felt fayrull faerill *f ehrel
feral in the teeth and in the heart
when youre feral you can do anything
and anyone”””””””””””””””
wishlist:
- i want to pull your hair ferally
- i want to slap you in the face ferally
- i wantyou to love it with feral passion when i bite you
with my fehrel *fayrehl *feral teeth
questions:
- what does it feel like to not have a conscunce?
- what does it feel like to **** someone and then
refuse to look them in the eye
- what does it feel to **** someone withot them knowing”””””’
i want to get feral and know i could do all those thing s
but wont because i want to love the wurl d ferally
and everything in it
with my teeht and nails”””””””’
Lewis Hyden Jan 2019
'Feral'
Lewis Hyden
Jan 2019
Gone eleven. Twelve, maybe.
I sip quietly on my straw,
Crinkling the plastic wrapper in
My coat pocket.
The late winter's night nips and bites
At my arms, and I bundle up
Against the cold.
More than an hour from home, and soon
The street-lamps would flicker off, and
Cloak me in night.
As I pass along the street, down
To the roadside, I take along
An alleyway.
Shadows wrapping their frigid arms
Around my shoulders, comforting
My troubled steps;
But then, as I turned the corner,
I was met with a wall of shade
And stopped quickly.
Among the shadows, something turns,
And we lock eyes in the darkness.
Ten long seconds.
Or, it felt to me, ten long years.
I was locked in the gaze of a
Stalking creature.
Not a cat. Couldn't be a fox.
Strangely human, and yet still like
A beast - feral.
Terror hits me like a bullet.
I spin around and make quick tracks,
Sprinting away
Back down to the roadside, clapping
My shoes against the pavement, tears
Welling, spilling
Down my face by the time I was
Finally home. Lights on. Door locked.
Respite - silence.
I saw him - the Feral Man - in
My dreams. Couldn't run away there.
Cold and gentle,
He ate chunks of me under the
Pale street-lights. Squirming under the
Oppressive sheets,
I writhed free of my own nightmare,
Woke up crying, screaming - streaming.
Hot blood run cold.
The night I realised we are all
Still feral, more so than our pests,
Objects of lust.
I turned to wash the tears from my
Face, and caught a glimpse of the cold
Window: outside.
Two cold, lifeless eyes, burning bright.
Looking right at me. Feral eyes.
The smell of tears.
Still awake.
Gone five. Six, maybe.
I sip quietly on my straw,
Crinkling the plastic wrapper in
My coat pocket.
The late winter's night nips and bites
At my arms, and I bundle up
Against the cold.
More than an hour from home, and soon
The street-lamps would flicker off, and
Cloak me in night.
As I pass along the street, down
To the roadside, I take along
An alleyway.
Shadows wrapping their frigid arms
Around my shoulders, comforting
My troubled steps;
But then, as I turned the corner,
I was met with a wall of shade
And stopped quickly.
Among the shadows, something turns,
And we lock eyes in the darkness.
Ten long seconds.
Or, it felt to me, ten long years.
I was locked in the gaze of a
Stalking creature.
Not a cat. Couldn't be a fox.
Strangely human, and yet still like
A beast - feral.
Terror hits me like a bullet.
I spin around and make quick tracks,
Sprinting away
Back down to the roadside, clapping
My shoes against the pavement, tears
Welling, spilling
Down my face by the time I was
Finally home. Lights on. Door locked.
Respite - silence.
I saw him - the Feral Man - in
My dreams. Couldn't run away there.
Cold and gentle,
He ate chunks of me under the
Pale street-lights. Squirming under the
Oppressive sheets,
I writhed free of my own nightmare,
Woke up crying, screaming - streaming.
Hot blood run cold.
The night I realised we are all
Still feral, more so than our pests,
Objects of lust.
I turned to wash the tears from my
Face, and caught a glimpse of the cold
Window: outside.
Two cold, lifeless eyes, burning bright.
Looking right at me. Feral eyes.
The smell of tears.
Still awake.
Gone five. Six, maybe.
Tarmac boils under
The freezing moon.
The freezing moon.
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2012
In Artemis’s Wood
Seán Mac Falls
Jun 2012
Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing
To his huntress.
Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then
Once more and then again. She bucked fiercely
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.
In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent
Leaves. It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on
The human hunters did not speak.
Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.
In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.
Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing
To his huntress.
Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then
Once more and then again. She bucked fiercely
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.
In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent
Leaves. It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on
The human hunters did not speak.
Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.
In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.
Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.