#pleasures
Admiring the shades of the rising sun.
Feeding on buttered bread and poetry.
Floating on my back in a mountain lake,
cool and full of sunlight.
Biting into forbidden fruit and pecking at
walnut kernels.
Walking alone in the forest in spring.
My giant wings carry me fast and far.
Savoring my grandmother’s ratatouille
and pan‑fried sole.
Sharing a cheese board and my thin
apple **** together.
Playing cards as a family and reading to my
children, cuddled under the duvet.
Devouring an almond croissant and a
thick hot chocolate.
Listening to Florence and the Machine,
The Beatles, Rosemary Standley, The Doors, Nina Simone and so many others in a scalding bath.
Cooking Thai coconut milk soup for the people I love.
Rereading Letters to a Young Poet by Rilke.
Meditating lying down under pink clouds.
Coming undone in pleasure, then writing
through the night without stopping.
Leaving in smoke to join the Milky Way.
May 6
May 6, 2026 at 4:10 PM UTC
Dust off the angels
hang the lights and mull the wine
prepare a hundred thousand welcomes
for the season grows merry
and my hunger for it is as sharp as teeth.
Flip the script, turn away tired work,
give play its moment on the throne
let pleasures combine and laughter chime
let much too much be much too little
All else is detour.
.
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🎄🦌 Songs for this: 🎄🦌
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_34.mp3
Nov 24, 2025
Nov 24, 2025 at 11:36 AM UTC
Country roads and cool breezes
The medication that is needed
to heal my weary soul.
A winding road, a river bank,
a cold beer, a fishing pole.
Lying in the sun,
a concentrated inactive non pursuit of fun.
Yet it will come, it will come
of its own accord.
And peace and tranquility shall be the reward,
for doing nothing, and just for a moment
allowing life to just be.
That is the secret of life
of feeling alive,
That is the secret to being free.
Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 8:40 PM UTC
The day was long and greedily waited,
in near unspoken secret - like a thing
delightfully and enchantingly wicked.
We are reunited - simpatico - my love, lover and I.
We ravish each other and lavish each other
with flattery, endearments and entire pleasure.
We live sweet centuries in those tight hours.
Happiness changes the tenor of things.
Rains of feeling combine in torrents,
like the tinkling notes of a harp make symphony.
Our minutest nerves are instruments of joy.
Mornings start with exquisite excitement and
the dense reel and stagger of intoxication -
because we’re drunk with the fullness of life.
Leaves on trees called chestnut, linden and hazel, stir
gently in the breeze - those faint shoos and rustles, times
nature’s fractal design - blare, in effect, like terrific trumpets.
At night, as we walk together under cooling summer skies,
the stars in the far-flung firmaments, seem to huddle together
and whisper, like sisters, of life and the mysteries of earthy love.
We are the dust of those constellations - are we but spies?
.
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Songs for this:
Thank You My Angel by Over the Rhine
Perfect Day by Povo
Goodbye Sunday by Everything But the Girl
Aug 31, 2025
Aug 31, 2025 at 12:52 PM UTC
Nicotine is making a comeback
analog cigarettes are making a comeback
so many students are nicotine positive.
Every girl has Zyn by her drink at the bar
which used to be seen as a BRO-y vibe.
I’m not taking a view, I’m unbothered by it.
because
I’m hooked as well - I might as well admit it.
I’m into placebos these days and and I’m abjectly
rendered dumb by their unspeakable pleasures.
I went to an acapella concert last night and ***
I was mollywhopped (knocked out).
.
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Acapella songs for this:
They - The Harvard-Radcliffe Veritones
Finesse (Remix) by The SoCal VoCals
Viva La Vida by Buffalo Chips
24k Magic by Acasola
.
....
Trump has everyone quivering
he cornholed those cowards at CBS
but you know who ain’t backing down?
South Park. I LOVE those guys.
Trigger warning. This is EXPLICIT and hilarious.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Afetnw70S04
...
Jul 24, 2025
Jul 24, 2025 at 9:22 PM UTC
I Want to Stay Here
We went to see the Three Sisters
in the Blue Mountains
an iconic rock formation,
etched in stone by time
and by legend.
The old story tells:
three sisters turned to stone
to be saved from war,
frozen forever
by love and fear.
Nearby, where Norman Lindsay
dreamed his wild and wicked dreams,
the air still hums
with the laughter of ghosts,
and the soft madness of artists.
My grandchild,
with his small voice and wide heart,
was asked to come home.
He looked up and said,
"I want to stay here."
And my heart
my old, tired heart
heard him and answered too:
I want to stay here.
To feel the pleasures,
the madness,
the thrill
these mountains have lived and seen.
I wonder
how can a place bear so much
and still remain
green,
shining,
calm?
Yes.
I want to stay here too.
Jul 17, 2025
Jul 17, 2025 at 6:53 PM UTC
"Have you ever tried choking?" He asked nonchalantly.
“No,” she said. with a wrinkled nose of disapproval
“Want to try it?” His approach couldn't hide his excitement
“Ok,” she said, absent-mindedly running her index finger over his lips.
“you can choke me,” she added slowly,
“if I can stab you repeatedly
with the 7 inch stainless steel
nail-file I keep under my pillow.”
.
.
Songs for this:
Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin
Better By Myself by Hey Violet
Jun 6, 2025
Jun 6, 2025 at 10:20 PM UTC
black satin sheets
warmed with our body heat
jazz music with deep beats
under a high ceiling
were fantasy and reality meet
Luna's glow peeks in for a greet
through the glass above
ten times two feet
the moon reflects
from ovals so exotic
that your glitter and shine
force time to be static
diligent and still, Luna and I
await your surrender
like addicts to their narcotics
so come! allow me to inject you
with pleasures of the ******
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 1:00 PM UTC
Our burdens are lifted—it’s spring break, after all.
Though ocean breezes, surf sounds, the smell of sunblock,
fresh tans and bottomless margaritas at the beach can be healing,
we decided to vacation on campus and find joy in small, everyday things.
Yesterday, we went to the farmer’s market, where one coffee vendor was making real cappuccinos and another was baking fresh breakfast pizzas. The combination reminded me of the 'Antico Forno Roscioli' caffe, near Campo de' Fiori, in Rome.
Then we hit the gym pool, climbed a rock wall (slowly) and played racquetball (rather poorly). We tried a dance & fitness class too—I thought I was in shape but ugg, it was hard to keep up. Peter (my 27-year-old bf) practically collapsed, but maybe he was angling for mouth-2-mouth.
Straight brag: Peter and I are getting new laptops today—MacBook Air M4s—mine’s baby blue, his is silver. So today seems like Christmas.
I don’t know if you people have computers, or use the Internet, but if you do, you’ll get it. I don’t know exactly when it’ll arrive, of course, so I’m pacing our suite.
I’ve always loved tech. My brother started teaching me about computers when I was 10—you know—hard drives, logic boards, power supplies, all of it. I remember it taking about two days to set one up and move all of the data. Today all I’ll have to do is set the new computer next to the old one and click migrate.
You gotta doff your hat to the tech wizards that came up with that, but the hours spent doing it the old way were fun.
“Something’s lost yet something's gained” - I think Joni Mitchell sang that.
.
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Songs for this:
Am I the Same Girl? by Swing Out Sister
Mountain or a Molehill by Kris Berry
.
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our cast: A reader once asked, “Who are these people?” (a solid question) So now I do a cast list:
Peter, (My bf), is a bearded, 27-year-old from the sage hills of Malibu, California. He’s 6’1, too thin, his jet-black hair is perpetually uncombed and his skin is pale from over exposure to fluorescent lighting. He earned his PhD in Applied Physics last year and now he works for CERN in Geneva. He’s smart, quiet, awkward and he can be too serious. I’m unreasonably cRaZy about this guy.
Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).
Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 12:34 PM UTC
Under my umbrella
rain hitting all around
getting wet anyway
so I take it down.
I really don't mind
it's been a hot day,
and the rain seems to
wash all my blues away.
Rain covers my face like tears,
but they are of joy
not of pains or fears.
Into every life they say
some rain must fall.
But I'll not complain,
the sun always shines
brighter after the rain.
And as I said,
it's been a very hot day.
And this cool refreshing rain
was sorely needed anyway.
Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 12:43 PM UTC
A Labyrinth is enjoyable when you know there is a way out
Its colours are enticing when you know they will fade out
The glamour might intoxicate
The novelty might instigate
But as time passes
The colours, the glamour, the novelty of it starts to suffocate
Mar 28, 2024
Mar 28, 2024 at 5:05 PM UTC
Coffee, I adore thee,
somehow you never bore me.
Bold and dark or mild and smooth,
you get me up and on the move.
In warm embrace or cool frappe,
mocha, french roast, or tall latte,
crema, sospeso or con panna,
you never fail to make my day.
It’s the best thing ever manufactured,
without it, my mind is slow and scattered,
for a quiz or formulating I’d be knackered,
every morning the Keurig is where we gather.
You pick me up and keep me keen,
in complementing any cuisine,
by delivering a dose of sweet caffeine,
you are the original magic bean.
In doses quick or lingered over,
on mornings with a hangover,
I reach for you, your warm embrace,
the morning fogginess to erase.
The flavors, the scent, which is the best?
They are of compound interest.
French press or espresso - take your pick
- they all provide that delicious kick.
Jitter juice, rocket fuel, cup of joe,
cuppa, morning brew or ristretto,
your flavors please, your scent rouses,
a coffee shop is where the crowd is.
In slang they call it Mormon-crack,
but sugared up or with a snack,
with creamy art or straight-up black
once I’ve got it, you won’t get it back.
Jan 27, 2023
Jan 27, 2023 at 9:27 AM UTC
I don't spend money
on pleasures, because not one --
of them can be bought.
Dec 19, 2022
Dec 19, 2022 at 4:26 AM UTC
You see,
I seem to have caught
the deathly hug of hubris
I know everything
But what does it all mean?
The pleasures of life go right above my head
And time drips from my fingertips
Plip, plop, plip
I am a blip
And this hug,
Why does it make everything so sad?
Apr 26, 2022
Apr 26, 2022 at 3:52 PM UTC
Let's face it
its more ******** warfare
culturally they are used to faking it
as thimbles and chipolatas in ninety seconds
do not reach first base much less seeing stars on cloud nine
hence they woke and fake the reality they chose be it feel or fright
in woke solidarity against frustrations they cloned their made-up foe
what better than sturdy shining Mandingo loaded and tied up
there for the having to your heart's content
presented to you the untamed beast
the wild moor tooled hot and ready
raw animalistic unfettered passion
rock hard we can name him Rocky
that goer that delivers every time
the one that is all your men aren't
and can never be cause he's gifted
sleek like dolphin in rhythmic glide
tasty like fresh clean mushroom
Arabian stallion if ever there's one
with absolute pedigree and class
take a break from the mediocre
from the wham bangs no can dos
from the floppy quick-draws saps
imagine the dark horse with the most
in smooth soft pink leathery velvet
tis your secret your guilty pleasure
tis the obsession you made into a war
the fantasy that plays in your heads
tis behind fervours that haunts you
that you so well disguise in hatred
telling metaphors slip out Freud
hold him down, grind him hard
wear him out, let's wreck him so
the sado masochistic 'punishing him'
give him a hard time, it all says a lot
you twist innocent sentences into
****** innuendos and innocent actions
are falsely given ****** meanings
as morn noon and night you toil
you troll and agitate for attention
yes you twist turn bite and nibble
in Freudian throes you talk love
you glaze unrequited love relentlessly
you close your eyes and dream sweet pain
yeah! get real, its no psyche warfare
its a flutters obsession, it's the classic '
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
its how you float your boats and and get yer thrills
you better face it you're all addicted
It's an ******** War-fare and you all know so.....
Jun 22, 2021
Jun 22, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
How do we define a peace land?
And where is the home, craving to return?
Listen, what did the birds and trees say?
The true pleasures lie beneath the mountain
A single bound will take us there
It is our first homeland where we were born free.
Seagull migrates well,
Pine tree wouldn't move
Look, they reunion in one home garden
They imagine that all their
Woes, hurts and indignities
Would not exist
in their imagined homeland.
Where we learnt justice at our mother's knee
return is easy, we just have to dare
The true pleasures lie beneath the mountain
In their minds, homeland
is in stasis.
The life they left is lingering
waiting for them to return.
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 2:16 AM UTC
Tasting pleasure is not my fault for one reason, and one reason...ONLY...! I am ecstasy itself! Ecstasy that is not within my own choice to choose from. I merely tether my own choice towards the pleasure I hope to tether towards my ecstasy as tasting it with pride. That's why I tend to fail sometimes when knowing it's my fault for who I am... But fail (all the same) to see through the lies of my very delusions tell me so, simply! I'm a failure to my own structural design! As I'm also a failure to my own choices among the same decision-making my actions enforce. As I'm not going to lie about such things, but... I don't truly want to taste the pleasures my own inner "ecstasy" demons want from me! They want to mutually **** me dry! Only for myself to last long enough by the hand that want's to be free of them...ALL! I want them to stay and torment me for the pleasure of such tastes! I want to devour my own inner "ecstasy" demons...for I HATE what I've become. (Triggering forevermore something I could NEVER control!) Not to mention the torment I pose upon myself and those very demons! I want respect where respect can't (ever again) be given, when I've eaten myself up long ago! This simple passage is a given guilt upon the makings of an apology that I could come to grips about getting it out there into the BIG BAD open world! Who would come to appreciate my suffering (first and foremost)? A curse that will spread like wildfire! Where in time...the whole world could forgive me for what I've done to myself, and to others. Since what this passage reeks of, is the after-effect of the incident that is clearly behind the scenes doing GOD KNOWS WHAT!
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 11:16 PM UTC
Last-ting Pleasures (Leonard Cohen)
“Morning coffee on the balcony of this old duplex, the cat at my feet, and a couple of biscuits. Notebook near by. No one coming over.“
Leonard Cohen
<>
aging with graces saved from so many spectacular failures, I took droplets of wisdom where they were free to drink, yet
the best, were the most costly, for which you never end paying
but here I sit, well traveled, in Los Angeles sunshine, do my calculations, my final preparations, memorizing the blessings
so they flow easy, no stumbling, unbefitting a poet-writer lover
obligations diminished, bills paid, goodbyes said and spent, so long Marianne, lines of jewish buddhists wisdom seekers not too long, a few women come, last looks, a reminiscence for themselves
lovers seeking preservation, a signatory on their diaries, proofs, of what I know no longer know to state, sated, the statuary
sentence almost served, and last scribbles, to notebook dispatched
It is His Will, and yet here I am, asking forgiveness, as tradition demands and more, understanding, for it was all transcribed into praise of You and your god-sparked creatures, ah, bon chance, until we meet again, bring your robe and tallit, let us recite psalms
for if there was ever a wilder king, finer poet, lusting for life and god, all of us just birds on the wire, gambling which course to fly, where to, so waiting patient, resolution of the only remaining unanswered question, who by fire?
anyone, each of us, who first asked ourselves why not! before we ever thought,
why?
Oct 31, 2020
Oct 31, 2020 at 10:59 AM UTC
Thirsty Things First
I know you're hurting
punting through The Pleasure Heap
tough talk of The Ween
whilst keening still
panting after the next explosion
the next ***** exploration
the next intoxication
preening before -
- your darting eye
the next liberty toward your oblivion
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 12:00 AM UTC
The Endeavors of Lips
by Michael R. Burch
How sweet the endeavors of lips—to speak
of the heights of those pleasures which left us weak
in love’s strangely lit beds, where the cold springs creak:
for there is no illusion like love ...
Grown childlike, we wish for those storied days,
for those bright sprays of flowers, those primrosed ways
that curled to the towers of Yesterdays
where She braided illusions of love ...
"O, let down your hair!"—we might call and call,
to the dark-slatted window, the moonlit wall ...
but our love is a shadow; we watch it crawl
like a spidery illusion. For love ...
was never as real as that first kiss seemed
when we read by the flashlight and dreamed.
Published by Romantics Quarterly and The Eclectic Muse (Canada). Keywords/Tags: Childhood, children, bed, bedtime, story, flashlight, kiss, goodnight, dreams, pleasures, lips, fantasy, illusion
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 10:52 PM UTC
so many pleasures, yet this,
the chiefest!
it is the cellular sensation, a momentary
swiping the real stroking of gentle grazing,
the finger-tracing painting of another’s
softest places
this is what I will ever miss
this is what I will eye mist
*when the eyes, arms and all the rest
age beyond, functioning justa at the “barely” test,
as long my forefinger, tho crooked and bent,
can draw lines upon the cheeks of my beloveds,
the lover sleeping beside, so relaxed, eyes closed,
the children, whose skins elasticity is living electricity,
even the warped, veined, roughened dying skin
of those yet glowing-gasping for the tactile worship,*
I will desire to live
Oct 26, 2019
Oct 26, 2019 at 9:12 AM UTC