"coital" poems
.
*Links in the chemist chain
laced in a double helix
defy the laws of the universe,
and the atavistic resurgence
creates isotopes of dream passion.
Elements conspire in panic
with a symmetry of casual chaos
that mimics an atomic bomb,
destroying its own creator
in a cruel parody of birth paradox.
Arresting the Iris of Dissolution
with cuffed anxiety drowning
in a pond of helium ore,
carelessly drifting on acid flesh,
coagulating in a soup of memory.*
And the paradigm shifts again,
reality unfocussed clears, strains,
revealing your shuddering form,
next to me, keeping me warm.
Lids flicker and you open your eyes,
shining, smiling in cute surprise.
Moving my finger up to my lips
whilst I gently untangle our hips.
*Do you remember this night?
Last night, tonight, tomorrow night?
Time begins to slowly rewind,
on the night you blew my mind.*
My essence is filled with your heart,
a love I have yet to discover.
Whilst you wander between the stars,
my universe starts to recover.
So please don't break this silence now.
Please don't shatter this moment long,
I want this post ****** memory to remain
in the morning when you have gone.
© Pagan Paul (04/11/17)
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
As lovers we've learned
that you are the immovable object,
and I the irrepressible force,
though our ****** subduction truly terrifies the natives,
and has spun much aboriginal lore,
they credit us with Monsooning the weather,
but looking back, my dear, see the adorable mountains we've made.
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 8:04 AM UTC
About tea
Skinny tea, sweet tea,
Elixir exiling youth's ungainly exit
Tea and a lover, vogue tea,
Tea post ****** closing shoppe
Last call tea, homework, tea-and-a-boy
A born again tea boy
Cause she promised it was better than coffee
Kinda boy, the second steep
Citrus and swords battling them free radicals
Tea in a kiss, a sweet kiss, an oooooolong kiss
Third steep to keep and keep
Expensive swishy flower vase tea
Delicate butterfly shi shi tea
Tea time, closing time,
A steep for the road
Sleep off the load
Tea night,
Tea girl
About tea.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 9:17 PM UTC
We walk along the beach at night,
Arms entwined and hearts entwined,
Waves lapping 'gainst our feet,
Pebbles scurrying like sand ***** 'twixt our toes.
Talking about ***** we are both
A little tickly in the naughty bits department,
As the gentle summer breeze
Wafts through our matted ***** hairs.
Just a brief hour or two ago,
We were strangers at the Pier disco,
And now our histories are to be
Inextricably linked by fate.
I do not know that, in a month or so,
I shall need to send you
A little yellow contact slip
From the Margate Hospital special clinic
Informing that you have been exposed to
A most unpleasant social disease
Which, with a bit of rotten luck,
Could easily rot your insides.
But, for now, our thoughts are far away
As we laugh and joke together
In our new found post-coital,
Youthful lovers' camaraderie,
Not wanting to speak too loudly or disturb
The copulating pair by the nearby breakwater
(Not that they'd be put off by a thunderclap
Seeing as how he's on the short strokes by now).
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
I learned how to love and hate
To never trust fate,
Simply listening to my needs,
Crave for your body, blade and sins.
Hell is part of me, sir,
As Heaven is six feet under,
Not deep as a Well nor so wide as a church door,
Take me and break me to the core!
Madness of you,
Violence and desire piercing threw,
Tasting the Little Death with the tip of those lips,
Bitter sweet travel down the mist.
But remember, prince of Cats,
You can’t tame me, sick ****** rat,
But if you want me,
Scream me, cry me, torn me…
I am Mercury,
Unstable and addictive,
Get on your knee,
I will end it by killing thee.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 6:09 PM UTC
Lushly lustful exotically ******
Vibrant virile fertile vicissitude
Puissant terminus loquacity photic
Pique piquant poignant pulchritude
Lecherous visceral longevous cohort
Wanton licentious erogenous frolic
Lurid lascivious ****** cavort
***** lewd apomixes anabolic
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 5:54 AM UTC
Post ****** furnace boiling
The breeze kisses my flesh
She softly sings the sounds of bliss
Into my heaving chest
Unknown yet welcomed
The respite from heavy churning passion
Machines well oiled and primed
To deliver it's passengers through
Aeons in a few swift moments
She is my vessel and fellow traveler
Across the spiritual landscape
We have painted
Old canvas dusted and renewed
Under the Master's brush
His hand becomes mine becomes hers
Post ****** furnace boiling
New ideas, new vigor, new life
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
**the ****** heart
(if ownership of a poem makes you proud, considered it to be...trending)**
~~~
~for PoetryJournal~
~~~
*the afterglow of the aftermath,
the chest pounding demanding,
tolerating-no-delay apprehension
of the transcription
of what is
the ****** heart soaring,
the lean-back exhalation,
wet eyes that only you
have secret knowledge thereof
this is why we write,
why we beings believe,
because we ask,
why
by the asking,
we grade ourselves,
both by
our words and deeds
step back and
accept the notion
that feels not wholly right,
for inherently tinged,
streaked with human pride,
that all possess,
and possessive of
our all
you are value,
by the words you have chosen,
by the only human
that can give truth to its essential
value
***you poet,
are trending**
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
Today I have followed the strange Damselfly,
Down to all ponds on my father’s marshland,
Not to live the blissful Waldensianism like Thoreau,
But to come down unto discovery of wonders
Readily displayed in the ****** manners of the damselfly
Sub-dragonfly that was conveniently called damselfly,
It is dark and white in pearly texture,
Like the Palmyrene Queen dear Zenobia,
Damselfly move as a pair on every time
A female and a male like a musical duet,
The Female has a lock on the ******
As the males does; tight lock on the sheath,
Keeping safe its ***** away from robbers,
The female damselfly has key to unlock
The cryptic lock system on the ***** sheath
Of the garlanded male damsel fly,
The male damselfly too has the key
That can only unlock the cryptic lock system,
On the ****** of the female damselfly,
Their lock and key functions within,
The specific species of the damselflies,
All this evolved to block out the thieves
The predating dragonflies of other species,
Intending to steal *** with the damselfly
With no other reason but to darwinize the damselfly,
Willie Topaz Mcgonall is the damselfly with Male lock
Billie Burroughs ghost is a dragonfly minus any key
African poetry is the damselflies with female poetic lock
Both have keys on each other’s custody of culture.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 5:33 AM UTC
Passion drives us to great heights and achievements
The passion drawn from the ****** position
The will to survive to take our first breath, to know life
The passion that lingers and stills the heart for a moment
To stand and stare at the passing wild flower
Passion shared by two in the throes of ****** hunger
That connects and binds and twines beings into one
Passion so felt within a heart
will make a simple person extraordinary
Passion to live beyond, just over the line
Taking risks, taking chances
Passion to love, to live, to dance, to eat, to laugh, to cry, to feel
Passion makes the difference
Between the millionaire and the pauper
Passion – everyone has it
It’s whether you want to use it or save it for later!
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
She made it vanish
every trace of it,
with her inimitable
feminine magic.
Fully erasing my
post ****** hatred
led me from the front
to an exploration of
ardent, ****** acrobatics
that took us through the
***** dynamics of
****** healing, non peril!
Wasn’t she an all terrain ace?
Aviator making me fly
without wings above the
fluffy soft caressing clouds
The toughest driver on roads
of all kind,keeping pleasure
at the acme through out her drive.
What a swimmer was she,making
me swoon in sensual waters.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
The wonderful thing about technology
is the ability to achieve spontaneous combustion.
In the blink of an eye,
I can explode in sheer ecstasy
here alone thinking of you
& your sensuous ways,
the way you love to play.
O what joy,
to do this act all alone
in the seclusion
of my empty room!
Now, it seems emptier
without you here
to enjoy this
post-coital
technological bliss.
O I miss your wet kisses,
the warmth of your touch,
so much!
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
Wilt thou never more lay your eyes upon me?
Nights love ritual sadly remembered
only to awaken existing now.
In post ****** blissful dreams I linger.
Ethereal tears drop no fewer then forever
yet this savage mockery begins,
coming like kisses softly smothering.
Eternal rain is now on my parade.
I lost somewhere up in the terrible sky.
Sad force of habit this waiting for death
till I bleed this cavity heart pale blue.
Damning this short lived blind affair with love
while ending against this stab I lean upon me.
Figure in death at least this body will rest.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 1:58 AM UTC
Are only the tools of the trade
To swinging ***** and easy Janes
Like these now attempting to muffle their shouts
In the purple suburban evening where God knows
Only all the neighbors are striving to listen;
A couple of loveless friends ********
Each other out of breath and full of big plans—
And now I’m sure that we can,
Just listen to her moan!
A man once told me I’ve got to give it to her
To stick a son in there.
I might ask, but there’s no need now to beg
Because we deserve it too much.
Our dry spell is all wet tonight;
Are those the cries of a baby I hear,
Or our bedsprings squeaking?—
It only hurts a little when he gets this excited
But instances are excusable
*** folds in memory
And ****** success caresses forms into forms
I know she will be beautiful
Her beauty will come to her as easily as it passed me by
I am not sad, neither
And the sweat, his sweat drips from his naked chin onto mine—
I tell mom and dad that’s fine,
I want another brother.
They make noises in their room
Which are so loud they keep me awake.
So they decided to make them after dinner,
When I am trying to read.
Sometimes I listen to them very carefully, but
Then I have nightmares of
Them hurting each other.
They are making noises now;
Something not good is happening.
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 6:30 AM UTC
"why don't you,"
said the Lofty Man
warily considering me,
*"sing of the Sublime
the Grand, The Divine?
Sing you of the Uncommon
the Mystery
of the Spiritual, the Religious
of the Incomprehensible -
why don't you?"*
"Cos," I said,
pushing the toothpick
between my teeth
(the ****** food bits always get stuck in between),
*"I've been
to the mountain top there
and I've seen the Sublime
is just O so, so Common
so battered Trivial"*
(Then I spat out the food bits -
O it was Divine Bliss, just like in post-coital)
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:45 AM UTC
i shattered his stone coat
snug around his idle core
by my fist of strong will and liberty
behind it bearing the beat of a newborn
simple and soft
radiating and revealed
to fruitful camaraderie
bionic boy bound by his brothers
craving delights they say a man should
thundering still with lust's vehemence
piercing through cyan lenses
i sliced it open
tore it out.
denied him at birth.
****** love
it's not enough.
it will die without saying so.
gathering stones
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 11:38 PM UTC
Lighting sparklers
in each other's eyes,
in a celebration of pretence
and deceit,
They drink fine sparkling wine,
dine, dance and ravel
make love again and again;
two insatiable serpents-
in perpetual heat,
spitting copious venom,
till it becomes evident,
that not a drop, is left.
As dawn break out,
post-coital hatred reigns,
they, start to fight each other,
without slightest hesitation,
where does love figure in this life of zombies?
empty wine bottles come handy,
feeling thankful to the orgiastic nights,
they make good use of all that.
and,
when the heat dies down,
they kiss and make up,
sob, hug and apologize, two nincompoops,
like programmed emotion machines,
And how awful!
they start the next round with gusto,
all over again!
The morning sun, peeping in,
would find it hard to believe,
this utterly shameful game,
going on day in and day out.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 5:54 AM UTC
(in life)
who am i to warm a cave of darkness with my lust?
or assume your darkness mine to dissipate?
as if a sacred candle burned behind the windows of my heart
and ****** its light through tip of flame beyond
,above the piercing point to spark our confirmation in a universal eye
invisible, but seen as heat you flail about
and cause to quake the melting, sliding crust i am
you have wandered by to rupture me from my serene espy.
to quarrel with mycenterself i turned into myself i am a fool,
how can a taint intention claim essential gravity to good?
encumbered with a blinding zeal
i almost rage amid to satisfy
irrupt, and only drape with words i barely see defined
to justify the greed
in unknown passions gathered out to sun,
eyes aglint of golden maxims worn
by public distorts, magisters of lies
spilling over paths..the voyeuristic farce of virtuosity and virtue mating there
commodities of ****** pride and shame
that cater to ambition's lurid lure:
massively conjoined our worlds, aswirl
transform the pulsar-vortex at the base of me
from threaten-fount to million-twiching node
it sears the face from all our superficial doubts,
gluts us writhing mercy in oblivion.
...transparency collects an inner soot
as we devour red-tip wicks in wax we puddle with our sport--
the outer glass respires steam into the winter nights
--hot against the skin
in flesh embarking in that window *** at last,
we smudge our bodies over every icy pane
--entwined, concupiscent flames
to blacken out the world we claim as only there for us
.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC
Your thirst
Now quenched,
Fuels the fire
Of my regret,
A post-coital paradox.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 4:39 PM UTC
we are a nation
who bonded over a simple ritual
much to the disappointment of our parents
and our lungs
before you even open your mouth
that cancer stick tells me
that we are one in the same
we are all trying to escape from something
and for the most part
we don't like ourselves
but take comfort in the knowledge
that we are in this together
and yes you can *** one
my old friend
smoke 'em if you got 'em
and there is nothing more beautiful
than sharing a post-coital drag
smoke a pack for every sin
we have committed
which went unnoticed
unpunished
and in that night sky
your face partly lit
as if by a stop light
with every inhale
the cherry is a supernova,
God I love the ritual
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
I used to love that
perfume you would wear:
Pavlova, by pavot.
The name rings a bell.
In the post ****** heat
I remember it well.
Mandarin Orange with
raspberry ,musk,
Jasmine and Hyacinth
all that came between us.
Now the scent is redolent
of another place and time.
It returns me to our youth
in that summer of sixty nine
It of course has no such power
to make me, once more, twenty three-
but its subtle hints of citrus
gives rise to my
memory.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 6:23 AM UTC
There there my dear, it's only a scratch, another one for the collection.
Antiseptic wipe; Dettol 99.9% by the way.
Indignancy felt but ushered into a comfortable seat with nice back support and leather upholstery.
Tomato Ketchup.
"This is just wrong, this will not stand!!" A deafening barely audible roar.
Look there is a fly banging its head against a glass window. He repeats the action over and over.
A spark flies and it blinds. Sweet immersion. Embrace. Warmth. Comfort.
A bubble. Suspension. The gaze into a lover's eyes....post ****** of course!
Cinema ticket stubs, bloated belly, extra butter. The cold walk home.
Sorry, I have none on me or I left mine inside or look away.
Discrepency and some thing dis jointed. Lack of understanding. Inward spirals.
HellNoweWontgO, away they went in disgruntled silence. Not a stain nor a mark on the beautiful tree lined streets.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 11:00 AM UTC
“Love: an emotion, one that, so low as to bar
From fair desire—self-righteous and self-serving
Excuse, a pretense, lyric, will not inspire.”
I detest to hear him speak—
Adulterer, why, pray tell, do you prey upon the weak?
“Simple in answer, as simple in method. No heart
Rich needs to beat for “that” emotion obsoletes.
Adults, mature, do not even think the distinction
That is kid’s table morality, what mommy
Only says after a few drinks, winking, your father
In his eyes—just where you have come, in fact—
You needn’t think mommy and daddy stayed together
After long spats, strife, and frustration for their waves
Struck the same height or the moon hits mom just right.
It is not the eternal enthrallment of Eros that keeps them in motion
Dear, friend—it is “that” emotion. In bed, hearts
Are inverted and split down the middle
The negative just drowns away in chemicals.
But how bad we’d feel, (no?) if that, the long and short?
Machinate the “thing” justify “that” feeling
Ennobling, beatifying, kindling for sonnets and odes
Fashioning morality and aesthetics onto sweating
Thrusting beasts, one on one in their dance of love.
A harlequin of truth, my friend! When it is found
In contraception, safeguarding our natural predilection.
Ha! Oh, fools! Why trouble with the rituals
When, really, ****** collocations concern capricious
Chronologies and covetous craving for **** and ****
How ****** How crude! But, oh, but oh how true; think:
Admit the urge has primacy, the “L” emerges and
Lies emitted: of connection, intelligence, intersubjectivity.
Given its stage of farce and face, our sieves are at
Ageful capacity and then needs a bargain, more;
The office of “thing” goes unoccupied, its twin
Will gladly keep it clean and orderly, act
As it did: gentle and cordially.”
Blast it! Such ways in truth and walk, for
Repetition in faith of life
Pegs my myths with all their strife,
Strife and succor irony.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
she ties her tongue in a thick knot so he can’t **** on it.
she bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes rust, until he finishes and collapses in a post-coital nap.
she is forced to rise after her body’s beating, juggle his child, do the dishes, start boiling the water, prepare his dinner, crack open a beer, unscrew the anti-freeze and pour just enough all with one hand and all before he wakes.
he tells her to sweep the floor but the dust pads her footsteps so she doesn’t wake him and she’s happiest when he’s asleep.
he’s happiest when he has something to complain about, something to force himself into, some cavity to cram in the name of pleasure.
women are wild horses grazing in forgotten fields, unrequited and unchained beauty admired only by the sun.
women are the lone wolves, leading from behind.
women are the taste of freedom ****** out by a man with hands around her neck and hot breath in her ear asking if she likes it, asking if she wants it harder.
women are the smell of iron and sticky fingerprints, painting red-black odes into cotton canvases, where society can’t stipple or staunch the flow of freedom.
women are mothers before birth to unruly grab-me-a-beer-babe men tossing ***** clothes to a fresh mopped floor and telling her the place is a pit.
women are anger buried beneath flesh, a bubbling riot up and out of their mouths in the form of what they call crazy and what we call just plain tired.
she hands him his beer, smiles as she adjusts the baby.
here, she says, you deserved it.
she tastes those words, the way they weigh heavily on her tongue like stones tossed into a lake to drown.
she tastes those words, the same words he said to her the first time he painted her eye a pretty bruise-blue, pulled her hair like reigns like he actually believed he could control how she built herself.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 12:23 PM UTC
Bright red lips
Forming a perfect circle.
A fairytale hole
On a pale pale face.
Her eyes are rimmed
Black
With midnight mascara.
Hair a frustrated mess
Of dark curls
On top of her head.
The lace of her cami
Is flush to her *******
And minimal green cotton
Lays low on her hips.
She is Betty
She is Veronica
She is Snow and Cindy and Belle.
Everything becomes her
And through her archetypal appearance
She becomes everything.
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 8:06 PM UTC