"concupiscence" poems
I've become a victim
To my own rapacious desire,
'Slaved to the rhythm
Of this unquenchable fire.
Succubus personified,
As abysmal concupiscence;
I'm Incubus defiled,
Who lost her innocence.
Erotism's my passion ;
A passion that's my monster,
Worn as frenzy fashion;
My sweet seductive sinister.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 4:44 AM UTC
Drink the nectar of the Divine Name, O human! Drink the nectar of the Divine Name!
Leave the bad company, always sit among righteous company. Hearken to the mention of God (for your own sake).
Concupiscence, anger, pride, greed, attachment: wash these out of your consciousness.
Mira's Lord is the Mountain-Holder, the suave lover. Soak yourself in the dye of His colour.
3.5k
Baby soft scruff
Eyes, pacific and sultry
Sly yet honest
Childlike and sensual
Witty and innocent
Bring forth the animal
The infectious mischief
The ***** rhythms in darkened rooms
The stolen moments in Lower West Side alleyways
Long, piercing looks over a bottle of Dal Forno Amarone
Savage concupiscence
Your eyes suggesting the next move
Bodies entwined in the back of a cab
At the bridge and we walk across
And I indulge in your juxtapositions
All the way to Brooklyn
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 4:39 PM UTC
Sociopath. One who feels no empathy, no sympathy, no emotion.
Sociopath. Not understanding wrongful actions, only pleasing one's satisfaction.
Sociopath. Living without truly caring.. what is the purpose?
Sociopath. Living a lie, its all just pretentious.
Sociopath. Selfishness at its finest, a confidence so strong.
Sociopath. Peace of mind, sinful bliss, morality gone.
Sociopath. Having no shame, no guilt, no conscience.
Sociopath. A devil within, feeding the monster, entertaining one's concupiscence.
Sociopath. Evil, Deceitful, Lethal.
Sociopath. Probably me, living amongst you people.
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
Ach so! thou much-praised and lauded Milwaukee,
Thou delightful Wisconsin Stadt of boundless pulchritude,
Verily hath History endowed thy blessed name
With the noisomely beery breath of immortality!
And thank the benign Almighty in highest Heav’n
That thy delectable streets and arboreal squares
Doth remain heretofore untouched by unseemly civic strife,
Despite thy renown as veritable midwife to Sewer Socialism!
Yet, tear-inducing recollections have I of this dwelling-place
And herewith followeth heart-rending remembrances
Of what transpired when I inveigled a plump young Mädchen there
For a brief sojourn of untrammelled concupiscence.
Alas, alack, after gorging her impetuous appetites
On a gargantuan repast of mitteleuropäische delicacies,
Methinks her poor heart gave up survival’s uneven battle
And, warbling a soft piffero-reminiscent sigh, she expired.
‘Twas too tragic thus to depart this happy welkin in mid-prandials,
Emitting a final flatus, sweet adieu, from her rearmost aperture,
Leaving me, her poor forlorn swain, bereft and solitary,
Faced with mine host’s request for instant monetary rendition.
From that naughty place of my bereavement fled I,
Clutching to my ***** the contents of her silken purse,
Determined to partake in untrammelled ***** licence elsewhere,
Ere the chanticleer’s dawn croak wake the inebriated citizens.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
O LOVE! O LOVE! WHY ARE YOU EVER DEVOID OF LOGIC?
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
Mankind in its pathetic folly entice you in a dint of stupor
Knowing not your true colour and texture
Endeavoring to achieve glory in your mastery
With the so limited human capacity
In grey faith that you are a cradle of bliss
But O love! Why are you ever crooked?
Young men and women in strength of their sinews
Toil day and night in ******* of humanity
Praying and whining incantations with the hope for optimal love
Ornamenting their bodies with diamond and bronze
Fibre and silk ornamented to helm of providence
In the foolish quest for love equillibria
But in full stretch of your vice, you impish love
You catapult all away to the shifted goal posts
O love! O love! Why are you ever ruthless?
You hate the learned but you favour the strong
You hate professors but you favour the soldiers
You hate the rich but you favour the agile
You hate the lawyers but you favour the footballers
You hate the pastors but you favour the ruffian
You hate the whites but you favour the Negroes
You hate the groomed but you love the ragamuffin
You hate the chaste but you favour the mistress
O love! O love! Why are you ever illogical?
Love, I revere you for wickedness and irrationality
In all of your history you scored sum *** laude
In the duo as blend of your domain, Look;
You never dwell in a genuine companionship
You like where the couth will interject;
Amidst fornication between married and single ones
Amidst adultery in the triangle of foul compassion
Amidst miscegenation between black and white
Amidst infatuation between the whole and the lame
Amidst conjugal appetite between the old and the young
Amidst concupiscence between house master and houshelp
Amidst immorality of married master over the wallowing servant
Amidst libidos between literate teacher unto the peasant pupil
Amidst disordered passion among the sly lesbians
Amidst impious ********** among the suave gays
O love! O love! You are the most wicked force!
Love I am told; your colour is red
You may be red or you may not be red
But all in all, you deserve poetical veneration
For your herculean ability to bend the most wise;
In your force you made sagacious Shakespeare to bend
In your force you made Princes Diana to bend and bend
Bending downwardly stooping for Afawoyed the moor,
In your stupefying dint you made Napoleon de Bonaparte
To bend and bend downwardly stooping for Josephine
Josephine a famed she-Casanova in the gone Paris
Among the then humanity and the then animality,
In your impairing machinery you set sons on their fathers
In the roman empire of Antony and Ceaser
In the scramble for Cleopatra, the Egyptian queen
Beauty of her aquiline nose heavily hovered perhaps
In the eyes of the Roman beholders
The father and the son only to sent the empire
To the love forlorn smithereens!
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:08 AM UTC
I reminisce quite often
of your touch
and
the unabashed ****** experimentation's
we've shared.
I know my worth,
so don't you go forgetting,
I had you with your mouth agape,
your toe's curling
as
you cried out my name...
call my conceit one of a kind,
because
I know the way you stare,
the way your eyes lustfully & licentiously devourer me,
the way you crave me
and
how you cling to the memories of us,
in bed.
Your priapic lust for me
is
equally accepted & measure,
almost to a point where
I could have bodily-combusted
since
you always seem unable to stop,
but
you must know,
I have a very arcane little list and lucky for you
I've let you in...
hahaha lucky indeed & better for me.
My concupiscence language
and
metaphors simplify & convey my lustful intent.
In simpler terms just know I want to repeat are coupling,
I'd like you to to bend me over and stretch me to my fullest.
open me widely
and
dance with in my silken Venus’ cradle,
entangle me into
a dreamlike haze,
in which my fantasy and reality are indistinguishable.
I know you've harboured about me & the many ways,
all the very excitingly different ways you could defile
and desecrate my ripe tight little body,
I see more clarity and certainty of what might happen,
if ever
I'd allow you to spend the night with me again,
I still remember our passionate nights together,
oh so very well,
I can see it,
I taste us and worst yet,
I can feel your animalistic
and
sometimes brutal ****** assault on me,
I still feel you deep within
my seductive tight little love box.
Your
a
cannibalistic-cunnalinguist master,
causing havoc within me,
as you attack hungrily
between my thighs,
sending me spinning,
sending me on a intoxicating high.
Our last encounter,
left me unable to breathe,
barely able to walk and yet I have no regrets,
well maybe just one,
and that is;
all good things must come to an end!
(until I heal.)
Always Me Ayeshah ™ ®
K.A.C.L.N ©
All right reserved ®
Copyright 1977 - Present ©
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
Do you feel the hunger
In my embrace?
A ravenous deep pulls you into me.
(Darkness clings to the stars
the ocean laps, crashes, and slips
Into the sands)
I sip, and sift you slow
through my desires.
How does it feel to be my need?
Feb 8, 2024
Feb 8, 2024 at 3:17 PM UTC
His topper reflected prisms,
And hair burned under his moon glance,
How ephemeral was midnight,
Darkness dressing my hair in stars,
His smile the light spill from a broken moon,
A claret glass bursting with blood skies,
His plumage exodus stealth netherworld ,
Trithing shards in flamed heat,
Black salt pastes orinein wounds,
Kirk yard elementals despoil spirits of all hell,
Strix cackle, taunt on nightly transvections,
A viridescent sadness wakes alone.
Saudade no seasons doth befall,
Trapped in concupiscence darkest tale void of intemperance
── Clad in loves spectural crown
Arnay Rumens © 12/ 2014
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
Bound in darkness
Tethered by restraints unseen
Constrained by ideology
Control is illusory
Received in freedom
Freedom to perceive the truth
Or believe what's easy
Twisted minds revolt
Logic vs passion vs need vs want
Exercises in futility
Frustration abounds
Follow commands
Command desires
Twisting logic
Abandoning sense
Embracing concupiscence
Truth = justification
Justify and make it so
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
My body longs for things
my heart does not want.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
For Alonso, the day was sinking into dusk
But for Dulcinea, her knight was rising.
Long his lance’s shadow stretched
And thus his stories, picaresque.
He flaunts his tale of espionage,
Purring silent and clandestine
“there I sprung from camouflage
and smote these vile leviathans!”
“Oh, please don’t stop,” the gypsy cries
draining doubt from starlit eyes
From behind her fan of elegant slips
She retracts the rivets to her lips.
Alonso mounts the moment of his concupiscence
to rescue the fair Dulcinea from her diffidence.
But the windmills turn for our quixotic man
Whose delusions are rescued by a chaste heroine.
Years later a man was overheard in Cordoba…
el estaba hablando con unas senoras
“Oye musas, puedo decirte,
he visto algunas cosas.”
“…mi vida se salvo una noche estrellada
por una mujer de gran belleza
que volvio a las tablas de la fortuna
aqui, en mi reino de Iberica…”
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
Watching his velour for he was to be my knight,
Dismounting he spoke in clever clichés and poetic chime,
Swooned & enchanted my silk craft flutter upon the ground
Dreaming I of fevered kiss at night chambers,
Unforgettable the offense my skirts held high,
Would he carry the fortune of a king and wisdom of a sage?
Pray tell my good knight of roses across the moon
Merlin be twining the silk thread,
Mine fingers restless in watch over the mazes,
His crafting potions and poisons be pale,
All through bora blue skies trembling flesh am I
One hand to the sky, another to earth below,
Doth love speak there at centre of thy chest?
Admist silent alchemy foretold,
Methought Magick be alone sorrows gold
Smoothing long silks, lily pond sings,
Mine tortured concupiscence
Reflection light is seeping,
Spectral are illusions spawn immortal gold,
Star lights ignite mine love sweet knight
Why so far?
© Arnay Rumens / A Sol Poet 2013
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
To touch
stroke
kiss
smell you,
intoxicating.
breathe on me.
hot flush rush.
tingle.
sensations rising,
open
slide
hard
pressed on me.
shake fervently.
breathless.
dive in,
flow
release
sweat
rapture
dream.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
The colors of the rainbow appear so bright,
After stormy weather it makes everything seem alright.
I have discovered in the years of my existence;
We have many feelings from anger to concupiscence.
The emotions of men form the moody rainbow.
The first color is red denoting our passions and fears,
Escalating, externalizing, evolving throughout the years.
The second is yellow revealing our need for joy,
Wanting, wishing that we could have and do more.
Green appears symbolizing our energy and envy,
Maneuvering, managing challenges and insecurity.
Next up, blue bringing hope and sadness,
Satiated, sullen while navigating the madness.
Finally, purple revealing boldness and bruises;
Pressing, pushing, passing through daily obstacles,
Making life bearable when moments are detestable.
© 2012 The Refined Poet. All rights reserved.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
I escaped the lion's den.
So, I am done with hand wringing,
Dragging my palm down my nape.
Forefinger and thumb squeezing the bridge,
Encircling my chin, to the point.
The time has come to discard my hair-shirt,
To loosen the cilice;
Stop the self-flagellation,
And smear balm on my mortified back.
I shall repose, indulge in a repast.
And prepare for the proclivities of the flesh,
To revel in the concupiscence of humanity.
Cast off chastity, poverty and obedience.
We are not saints or martyrs.
The cause is not worth the pain.
I am forgiven.
I forgive.
You could too.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 11:06 AM UTC
Exposing blushing crater sores caked in crashing silence, lay thick like Pompeii’s ash
Powder thrush molten on
seedlings, exposed
being, exposed
Here lies a moment, stained
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
Like the bonnie
Hereditary lines you descend from
You are beautiful
Through cumulative generations
Your estrogenic figure seems meliorate
But that's not what I'm here for
You see I'm here for what's beyond the eye
For I know there are shades of blue beyond those onyx eyes
I desire to engage with your soul
And for your soul to engage with mine
Not in the concupiscence sense
We'll talk about that another time
So Babygirl name your time
Name your place
No obstacles are bound to stop Psyches from attachment
For what I dream we'll have can over every,
and surely create plenty
Babygirl...
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 6:14 PM UTC
Do we inquire to just be heard? Or found?
For I thirst both!!
A movie, a toast, to all concupiscence!!
An attraction between Atlantis and mythology!!
An ideology,
Gleemed between twos kisses,
Where two benches shall be made one!!!!
A clasp tightend by staunch extremities!!!
One soul connection,
Two entities,
Unflawed by mans ***** delight!!!!
A tunneled heaven,
A table polite!!!
Musteth I gait this ill-fated terrain?
Where there's no love, yet all pains to come as womb grosings!!!!
Unrelenting!!!!
Disheartening it is to find mine other fragment,
Where no dialects cometh with mints,
No fridges to hold enduring magnet!!!!
Gridlocked I am to such erroneous enterprise!!!!!
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 6:34 AM UTC
She walks among stars as gods
bathed in blood
Her ***** maggots feast
Her eyes
an enchanting promiscuous carnelian culmination
such as one can't resist
A silent epitaph belies a deadly kiss bliss
until nothingness
You surrender
for death is sweeter than water gold
*** and taxes
Drink ye up lads and lasses
for her love discriminates not
Fill ye bowels of concupiscence
and prepare
to meet
My Queen
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
Q.309 is the fire of existence pushing to action transforming the ideological Materia in revolutionary spirit.
SHE IS GODS **** AND MOUTH
Q.309 is the confirmation of the enlightening action above the primordial waters found in the structure and in the function of the eye.
BEYOND THE EGO BURNS INEFFABEL APHRODESIA
Q.309 is every union originating from dissimilar things with adulterous spirit.
Our anamnesis nullifies the liturgical and ritual tradition; the attitude in us pushing to the repetition of the ritualistic gesture intended as an offer and as a proof of the memory is amplified by the life itself.
CHAOS AS RITUAL
Q.309 is the radical conflict with the existing world and a new identity to be achieved through a process of identification with the will of the abyss that contains all: through this conflict you become a concupiscent being.
I PUSH HER **** THROUGH HER THROAT
Q.309 is the cult of the slough whose common thread is constituted by the constant sexualization of the human world and of the divine sphere, bringing them closer till the overlap.
A RESIPROCITY OF ******* IN MUTUAL EXCHANGE
Q.309 is the energetic foundation and dynamism typical of the devolutive systems.
HEAD ABOVE THE HEAVENS FEET BELOW THE HELLS
We turn our gaze to the underlying face of the Materia and we consolidate our desire in her; the concupiscence is our vis generandi through which our gnostic process of emanation is activated.
I AM EVERYWHERE WITHIN HER
The Flesh of God melts with the one who creates him.
[From MEQOM YAD/Assur #1]
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 5:04 PM UTC
Scoundrels and rascals
All decked out in pastels
And Brooks Brothers suits
With cufflinks to boot
And five hundred dollars ties
Thinking that makes them wise;
Just one of the rich guys
And nobody to question them,
Never harrumph or an ahem
Because they are above it all,
No boring trips to the mall
They depend on their buyers
And other expensive liars
To tell them how cheap it is
To engage in this dressing biz,
For them to buy for the guy
And never ask why so high.
After all, it’s Armani, not Guess
So why should they confess
That they are smarter than him
The guy they work for is so dim
He pays whatever they say.
After all, he can afford to pay.
Even the water his maid gets
Is so high quality, one forgets
It is only hydrogen and oxygen
Not something created by men;
Probably bottled from the tap.
He never knows he is a sap
That falls for the television ads.
He will die completely glad.
It is so dick-hardening for him
To sup in restaurants so dim
He hardly notices how small
The costly portions are at all.
He lets them uncork the wine
And brays about how fine
The taste and the vintage,
Not caring the damage
It does to his Diner’s card.
This kind of life is not hard.
Plus he gets to go tomorrow
And wreak more sorrow on
Constituents and other peons
And wreak his own opinion
Even though he is but a minion
Doing exactly what he is told.
As long as he rakes in the gold.
Later, a bit under the influence
He'll revel in the confluence
Of a lack of conscience, and
Socially accepted concupiscence
At an appropriate gathering
Where there is a smattering
Of propriety and morality
That allows rented geniality
And permits him to rise up
And drink too many cups
While he beats his chest
Just like all of the rest
And call for the dancers
To come and surrender
To their oh-so rightful rapine
That won’t make the magazines.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 12:03 AM UTC
I love my body.
The way it's imperfectly perfect,
slightly curvy around the edges
inevitably flawed,
tortured and tormented
whiplashed and backstabbed
but still and always a great piece of art.
I love my face.
The way its burdened by two chubby cheeks,
bears a thousand emotions no one can perceive,
how marvelously it masks my mind,
ignored and ridiculed
yet still chooses to smile.
I love my skin.
The way it is cold and warm at the same time,
pale, puckered with fear
tanned, tarnished with regret,
scrutinized and scarred
but still glows.
I love my hair.
The way it never listens to anyone but itself,
acts as a tangled mess,
an untangled spirit more or less,
chopped off, pulled at
yet subjects to shine magically.
I love my lips.
The way it speaks with kindness,
guards silence and is often
mistaken for its innocent kisses,
parched, bled and muted
but still a fiery, crimson code of concupiscence.
I love my fingers.
The way they wish to be intertwined with yours forever,
snaps, shushes and points
at the slightest arguments that arrives
with such brevity and righteousness
always kept crossed for better things to come by.
I love everything about myself.
I am proud of my body and everything that comes with it.
What I don’t like though
is the way you make me feel about myself.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 2:57 AM UTC
i am powerless in your presence,
you’re the evidence of things not seen,
a beauty i can’t un-see,
see, you’re everything i’ve been praying for
my mind stays on you, my lips can’t say much more
your essence is the evidence of
prophesies; your presence is deific
magnificent is your image as you
baptize me in this new religion
you got me prostrating, your heavenly body is so amazing,
you make *** feel like divine revelations
i run my hands down the small of your back and it
is smooth as the ponderosa of a harpsichord,
spine subtly dimpled like the pebble-grain of a hymnal
this union we’ve made is not holy,
dulcet notes hit my ear the second you spoke to me,
you must be a goddess, baby
you radiate with the same intensity as the countenance of the sun
i get between your knees and
bless you with a thousand tongues
you’re dripping a lovely tincture;
it runs down my lips like holy scriptures
concupiscence is slowly
evolving into firm convictions,
throw away all inhibitions and
give into our carnal rhythms
i know our spirits intertwining,
for the first time, i feel christened
though we broke free of tradition…
you may be the goddess, but in the end,
i’ll be giving the commands
you’ll try to get a grip on reality
while you’re gripping the bed
you’ll feel a “hallelujah” deep down
without you clasping your hands
i’ll have you calling on a higher power just for you to call on him again
we are birds of a feather,
our souls merge perfectly together
our bodies intercede, while your hips reply to me,
it’s always sweet communion when i’m looking in your eyes
your smile is bright white ivory, something unrivaled
i could die in between your thighs and experience revival
{j.c.c.}
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC