"goading" poems
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.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 1:33 PM UTC
Let those who will of friendship sing,
And to its guerdon grateful be,
But I a lyric garland bring
To crown thee, O, mine enemy!
Thanks, endless thanks, to thee I owe
For that my lifelong journey through
Thine honest hate has done for me
What love perchance had failed to do.
I had not scaled such weary heights
But that I held thy scorn in fear,
And never keenest lure might match
The subtle goading of thy sneer.
Thine anger struck from me a fire
That purged all dull content away,
Our mortal strife to me has been
Unflagging spur from day to day.
And thus, while all the world may laud
The gifts of love and loyalty,
I lay my meed of gratitude
Before thy feet, mine enemy!
11k
I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy. On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go. I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 10:25 PM UTC
The gift of a loving and a platonic relationship.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The gift of a loving and platonic relationship
Having sorted the Philanderer or attractive
Elope if you will , be together in Gretna Green
****** lover ,being kept by a woman of means
Introduce a love potion or Philtre if you’ve one
Feast upon love if you have the energy for it.
The gift of a loving and platonic relationship
Oh too much ? I have heard , is so ******
Friends without any love making is platonic
And Platonic is OK but never satisfying
Love needs to be total never half-way
Oh the differences between loving n platonic?
Virtually all virgins are best to keep pure.
In that the longer you can stay that way is fine
Never try to keep pace with your peers
Goading and teasing you saying you’re queer
As first you really have to love yourself
Narcissism is acceptable at an early age.
Don’t you see ? Look in the mirror. Handsome !
Ask yourself a question.Am I not a fine beauty
Platonic is a name of a friend you couldn’t kiss
********** would be out of the question
Alive to the perils of the merging of the two
Torch songs of unrequited love over the radio
On an enamoured night of drinking red wine
Narcissism comes into play so frequently.
I saw it in my younger days. With pretty girls.
Collectively all trying to look the prettiest
Reality dawns upon the real responsibility .
Elevating your passion to the highest level
Let me take out the College girl every time
And talk about the meaning of life and poetry
To me the platonic relationships sustained one
In that *** never got in the way.
Only once the whole truth is established.
Necking and a cuddle in the back seat enough
*** later in life became a wonderful gift.
Having had so many platonic friends around
I think it gave me an insight to what life was.
Personally given my time over I would repeat...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
November 15th 2018.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 7:36 AM UTC
Tonight I flicker dimmer than most
I'm alone with everyone here
Stabbing their plates and proposing their toasts
Tonight I feel my wings but they're in cuffs
I'm alone with everyone here
Speaking their words, laughing their laughs
Tonight I bear the arrows of discreet little leers
I'm alone with everyone here
Silently goading me with their mocks and jeers
Tonight I hear whispers muttered inaudible
I'm alone with everyone here
Inconspicuous fingers pointed under tables
Tonight I write but my ink weighs heavy
I'm alone with everyone here
They pile on my thoughts, usurping the calm...
Inciting a mind full of anarchy
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
.
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.
.
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 2:50 PM UTC
I am not here now.
Not available,
Absent. Not present.
Hijacked,
Held hostage,
Tied up in a tangled web
Of locks and chains.
Trapped,
Houdini like,
In a cage and thrown
Into the turbulent waters
Of my shark infested mind.
****** in by a
Whirlpool of stories,
My thoughts spin
Epic myths,
Fantastical tales,
Dark fantasies and
Cheap thrillers.
Each teasing,
taunting and
goading me
To disconnect,
Shutdown,
To flee from
This moment.
This tender,
Aching moment.
This unashamed longing,
Drenched in the desire
To be penetrated by
Your presence,
To free fall into
The lap of the Beloved.
But you, like me,
Are not here now,
Not available,
Absent. Not present.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
Skipping ropes tied to lamp posts
hopscotch was another for girls
I'd try to work out the rules
but dare not ask, nor yet even
be seen to be showing interest
sometimes I'd be invited
to join in girls play
I could hold the rope
while others skipped
but had not the grace
or the agility to skip
at all well myself
there were role play games
of families with dolls
proudly displayed
tenderly nursed
and I would be offered
the role of 'daddy'
though I had no clue
of how to do that
having no father myself
so I would be told
to arrive home from work
to sit in my chair
to put on my slippers
to smoke my pipe
to hear tales of misbehaviour
by the children
and I would be amused
but would be told firmly
that I must be stern with them
then when that was done
to eat my tea and afterwards
to sit watching the telly
distracted from the game
that continued around me
or to go out to the pub
and I thought that
fathers must be
the most boring of people
The rough and tumble
was not for me
why would some boy think
he could throw me down
straddle me, pummeling
overpower and hold me there
trapped, despite my struggles
I learned early that
scratching, biting,
flailing, kicking
were not permitted
nor were tears
yet I shed them still
and screamed and scratched
and bit and flailed
if I could not avail
myself of natural defences
generally expected of girls
then why should my attacker
receive no more than
mild admonishment, if that
while I'd be advised
to "toughen up"
and the goading
carried on relentlessly
"you run like a girl"
"you throw like a girl"
"you kick the ball like a girl"
"you fight like a girl"
as though doing those things
like a girl were demeaning
Cynthia Pauline Jones 30/10/13
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
.
I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy. On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go. I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
.
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 6:56 PM UTC
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.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 12:46 PM UTC
.
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.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
Go now to the second stair;
I've hidden many wonders there.
No gold or jewels or gems or cash.
But, rest assured, there is your share.
You'll perhaps think me brash,
When you happen 'pon my stash.
But, rest assured, there is your share,
So at the stair, go be abashed.
You'll find tufts of matted hair,
Clotted flesh, both dark and fair.
Now all these deaths are mine to claim.
But, rest assured, there is your share.
I cannot say it was my aim,
To turn the stair into a frame.
But, rest assured, there is your share,
So I'll not be taking all the fame.
So go now to the second stair,
First comes joy, then despair.
Past that: regret, then who knows?
But, rest assured, there is your share.
And just like the old saying goes,
I will admit, my blood-lust grows.
But, rest assured, there is your share,
So go to the stair and claim your throes.
Now go on to the second stair,
Fret no more; you've no right to care.
'Twas your goading put them there.
So, rest assured, you'll find your share.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
Procrastination,
laying on the ground,
words fumbling through my brain like they're on some weird-ass drug
and can't help but bounce off all the walls.
Papers spread all around me,
goading me,
laughing at me,
dancing with each other and
playing twister over the square patterns
on my carpeted floor. They're my audience,
supposed to be sitting in
surprisingly well-cushioned red stadium seats,
only half-paying attention to my feeble attempts at
getting **** done. But I'm noticing this one, sitting (actually sitting!) three rows back
and two chairs down from the aisle
I can see his soft eyes twinkling in the light emanating off the
background of my stage
he watches me, amused, stern, patient,
believing in my abilities to complete
but understanding the trap.
His flat body is well-dressed, covered in straight black lines, question marks,
and capital letters. The kind of paper that means business. The kind of paper that
proves things. His blanks and spaces are all filled out:
pen under a backwards-steady hand.
With all of his numbers and names and titles he's declaring, predicting,
holding
encapsulating
saturated in my future.
He's like a time traveler, sitting there silently with
his boots and black top hat,
whispering softly about what is to come
urging success to spill from my thoughts
which are now linked together in an unorganized conga-line,
falling all over the place is if inebriated intensely,
the crazy ones even throwing up in strategically-placed trash cans.
What a nice touch.
Sweaty palms.
This is what happens
when all but one of your papers don't pay attention to you
and the one that does
is too severe and powerful,
overwhelming,
terrifying,
when that one paper
is the reason why you've been
a fervent procrastinator
this whole time.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 8:56 AM UTC
I saw you between buildings
working in sun
network of light
letting liberty reconnect.
Wires buzzed
high voltage streamed inside them
darkness questioned its own shades
sparks dripped into night's gulf.
Fervent as LIGHTNING
lathering rooftops
sizzling bolts spying timber
smothering scars.
I saw you tunnel down
infinite pure light
shattered by solitude
entering bold, courageous
down into dark mines
soldier who never stumbles
suspending notes caressed in silence
protecting seeds, engaged by yearning
I watched you grow
twisting up
gnawed by roots and rocks
begging for water
circling wider than galaxies
melting skin, taking down drapes
promising to visit me
in tombed up places
dizzy as smoke
curled up by desire
amnesia searching for identity
drafted by absolute fire
changless architect
rerouting for change
vicious as dawn rising in Saturn
gentle as mist leaking from
her melted eyes
swallowing his compassion
vanquished revenge to steam
her savage attack whirled
in amorous sheets.
I felt you unveil arousing
every heartsick wish
blasted down by wailing wills
puddles of December gathering
reflecting on above
while drowning below
who is it speaking kindness
after rippling screams uprooted trees
volley my soul
back and forth
between worlds
consume this spark
encircle your breath
with goading light
dancing inbetween
two ruined buildings
I listened to rocks slurring for mountain
I heard trees lust for water
I felt the cries of troubled voices
flare across two highways
rerouted by dark and light.
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
How did it feel at the end ?.. were your legs as heavy as your heart as you took your last journey, upwards .. all the way to the top.
What led you to this place?. so broken, so defeated..
I can only imagine how wounded you must have felt, knowing your demise was considered entertainment to the crowd below. Goading you to jump, baying shamelessly for your blood. Updating social media status' .. phones pointed upwards so they could capture your misery and share it with the world.
That must be a very lonely place to be .. .
Did they not comprehend that you were someone's child, perhaps someone's Father.
Their lack of compassion could only have added to your brokenness, your feeling of being alone, misunderstood, unloved.
They left you no options, encouraging you to die like that, when you so obviously needed a kind voice, a kind heart to show you the way down to safety.
Did they enjoy the show ..as you came falling from the sky, did the crowd fall silent as you hit the ground ... LIFELESS .. Do they even comprehend how greatly they have sinned?
May I apologise on behalf of humanity, or share your grief for the lack of.
I hope you have gained the peace, you so desired and didn't get whilst here on earth.
(for the guy who commited suicide, jumping from a multi storey this weekend, spurred on by the crowd below)
(msrigs 17/03/2016)
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
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.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
The royal magistrate gives the laws,
the wind sails true,
the grass grows greener,
the sun shines brighter,
you dance in the meadows of youth
each day,
starting now.
The avant-garde ******** ends now
we are guided by the restrictions
we live in.
each day,
self-regulated,
un-mitigated,
joy.
Waves of acid-washed notes flash by,
each one dwindling longer than the one
before,
mingling in a pale composition
with each beat goading the next.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 12:22 PM UTC
The winter haze hangs on the meadow,
In the veiled sun the ghostly apparitions
Mourn the ritual of yet another day,
To smell the wet exudation of the grass,
To till the field praying for the sun!
Once a while moos pierce the silence
Joined by the clangs of the tiny bells
That adorns the creatures as mournful
As the ones goading them to move on!
They bellow when unable to take anymore,
Hoping for a miracle that would unburden
And bring a freedom only yearned in dreams!
But as ordained the pale orb grows bright.
God frantically pours his passion in the disc
Colors of which spill over in the firmament!
Blazes in another day of harvesting hopes.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
Banging heads upon the wall all *****
Scrunched up in a corner with dust falling
For it must
Tomb tickers break open their beakers
Feeling what it must be like to be a God
Goading over fools gold discovered at the
Bottom of the ocean
Remembering their pasts, praying that it
Never existed
A fortune cookie lightly breaks
And a tear falls from it
Leaving a small watery mark in the hot sizzling dirt
Fortune smiles as men run amok with guns, blood and prayer beads
Blazing
Blazing
Blazing
Fancy hearing the siamese cat and alla' that
She and he were oh so great at the party
Weren't they Molly?
Name that means nothing says everything
But everything is the bottom of the barrel
The watermelon harping over a sail boat
Dirt speckled pomegranetes listen intently
In the rotting afternoon showery sun
Solioquoy membrane meters with a piano balancing
In a full swing and in teter
Atop the highest feather, a fire eater
Nonsensical romance that blinks their eyes and it is gone
So gone
So far and so long
Ripped tendons tenderly sell their wares
All buttons, miss matched pieces of tore out hair
She was the one I loved best, the one at the fair
Oleander olives had hung from her wretched head
While the television played Oprah
I was in Ethipioa praying for another month of rain
Reeling through the season in treason
A prisoner in my own mind
The foggy ruins of time
Off and far away
She said just couldn't obey what the Lord wanted her to say
Oh Joan, you burned so fast, so quick, so steadily
Never screaming, only beaming
Members of the church swore their were moments
That you were balanced and the opposite of torment
A letter opened
But never read
A letter received
But quickly thrown away as though secretly deceived
Pole dancers show their goods as they should
Much like drinkers whom some believe
To be great thinkers
But I ask the wind what she thinks
She doesn't hesitate
As she coyly
Winks
May 15, 2011
May 15, 2011 at 11:06 AM UTC
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.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
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.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
Eat, drink, smoke; cake, coffee, Camel; all day, every day
Then some semblance of self preservation, a physiological salvage screams an alert and for a couple of weeks I maintain lean and mean
Eat, drink, smoke; cake, coffee, Camel; all day, every day
Self realisation struck like lightening; a lifetime of silent decency, consideration, tolerance, obedience, generosity – absorbing everyone else’s rot
I take it all in, then eat, drink and smoke more, subliminally goading the flood gates to burst, but nothing comes out
Well here it is, my public announcement, opening my mouth and letting the screams flow
A baby step I know; I’ll try a couple of lean and mean weeks and then let the true target audience know
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
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.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC