"loosened" poems
#
Each body part
sizzled in pure pleasure
in the blissed wake
of your oral efforts
brought forth the waves
of rapturous delight...
Spurs poetic inspiration
in equal liberation
of desires to please.
Bodies transpose
in fluid motion
as brazen eyes meet.
Savor the voluptuous image before you.
Indulge your eyes in my carnal halo
before they roll to the back of your head.
On all fours
knees between your thighs
tips of swollen breast
caress your chest
tasting fresh honey
upon lips in a kiss.
Ripples of ardor
hover
by wet trails
of sensual kisses
suckling towards
the apex.
Breathe in
the slow motion pace
that pulsates eagerness
to the fore tumescing bulge
leaking with anticipation
of viscous lava.
Tickles of silken hair
against flesh edges closer.
Emerging subtle grumbles
in deep resonance
betray your impatience .
Hands tightly twine
in tangled hair
to maneuver
the treasure hunt.
Licked lips pause
at the sight of fire
burning in
glazed gazes
before engulfing
the throbbing member.
Plump ruby lips
greet velvety texture
in a slow deep dive.
Tongue curls around
the flavor
in a dulcet embrace.
Moans release
as grip tightens
in my hair
settles the
rhythmic pace
to taste in an
oscillating dance.
The masculine aroma of heady musk
lingering there, arouses my appetite.
With my enthusiasm
attuned to
your preferred rhythm
suckling, slurping
surface and dive
in measured unison.
Break of breath
allows tongue
freedom to roam below,
licking, soft kissing
the tender hammock
of testicles.
Tongue and lips escalate higher
to mount another assaulting dive
deeper in the depths
of the cusp in cavity.
Wetted fingers
probe even lower
circling superficially
as gasp escapes
your heavy breath;
flaming eyes lock.
Finger dips in
with expert finesse
gorging hardened growth
within a wrapped hand.
Thighs tighten
with rocking grip.
Head thrusts onward,
drilling forward
in each dive.
Salvia slips
fingers grip
lips dip
Engorged swell, flesh tightens in an intensity
of volcanic eruption ...
HALTS
assault
Pace retracts.
Loosened lips kiss tip.
*“Soon sweetheart, your time will ***
inside me as we surrender to synergy."*
#
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
1235
Like Rain it sounded till it curved
And then I new ’twas Wind—
It walked as wet as any Wave
But swept as dry as sand—
When it had pushed itself away
To some remotest Plain
A coming as of Hosts was heard
It filled the Wells, it pleased the Pools
It warbled in the Road—
It pulled the spigot from the Hills
And let the Floods abroad—
It loosened acres, lifted seas
The sites of Centres stirred
Then like Elijah rode away
Upon a Wheel of Cloud.
16.1k
His name purred on her lips;
She loved the way it
Rolled around on her tongue,
Loosened her vocal chords
Every time she said
his name aloud,
It felt as though she were
Becoming more and more
Well versed in him;
His character,
His very being
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
Poems on a Mirror
~for Glenn Currier~
you don’t know me
I don’t know you;
poems on a mirror I ken
truly well
poems on the mirror saved, and then,
comme the seasoning of leave-falling,
poems dropping and drained...the post-it glue loosened by
the daily heat of watery tears,
making a space for
this one, for you...
there are poems and they arrive with fresh arrogance,
each an arrow demanding your all as a target regardless
of what the shooter really thinks or wants, other than
obedient acknowledgment and their self-loving flattery
but some render where no rendering should be allowed
those are the ones affixed - ones you chose to join the chosen,
slapped onto mirrors - so many that they almost
cover complete your image from presentation
almost only because these poems are yours, you,
they’re the truly accurate reflection even if not your words,
indeed especially because they’re not yours
but they start your day as a poem should
and in doing so,
become you
What a Hall of Fame, to be a poem on Glenn’s Hall of Mirrors
go pick the plums...
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
In front of a silky white chair,
An aura of complete despair,
We try to contrast and compare,
This monochromatic nightmare.
I stand before this noose I dare,
To loop my neck and mark a tear,
On my skin that is not so fair,
A bright red strip exposed and bare.
I try to jump without a care,
The chair and rope comes in a pair,
Yet I loosened it with a swear,
I need to live... a life unfair.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC
Do you see her
oh skies,
..where ever she may be,
these blessed fingers; hold fast,
swiftly they bring my curse;
once cherishing they're touch,
here they rip your heart from afar..
they run through your hair,
you've no need for a brush,
they divert your attention,
the moonlight used to
bring me news of
your brilliant reflections,
distance has loosened my grip
now im left to look above,
clouds....
darkness their covering;
i am all but left to play charades...
(...I wait for those darks clouds to one day turn white again...)
....
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
Well what can I say, he says I'm an ****
I just told him he was just full of air..
But we were the closest of friends and were
always found close together like pees in a pod.
*"So what's the plan for today windy,
"We just going to gas? or we just breathing in silence?*
**"I thought you were pulling the other cheek,
But all that comes out of you is crap Hahaha.....**
They were always getting each other in trouble with
one thing or another, if it wasn't **** holding wind in,
it was **** whispering in a lift. But not so silently,
more like a tiny trumpet going off for moments at a time.
There was one time were **** was letting off as usual,
but he let just a little too much out, and in that moment
he told ****
*"That was close, I was one **** away from a poo,*
**** couldn't contain himself and amusement turned
to horror as laughter had loosened both there grips.
And now Mr Poo who usually went diving in
the porcelain pools was now frequenting upon both.
I think I'm going to be sick said **** **** laughted and
then another friend of Poo's joined the party, cleanliness
was obsolete, now as it was like a food fight in close quarters.
Poo slipped out to freedom down the trouser leg and "SPLAT,
**** and **** stunned by poo's lack of grace. *"Could have
stayed for a while,* But **** conceded that he would have
just talked crap, like he did every time he popped out
to see his friends.
Well what could be said, a wet wipe, and **** forgot poo
had even been there. But his odour still lingered gently on.
**** was gassing on and **** clenched so not to
expel to much laughter.. especially in enclosed areas.
**** was just gassing, this duo were always going
be the closest of friends.
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 11:36 AM UTC
I am a sculpture
Of life' beautiful scars
Frightening when viewed too close
Perhaps better glimpsed at from afar
Twisting wounds
Healed over scratches
The heart entombed by loves hand
Blood covered latches
Oh masterpiece
Of intentional cuts and scrapes
Purple raised blue bruises
Hidden carefully from the world
I employ delicate spiderweb curtains
And my sleight of hand illusion's
It is only the bearer who understands
Where the deepest wounds are hidden
Bitter tears in a deep bottomless chasm
The unforgettable kiss of affections contusions
These shadows must never be loosened
Forever restrained even by deception
Guarded by spiderweb curtains
And sleight of hand illusion's
All Rights Reserved@ Tammy M. Darby Jan.13, 2013
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
It was a rainy night. He took out his umbrella, opened it, and it soon engulfed the both of us. "Hey, you're getting wet," he said. He pulled me closer to him, his arms like the umbrella protecting me, protecting us from the drizzle.
I snapped out of my daydream to find him weirdly staring at me, and asked him, "What, do I have something on my face?"
"No, it's just... why are you staring into space?"
Our footsteps made little splashes, puddles reflected a thousand images of us. These pictures from nature will not last for a lifetime but the rain was our witness, as if the skies were crying at a matrimonial ceremony.
I took a step away from him to let the memory of him soak in me. He stands there in the rain innocently, with umbrella in hand, waiting for me to respond. Breathing out, I told him: "Ask me what I think of you right now."
"Wait, what? Are we going to play a game?" That usual what-is-going-on look still stupidly plastered on his angelic face. "Well, what do you think of me right now, then?"
I didn't hesitate and the first word that automatically left my lips were 'umbrella'.
"Umbrella? Do I look that thin to you, really?" He said dryly as he gave me an uninspired look. He shook his head in disbelief and pouted. "And I thought you'd relate me at least to the rain."
"Umbrella: definition for a protecting force or influence," I told him as I stood in place. I side-glanced at him to find a spark lighted up in his eyes as his shoulders loosened. "You're my umbrella because I need you in rainy days and sunny ones. Literally because of your stature to block the sun or cover me when it rains," I laughed. "And it's not because you're thin like one, silly. But how you comfortingly stretch out your arms to me when it's a bad day for me. How you guard me from others' icy remarks. It feels like a need to have you around wherever I go."
He cleared his throat jokingly and added, "Might I say I also take you high like Mary Poppins' umbrella." He burst out laughing as I glared at him for his poorly done innuendo.
But right there and then as I rolled my eyes at him, he dropped the umbrella, grabbed me by my waist and kissed me as light as the raindrops kissing our skin. He broke off after a while and said, "Getting wet, are we?"
Before I could claw at him for his second pun, he released me as I chased him down, not caring if I would get a fever later. But sometimes I just wonder how did I come to like, fall in love, and love him-- basically feel every emotion with him. In all truth, he wasn't just my umbrella, but also my home whom I'll always return to at the end of all my days. Umbrella or home, he is my shelter.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:46 AM UTC
It’s early Friday afternoon and,
over plates of greasy spoon dinner,
the musician and the businessman
repeat their weekly ritual.
The businessman has his problems at home
and spills his guts to his musician friend.
“It’s been a real long time coming,
but she’s still been such a bitter *****
They’ve met this way since
their college days and nights
spent studying the bottoms
of whiskey bottles. And, as usual,
the businessman’s hair sits sprawled
on his head like a rag, and his tie
is loosened. The musician doesn’t understand
divorce: “You look like hell.
You know, if you need a place to stay,
Helen and I and the boy
can always make some room for you.”
They light a pair of cigarettes and wait
for a waitress to kick them out.
Into the haze of a Lower East Side crowd
the musician and his band play
his newest pieces, riffs on the happy swagger
of the Duke. His critics—
and he has many—
write that his jazz sings
the inescapable *********** of suffering
through the life of every oblivious body,
which makes the musician’s music
sound more like the blues
than jazz. But it’s jazz all the same
and perhaps it was the intensity
of the growling bass that shot
spirits down the throats in the audience,
reeling drunk in time to the beat
of the musical suffering.
The weekdays die and it is Friday again.
He has a big view of midtown,
the businessman, and though the window the falling
sun horizons over his socked toes,
parked on his desk in triumph over
all those stockholders. It’s a pain
to lose your family,
but the businessman puts on
a good face, and drinks.
This Friday, the musician and the businessman
are not in the mood for talking.
But a scotch thrown down,
and the two are tighter than
thieves.
The businessman complains of life at home
and the musician’s eyes cross.
That night, the musician skips his performance.
His wife cries in their bed,
shuddering with worry and asking him
what makes him so distant? she asks—
it’s a mystery even to himself.
He is sweating whiskey—
which suits him fine—
and he spends his night on the bridge.
One week later and it is Friday, finally.
Today, the businessman will see
his children at his former home
for the last time for a handful of months
at best. The musician has not been home
for three days. He stays at a friend’s apartment,
puts on his ***** blazer
and a record of the Duke’s
before he throws himself down the airshaft.
The businessman jumps on the 5:44
out of town and calls his friend the musician
to cancel their usual Friday meeting,
but his phone keeps ringing,
ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing.
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 10:01 PM UTC
today you took me by surprise,
bright smile, dancing eyes,
loosened the noose on yet another lonely day,
wherein the depths of these shadows I do lay,
again, you came a-light,
golden skin, heart a-flight,
taking the time to share some of your life with me,
the very essence of your softly sweet vitality,
beauty, you breathe the skies,
today you took me by surprise
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 1:33 AM UTC
I used to make fun of
Those naïve, lovesick girls
That stared out windows
Daydreaming of the boys
Who they'd been silly enough
To give their hearts to
I swore that I would never be
So foolish as to fall,
For with falling comes feeling
The crushing pain of loss
When it all undoubtedly
Hits the ground
But how could I predict
The sensation that would come
When you so suddenly
Found your way behind these
Walls I'd built so high?
You with those eyes and that smile.
How easily you persuaded me
Out of my cynicism.
My firm grip loosened
When I heard you sing that night
And I felt myself begin to fall,
Not knowing if you'd catch me.
Now I am that lovesick girl
Who stares out windows
Daydreaming of the beautiful boy
Who holds her heart
So carefully in his hands,
Silently hoping
That he'll decide to keep it.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
A star of blood you fell
from the point of the hypodermic
singing of fabulous beasts &
spitting out the *** of vowels
Your poems explode in the mouth
like torrents of ***** on a night
full of zebras & bootheels
Your ghost still cruses the river-
fronts of midnight assignations
in a world of dead sailors carrying
armfuls of flowers in search of
your unmarked grave
Your body no sanctuary for bees,
Death was your lover in a rain of
broken obelisks & rotting orchids
In the tangled rose of a single heartbeat
I offer you the shadow of a double
profile,
two heads held together at the bridge
of the nose by a nail of *****
smoke
in the long night's dreaming
& memory of water poured between
glasses
In my mailbox I find a letter from
a dead man & know that for every
shadow given
one is taken away
Yet subtraction is only a special form of
addition and implies a world of hidden
intentions below a horizon of lips
thin as your fingernail sprouting
mysteries in the earth …
The ace of spades dealt from the bottom
of the deck severs the hand which
retrieves it & the eyes of Beauty
sewn together peer over a black lace fan
in the ****** sunlight of a Spanish
morning without horses
The Belt of Orion is loosened
before you as you remove the silver
fingerstalls from your mummy hands &
kneel to plunder the nightsky in a shower of
bitter diamonds.
(Somewhere under a blanket someone weeps
for a lover.)
Peace to your soul
& to your empty shoes
in the dark closets of
kings with no feet!!!
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
Dew Diligence
to reap the rewards of a world of magic
and appreciation of earning
the clouds of doubt and pain
must be experienced
the piper must be payed
the fear of life reconciled
with the acceptance of death
leaving no stone unturned
no path untraveled
the mind set free in observation
the binds loosened in anticipation
maintaining your resilience
the tears must fall
your dew diligence
Gomer LePoet..
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
four arms, two legs
supporting one head, with three eyes
wearing five serpents as ornaments
slithering around us
hissing their wisdom into our ears
as we rested atop the skin
of a tiger, desire
I could see him, in us
extending out his six limbs
two on the ground
two on her
and two on I
and we were within one mind
six, six, six
one mind, with three eyes
the third, sought to destroy
Kama, desire
to right her body
into the form which she deserved
as ashes
of which we wore on our skin
she spoke of the hunting
of skinwalkers
extending out so gracefully
towards me
we were within one mind
with three eyes
and a crescent moon
lain upon our forehead
eternal in the midst of Chaos
in the midst of evolution
destruction,
for the cause of transformation
my claws extended out
as light is pulled
by a black hole
of which was her
and my lips loosened
exposing my sharp teeth
and we worshiped one another
in our destruction
becoming exposed
and feral
so I let out a yell
in the middle of the street
in front of a mother
and her children
as we were covered
in the ashes of Kama
the end
of all material existence
rest our garlands of skulls
over our necks
bowed
and said goodbye
now Shakti swims in my blood
and dances with my Soul
for I am still in
that black hole
headed out, in
to the other side
truly, Chaotically
enjoying the ride
dynamism in in me
as I live, Truly
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
Our love was beautifully vapid
The evanescence of it; pure misery
But I could not stop to wait for you
Because you were a virgin-the most innocent of the pure
And corruption trickled out my veins
it was melted wax
I saw you-holding the unlit cigarette to your mouth-never inhaling
but the temptation
it empaled you like a thorn
Your parents. Your highly respected reputation, will you burn it?
Will you **** her?
Will you **** me?
Can you withstand the allure of the forbidden fruit?
Salvation; you want to be saved
You want **** the lust that veils you
And I want to preserve it
But it slips from my grip like a drunken bottle of whiskey
And you return to your savaging chasteness
And I can no longer wait for the day your loosened morals
Protrude like a needle
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
I realized that your area code
Was the same as one of my friends
Did you know her?
Or were you some stranger on the other side of a swiveling bar stool?
Was it abnormally warm in Cincinnati when you ordered the second beer?
I imagine you remarked about how fast the year was drawing to a close
And pulled the knit cap tighter on your head
And loosened your grip on the beer
The cliché draft you order that doesn’t fit your eyeglasses or your astronomy career
It would be nice if beer was cheaper than water
But it isn’t
And you’re still a stranger on the other side of a swiveling barstool
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
Politely, the drunken gentleman
loosened the knots of my dress.
His fingers were spiders and
everywhere they bit, I burned.
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 4:51 AM UTC
As I stood along the path,
I seen the little girl.
She had on a floral dress,
And her hair had flowing curls.
She stood still, all alone,
With a ribbon in her hand.
And above her was a balloon,
tied to it, with a band.
She had fallen away from the crowd,
Just to stand and breathe.
I watched her as she closed her eyes,
And positioned her two feet.
Her hand was held up-right,
To let the balloon dance,
In the wind that would take it further,
If it only got the chance.
After a moment in the silence,
The little girl opened her eyes.
As she done this, she loosened her grip,
And then sent the balloon to the skies.
I considered this symbolic,
And thought of you as my balloon.
Who had danced off with the wind,
And left me way too soon.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
Beloved, let us once more praise the rain.
Let us discover some new alphabet,
For this, the often praised; and be ourselves,
The rain, the chickweed, and the burdock leaf,
The green-white privet flower, the spotted stone,
And all that welcomes the rain; the sparrow too,-
Who watches with a hard eye from seclusion,
Beneath the elm-tree bough, till rain is done.
There is an oriole who, upside down,
Hangs at his nest, and flicks an orange wing,-
Under a tree as dead and still as lead;
There is a single leaf, in all this heaven
Of leaves, which rain has loosened from its twig:
The stem breaks, and it falls, but it is caught
Upon a sister leaf, and thus she hangs;
There is an acorn cup, beside a mushroom
Which catches three drops from the stooping cloud.
The timid bee goes back to the hive; the fly
Under the broad leaf of the hollyhock
Perpends stupid with cold; the raindark snail
Surveys the wet world from a watery stone...
And still the syllables of water whisper:
The wheel of cloud whirs slowly: while we wait
In the dark room; and in your heart I find
One silver raindrop,-on a hawthorn leaf,-
Orion in a cobweb, and the World.
3k
My Maypole mind unravels
reverses centrifugal force
its streamer shreds of ribbons
spinning backwards
in one grand and splendid rush.
Mind loosened and snapped
tatters
fluttering free
electric after-images
of me.
© M.L.Emmett
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
Sunshine on bare legs,
feet on the dash.
Wind twisting through opened windows
and newly loosened hair.
Open road with the heat dancing
waves from the black top.
Petty and Mellencamp on the radio
sets the tone for our American adventure.
Let's head to Phoenix or Santa Fe,
anywhere as long as it's with you.
The sun is calling our names,
calling us away from these cold, barren plains.
You don't belong here,
your eyes are screaming for the summer.
Your soul is tires on pavement
creating it's own humming song of freedom.
My feet are planted here,
but it's time to uproot with you.
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 7:59 PM UTC
”How To Not Be A People Pleaser”
below are listed 10 bullet points
on how to toughen up,
on how to avoid the blow of others
wiping their ***** feet across
your ‘welcome mat’ heart.
Surely I have the look down, right?
Skinny jeans fit for skinny girls (who I am not),
tucked into loosened combat boots that have never seen a good shoe shine. Black eyeshadow smeared in the form of war paint,
"Today is a good day to die"
But the fact that this is all a charade,
that ‘looking tough’ does not mean you automatically
become some brazened ******* who does not let anyone inside
of your crazy head or heart,
loosens the grip you try so desperately to hold on to.
If you look the part, surely you feel it in your bones.
You feel the anger and the need to not be so polite all of the time.
Yet you still hold doors open, say please and thank you, smile at strangers on the street,
your mouth cannot form the simple word ‘no’ in fear of hurting another person.
So how can you not be a people pleaser?
You can’t. No matter how grungy you look,
no matter how loud you listen to rock ‘n roll
no matter how dark and damaged you let your soul appear
maybe you can allow yourself to become something you are not,
but you can not bury something you are.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
she listens to Him
as if His words can actually
define her
and He uses her
as if she is actually
His property
she lets Him
because she loves Him
and He lets her
diminish
He only needs her
when He is sad
or lonely
or tired
or *****
or hungry
she knows this
she can feel His
selective love
deep in the beds of her nails
as they run down his back
she knows He
only wants
her 'beautiful lips'
wrapped around his
'needing cock'
and she feels like
if she can give Him
even slight relief
her purpose will be
fulfilled
because that...
He told her that
He looks at her
and He knows she knows
He knows His grip
on her is being loosened
just like His grip on her hair
and it doesn't take long
for both of them
to turn
their backs
their hearts
their minds
on each other
until He reaches back out
wraps His warm
all encompassing hands
around her long
soft neck
while fear rushes
through her
mind
heart
down to her fingertips
she also feels the
addictive shake
of His voice growling in her ear
again
again again
'that's My girl'
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 12:16 PM UTC
Laugh
You made me laugh
and it saved me
today
you made me laugh
so I threw the pills
away
you made me laugh
so I saved the bullet for another
day
you made me laugh
so I loosened the rope til it gave
way
you made me laugh
so I didn't cut the pain
away
you made me laugh
you saved me
today
because you made me
laugh
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC