"maleness" poems
slipping in her wet painted petal
bitten by the sting of his bee
her first time, he fumbles being gentle
excitement dancing in his driving need
instinctively possessed
arcing her hips experimentally
his maleness sweetly carressed
teasing his need, tremendously
each submersion in her sweetness
peaking waves swelling in her breast
entwining rhythmic explosiveness
pulsating gush, plunging over the crest
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 8:34 PM UTC
The last one thinks of, yet the most
Important ‒ the blind use it to feel
Bumps in the pavement, and the
Deaf are tapped on the shoulder
To get their attention.
Because of texture and good company,
The absence of smell and taste don’t
Ruin a good meal.
As infants we survive by being
Touched ‒ love is given by both
Parents, whose skin is recognized
As the warmth it provides.
When we grow ‒ the pubescent years
And beyond ‒ girls still whisper, kiss
And touch each other as signs of
Affection.
Boys grow up touch-deprived ‒ what
Makes them different? ‒ Male fears
That men don’t touch because that’s
A sign of being queer? Likely.
Sure, guys touch ‒ slaps on the ****
Playing sports, the snapping of
Towels in the shower room ‒ nothing
Gay about that!
Or is this sudden lack of tactile affect
A sign of maleness? If so, we wouldn’t
Shake hands ‒ or high-five or hug our
Brothers and best friends.
Consider the massage ‒ visiting the
Parlor run by Asian ladies, which for
A 20-spot more brings a ******* ‒
But answer an ad for online service
From a guy, and NOPE, not me!
Not unless of course the wife
Doesn’t put out no more or is
Sick ‒ then any excuse works.
But, that doesn’t mean I’m….
No, dude, it doesn’t, but any
Port in a storm ‒ we all know
What sailors do when at sea for
Months, or do we?
Maybe it’s just American men
Who are hung up ‒ The French
And Italians don’t seem to be
Paranoid, and Russian men are
Said to kiss each other on the lips!
So, maybe our psyches could use
A tune-up ‒ a lesson from a wise
And happy soccer player/philosopher ‒
“If it feels good, and doesn’t hurt
Anybody, do it!”
© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
fem in isms,
i imagine Sapphic eyes:
bad *** advert coruscates elite
fairness sensing slavish blind
in gestate calm affirm
in genders More numerous of Windows--
Superior--for Doors--
O harsh judgement foiled,
as a foil, as unknown truth
foil-doubles in the brow,
abject symmetry to systemize
a fertile lack of sterile barrenness,
i am a mediatrix rend,
nirwaan, hijra wonderment aside
from transemotion's ground swells
demeaning to be understood.
i celebrate and face the same
to be what paperwork tests being
normal being, freely chosen
atom each belonging moves
an asterisk of paths
of mutate art of nature social darwin maze.
i imagine Sapphic eyes,
ginko soft they pile up all cobble
memories themselves concretely
cloistered fame
spray of salty waves,
macho screams symbol
for dismissal ease
for tearing at an inner unsaid war
with lists offense of proper taste
to what posterity intends
an undulation womblike seeming nourish safety sounds.
i imagine Sapphic eyes
past
debauched
meanderings
where hyster-clarity rejoins its titular
and reliable escapisms curl the lips
of maleness found
here and there smile sneer love
i imagine Sapphic eyes
linguistic pirouettes
congest that wisdom nonetheless
the moment passed on to a
feigning truth in pretty rhyme
ornamenting time with fine meter fine
vernacular chimes peter in
to juggle perspectival paradox,
redichotomize the twilight idols,
resolve the conflict like a dawn
Aurora,
i imagine Sapphic eyes
running plastic with Alaskan wolves,
toga floats to snow
to let us see the purest fairness form
a ****** circle,
Hypatia ascends from tenebrous grave,
Impregnable of Eye is pregnant now
with Wollstonecraft revered
in liberation's fount
families held exemplar gaze of
Taylor, ****** Cady,
Anthony resanctified
to vote entitlement's
empathic origins, waxen mold
of nascent categories,
narrow hands spread wide to panoply anew
the manifest evolve in true unknowns
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
Across the ice a baritone
Projects his notes of steel,
A tenor’s harmonizing
Adds that melancholy feel
And the glory of the voices
Flows out through alders bare
And the listeners weep for Russia’s soul
And the tragedy found there.
The tragic melancholy
Found in every Russian heart
Liberated by the sadness
A fine harmony can impart.
Of the monolithic yesterdays,
Those forgotten fields of dead
And that fire within the *****
Which numbs the agony of the head.
Dark stains along the timber wall
Wood fire’s stones make steam
It fills the room with stifling heat
Which sweats the bodies clean.
Red wheals raised on shoulders
Birch branches whip the back
Whilst companion tones of maleness
Speak in vectors women lack.
Red larches in the foothills
Gold lantern light on snow,
The vastness of ancient steppes
Of Central Asia grow.
A viola’s velvet passion
Sighs beneath a cottage door
And the sadness in sensation
Brings grown men to weep once more.
The vastness of the terrain
The hardness of the land,
The bitter cold of northern wind,
Each freezing winter spanned
By Siberia’s lashing gales,
White snow is metres deep
And turquois ice as hard as steel
Beneath which... rivers creep.
Dostoyevsky,Kruschev,
Rasputin and the Tsars,
Great Lenin, Marx and Trotsky
And the swords of Horse Hussars.
Gorbachev the great redeemer,
Poor Yeltsin’s pale white skin
And the ****** found in Stalin's smile
Span the politics of sin.
This great Russian melancholy
Lies deep within the soul
It’s a legacy of yesterday
Of her history's brutal goal.
It’s a product of the suffering
Inherent in the past
Endured by legions of the people
Then dispensed with…
With a laugh!
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
13 April 2009
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC
upon pedestal of love's
intimacy, gently we merge;
pulsating, entangled lips
and tongue taste me
kissed...
seduced in stillness;
echoes crescendo, his
touch awakens; curving
into maleness
breathless...
whispers dangle in
moments of words
uttered in want, breathing
his name hungered
trembling...
pressing ache against
masculinity; etched in
savored weep
besotted...
hands embrace hips
rhythm; sliding in out
of silk folds
wet...
unbottoning me in
momentum, tasted;
swallowed in release,
ecstasy written in moans
swirling...
drowned within each
plunge; thighs widen
spillage trickles,
blossoming in throb
shimmering..
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
Something about you
draws me in
from higher depths
I sway in disguise
to the pulse of 90s music videos
displaying on the screen
remembering the pulse
of my heart
as I look upon your bright face
vibrant with taste
or concentration
pouring coffee
precisely
right after the buzzer beeps
your new haircut strenuously
framing the corners of your
maleness
each strand a cut
into the interworking of
your hazardous blue eyes
rimmed in ribbon spit
a sci-fi adventure
daring to quit but
it always gets better
somehow
somewhere
deep in these depths
I no longer despair
but three plump days
stand in my way
after the promotion
after your life
getting back into motion
will you remember me
will you miss me
in any way
on hallows eve
like the brush of a sleeve
or the bunch of tight buttons
securing so fast my feeling that
I ache or admire
bind or perspire
muck in the mire
just to hear your handsome voice
as cheerful as sunbeams
cascading up and down my spine
like the thieves of dreams
bounding inside so merrily
hopeful for your attention
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
as darkness cradles
its palpability encompasses
dreams
a moments sway...
inebriates as images of him
passes through salient memories
of Him and I
those moments spun like silk...
his visage visible; an augury to me
dreams allusion dallies like
gossamer in gentle breezes
teasing, taunting in its promise
of fulfillment
dreams alight...
his ambling soft, blush arises as
I bow into maleness, where
urgency slides, tasting silken
curvatures; that stare into hazel
eyes beckon lips
memories caress...
rise and fall of gasped breaths
unleashed wilder dreams
beneath thirst of his eyes,
swallowed by seduction
those naked memories...
flush, deep within our hunger;
a rush fed into sweet pulses,
bodies rise; cognizance slips
back, wetness effusive
drenched...
entwined, legs, hips fingertip
forages; his breath mine mingle
and whispered moans
abandoned...
those dreams linger still
in darkness of midnight
calling his name in want
a remembered taste...
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC
She floats above my life with hidden purpose
Casting glances over her pearl white shoulder
Occasionally
To see if I've noticed
To see if I've fallen for the ruse
Taken the bait
Given in to the pursuit.
She knows I want her.
She's aware of my need.
It shines in my scent,
My wounded trail.
She floats above my life daintily
With estrogen seeping
Wiggling and shadow-boxing with my heart
Casting her lures,
Fly fishing,
Teasing me from my mud-sucking existance
Only to snag me
Razor barb hook tearing through the soft tender meat of my soul
She checks me out and tosses me back
And as I sink into the murky depths of my maleness
I cry out
"Try again! Size isn't everything!"
But she cannot hear me above the whir of her own motor.
And she trawls to another pond.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 3:15 PM UTC
a pendulum maleness
to the clothed eye.
a half dropped ceiling
under which
a prediction of snowfall
sends puppy
scribbling.
a man well endowed
making like
the empty cross.
a delivery room floored with bubble wrap.
nudes in short supply.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
In the silence of my heart I feel this flowering;
budding with every whisper against my soul,
calling; enwrapping me within his ambrosia
as each silken petal brushes against softness,
I bow demurely into his maleness.
Looking out upon the horizon; I glimpse our
silhouettes entwined in the midst of golden
rays, haloed as his lips partake in loves
sweetest nectar and his tongue articulates
in heated breaths, I linger in its aftertaste.
Adoring the twinkle in his eyes as they take
in the beauty of my flowering chasm, awaiting
its calyx approach; slowly impinging in its
fragrance, savoring; hovering and dipping as a
honeybee suckles nectar.
I tremble like a softly blown breeze in his wake;
as his hands glide upon my countenance,
teasing each contoured petal; placing me gently
upon our flowered bed of strewn petals;
languishing in his arms as each whisper hums,
delighting in passion's rose.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 2:14 AM UTC
You have to be an alpha male sometimes.
I get it.
But you don't need to be it all the time.
Is it a guise for something deep inside? Something from childhood you can't
name or hide?
Put up your walls that have no foundation rooted in the way we interact;
Something extra you put up to protect you from something non-imminent.
I see through you and I'm not impressed by your alpha maleness.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 12:46 AM UTC
CAUTION: CONTAINS GRAPHIC IMMAGERY AND ADULT THEMES
Primal Hunger
She stands tall and proud in all her femininity,
A stark contrast to the maleness that surrounds her:
They, with swords drawn; the tips glistening...
Poised and ready to strike at any moment.
They, like starved wolves; silently stalking their prey...
Teeth bared straining at restraints, what holds them back?
They, like sharks; that smell blood and fear...
Circling ever closer until the prey gets tired and weak.
They, like snakes and spiders; waiting ever so patiently...
So quietly lurking in the shadows for just the right moment.
Then… They STRIKE!
They are ravenous, ruthless, and all consuming fire!
Eventually, the beasts have had their fill. They leave for now.
They leave nothing behind in their wake...
Except for maybe a memory and a promise.
And she, once tall and proud, is now hunched over and disgraced.
She, like the desert; is now baron and devoid of life and feeling.
Crying out in the black, unforgiving night
No one hears her and no help comes.
No one who understands...
No one to keep her company...
No one except her pain, her haunted memories, and her broken dreams.
no one...
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
Marcus has gone, off
on some campaign
on Caesar's orders,
Annona is glad,
the bed has more space,
his smell of wine
and sweat and maleness
has left with him.
The bedding is fresh,
where he once lay his head
Amy lies now, her smaller
frame occupies his space,
her eyes gazing at Annona
sensing Annona's hands
feel along her tender thigh.
Not in her own lonely bed
now, but here in her mistress's
bed, here with warmth and
love and holds and kisses.
Annona senses Amy's breath
as she draws near, warm and
fresh not of wine or staleness,
she feels along Amy's flesh,
her fingertips smoothing as
she goes, kisses the lips and
cheeks and neck and downward
moves in slow passion, lips
planting kisses as she goes.
Amy kisses the head, the two
shoulders, the ******* feeling
a deep openness and entering
a thousand dreams explode
and flash, and words reduced
to ahh and oohs into the night.
Marcus had gone to his war,
Annona lies in Amy's arms,
feeling the safety of a lover's
hold, knowing the risk if sounds
are heard or someone comes
and sees their love or kisses
touched, but there she lies as
ship in harbour, resting after a
****** journey through rough
seas and knowing Amy's thinking
as does she: more more, yes please.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 3:23 AM UTC
Naked; her statuesque form glistened in the moonlight. She was ebony, buxom, beautiful, and a prize specimen. She waited for her lover's arrival. After an eternity, she saw him through the corner of her eye. She watched his long, lithe frame move effortlessly as he approached. With trepidation he came closer. His body tensed, a dark silhouette against the fading light. She realized he was young and quite inexperienced. She would have to help him in his quest. This did not trouble her, as he seemed perfect for her desires. She moved closer staring into his fiery eyes. They touched. Electricity coursed thought jagged nerves. He was eager to please and this pleased her. He touched the sleek smoothness of her. She became brazen and wanton. She submitted completely to let him have his way with her. He groped with his maleness to reach his ultimate goal and most comfortable position. She aided and abetted him to find his way to nirvana. She enveloped him to her extreme ****** escalation. She writhed in ecstasy. All too soon for both of them they reached the thrilling ****** of their passion. His love spent. He rolled over exhausted. She had bitten him lustfully during the ********** His eyes bulged. His heart pounded. The venom took effect. He shook violently and spastically. He then became quite stiff and still. With the warmth of new life dwelling with in her, the black widow spider devoured her mate.
Mar 13, 2022
Mar 13, 2022 at 9:45 PM UTC
On snowstorm nights the lilac sky hangs in the balance,
Lighter than the feather it rises up, up, up like lost party balloons
And the stardust falls like old firework sparks between pricked hair
It lands on the ******* from fall like a crystalline white blouse over ***** ******* in frosty air
Cold-shivers are ********
And toes curl under sheets of ice
Footprints mar fresh womanhood
And shouts turn to ice as they leave blue lips
In spring they melt female to make way for testosterone sun
That burns snow skin like cattle brands— hot
They yell on fire-breath like acrobats in Arabian orange
Scorching feminine and leaving maleness in their wake
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC
I sat at the edge of the metallic seat my bare buttock sizzling electric shock as she knelt there her head buried between the V of my leg as she embarked on a mission to make my snake weep
My wet eyelids twitched playfully i shivered though my naked body was saturated in my own sweat
Her workmanship was undeniably a talent
How her sleek cold tongue and her soft palm worked in mutual partnership was a cryptic mystery
She swirled the tongue round my sugarcane and her hand stroked up and down in calculated steps
The feeling was magical ripples and goosebumps decorated my African skin
My warm blood coursed all over my body as the body pistons pumped with herculean energy
Her warm saliva covered my hard snaked as she worked with painters concentration
A real proffesor she was in her trade
At time she would lift her eyes and wink at me she understood too well i was possessed by her tongue's magic
For the next half hour her tongue studied my maleness morphology
She ****** pinched and cuddled my ***** and the pentacle of love
She neither lost the momentum nor slowed the pace
Deeper n deeper she let my snake explore her mouth cavity
At times she would gagged as the eyeless ***** probed in her throat
Her smile gave thumbs up she enjoyed every moment of this job
My nose was flared as i breathed like a charging irritated buffalo
The pleasure rode me to the realm of gods
From a dead slumber she awakened my glands
Whirlpool of sensation swirled on my sensitive glan
And euphoric spasm swept me till i was one concentric feeling of fluids
Warm milky tears gushed and hit the back of her throat she paused and breathed deep then resumed her unfinished business
She hungrily lapped the oozing cream and once more winked as my snake went limp.....she bit her luscious lips with lust
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
The TimeStreams are overlapping and Echoing,
Rebounding and resounding; slapping against my forehead and background.
The new fluidity of music and speech is incredible -
No longer the stuttering, spluttering, crawling gasps -->
Out of the abyssal Ocean and into the wading seas:
Seven in all - or so I'm lead to believe - nothing over my kneez.
The land looks promising - it's verdant green and vivid -
But seems to recede as I approach - Knight walker/explorer.
However, I'm too stubborn to quit now, regardless my trap;
This punctuated evolution of the Mind and Consciousness;
The instantaneous recognition of Oneself in Another -->
Another Male Voice, Lineage, Genetic Line, Protecting His Her;
Another Lightening Rod of Mankind saying, "Here I Am!"
"Feel free to look upon my Exemplar of Maleness,
And please, please pay attention to how I treat Her."
"In a spaciously vacuous Universe, We - the Male
Progenitors - are few and far between, totally out-numbered.
As such, We have a responsibility to Our Collections."
From what's been courteously displayed,
I'm thrilled and awed; and trepidatious and excited -->
And Happy to visit the Locals in their Locals as Visitor;
As Guest --> I've accepted the Challenges that nearly
Crushed me into oblivion, now I'll await concrete Invites.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 5:28 AM UTC
Voice of clear
melodious dalliance
comes trilling
this morning
from the throat
of blackbird's passing.
What distant
past ears ever heard
any better
composed medley
of unceasing ******
than from this ***** bird.
Filtering Spring
through bare boughs
as though now
was his own moment
the ****** rises as
loud crescendo bursts out.
Facing another
sun-full day the sound
wrings poetry from
feathered insistence and
cloudless his hope
of a mate being found.
Flying away
to some higher ground
he leaves me
feeling the song made
clear that "maleness"
would bring her around.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
If I did not know the hollows of some minds
feathered in decorative vacuous trimmings
or
the narrowness within that runs like
lovingly tendered English garden paths
or
the shallowness ****** that rivals handsomely
the depth of a penny-farthing not even two
or
the stupefying superficiality of conjured lives
lacking rhythms and hues in sensibilities
or
the daggers drawn envy of little minds inadequacies
that pines writhes and slithers only to hide when faced
with proven talents and telling might
or
the shameless harriers adorned in the selves-loathing mange
of the fraidy-cats who in feral packs ****** ale-houses
and throw stones at the houses on the hills
or even
If I did not know the frustrated offsprings of broken couplings
and broken lives ablaze with angst and unloved in disappointments
lacking positive role-models in absentee maleness
or even
the social houses ferals itching for attention while bug-eyed on
substances brought next door from stolen gains
or even
the dregs and drabs with hopeless tomorrows from yesterdays
spent in pool rooms and the local bookies who played truants
in past learning dis-glories
or even that most are soap dodgers in obligatory tattered Levis
and pilfered trainers who cursed the groomed as poofs and posers
So if I did not know all this and more
I will understand the vernacular of lost minds and illiterates
and their outputs would engage my consciousness and thoughts
Alas as it is hate is not a language I speak
Envy and Jealousy are not avenues I live in or even visit
They rather sadly fear me
They say they are at war
just because I do not
do as them
Yes!
Fear make one do crazy things
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 2:16 PM UTC