"straddled" poems
Ah.. shes here...I shuffle around the stalls... watching..out of the corners of my eyes.... she knows ....Intimacy...a hand on flank..careful..
.you'll break me....with your gentle hands..
..My hard mouth....your soft lips..
..unruly, unruled....old horse...a kiss.
.. Confused, ...stallion in name only.
... You whisper... My ears *****
... forward..the hunt! ....your scent on..
..My bridle...I smell u still...
.. Calm...Comfort...Welcome...
.Gentled, not too gently....a strong hand.
. It grows trust …..truth...a Stallion! Once more.
Panting...pawing...'Be easy'..nervous eyes roll.
.a hand on the neck...a caress..'Gently '...you whisper,
.... hot breath against ear
… I snuffle and toss my head
…. still a bit frightened…..her power!
..Will you ride.? ! ..firm thighs and buttocks..
..Toes point... Heels dig...all Give and Take….
. Instruction to...from...the muscled beast.
..straddled. Awkward… too long without….
..A Rider … the matching... Gait with hip...
Walk-on.. Trot, pounding...Heels clip.
..faster, just a bit..Then smoothly they fit her to him.
...a canter.....this long stretch....rocking like one creature
….each a part of the other...breathing evenly…
...caught ….. Breath comes quick...bodies warm.
. Exertion...strength..trust.. Leaning forward..
knees grip..pulling...toes curl..in..
..hot breath..whisper in an ear… Now!
...hands grip mane... As they clench
… bit between the teeth...She..
...gives him his head... Finding his rhythm
…. home in sight...a last burst……
Rider/Stallion sweat soaked … blood pounding..There... againthe scent of her...Sweet Hay rising.
..she whispers… yes oh yes… I knew…
you had it in you.. In me...oh gods….YES! ! .
. No! not the pasture yet for you.. She chuckles..
.bodies tangled in sheets ….. Her mane of dark hair..
Scent of her fills him …
glad to be..Alive? Yes..head…. Heat…
heart...bursting…Not now… But soon.
. A gift.. This youth.. Who see's value in an old war horse.
..ridden.. but no more to war and blood..
.gentled, both he and she… sleep…bridled passion.
..her...a scent of sweet hay…
.him...an old spice..and gunpowder? ..mmm.
by Alexander K Hamilton
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 12:01 AM UTC
...my head back into the pillow.
She quickly straddled me.
She began a gentle rocking motion
with her hips,
with subtle glee.
Her thick, precious long hair,
hung down like curtains of night,
around my lust-flushed face,
until I was in perfect darkness right.
She then began caressing
my nakedness with her feathery-locks,
along my silky, trembling body,
from up my heavenly hips,
my tight, tender, heaving tummy,
my aching, stiff-nippled *******
my entire being erupting in goosebumps,
chilly and blazing,
spicey and tasty,
aching and burning,
burning,
burning ******
begging for quenching,
which she does
quickly
and
I'm done.
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 9:51 AM UTC
Remember the indescribable insanity of our fiery love.
Remember the sensation of lips as I caressed your soft skin;
Remember how you melted in my arms as my breath warmed your ears in whisper.
Remember the goosebumps as my hands ran across your sweet delicate skin.
Remember the sweltering heat that rose as I opened your dress,
Remember the cool air stroking your smooth silk skin as it fell to the floor,
Remember the warmth of our bodies as I pressed you tightly flesh to flesh,
Remember that tingle as you clenched your legs while I nibbled your ear,
Remember the feeling of eternity as you slowly straddled me to the floor,
Remember the scent of our passion as we tantalized,
Remember the piercing trance of desire,
Remember the penetrating ecstasy of release as you reach your peak,
Remember the night you and I became a man and woman.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 12:44 PM UTC
Vibing;
large hands,
guiding her hips
She's mounted,
Straddled there, She's riding
poised above—
Her movements eager, fervent,
Grinding;
Against him, she presses with need,
Finding pleasure in the rhythm they feed.
With his fullness embraced between her thighs,
They both seek their peak in each other's eyes.
Colliding;
Pleasuring herself, pleasuring him,
In the depths of desire, together they swim.
The satisfaction mirrored in her gaze
Captures the essence of their shared blaze.
Aug 5, 2024
Aug 5, 2024 at 11:58 PM UTC
One star lit night I sat down to write, A Little short poem about dragons and kites
Though In nature they do differ still the similarities remain,
One’s found in a fairy tale adventure the other in a child's small hand to entertain.
One has sharp teeth and a mouth that spits fire,
One holds a boys dream of a future aviator to inspire.
They both have long tails, though ones lined with ribbons the other lined with scales
And magic wings that lift them up higher over the highlands and vales
While catching a ride on the back of a strong wind gale
One lives in a cave and the other a toy box,
One sleeps on a rock and the other hangs from tree tops.
One’s tamed by the pull of a kite runner’s string,
The other steered by a dragon rider straddled between its wings.
One’s made from myth, legend, folklore and fear,
The other made from the design and blueprint of an inventor's mind's idea.
Ones made of sinews, muscles, flesh and bones,
The others made of a cross wooden stick frame over which cloth is stretched, and sewn.
Ones enchanted by wizards and knighted by kings,
The other’s to cheer up a child's heart and fulfill all his wishes and dreams.
And now out of my head my subjects take flight,
Now I do find there's no more to write,
Of the different and likes between dragons and kites.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
And the trees about me,
Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks
Groan with continual surges; and behind me
Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches!
Paint me a cavernous waste shore
Cast in the unstilled Cyclades,
Paint me the bold anfractuous rocks
Faced by the snarled and yelping seas.
Display me ****** above
Reviewing the insurgent gales
Which tangle Ariadne’s hair
And swell with haste the perjured sails.
Morning stirs the feet and hands
(Nausicaa and Polypheme).
Gesture of orang-outang
Rises from the sheets in steam.
This withered root of knots of hair
Slitted below and gashed with eyes,
This oval O cropped out with teeth:
The sickle motion from the thighs
Jackknifes upward at the knees
Then straightens out from heel to hip
Pushing the framework of the bed
And clawing at the pillow slip.
Sweeney addressed full length to shave
Broadbottomed, pink from nape to base,
Knows the female temperament
And wipes the suds around his face.
(The lengthened shadow of a man
Is history, said Emerson
Who had not seen the silhouette
Of Sweeney straddled in the sun.)
Tests the razor on his leg
Waiting until the shriek subsides.
The epileptic on the bed
Curves backward, clutching at her sides.
The ladies of the corridor
Find themselves involved, disgraced,
Call witness to their principles
And deprecate the lack of taste
Observing that hysteria
Might easily be misunderstood;
Mrs. Turner intimates
It does the house no sort of good.
But Doris, towelled from the bath,
Enters padding on broad feet,
Bringing sal volatile
And a glass of brandy neat.
3.3k
Trace the curves on my body
like I am the moon
submitting to the dark,
tantalizing night.
I will offer up to you
my most precious craters,
dips of sultry grey
impatient
to be explored,
begging
for you to undress
all the parts of me
you've never had
the pleasure of touching
under the prudish scrutiny
of daylight.
But the sun has long since
straddled the horizon;
the sun has long since
surrendered to the dusk.
And I am ready for you,
my sweet Astronaut,
awaiting the lustful force
of your gravity.
Take me.
Your skin against
my skin--
the mere sight of us
will make the constellations
redden with passion
and the rings of Saturn
quiver with desire
as they watch as we
erupt into stardust.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 11:10 AM UTC
My sister never had any boyfriends
which was quite surprising really you know
because she had a nice pair of knockers
and a very cute little **** on her
but never once a gentleman caller
came knock knock knock on her friendless portal.
So I asked her what was the ******* score
that no butch lads wanted to part her bush
and whyfore was she not barking for it
in a vague manner of ******* speaking
and she told me to glue my keen peepers
on her keyhole the next night to find out.
Thus I knelt down before her bedroom door
my eye glued to the appropriate hole
with a full view of her "sleepezee" bed
on which she casually lay spread out
legs opened like a major T-junction
and then her friend appeared to my rapt joy.
I gasped in wonder as her lesby love
straddled my **** sis and gave her tongue
a good chance to lick out her womb entrance
causing me to indulge in self-abuse
as their eager mutual ***********
gave way to some red hot ***** action.
(I hope they didn't hear the noisy splats
as I squirted my lovejuice onto the doorpost)
Good taste, eh?
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 7:22 AM UTC
A pretty new dress
My pretty blue dress
I laugh, she smiles
I tease, she plays
“Let’s wrestle” she says
And jumps onto me
I scream, I struggle
Relentless, she seems
Wrists pinned above my head
My waste suppressed to the ground
I wriggle out, I push her off
She throws me down
No, no please no
As I climb away
I strive for distance
I battle for safety
My best friend reaches for a pencil
As she collapses over me, and jabs it inside
Her hand grabs for my dress, my pretty blue dress
And yanks it, burning my skin with its new thread
Crying out, I hit her
She laughs, she smiles
I scream for help, calling to her father
With no response
Breaking free, I lunge for the door
Only to trip, falling to the floor
Straddled, she laughs
She’s winning this match
My buttons tear, uncovering my *******
My camera in her hand
“Let’s show your boyfriend”
She toys
Suffocating under her obesity
I haven’t the air to scream
Tears leak from my eyes
Lips quiver in shame
Bored, she bounces, she thrusts
Nearly cracking my hips
My ribs crunch, my guts ache
And I gasp for air
My best friend grabs a marker
She writes on my face
As she bounces
She writes on my face
Asthma consumes me
As I struggle for consciousness
My mind fuzzes, and vision darkens
I think to myself, “This is how I end”
I never wore my blue dress again
I never told of what she did
I never spoke to her again
I never
I never
I never
My best friend.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
Dark polished stones line the divine walk of power
Demanding fresh blood from diplomatic feet
Where haughty arrogance meets unpretentious humility
Introduced by an arbitrating street
The loftiest of fences steadily lines the walk of power
Dishonorably straddled by a shameful few
Who never make any honest attempt to choose a side
Or contemplate existing truths
Comfort reigns securely in their warlike peace
Balancing upon those fences
Until humility overpowers and demands a stand
Leaving arrogance with no defenses
Balance fails eventually atop the fences of the walk
A diplomat’s feet must make a stand
Straddling the fence will never polish power’s stones
Come down and walk and take command
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 7:35 PM UTC
down the main drag of our town
the thundering sound of motor bikes did resound
folks in our town rushed out doors
to see what was making such an almighty roar
the bikers were on their monthly charity rally
they stopped at the local pub owned by John O'Malley
they partook of a ration of ale
whilst filling their donation pails
after an interlude in our small township
they straddled their chrome plated Harley ships
to ride along the country byways
on this most magnificent autumn day
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
Straddled my mind until I am confined; the way you see the world in kaleidoscope as I gazed into your eyes, a bright lad on a quest to conquer the unseen future.
Tonight, we will be sailing on our dreams where we could just be Us.
You have set my soul on fire and electrified my desire.
#RitzWrites
🍁
Mar 7, 2020
Mar 7, 2020 at 10:41 AM UTC
Picturing her riding
As she is straddled there
On top of him, eagerly,
Grinding with greed
Against him with need
Pleasing herself
With his thickness
Between her thighs
Pleasuring himself
The satisfaction in her eyes
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 10:32 PM UTC
you straddled
my mind with
the way you
drew a narrow
line between
what i knew
about you and
what i have
come to find
but you raddled
my body with
addle-brained
designs, never
once drawing
one of a benign
kind.
© Matthew Harlovic
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
His eyes
Pressed into her with the pull of polarity
A haunting indication of an impossibility too beautiful to protest
He looks
With a longing he has hidden deep in his sock drawer
So no one can tell him he’s wrong or irrational
A locket only to be worn round his pulsating mind’s mannequin
But she wears on her sleeve what he’s trying to leave
And dressed like a nightingale
In feathers so free
Her eyes with a fire that waves like the sea
Closer they crawl
Past night’s shadowed humans getting drunk off doubt and betting on beauty
Past the scratches on stools once straddled by sorrow
And Isolation, his lover
Who lost her last words somewhere under the covers
That they shook out in morning
To shake off the mourning
But the streets crave a sweep
For the ashes are thick and catch on their tongue
Reminding the runaways to stop feeling young
And as they both draw so near
With the friction of fear
And the whip of a wish
And a harsh hit of hope
For the call of a kiss
Her hairs stand on stilts at the nape of her neck
An impatient frenzy that’s waiting on deck
But the lights left her lonely
A bubble-bruised brain
And he left her only
The promise of pain
As he grabbed another hand and rushed out the door
She smiled a sadness that left her lips sore
And gathered her hollows
And the last of her trust
And took to the streets with the ashes and dust
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 11:01 AM UTC
a mishap fudged together in a blur
by the onerous fate autonomy
a throw away girl
death addict
in a racket of echoes
fingernails
******* and spit
for relics of witchcraft
in a foot licking satanic ritual
she picked him
like a con mark
for the realization
of her shadow dream
to escape from form
in a shaking bed
spread herself wide
feeling the black sound
like musical water
to drown in
with weight
that holds immovable storms
of brazen villain's and glistening *****
who pumped her mouth like gas
for obliterations throat bashing she loved
causing the hideous end of herself
splayed straddled a ****** archaeology
of kisses withering in an ancient pudding
razor peeled ******* blooming
betrayed whorish curdling screams
in a deviant propulsion
glitter mucous and blood
drizzled from her lush red smeared lips
with tears of mascara
in a ghoulish basement
an object of desire for demons
on the ceiling
she abandons all hope
lubricated her **** and ****
opened her thighs
for a freakish novelty
of soaked vibrating machine gun tongues
for a hemorrhaging orgiastic suicide
her blade slit tongue
still undulating
and pinned it in bits
to a **** toy
******
for valentine's day
her love and guts like a buffet
glamorously featured
with photo pics
in Mademoiselle magazine
smiling cockeyed
drugged and staggering
she put a rope
around her neck
as if in an embrace
and blew her brains
a spiraling horror
of diabolical appeal
in a ghastly enterprise of roulette
of pants off dance off
scattered gauze bikini
and a head wreath of hair
glittered like a half-eaten pomegranate
under disco lights
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 12:01 PM UTC
I came to a cross road,
The first one I think I had ever been to,
There I straddled a thin line,
Between my faith and fear,
And I stood there just staring at my feet.
My Grandmother always told me,
Just let life unfold,
But it's a terrible thing being taken from everything you know,
And I had no control,
That was the scariest thing.
I heard faint voices down both paths,
I heard their judgmental tones,
But I couldn't make out what they were saying,
Maybe if I did I could of made a choice,
But sometimes I didn't even know if the choice was actually mine.
I was always a victim of some terrible situation,
One after another, after another,
The same situations had made me cold and indecisive,
After all, there's only so many times a kid can rebuild all those walls,
I had my heart broken more times then I could count,
I got to the point that most of the time I didn't even know if my heart was there,
I had moments where I checked my pulse, because to be living I didn't feel very alive.
So I was standing there,
And all I wanted to do was turn around and run,
And when I knew I should of made a choice between the two,
I cut through the trees,
And made a path of my own,
I disappointed everyone I knew,
But maybe they didn't know me very well at all,
Cause I was self destructing and nobody knew.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 9:32 AM UTC
Feel breath upon milky neck
give yourself
the sacrifice
for unchained paradise
and the gifts of life.
Thrusting forth upon such shapely form
the rise of golden **** and the
glide of swollen *******
such feline majesty
such magnificence of deviance.
Lay hands on nubile skin
deft and swift precision
straddled in muscular passion
the reins like a flowing mane
gracing the arched spine in pleasure.
Tilted head stretched
exposed form
catching dancing shadows
in the eternal midnight.
Call my name
as if a name
were a pulse wave
of unreserved expletives.
The chastity of yesterday
innocence lost in devilry
offered freely
like a gift to the gods
empower revelry
chemically.
****** Deeper**
Give Give Give
again and again and again and again and again and again and...
No refrain
awash in pagan sweat
doused and dripping wet
revel in cobalt aquas
close in the rise
of final exaltation
the Alpha stanza.
BOP/bop BOP/bop
hearts beat out of time
heaving breath
encased in bone and heated skin
consumed in the juices of forever
and the pleasure of
pagan archaic sin.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
Remembrance in November grows repellent
each year we rob it further of its sense
by hunting down objectors to compel them
to stand in line or cause a grave offense.
No private contemplation or reflection
when strident shrieks of nationhood prevail
Un-poppied collars count as insurrection
a slight to every brave, red-blooded male.
Division, thumping drums and waving banners
the media wades in with guns ablaze
forgetful of respect, or simple manners –
that’s not how we conduct ourselves these days
If this is what our fallen heroes wanted
I wonder why the cenotaph is haunted.
We cannot know what sent the soldiers hither
or claim the fallen courage of the fight
think boys who marched to foreign fields together
were simple symbols drawn in black and white
If we could rise above the spite and chatter
We’d find unbordered bonds and understand
that shells and bullets lacked the strength to shatter
the looking glass that straddled no man’s land
From timid chaps to lunatic berserkers
we canonise the men who heard the call
if wives had had the power to shoot deserters
there never would have been a war at all.
Let’s render restless spirits more forgiving:
to honour best the dead, honour the living.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
That night we were perfectly irrational,
your mother spoke like Rhea in an ancient
Greek tongue. We straddled the mighty
Norton five-hundred and joked of Marxist revolution.
She tightened her arms on the ascent.
Danger flurried down our spines and palms
began to sweat. At breakneck speed we whipped
round snaking grey meanders along the cliff edge.
Our compass set in lunar chatoyance
the stars were squinting feline lovers
as the night light washed upon her eyelids,
lashed with jagged stalactitic silhouettes.
We coasted down a sandy path; emerging from the hills
where the shepherds’ ruby grins were the nights hue.
Hearts cast in iron and minds sat on sand,
the sky snapped pink to blue, to navy dogtooth.
The spider grass on the dunes, the mirage
of twisting dancers and sand storm pirouettes.
Full beams off, we’d blink and stand amazed,
that very trace of privacy at night
which leaves you dazed, for unlike the crowded
light of day which knows no heart nor wonderment
moonlight dances on the pier, and bounces off the waves.
My first born son who parts the fog and clouds
to carry primal thunder; I gift to you,
the joy of life, and beauty of the oceans wealth.
The sand will bed and water cleanse,
the tide will carry and coral mend.
Until you, La Pedarosa of the floating world,
may sail over those who tell of any boat
you cannot sink and any fleet you cannot fell.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 8:05 AM UTC
the girls in the back
of the local pathetic
laundrymat
(where nothing,
none of my things,
comes out clean)
speak ugly slavic.
their loads must be light
as they're only half dressed.
I put my clothes,
all I own,
except the one's on my back,
in five dryers
and go sit
on the paint-peeled
two-tone maroon
bench in front.
today's heat is indefinite,
and I wonder if someone
has stolen my
soap and basket yet.
this is downtown,
the turf occupied
mostly by addicts and foreigners
and the rich,
the richer than me,
meander lazily in and out
of bars and salons.
the beautiful plump brown skin girl
I've been falling in Love with
has straddled her bike and left.
she didn't even see me
smile at her.
now there's the asian man
stereotype, smoking incessantly
like me.
who spends most of his time
daydreaming of some other life.
his thousand yard stare sees nothing
and I'm hungry, but I won't eat
the restaurants are all white owned
and nothing is good or cheap.
there's garbage everywhere
and no one seems to mind.
when my pencil stops moving,
terrible writer's fear
I'll never have another thought
worth writing or bought.
time to fold up
and maybe scrape that
marines sticker off
the back of my truck.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 11:51 PM UTC
I have had charming ,slept beside exquisite, pushed through the threshold of the most devine,felt the sweat of the insatiable, licked honey from my lips from the most ****** of sins ,had "You are Mine .marked across my bottom, ran my hands across the sublime .I have been there ,clasped around the fire and heat of immortal gods.Now it's my mind,i want drenched ,my thoughts straddled and ridden until I no longer know where I begin and you end .I want to taste your intellect and feel your reasoning deep within my soul.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 10:23 PM UTC
Straddled by a luscious peach
encased in a robust pelvic girdle embrace
the eye dances a slow sensual waltz
step by step reasoning the gossamer finery of petals
balancing in the beauty unsure
of what it really means.
Therein lies the misstery
and kisstory
of sensual persuasions drawn delicately
from an angular birds eye view
of the black iris beauty
incandescently glowing welcome.
How did the artist get her work
drawn so accurately
but from a mirror reflection
posing herself, lights shining
and aroused at the pearl like petals
opening and closing
at every stroke
of a hard brush and bristle.
Well done my beauty.
You have defied my aesthetic thinking
into visual poetic explaining.
Well done
Author Notes
"Black Iris" - by Georgina O Keefe.
The way this delicate Iris is drawn it immediately takes me into wondering how it got its lights and shadows and rich purple-black heads with such clarity. Were there lights reflecting off walls, candlelight dinners and sparkling wines beside the painting? As art it is outstanding, but as a perception it draws me into the lighter side of understanding it.
Most enjoyable trying to gauge its deeper meanings.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
He took me for a lover whilst I was on holiday in Italy. He was Italian- the married man who owned our villa.
Every night after twelve, I would creep out of the house in white lingerie and a silk slip that glowed in the moonlight. My lips became a dark, sticky flower of cherry gloss.
I knocked on the downstairs bedroom door. He would open it, and as he stood there he was silhouetted in the dim golden light of the bedside lamps.
He would be in the middle of shaving, or holding a toothbrush, to make it seem like he’d forgotten I was coming- but every night I heard him hurriedly making the bed, shouting at his wife, and pacing up and down on the leopard rug. He called me his “dolce angelo” (sweet angel) and I called him my “belo diavolo”(handsome devil). His fervent lust was punctuated by whispered vowel sounds and a dark, vampiric beauty.
In silence, we shared cigarettes and ignored his black and white wedding photograph on the dresser.
In the morning, as dawn lit the mountains and his chickens began to crow, I straddled his chest for a last stolen kiss, and knew he would watch me bathe in his pool that afternoon.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
I long for day time to close her eyes,
So lessons can begin,
When closing doors and curtains means it's time to take you in,
My teacher, master if you will,
My guide to all things sultry,
My lover shows me such good things,
This feels like it's adultery.
You make me sit upon a bed,
Awash with lilac pettles,
You kiss my eyes, i feel your breath on me,
It helps me settle,
My clothes slide off, as if by magic,
All soft and gently so,
Your finger tips caress my body,
Sensuous and slow,
My ******* harden to your mouth,
My breath is short and shallow,
I take a lesson on felacio, and learn just how to swallow,
My education carries, i'm straddled,
And you release it,
My hips girate, and take you all,
I hardly can believe it,
Our climactic yells and groans confirm our satisfaction,
I shiver, moving gently now, you peak all my reactions,
Our love is sealed with oneness, here i am,
I'm wrapped around you,
My night school teacher loves me,
Night and day, thank god i've found you
Jul 27, 2010
Jul 27, 2010 at 7:56 AM UTC