"tastings" poems - Hello Poetry

My poetry is an acquired taste, So come, dear one, Place your tongue in my mouth. Pace yourself, there is so much, Spoke and unwritten, That fruitions only when spit-shared. Flick your tongue-tip to mine, Sealing bond, the salt caramel of my rhymes, The iambic meter of my tamarind prose, The buds, flowering, poems forming, Watered by the admixture of joint, minted saliva. My poetry, so very complicated, Hints of currants and ash, Soil volcanic, basaltic vowels, oh's and eyes, Cursed verses that commence with I, Nonetheless, despite soil inhospitable rued, Compositions flourish, born wetland soluble. Yours, for the taking, Yours, for the tasting. You place your fingers on my waist, My body of work to contemplate, My ditties, you spit out, You want courses, not appetizers, You want truths, not fluff, lies, menu tastings. Columbus and Magellan, thy fingers named, Trace the curvature of my *** With tip and tipsy stroked caresses, You laugh with the pleasure of all the sssssss's. Hissing all the day your satisfaction, Capturing my writs, by your tongue's duress, Recipient-thief of my literary largesse. I am dressed all in white, Stripped bare to my native coloring, Except for two brown nippled spots, you lick, Imbibing milky thoughts from fountain-heads ***** Savoring, relishing, stanzas that praise love's flavor. With every line, every word-painting accessioned, You make my soft parts hard, My hard parts soft, but my liquidity, My tears, they, that, you drink straight, Licking, liking, and oohing and ahhing, You tongue curled, upside down arching, The storage point of your seduced gatherings. To drain me full, your incisors cut, Straight lines, entry points for your ******* Taking, draining, leaving nothing, Not even one aleph or bet escaping. When you acquired my poetry, my verbosity, Pillaging soul's hiding place, took and ***** Your acquired the best, breaking my nape, Imprisoned on and by my island's seascape, Blanched and pained, a blank tape, I am tasteless, witless, mockingly, tongue-tied.

0

Sep 14, 2013

Sep 14, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

My Poetry is an Acquired Taste (explicit)

My poetry is an acquired taste, So come, dear one, Place your tongue in my mouth. Pace yourself, there is so much, Spoke and unwritten, That fruitions only when spit-shared. Flick your tongue-tip to mine, Sealing bond, the salt caramel of my rhymes, The iambic meter of my tamarind prose, The buds, flowering, poems forming, Watered by the admixture of joint, minted saliva. My poetry, so very complicated, Hints of currants and ash, Soil volcanic, basaltic vowels, oh's and eyes, Cursed verses that commence with I, Nonetheless, despite soil inhospitable rued, Compositions flourish, born wetland soluble. Yours, for the taking, Yours, for the tasting. You place your fingers on my waist, My body of work to contemplate, My ditties, you spit out, You want courses, not appetizers, You want truths, not fluff, lies, menu tastings. Columbus and Magellan, thy fingers named, Trace the curvature of my *** With tip and tipsy stroked caresses, You laugh with the pleasure of all the sssssss's. Hissing all the day your satisfaction, Capturing my writs, by your tongue's duress, Recipient-thief of my literary largesse. I am dressed all in white, Stripped bare to my native coloring, Except for two brown nippled spots, you lick, Imbibing milky thoughts from fountain-heads ***** Savoring, relishing, stanzas that praise love's flavor. With every line, every word-painting accessioned, You make my soft parts hard, My hard parts soft, but my liquidity, My tears, they, that, you drink straight, Licking, liking, and oohing and ahhing, You tongue curled, upside down arching, The storage point of your seduced gatherings. To drain me full, your incisors cut, Straight lines, entry points for your ******* Taking, draining, leaving nothing, Not even one aleph or bet escaping. When you acquired my poetry, my verbosity, Pillaging soul's hiding place, took and ***** Your acquired the best, breaking my nape, Imprisoned on and by my island's seascape, Blanched and pained, a blank tape, I am tasteless, witless, mockingly, tongue-tied.

53

~~~ how to cook a poem/poetic theology so many ways, but one favored after oh so many trials after oh so many errors taste tastings, plenty, some good, some feh some inspired, some liared, but it's the process the methodology, that becomes your poetic theology, of how to cook a poem slow simmer, as if it was a hearty filling stew, with the red wine, you flavored, for style unique stew over it, add pinches of contradicting adjectives icy hot, bland spice and not everything nice, bitter herbs, fatalistic flaws make it to make the left and the right side of the brain argue and engage, let it taste of the foment, of unease, disease, and the coming to terms with the alternating au courant currents, of fashionistas don't forget the final seasoning, the finishing reasoning, the perfect certainty of momentary peace uncovered, derived, home grown, after a thirty years war, and the perfect uncertainty, you still aren't sure, which side won and why some fry in nastiness, some broil, flaming to burn away, some boast to roast of the average angst that breathing seems to require some peel, some imbibe the raw, all get sorted for even what writ in haste, all sourced from ingredients, taking years of seconds, in the assembling the trial and error the preparation, required for living a life cooking poetry

0

Jan 17, 2016

Jan 17, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC

stillcrazyafteralltheseye

how to cook a poem/poetic theology

~~~ how to cook a poem/poetic theology so many ways, but one favored after oh so many trials after oh so many errors taste tastings, plenty, some good, some feh some inspired, some liared, but it's the process the methodology, that becomes your poetic theology, of how to cook a poem slow simmer, as if it was a hearty filling stew, with the red wine, you flavored, for style unique stew over it, add pinches of contradicting adjectives icy hot, bland spice and not everything nice, bitter herbs, fatalistic flaws make it to make the left and the right side of the brain argue and engage, let it taste of the foment, of unease, disease, and the coming to terms with the alternating au courant currents, of fashionistas don't forget the final seasoning, the finishing reasoning, the perfect certainty of momentary peace uncovered, derived, home grown, after a thirty years war, and the perfect uncertainty, you still aren't sure, which side won and why some fry in nastiness, some broil, flaming to burn away, some boast to roast of the average angst that breathing seems to require some peel, some imbibe the raw, all get sorted for even what writ in haste, all sourced from ingredients, taking years of seconds, in the assembling the trial and error the preparation, required for living a life cooking poetry

75

“This Insubstantial Pageant Faded” (spoke by Prospero, The Tempest, by W. Shakespeare)^ <> Our words are all actors, a long run, run its course, our long playing record, scratched, love~worn to worn out extremity, yet yeoman service did offer, extreme only in magical transforming plain sight into visions, a legacy, bent gray, tarnished by weary wearing aging, their brief sparks now but reclamation flares of burst lights of waning days in short lived tastings of what was and can be nevermore everyone’s magic has its preset timed timing, and with every day, each a concentric ring marked and hallowed, a heartbeat ring narrower than its predecessor, a shallower hollow, a fair represent of both all that came our way, and that we resent with no resentment into a cloud capped atmosphere for all to ****** from a flailing, flying breeze, their brief gleam, multiplying, thus envisaging, illuminating the manuscript of our hinted future forward’s next percept * “And like this insubstantial pageant faded Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep”*^

0

Mar 2, 2024

Mar 2, 2024 at 8:23 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

“This Insubstantial Pageant Faded”

“This Insubstantial Pageant Faded” (spoke by Prospero, The Tempest, by W. Shakespeare)^ <> Our words are all actors, a long run, run its course, our long playing record, scratched, love~worn to worn out extremity, yet yeoman service did offer, extreme only in magical transforming plain sight into visions, a legacy, bent gray, tarnished by weary wearing aging, their brief sparks now but reclamation flares of burst lights of waning days in short lived tastings of what was and can be nevermore everyone’s magic has its preset timed timing, and with every day, each a concentric ring marked and hallowed, a heartbeat ring narrower than its predecessor, a shallower hollow, a fair represent of both all that came our way, and that we resent with no resentment into a cloud capped atmosphere for all to ****** from a flailing, flying breeze, their brief gleam, multiplying, thus envisaging, illuminating the manuscript of our hinted future forward’s next percept * “And like this insubstantial pageant faded Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep”*^

40

“extra condoms” (explicit!) a title deposited in the poem-to-do file/notebook, with no body yet to follow through on or upon which she tumbles to, an irresistible unrepentant crooked finger hook line and she is sinker stinker caught, worming in her feigned anger current curiosity comes fast and furious further, demeanor—demanding ex-explain-nations, how could this ever be a poem? stare ferocious, I am the prettiest pretense of a pride incarnation hu-mane incarnate call me in another language Vasco da Gama a sea route to India will uncover on your worldly tattooed body, drawing maps as we go along devour her neck with stingless bites, explorer voyager a rambunctious tongue undenied, every space in and between needs surging surgical tastings, erupting into her indentations, inserting her appendages into my places where they have a business going-knowing just in case that’s the one! secret passageway canal holy crossing crossover later she whacks me because the question goes unanswered and no sheath employed when my tongued fingers are ten times more demanding and supple and supply the exploratory course closing with spices and woven silks in Indian colors vibrations *why then, extra? god she is so lovely locomotive annoying! to peak you peeking to see your astounding astonishment, you are our provisions for a sea voyage and put the risk in, the trigger in, when wherever you see the world-word,* extra

0

May 18, 2018

May 18, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC

lmnsinner

“extra condoms” (explicit!)

“extra condoms” (explicit!) a title deposited in the poem-to-do file/notebook, with no body yet to follow through on or upon which she tumbles to, an irresistible unrepentant crooked finger hook line and she is sinker stinker caught, worming in her feigned anger current curiosity comes fast and furious further, demeanor—demanding ex-explain-nations, how could this ever be a poem? stare ferocious, I am the prettiest pretense of a pride incarnation hu-mane incarnate call me in another language Vasco da Gama a sea route to India will uncover on your worldly tattooed body, drawing maps as we go along devour her neck with stingless bites, explorer voyager a rambunctious tongue undenied, every space in and between needs surging surgical tastings, erupting into her indentations, inserting her appendages into my places where they have a business going-knowing just in case that’s the one! secret passageway canal holy crossing crossover later she whacks me because the question goes unanswered and no sheath employed when my tongued fingers are ten times more demanding and supple and supply the exploratory course closing with spices and woven silks in Indian colors vibrations *why then, extra? god she is so lovely locomotive annoying! to peak you peeking to see your astounding astonishment, you are our provisions for a sea voyage and put the risk in, the trigger in, when wherever you see the world-word,* extra

40

Part I -You are my top drawer man Well I have to confess, my life has turned out quite nice to be fair. Don’t think for one minute that I am not deeply thankful; do you think I don’t care? There’s money in the bank and look even a new convertible outside Zero Percent how could I resist, you would do it too if you could just feel the ride The mortgage is all paid, so the money that’s left, it is all mine My poor dad he worked so hard, he did lots of overtime He held down two jobs just to make end s meet, And then they left and they left it all for me to spend Bless So I’m determined, the way they scrimped, I will not do the same I won’t squander my life for that would be such a shame So tonight I'm off, heading once more to one of those exotic places Places where mankind has so far left very few traces When one day I lie on my deathbed, Wracked by Disease and Succumbing to Pain I will remember all those places and how I wish I could go there again Nowhere will be where I haven’t been On this earth there will be no wonderful sight that I have not seen I am going now, I must get my flight It’s the jet setters life for me, oh my what a delight, But I just have to go and you knew this time would come, so no reason for tears Promise to stay faithful and allay all my fears You are the only man for me, and when I get back you and I can love again You are my dream man and my life without you would be such a pain You know how much I love painting the town red We could do dinners and theatres, wine tastings and afterwards to bed When we go out for a drink, as always you can drive and as for me, well I will be alongside Oh bear in mind, cash will be tight, these trips cost the earth you know There won’t be much spare, so maybe we could just catch a late night TV show Oh darling you definitely have a place in my life of that you can be glad But there are things I must do and places I must go so please you mustn’t be sad I know a man, he will come along, and luckily he lives in a drawer just below yours I intend to open it before I head off and out he will come crawling on all fours, I know it’s awkward but you will just have to get back inside I won’t be gone long and when I come back you can pop out and come for a ride. Oh and when you come over, you can put balm on my back And afterwards who knows, you and me could even end up in the sack What an odd question “Are you left or right handed” gosh indeed why do you enquire? Well how should I know, I haven’t been watching and to respond to silliness I lack all desire After all I don’t think you and I have been together for very long Six years in June or was it April and oh my your love for me it is still so strong.

0

Feb 24, 2014

Feb 24, 2014 at 9:14 AM UTC

cliff-schraibman

You are my top drawer man

Part I -You are my top drawer man Well I have to confess, my life has turned out quite nice to be fair. Don’t think for one minute that I am not deeply thankful; do you think I don’t care? There’s money in the bank and look even a new convertible outside Zero Percent how could I resist, you would do it too if you could just feel the ride The mortgage is all paid, so the money that’s left, it is all mine My poor dad he worked so hard, he did lots of overtime He held down two jobs just to make end s meet, And then they left and they left it all for me to spend Bless So I’m determined, the way they scrimped, I will not do the same I won’t squander my life for that would be such a shame So tonight I'm off, heading once more to one of those exotic places Places where mankind has so far left very few traces When one day I lie on my deathbed, Wracked by Disease and Succumbing to Pain I will remember all those places and how I wish I could go there again Nowhere will be where I haven’t been On this earth there will be no wonderful sight that I have not seen I am going now, I must get my flight It’s the jet setters life for me, oh my what a delight, But I just have to go and you knew this time would come, so no reason for tears Promise to stay faithful and allay all my fears You are the only man for me, and when I get back you and I can love again You are my dream man and my life without you would be such a pain You know how much I love painting the town red We could do dinners and theatres, wine tastings and afterwards to bed When we go out for a drink, as always you can drive and as for me, well I will be alongside Oh bear in mind, cash will be tight, these trips cost the earth you know There won’t be much spare, so maybe we could just catch a late night TV show Oh darling you definitely have a place in my life of that you can be glad But there are things I must do and places I must go so please you mustn’t be sad I know a man, he will come along, and luckily he lives in a drawer just below yours I intend to open it before I head off and out he will come crawling on all fours, I know it’s awkward but you will just have to get back inside I won’t be gone long and when I come back you can pop out and come for a ride. Oh and when you come over, you can put balm on my back And afterwards who knows, you and me could even end up in the sack What an odd question “Are you left or right handed” gosh indeed why do you enquire? Well how should I know, I haven’t been watching and to respond to silliness I lack all desire After all I don’t think you and I have been together for very long Six years in June or was it April and oh my your love for me it is still so strong.

43

blurbs, suburbs, writings, hasty tastings, fibres and frame, grilled, softened, appreciated, excruciatingly talented, genuis, hocus pocus spelled incorrectly, ironiclly, at the end of a misplaced magic trick, houdini in a fix and liking it, holden Caulfield with a girlfriend and a glass of champagne, mesmerized landscape architect workers tracing billions of samples and coming out insane, sane ****** monsters with no idea of where to turn to next, bottles of budlight, a crucifix, misplaced, erase one memoiry, and another one emerges, out of a cloud, and it sits there for awhile, assured of itself, then once again, drops out of the race, a low bass chord, and the protagonist character takes a drag of his cigarette, and it’s all over

0

Nov 21, 2015

Nov 21, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC

Seanzy

Budlight crucifix

blurbs, suburbs, writings, hasty tastings, fibres and frame, grilled, softened, appreciated, excruciatingly talented, genuis, hocus pocus spelled incorrectly, ironiclly, at the end of a misplaced magic trick, houdini in a fix and liking it, holden Caulfield with a girlfriend and a glass of champagne, mesmerized landscape architect workers tracing billions of samples and coming out insane, sane ****** monsters with no idea of where to turn to next, bottles of budlight, a crucifix, misplaced, erase one memoiry, and another one emerges, out of a cloud, and it sits there for awhile, assured of itself, then once again, drops out of the race, a low bass chord, and the protagonist character takes a drag of his cigarette, and it’s all over

2

Your eyes My eyes ..Staring, gazing , watching us.. Your lips My lips ..Tasting, relishing the sweet us.. Your face My face ..Moving here, there, caressing us.. Your neck My neck ..Embracing, bitting, and licking us.. Your ears My ears ..bittibg, ******* licking us.. Your shoulders, My shoulders, .. Pressing, compressing, cupoing moving deep in us.. Your stomach My stomach ...Pressing, pressing us... Your fruit My fruit ... rubbing, mixing, shaking, dancing, going deep, making us, 'us'... Your hands My hands ...touching, pressing , caressing us.. Your mouth, My mouth ..Moving up and down Sharing the juices on & on us... Your tongue, My tongue, .. Travelling, tastings, relishing the depth of us... Your thighs My thighs ...Clenched, entangled in each other's .. Your body My body ******* discovering, relishing, ... The love The lust The hunger The thirst And the hot Furnace is us. You Lost in me I Lost in you We Lost into each us. I am in you You are in me And we are 'Into us' Smiling

0

Sep 27, 2017

Sep 27, 2017 at 5:24 PM UTC

Lavendergal

We into Us

Your eyes My eyes ..Staring, gazing , watching us.. Your lips My lips ..Tasting, relishing the sweet us.. Your face My face ..Moving here, there, caressing us.. Your neck My neck ..Embracing, bitting, and licking us.. Your ears My ears ..bittibg, ******* licking us.. Your shoulders, My shoulders, .. Pressing, compressing, cupoing moving deep in us.. Your stomach My stomach ...Pressing, pressing us... Your fruit My fruit ... rubbing, mixing, shaking, dancing, going deep, making us, 'us'... Your hands My hands ...touching, pressing , caressing us.. Your mouth, My mouth ..Moving up and down Sharing the juices on & on us... Your tongue, My tongue, .. Travelling, tastings, relishing the depth of us... Your thighs My thighs ...Clenched, entangled in each other's .. Your body My body ******* discovering, relishing, ... The love The lust The hunger The thirst And the hot Furnace is us. You Lost in me I Lost in you We Lost into each us. I am in you You are in me And we are 'Into us' Smiling

56

The interpretation of biblical equations led to justified discrimination And subsequent ********** including horrid abominations committed by all the world’s nations (which are simply human’s creations) faking focus on all of the news stations pretending to help all of those poor Haitians until it forgot them too with such elation As to turn your head no longer facing the bullets and shell casings leave you running and pacing until cops are slowly tracing your body in chalk No more wine tastings Mr. Hasting because you drank too much and can’t talk. Now your stalking your ex’s and killing all in sight “lord please protect us!” From Moral assault in west Texas brought to you and directed by the world’s democratically elected Except I figured it out after I prodded and dissected what is lauded and protected the diseases of this world that are financially connected. That Jesus will never be scientifically resurrected and even with this conclusion I am still being spiritually affected. The END.

0

Oct 7, 2015

Oct 7, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC

billy-the-kidd-kelly

Mr. Hasting's Demise

The interpretation of biblical equations led to justified discrimination And subsequent ********** including horrid abominations committed by all the world’s nations (which are simply human’s creations) faking focus on all of the news stations pretending to help all of those poor Haitians until it forgot them too with such elation As to turn your head no longer facing the bullets and shell casings leave you running and pacing until cops are slowly tracing your body in chalk No more wine tastings Mr. Hasting because you drank too much and can’t talk. Now your stalking your ex’s and killing all in sight “lord please protect us!” From Moral assault in west Texas brought to you and directed by the world’s democratically elected Except I figured it out after I prodded and dissected what is lauded and protected the diseases of this world that are financially connected. That Jesus will never be scientifically resurrected and even with this conclusion I am still being spiritually affected. The END.

32