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Edna Sweetlove Aug 2015
Another enchanting "Barry Hodges Memory" poem for you all!

O glorious Art Deco edifice, tucked away behind the 'Dilly!
In your near century of hospitality, how many millions of visitors
Must have thronged your rooms, meeting, greeting, eating, sleeping
And (need I specify the obvious?) ******* away the fleeting hours?
How sad it is to think that the dear Regent Palace has fallen victim
To the money-grabbing developers' philistine wrecking *****.

Rumour came to me in the Seventies that the ground floor cocktail bar
Had gained a somewhat , shall we say, *louche
reputation,
Being frequented by ladies of the night and part-time gigolos;
And that the hustle and bustle of the reception area meant that
Staff would hardly notice if guests invited a newly made friend upstairs
For some horizontal entertainment, be it on a cash or ex gratia basis.

Several evenings, perhaps after a night at the theatre, I paid a brief visit
To the dimly lit bar, with its sophisticated black pianist tinkling out a tune
In the very best Casablanca tradition, perhaps even crooning a little ditty.
One summer night I recall I dropped in, probably post-prandially
More in hope than serious expectation, ordered an over-priced G&T;
And settled down to assess the odds on some casual leg-over action.

Much to my surprise I was soon joined by a large middle-aged blonde
(to a naive young chappie, any woman over 35 is no spring chicken);
She was Icelandic and big with it in the mammary department,
But not fat I hasten to add, just sturdy, like a splendid Wagnerian Valkyrie;
Yea, I knew she was gagging for it when she confided that, only last week,
She had shared l'amour with a young stranger in the Wienerwald al fresco.

I cannot recall much of our no doubt fascinating intellectual conversation
And I certainly can't remember her name, but I do know I readily acquiesced
To her generous invitation to participate in a glug of her duty free allowance
Within the intimate privacy of her spartan little bedroom on the seventh floor.
Delightfully, to my mild pleasure, our upwards journey in the crowded lift
Enticed her to caress my eager testicles in a heart-warmingly experienced way.

Over a malt whisky and, following an extended exchange of warm saliva,
We ended up stark ******* naked in the rather narrow single bed;
Sadly, my recollections of our coupling have gone the way of all flesh
(but my well-preserved diary for that year notes I gave her the works thrice)
And I do vividly remember wondering what time the Underground started
on Sunday mornings as I was no longer enamoured of her tobacco breath.

Now, dear reader, we come to the ****** of my night of Nordic nookie:
Just as the dawn's early light was filtering through the ill-fitting curtains,
My partner in lust informed me that she desperately needed a squirt
(I fear I omitted to mention that the RPH didn't run to en suite facilities)
And that, rather than struggle down the corridor to the communal bogs,
She intended to void her bloated bladder in the waiting washbasin.

She enjoined me to be a gentleman and to refrain from watching her
As she performed her toilette and I assured her, with a covert smile,
That I would not breach her urinary modesty. Thus I slyly observed her
Waltz over to the window and, with the assistance of a handy little chair,
Hoist her ample buttocks up on the basin and let fly her steaming ****;
O, what a romantic sound it made as it splashed onto the porcelain!

As I lay there, entranced by the sight of my piddling blonde Brünnhilde,
An unexpected sound intruded over the splatter of her seething waters:
O Jesu! Suddenly, in the veritable twinkling of an eye, the basin's supports,
Unequal to the unscheduled weight of the female Goliath squatting thereon,
Gave way and what's-her-name fell to the economically carpeted floor,
Screaming in fear, spread-eagled in ****-drenched shattered chinaware.

To say I was beside myself with mirth would be an understatement but,
Gentlemanly as always, I managed to pass off my gargled giggles
As evidence of gallant concern. As soon as common decency permitted,
I made my excuses and left the disconcerted dear to tidy up a bit.
But I will confess to emitting a huge howl of uncontrolled laughter
As I raced off to the nearest toilet (I too was bursting for a huge slash).
Gaffer Jun 2015
January’s woman melts the snow.
February’s woman is good to go
March she blows like the wind
Aprils woman is sad then warmingly glad
May the shackles are off
June in bed till noon
July love on the beach
August same woman, roll on september
September’s woman is petite and coy
October is comfort and joy
November’s woman is fireworks, this is the one
December’s woman is ice cold, she’s just found out what  i've being doing for the last eleven months and wants a divorce.
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ'✿⊱╮
Rich and warmingly sweet dough
spiced with cinnamon
wisps of nutmeg, buttery
rolls baked gold-and-brown
Icing sugar made
now drizzle
Yes!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Twenty-fourth Epulaeryu! ^-^
My sweet tooth returns with a vengeance! ;)
Another classic that never lets me down!
Lyn ***
Sophia Jan 2016
Sentimental or not, if you do read this, just know that I'm happy hat we've hung on to life for yet another year.
You're now turning 18. You've been alive for over a decade.
Just last year, you were planning on ending your life.
You didn't.
It was hard, painful, tiresome, but you didn't give in; You're still here.
Thank you for giving me another year to live.
No matter how you decide to spend this day, and no matter how you may be feeling right now, just know this;
You're a warrior.
You always were.
Even at the times you fell and got hurt. You didn't call it quits, because warriors never surrender.
And now here we are. 18 years.
I hope we live long enough to see tomorrow rise.
I hope that with the sunrise, a new chapter of your life will begin. And I hope in this chapter, you will be happy.
Genially, instinctively, heart-warmingly happy.
Best wishes.
I hope you make it.

*letters to my future self, 16.7.2015
I found this in my journal today. Enough to say that I broke down crying. 2016, please be gentle. Here's to another year.
And t'ere I stood, still as a statue,
fascinated more, and againeth -- at th' light
t'at streamed naughtily from th' sea of
thy eyes -- which t'is time resembled t'ose vivid rays
of th' harvest moon. My love, my love! Come to me
but once more, so t'at I could cherish thee,
tenderly and warmingly,
in my arms.
Norbert Tasev Apr 2020
Warmingly, on my face as a mother's forgiving babbling, you ran like a swan wing with your caressing, artistic, vulnerable hand: Many times you thought you were sick of not giving yourself up like the secret maximalist notable mark: You spun! And you have crushed your vulnerable glass beads in your eyes for your pain!

But you were strong, responsible then; you kept constantly reviving the wandering flames of the tear of my urge of despair: "Don't give it to me just for once!" "Your tiny, kind hand soon, minute by minute, dispelled the clouds of my pessimism from my head." - comfortingly

you could only babysit. As an encouragement, you promised your eternal friendship as a gift - I should have protected the palm thread of your destiny on your ruddy network of reddish veins, with the kisses of hero-lovers in a timid and silly way,

that the budding minute in which the fused infinity of the two of us was fulfilled should be eternal! The sword-hand of the Adonis — seems to have preceded consciousness, hidden in the alarm bells of heartbeats. Immersed in your impatience with your fleshy fruit tongue, in the bombardant selfishness of kisses. But did you learn anything from the Silence that made you

and was your person imbued with a breath of air, sure of air? "Now, in preparation for the heat, goblets of flowers are stretching in more and more unbridled fields."

Around the round, the golden sunlight greets the delicate nature with superstitious flows of honey - Who is babusgat, beware, protect your little hand? Where have foggy, nightmarish dreams and the belief that the Graspable Reality is not just a dream - but, derailed rejection of opportunities! Now in whose hand shall I take thy kindness, your understanding and goodness.

— The End —