"wetted" 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
*study
*your defined mounds and dipping hips,,
lips and heated soles, to ascertain that
your mine willingly, you're alive, still mine,
to have and hold,
not to be me, a left~behind*
*for
you in and ex,
hale~hail me not,
you chest. convex nor concave,
if it gives, lives, moves, my eyes,
mine wetted eyes cannot discern,
and the precious stillness I do so adore
cherish,
contaminated by
notions of you having perished*
+
*it,
is wished hard away,
wished hard it may disappear,
a sigh. a groan, a puzzling moan, anything
even a sudden dreaming scream,
to confirm that our heat still can be all merged,
so that your light sleeper schema cannot be
touched and thus defeated,
so I write an only love poem,
and sign it with tears
of a cursed quiet streaming,
clouded, most unliterary, but
always
with a super silent adoration, of, for*
she,
who cannot be disturbed
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 4:16 PM UTC
Time frozen
Horns blaring
Heart thumping
Palms wetted
Words in whorls
Nebulous thinking
Thoughts in twirls
Spinning in circles
Gaze hypnotic
Moment surreal
Vision kaleidoscopic
Life chromatic
Living hallucinogenic
Gone tripping
Psychedelic eyes
In psychedelic mind
Once more
Loved again
© 2017 Jim Davis
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
only an idiot like me, the rain poured down, my socks were wetted, and i looked at the pavement for glory, instead i found a £10 note and imagined my right shoe on my left leg, and my left shoe on my right leg... just to prove the luck.
it came from listening to rotting christ's kata
ton daimona...
i wrote the poem on two tesco receipts
numbering them no. 1 - .4,
it made sense to just give it a narrative...
the naturally apparent lisp of greek is due to...
lies between theta (θ) and phi (φ)...
check feta cheese... it might be less morbidly fermented...
that's why the greeks have a natural lisp...
it's theta and it's phi...
in english it's like chinese.... w & r...
something's rolling something's waving,
something's trigonometric...
harrison fowd was almost jonathan woss if i care...
the chinese in english debate with chin-chin-wanker
scissors piece of paper stone good luck on the handshake:
lost the price of interest being gained for excavation
purposes of dinosaur bones and inflation via the
ptertodactyl of the extended mohawk shave...
english dicionary makes me confused...
it places theta alongside the, than... but then
it's therapy... thermometer...
too many unique examples i'd have said...
that's the lisp there... sidelined phew and engaged in phew
in byzantine...
english linguistics is filled with too many "unique" examples
of expression... coupled with the celebrity culture...
i farted and a person took hold of a *** squeeze...
how's that?! english language in summary?
pleasing on the eye... but the spelling? a burden on the tongue.
i know that slavic linguistics would make enlgish that's written
ugly...
it wouldn't be pharmacology but farmacology...
then it made sense, i stopped asking the english dicta
written down, the greek θ wasn't a couple of th & etc...
a few athenains in death metal said it like i said it... the 2nd f...
it was απηθανoν - because it was simply athens - fern fence...
and not d... defence, or anything easily acquired as a prescription
of zee wee point of german scottish.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
I saw my world again through your eyes
As I would see it again through your children's eyes.
Through your eyes it was foreign.
Plain hedge hawthorns were peculiar aliens,
A mystery of peculiar lore and doings.
Anything wild, on legs, in your eyes
Emerged at a point of exclamation
As if it had appeared to dinner guests
In the middle of the table. Common mallards
Were artefacts of some unearthliness,
Their wooings were a hypnagogic film
Unreeled by the river. Impossible
To comprehend the comfort of their feet
In the freezing water. You were a camera
Recording reflections you could not fathom.
I made my world perform its utmost for you.
You took it all in with an incredulous joy
Like a mother handed her new baby
By the midwife. Your frenzy made me giddy.
It woke up my dumb, ecstatic boyhood
Of fifteen years before. My masterpiece
Came that black night on the Grantchester road.
I ****** the throaty thin woe of a rabbit
Out of my wetted knuckle, by a copse
Where a tawny owl was enquiring.
Suddenly it swooped up, splaying its pinions
Into my face, taking me for a post.
7.9k
Prologue
casual glance at my notifications while driving even though
I’m all ready a bad bad boy, cruising at a sedate,
cruise-controlled 70 mph vs. the bureaucrat bifocals 55,
a remnant regulation of the Eighties,
all the while humming with Gilligan
“a 3 hour tour,
2 passengers set sail that day”
then execute a four lane 180,
gotta get highway sideway grassed ,
cause i’m gassed...
by a Poem Breach
of the poems promised by me,
to write of thee,
you, my best inspiration,
the list grows longer, faster
than the hours provided
pull over fast emergency for my composure breached,
my vision wetted, my eyes hit by an unplanned unexpected,
sudden summer thunderstorm
<•>
The Poem Breach
***once more into the breach thy words breeze through my chest,
like on a flamed stick, night roasting, toasting beach summer marshmallows,
that cut direct to the ineffable sadness that resides resists within,
that sticky, white mess,
a human heart melting
a thank you message that I’ve read before,
many times more than once,
how my unasked poem, a sun unique,
arrived at the
precise time and place,
to lift and even save,
how could I’ve know?
I did not know
but these messages collect on my chest,
unsought words of purple ribbon metal that make a
less burdened cowardly lion,
grown man cry,
do crazy things for it is a possible solution to his
age old quest
Why do I exist, is this my purposed plan, don’t understand, all
but the answer peaked and peaceful accepted in the breach unreasoned,
my port of entry, a gateway to the scales, a bridge it is, over a time-life river styx and unstuck, yet certainly always confused...***
“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”
thank you so insufficient
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
Little king of sun toasting petal,
Cups the air with swirling wings
Flashes, flurries of wetted trials,
How you drink of nectar singing,
With invisible wings let whirring,
So robed in arc of rainbows' sky,
Even lofted mist of morn stirring,
All the shaped air, a moving eye.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
+
A bed-sits high and dry,marooned on a sandbank of night.
As radio 4-casts its nets to isolated ships like me that rudderless drift on into the light.
Still dark outside,no sounds,save the distant echoing bark of a hungry fox ----streets away.
Another dawn ripped blackbin bag of a day creeps and ouzes in
Heavy unfocused lids fogged in the steamy smokeyness of tea and a first fag
plenty of time plenty of time.
Time before the world wakes to the morning pips and its flushing, brushing, rushing sounds
A greyness gathers just beyound my pained curtains, as with a silent sigh a roosted blackbird clears its fasted throat.
Then as if by magic I 'm carried, scimming high above and beyound this mooring set in a silvered sea,on a welcomed mantra known to all.
As if a calling pray at day break,following each word in a moment subline
Un angle vole un angle vole.
Rockall - Malin - Hebrides
Humber - Fisher - German bight
Thames - Dover - Wight.
Each single secert understood and noted only by a few as I glide over in paced, pausey surf rolling words
North northeast - 994 - Falling slowly - Low pressure moving away - Gales 8 very poor - Backing 3-4 later - Mainly good - Becoming variable - Syclonic later - Increasing 6-7 mainly west - Swally showers for a time - Fair - Good.
Oh so good, each pure English comforting sounds heard over lapping waves of air.
The bushy wet nosed fox sulks and cowers away from the breaking sun, as the blackbird draws a dewdropped breath though golden nib and tapping gently, call a hidden choir into song just for me.
Reminding me of the things I'd for gotten I care about.
Sharp timed unwelcomed pips flood the ears to prise open sticky eyes from promised dreams and spoon-cuddles warm
As I set forth on wetted pavements, ready to decline into my charted day.
Yet smiling as if blessed and no longer alone
But filled with early morning salty thoughts of strangers
I
have
yet
to
meet
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
I pledge allegiance
to all the stones in the road
that have given me succor,
to every poet-of-anywhere
who greets me
with wetted, parted lips and open heart,
who greets the sun-rays shared, inching,
opening o'er my yet living,
praying body, reminding me
that I am alive,
that I am warm
that I feel poetry in, on,
cells, all over, deep in my extremities
Most importantly, in my busted heart,
where warmth is stored in a soul restored,
and Life affirmed,
For who knows how
many more times
I will know this,
How many more times
I will able compose this,
Play "measure the future''
in seconds or years and
grimaced smiles over tears,
or just one or the other,
that be willed to supersede;
Will keep you posted
in every realized and many some stillborn poem,
rising with the grand entrance of morn skies,
or perhaps, lies buried neath in each horizon's cemetarial,
and
even those,
that straddle a confusing and confused moon,
of a twenty fours hours existence,
be shoulder-borne,
bathed in
combinatorial equatorial
moon & sun light,
so we can bathe, like Bathsheba (1)
by both,
and delight
at the exact same moment's portent,
no matter,
the disregarded, discarded,
why
we are
who we are
when pledge and plead
allegiance to those eyes that read our scrivenings
nml
Aug 27, 2025
Aug 27, 2025 at 11:57 AM UTC
Hammers on heartstrings,
And I wish to tell you of their
Sound.
Lo, how each chime rolls
Or taps the surface of the air,
Each an exultation of depression,
Creation.
Eyes sting with salt, wetted with
What has been – the foolish enterprise
Of my words. These notes, they
Scale the patterns of my life.
Pure emotion.
Inexpressible.
Hammers on heartstrings,
They fill the emptied rooms with
Sound.
Lo, how each key sings.
Their voice naught in solitude,
Yet a celebration of life’s discourse in
Union.
Ears ring like a music box. Chopin’s
Soul in the spaces beyond time,
Touching mine. Our sorrows pastured
Green, laying life under the ground,
Tough fingerprints.
Hammers on heartstrings,
And I wish to tell you of their
Sound.
Lo, how they still my jittered soul.
Lo, how I accept the drizzle,
The arrival of autumn
At my window.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
She never minded the scars I carved.
She'd beg me for more, and as her wrists were tied in knots.
I'd make sure another night was never forgot.
Sure, she'd struggle, much as any of us must.
But she was lurching toward me wild and bewildered such.
She would calm as I tended wound and her panting
below became a parting of bloom. Springtime crept
in like a slow, low light on a horizon only meant
to be seen by us two.
Her struggle turned to sound and her mouth stuffed still.
Her lids heavy hiding stained glass eye windowed sill.
Her knees buckled with belt tied firm to keep her tight.
Her smile crept wide as tongue wetted what kept words inside.
Her drool ran and stained our sheets,
her eyes filled with tears which ran down cheeks.
Pleasing pleadings strung out by Morse code taps of her feet.
She was more than a canvas,
she became my tapestry.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 3:23 AM UTC
Little king of sun toasting petal,
Cups the air with swirling wings
Flashes, flurries of wetted trials,
How you drink of nectar singing,
With invisible wings let whirring,
So robed in arc of rainbows' sky,
Even lofted mist of morn stirring,
All the shaped air, a moving eye.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
A glowing ember I once was
Now all I feel as if I all I do is sit upon the colour blue, wetted by dissipating champagne fizz whilst being kept afloat by curved cold glass
The bottom of the bath is scaled with confusion and differently shaped stresses
An unquenchable vanity lies within
The clumps of gold leaf I dust my cereal with has blocked up my veins
When I think about kissing you my brain floods with the taste of the reddest, sweetest cherries, only within this act the most vivid aspect of my mind is lit up as if it were a neon light display
Only within the flow of this electric current I am gloriously and contently happy
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 5:10 PM UTC
I
Side street in a yellow town,
Nothing happens but a heavy breathing man.
Careful steps to Linda Linda’s home,
This day, thinks he, is a barn owl’s song-
*Something else moves the wind chime,
Something else shoos the leaves.
Linda Linda* if you will.
Did you lock your keys in the car again?
I walked.
Just be quiet.
I willed.
But dust covers furniture as love eclipses better love
When wetted too much down where divers don’t dare,
Dropped. Left in mud.
Linda Linda did and dared.
II
Whale 1 one looked at Whale 2 and sighed, swimming off.
III
Owl,
You *******
Where love is once now love is mud,
Look what these doctors have dared and done.
Whales,
You kindly kindred floated friends,
You saw her last
Sinking moment
*And you’ll see my last eye cried dry,
Something else moves the yellow tide.*
And ******* You,
Smile crying, drowning and fat now,
It was probably
Just as beautiful as you wanted.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC
~~~
*dedicated to the three, who read this first
(S.B, J.A., & T.M.R.)
and know it all too well*
~~~
more than ever presumed,
more than ever thought realizable,
indescribable attainable,
a modernizing magic powder,
synthesizing my intemperate body
~
at last, all ego falls away,
now but corn husk mulch,
detritus, non-toxic nuclear waste,
for growing better visions,
fruits undiscovered
~
write for me,
my recordings, my blog,
not to differentiate,
to substantiate,
to integrate
your gasps imagined,
mine realized,
exhalations upon lips grazing,
the soil of our rainforest
wetted by
living smiling,
eye droplets,
forming a singular stream
~
write for you,
sharing too close,
are you my first or second skin,
for there are no spaces
~
satisfaction discovered that is insatiable,
this pleasured seeing,
this pleasured sharing,
this poetic reason,
to exist
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
It was a beautiful rainy day.The rains showered like blessings from the sky to mother earth.The drops drizzled over several stunning creations of God. The ***** frog winked in fright when the tiny drop thumped on its peeping head which it had kept out from its water world curious to know what's happening outside.The lazy ladybird hides itself in the rug of leaves it hopped and played till then.Little dusty leaves quivered with joy as they rejoiced and celebrated the long waited bath.
Far aloof,the village looked so spanking new than ever after it was wetted by the light rain.so modest,so composed,the radiating sun put itself out of sight making way to the pompous clouds.Besides all these petite feelings,the livid eagle gaped at the sky sniping for it had missed its daily glide over the rusty mountains.
All these tiny things shaped out the background,while the main subject remains undescribed yet.The big fat buffalo stands aright in tranquility as if nothing new happened.Its skin so tight,shining so bright,created a beautiful sight as the raindrops tapped on it pitter patter.Its horns like engraved artifacts mirrored each other and stood still amazed at their similarity.The momentary muddy puddle covered up its hooves.
And now comes the most interesting foreground of the picture. It’s the little cute boy!!! Small dark brown eyes...Umpteen hopes filled in them. He wore the most beautiful jewel on his face....it’s his smile gleaming with merriment. While his tiny hands held tight the wicker, his entire little body hid itself behind the huge gunny he wore to shield against the shower. He hopped over the small puddle creating beautiful waves and exquisite splashes.
And that forms the most beautiful picture about which my dad told me.The little boy is none other than my dad. :) :) .
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
In the end,
It was a brief
Affair.
In the end
It was a ship
That fared....
Too full,
A draft too
Unsteady
To stay it's course
My perfect friend
And listing
O're the force
Of winds
That ripped
Her jib sails
To shreds
And small pins;
I full of pain
You, unable
To hold on....
Against the
Winds -
"A shame"
They'll say
Or maybe
Not
I know
I know
I know.......
In the fullness
Of time's course
We'll see
Our time
Entwined
Was far, far
too brief
To be......
You so full
Of fear
I so full of grief
But we loved free
That is true
And love, in itself
Can beat the tide
But only if
The mainsails' true
I know
I know
I know.........
Your tears were
No secret
To me,
Your wetted eyes
Let me know
You'd -
Had your fill
Of heart pain
And sorrow
And sometimes
We need to go
Aside ourselves
To heal the wounds
I know
I know
I know......
In the playing
Out of time
I'm sure
We'll appreciate
That we
Struck before,
Before the sea
Was ready
To endure us
And so the
The long rock
was struck
And strewn;
We loved
Too early
Or perhaps
Too soon
I know
I know
I know......
The hurt will
Come later
The movement
Changing slow,
My countenance
Will remain
The same
But my heart
Will lose it's glow,
To think
We may not sail again
It is the
End of the affair
I know
I know
I know........
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 3:23 AM UTC
sweaty forehead, a gory past
wildly glowing eyes of oblivion
shivering hands, sirens, bars
freedom, imprisonment, razor blades
peru, coca farmers, chemicals
smuggler channels, route 36
franklin's face on crumpled-up paper
rattling coins, benjamins, stacks
gotta make it or take it
gotta sell or abuse it
flashing louis, abundant future
sweaty forehead, ****** present
biker chapters, brothers, funerals
tommy hauled jim's coffin
rick carried tommy to his grave
cut-offs, gats, one call: ******
despair, hatred, vengeance, omerta
mortals remain silent, angels don't
rain of blood, a puddle of codes
turf, plots, streets, blocks, gangs
cults **** cultures, weapons replace
shelter in a group home; the stabbing
"shaun got heart, he a furious one --
can use dat dude, pay him up"
black, white, african-american, chechens
territories of unspoken laws
intimidated witnesses, gay mobsters
lured teenagers, deadly magic of power
the old ones impress the new ones
newbies will turn into soldiers
**** or get killed; headshots of fear
numbers on the forehead, blueish
unwritten are the rules of some
bribed politicians, skippers, knockos
the one who wets, will be wetted
others prefer the clarity of faith
organized crime, rats and kingpins
multilevel marketing, elevators
glass towers, late and secret meetings
route 36, the white magic of death
it's all in the game
"The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won't let go of your life.
Your memories, your attachments, they burn 'em all away. But they're not punishing you, they say. They freeing yourself.
Relax."
(Quote from the film "Jacob's Ladder")
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 4:06 AM UTC
as soon as the banishment in a forest comes to an end
all the rain-drops come to the ball-room with unfolded
umbrellas over their heads
the slumber of the adjourned dialogues
also breaks
all the blossoms of the cucurbitaceous plant
that are supposed to open their petals
have gone to the majlis of the aquatic-plants
riding on a wrong-minibus
then a photograph of the dinner- party
is to be found out and brought for the saliva-gland
there is no voice of the palms of the open-window
of his own
even then
each and every the air-hostess eagers to listen
to the song of boat-rowing from him
here the duck of the mid-noon
is engaged in pleasure
with the flower-vase of class x
their drinking-bowl is flying
along the flame of the rail-line
though it does not bear any grief
to the large lake
that is wetted with perspiration
there is no delta of misspelling as well
it has only the smoking of thousand cusec
all the day and night
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 4:17 AM UTC
.
Little king of sun toasting petal,
Cups the air with swirling wings
Flashes, flurries of wetted trials,
How you drink of nectar singing,
With invisible wings let whirring,
So robed in arc of rainbows' sky,
Even lofted mist of morn stirring,
All the shaped air, a moving eye.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
Little king of sun toasting petal,
Cups the air with swirling wings
Flashes, flurries of wetted trials,
How you drink of nectar singing,
With invisible wings let whirring,
So robed in arc of rainbows' sky,
Even lofted mist of morn stirring,
All the shaped air, a moving eye.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
From the wetted womb
of a season's mother
a raindrop bloomed
to a planet's whisper
As the eyes of the drop
glimpsed its world
foresaw the remorse
its life devoured
As the raindrop struck
the whispering grounds
shattered to droplets
a million around
The death of the drop
but certainly quenched
the thirst of a planet
from a martyr's lament
Dec 28, 2009
Dec 28, 2009 at 8:45 PM UTC
I've always itched
For perfect mahogany
Chimera doubles.
Cavorting into her,
Psychologies
Fullest emptiness.
Drastic is the
...Vow...
One which
Most perceive.
I let it
Palpate
My sheathing...
And my entrails
Lay open...
As she played cello.
With intestines of mine,
Her smile planted
In mist.
Painted on sawmill
Hinges...
It began.
To sieve serrating
..Arms...
Back to my tissues
Within.
My bones; refused
Seeping aqueducts.
Only to quail from sin.
We wetted; our contour
Tongues on....
O-negative streams.
So animalistic,
I dwindled upon
Her lancet...
And we let our
Collage begin.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
Her tears fell like rain,
With an abundance of acid;
Whereas her lover's tears rarely fell;
As a person he was placid.
The rivers flowing down her cheeks,
Reminded him that he used to be not so weak.
When he cried, bleeding emotion like she did now,
He was a stronger person then, his soul a bough.
Now, weaker, he could accept the fact,
That when he let sadness dehumanize him, he made a pact;
No longer would tears fall down his face,
He would bury the emotions and lock them in place.
He wondered now if he was destined to be happy;
He missed the days when his trunk was damaged, sappy.
He hardened to a point far beyond desire,
Steely now, having quenched his inner fire.
He embraced her in their small living room,
Happy that tears wetted his shoulder, and that sadness loomed;
She was still human, she still bled emotion,
Something that for him was a distant notion.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC