Monthly Archives: May 2012

Charlotte

Though named for a rose she had

no desire to be one, watching the

girls at school primp and tweet,

display and slut, be

budded, bloomed and blown

before adulthood, so she

prayed she’d one day find a man who

knew more of a garden than just

dead-heading roses.

Time Whistles

Time whistles its discordant tune through

branches and bushes and

blades of grass, the

slab sides of buildings, holes in

walls, cracks in

concrete, the detritus in the

next-door garden, TV aerials,

telephone wires, washing-lines, the

clothes of your loved one,

their hair.

Dagger

Winter is the dagger hidden behind

Summer’s back, ready to be deployed in some

improbable Fifth Act carnage that leaves a

stage littered in corpses and some

ingenue in charge of whom there will be

great hope but

little expectation.

Dagger

Winter is the dagger hidden behind

Summer’s back, ready to be deployed in some

improbable Fifth Act carnage that leaves a

stage littered in corpses and some

ingenue in charge of whom there will be

great hope but

little expectation.

Formal

A formal garden, bleak, with

coyly nude statues beneath a

sealed-in sky, your

off-white dress skittering between

bare but budding trees as I

pursued you across

frost-crickled grass and

caught you,

pinned you against the

plinth of a naked urn

which swayed and

grated worryingly like my

skull against my spine as your

hot mouth clamped mine with a

kiss like the

ghost of sunshine.

Field Day

Leo harbours Saturn, a

lubricious flea clinging to the

matted belly of the beast

hoping its host will catch the

trailing gaseous skirts of

skittish Virgo when they will both

have a field day.

Grasp

Image

 

Smoke Signals

Image

Email in a Bottle

It’s instant isn’t it? Unlike

telegrams or snail-mail or

smoke-signals or carrier-pigeons or

a runner’s feet slapping

bare baked earth?

There are no horse-relays involved

are there? or landslips to

frustrate, or feathered tribes to

shoot, a messenger?

Our frontiers are pervious,

aren’t they, to all our

ethereal mutterings? The

air is so full of them it is

opaque with their mist of

assignations and the

sweet musk of infidelity. They

must mingle with the drizzle I inhale

as I sit and wait and

wait for the instant reply to my

instant message.

Temperature's Rising

Sexy Times ~ Warm Feelings ~ Hot Flashes ~ All That

MULTIGLOM

The Anne Billson blog

A Submissive Wife

Married Submissive, Exploring the kinky side of life.

Life of a Kinky Wife

Marriage with a Twist

The Weaver of Words

"Poetry is what happens when your mind stops working, and for a moment all you do is feel." -Atticus

Works of an Unsettled Mind

Stories, Poems and Titillating Epitaphs

Upashna

In happiness my words I lack, in grief they overflow.

My Liver's Trying to Kill Me!... Oh Wait.

A Journey to a Healthier Me.

Undressed Thoughts

layers of my onion head

The Wild Heart of Life

"He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life." ...James Joyce

Veronica Love-Wylde

Erotic Poet and Artist - Welcome to My Sensual World

my controlled ascent

living and loving as a married submissive in my D/s marriage

Filimages

A quoi servent les images que l'on ne montre pas ?

BlogUnseen

Written Thoughts, Spoken through verse...

Jupiter's Lair

Because a dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste...

A Quest for the Uncliche

Dream. Explore. Learn. Repeat.. Let's traverse on the paths less taken and explore whole new worlds