Monthly Archives: May 2019

Amor Vincit Omnia?

Fridayam's Blog

We want love to be the

centrifuge of life, spinning the

scoria into oblivion, leaving

only purity behind, but

design flaws, outages, our

inability to follow the

simplest instructions means the

shit keeps seeping back into the

autoclaves of our hearts,

spoiling everything.

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U.S.S. Carondelet (1861-73)

Fridayam's Blog

Carondelet cruises Mississippi

an upturned cooking pot afloat

broiling the men inside

bristling with guns

looking for fights and finding them

sluicing the blood of dead and deafened men

scouring the great

drainage of the West from

war’s hopeful hoopla start to its

sullied and bitter end.

Cumberland Ohio Missouri

Yazoo Red all

belch their waters into

Mississippi’s great churn and

she sailed them all (though

she barely got out of Red

caroming over rapids)

and their endless bayous overhung with trees

dripping with snipers.

She took her hits but

never lost a fight and when

they came to scrap her found

she’d gone in the night

on a flood tide, preferring

the grave of her enemies

to that of her friends.

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“By Cock, they are to blame.”

Fridayam's Blog

Each night I dread putting on that costume,

pulling on that character, her plain

shift, knee-length stockings, the hated

“pair-of-bodies”, farthingale, bum-roll,

petticoat, kirtle, partlet, all topped with the

splendid silk gown and for “authenticity”

no knickers, so that I feel

naked despite so much clothing, so

obsessed with my bare sex, so

alive to “country matters”.

I think of the boys who played my part but

with a part I didn’t have, dangling—

did they have some codpiece, some

protection I am not allowed?

“Beginners” doesn’t mean me so

finally finished I can look at myself:

I am 26 but look 16 so if I were her I

could be married and

dead of my fourth child by now and

I think of it…..No

I think on’t. Think of being just a

poppet (but a poppet with thoughts and

hormones) bred to be bred,

pimped by my family for…

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C’est Chic

Reworked

Fridayam's Blog

My guts are gaily gartered round your

well-toned thighs.

You suit them,

wear them well:

I admire how you can move so

elegantly, though you

must be aware of the

trickle of blood running down

your leg like a

seam.

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Presents

When I have given you enough

perfumes (though you always smell wonderful),

scarves (though you are always beautifully dressed),

books (though you are so well-read),

watches (though you are never punctual),

what then?

 

Wine? but you rarely drink;

Clothes? you find bargains where I would never look;

Jewellery? I haven’t the means to

do you justice and

Lingerie is a presumption and anyway

men are crap at sizes.

 

Perhaps all that is left is

presence.

Dimensia

Since childhood I’ve felt

objects approaching me

unbeckoned but

indisputably on a

collision course I somehow

cannot avert.

 

So many spillages,

so many apologies,

so many blushed replies because

this is England after all and

spillages are assumed to be the

fault of both parties.

 

Oh and I also trip over cables so

don’t let me anywhere near a

studio despite it being my

place of work.

Giving Thought

Fridayam's Blog

I’m giving thought to a worthy cause,

one which will use it better than

I ever did, pick whatever is useful, perhaps

donate it to some poor

thoughtless person, to entertain or probably

puzzle as to why I should be so

obsessed with garden birds, the

ever-changing sky and the

ever-moving stars, perhaps

piqued by the erotic but

put off by the personal before

chucking the whole useless gift into

someone else’s skip.

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In Whose Sky?

Fridayam's Blog

In whose home am I an

unwelcome guest, loathed but

impossible to evict?

In whose life am I the

grit that didn’t produce the

longed-for pearl? In which

graveyard am I a spectre,

unhouseled, disquieted,

preceeded by candles?

In whose sky am I a

mere speck of light?

 

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Temperature's Rising

Sexy Times ~ Warm Feelings ~ Hot Flashes ~ All That

MULTIGLOM

The Anne Billson blog

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Married Submissive, Exploring the kinky side of life.

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Marriage with a Twist

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

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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.

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

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

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

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Don't Lose it