Monthly Archives: October 2019

Frosty Road

Fridayam's Blog

We all like to think we are alone on that

divergent road amidst the dark trees with

night imminent and only our

fears, hopes, dreams, the

Moon and stars for company but

pull a little at that thread, that

tremulous fabric and we see instead a

superhighway of foot-beaten earth

miles wide with

comfort-stops aplenty and the sense that it

goes on forever.

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Cat

Fridayam's Blog

“Don’t let the cat come between you”,

the old woman winked and nudged the

blushing man whose eyes reflected

his young bride’s puzzled look.

They’d dragged themselves from bed

barely long enough to marry, and their

bodies itched for the scratch

only sex could assuage.

And so it was until the work began,

and the kids mauled at tender breasts,

and the frets of age vied

with the fizzle of health.

They neither fell asleep nor woke together,

but one day when they did

they found that the

cat had come between them.

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Clothes

Fridayam's Blog

The marks of her clothes

slowly fade from her body

as I watch and she falls

solemnly asleep.

There’s been no sex

for she was tired,

and in the clammy night

there are no sheets,

so unfettered limbs

reveal their weals,

the blueprint of

her public form.

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Make-Up Remover

Fridayam's Blog

The face you wore tonight is now

smeared on my sheets, my

pillow, my face, and your

parloured hair is decidedly

unkempt, your sleepy eyes

between locks accepting this

new openness, this

new nakedness.

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Pull and Repulse

Fridayam's Blog

We start off paddling in shallows,
uncertain of what is under our feet, but
bemoaning the lack of depth.

Then the sand ends in sadness, a void,
head under water, cursing
never learning to swim.

Somehow saved, we sit on the beach
drawn to death, mesmerised by the
pull and repulse of the waves.

Slowly we learn, study, copy
back-stroke, breast-stroke, or
just using our hands to stay afloat.

People pair off, swim strongly away,
suddenly gone, yet their strange happy
yelps echo over the horizon.

The laughter out there sometimes
bursts like fireworks, and sometimes it
fades faster than a tropical sun.

Some come back singly, shake their
wet hair, seek another swimmer
unbothered by the slow fat drips.

Others stalk up the beach to
hide in the trees, their run-off
making metaphors in the mud.

Emerging, chastened or just bored, the
lone ones see other singletons
silhouetted against…

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Shy Exhibitionists

Fridayam's Blog

Poetry can be long-ships in deep water

full of foul-mouthed horny sailors

desperate to take continents

village by village, pillaging

words, leaving readers raped and

pregnant with strange thoughts.

Poetry can be paper boats floated by

shy exhibitionists, hulls packed with

love, lust, loss, lost as

paper perishes and

blood and ink become

commingled with dark sea.

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Confusion between Dark and Light

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There’s a confusion between

dark and light in Autumn,

sharp sunshine sometimes

warming my face, then a

sharper shower, laundry

drying in the breeze

suddenly scooped in,

something soothing on the

stove smelling

sweet and strange, my

hands hesitating to

draw the curtains while the

sky is still coloured-in and there

remains one last

glimmer of the day.

Stormfront

Fridayam's Blog

Squalls precede the storm, a

skirmish-line shaken out by the

dark host over the horizon

whipping itself into action, sucking

resupply from salt-water and

riven air with bagpipe blasts to

terrify, brigades of rain

beginning the bombardment, seeking

weaknesses for the penetrating wind to

infiltrate, develop, envelop, create a

Cannae of Air against Earth, but like

Schlieffen’s Plan it will all come to nought,

in a day or so Earth will remain,

battered, scarred but still there and the

storm will be spent, leaving

skirmishing squalls and rainbows.

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Butts

Fridayam's Blog

Is there an end to things? Can you feel it?

Rounded and smooth or

jagged as though broken off

roughly, or in anger?

Maybe it’s just a butt

trodden on outside some

seedy joint from which

I am excluded.

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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.

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 ?

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

Sex Matters

Don't Lose it