She sits at her vanity
Peering at her reflection…
Deep lines plague her forehead,
Her pale skin, matte,
The downturned scowl denies
Any beauty to radiate
From her visage–
He had made her ugly.
He’d poisoned the well
From which her quill drank
Until all she could express
Was vile anger and repugnance;
It stole the sun from her days
And the comfort from her pillows
At night.
He’d sent letters of splendor
Exquisite outpourings of adoration
And striking gardens of golden sunsets,
Such awe-inspiring images of devotion
And eternal love–
They were never addressed to her.
Still
She kept them tucked in her heart,
Decay rooted into infection
And disease surged outward
With each silent beat.
She sits at her vanity
Peering into her reflection
Reminiscing moments
Of days
When the warmth of the sun caressed her cheek
And flowers perished fragrant
For her mere attention…
She had been beautiful then.
©Jen2010 2–8
Posts Tagged ‘relationships’
Her Reflection~para
Tuesday, February 9th, 2010Release me ~Para~
Monday, February 1st, 2010My face is blistered by the demands
The suggestions to free
Cut and cauterized–
They’ve hurt me.
Have you not heard me pleading
For the release of all that caresses?
His release.
Have you not heard me begging to the presses
All these years?
I’ve done what was asked
Walked across acres upon acres of shards of glass
Passed razors through the maze of my soul
Dissected my heart with a monocle mirror
And I’m whole
I’ve forgiven my fingers
And I’m whole…
But his release–
His release demands of my mind’s eye
His suffering rakes the embers of my need
To sustain my high
Blistered and scarred
Rising to an inferno I can’t disregard
And my fingers beseech thee
As my conscience screeches to me daily
Release him
Just release him so my sight can see
He lives without me
Satisfactorily
Allow me to witness him serene
In the wild
Living out his most desired dream
And he will be filed under case closed.
I’ve done what was asked
I’ve inhaled the rose
And suffered each thorn as it passed
Licked the morning dew from your boots
Uprooted roots I thought would never be free
And rotated eyeballs to view within
The bloody internal massacre of sin and debris…
I guess I just don’t know what you want from me
But you know what I want from you
Oh you’ve always known what I want from you
And you hold it close to your chest
Under lock and key and duress
I could kill myself, leave a simple note of singular pleas
But you still wouldn’t give me what I need–
His release.
For his release is mine
And you’ll never let me go
Blistered and mangled
You’ll never let me go as such…
I’ve seen too much.
©Jen2010 1–31
The Softness of Rita
Saturday, January 23rd, 2010Tombstone grey eyes
Gives lie to her fuck me crayon red lips
Oval shaped
Inviting
Practiced
Her mouth’s Invitation pursed expectantly
Quivering tongue glistening
A viper poised to strike death
But those eyes
Those damn eyes…
I am Immersed in soft billowy clouds Of ivory colored passion
Enfolded in the softness of Rita
I whisper
A childish sigh
The world is reduced
Absorbed
Into heat and flesh
Choreographed moans
Marching across ancient battlefields
Barely breathing
Drifting between space and time
I’m in love again
She is an opium induced dream
Her morphine coated lips
Adds sweetness to purchased pleasure
Entreating forgetfulness
Nerves scream and vibrate
As Apollo works his lyre
Her vacuous tombstone eyes
Rain a single tear
Lost…
Again…
In the softness of Rita
I return from…
That whirlpool
rising From
Another time…
Another place…
Her soft smile knew my need
I’m in love again
Trembling
I ask her
“Do you love me?”
Exhaled cigarette smoke blinds me
” yes
Always, love…
Always…”
I believe her
But those eyes…
Those damn eyes
~Adult~ Ex-Lovers…
Saturday, January 2nd, 2010So I get a text message from this chick I was fucking a while back. I know, I know I should say a chick I was in love with but the truth demands it’s place. Looking back or In retrospect I am able to piece together what went on in all my failed relationships. Sorta like a recap, During the event there is all that emotional want and need shit going down and it’s hard to sort it out. Looking back you come to realize you were just fucking her. Which is about 99.9% of my relationships which should tell you why they failed.
So she texts me and says it’s over. WTF?
“Yea, sorta figured that out since I have not seen you in a year’
“I mean it this time’
“No doubt darling your are dripping sincerity’
“I’m dying, but you don’t care, I’m dead to you already.’
Insert groan here.
Oh fuck, here comes the “I’m dying” bit
So I bite.
“That’s a shame hon, can I have your dog?”
“You cocksucker’
“I mean it I have an STD”
This is where the strobes start flashing and the Philharmonic starts playing “Mephistopheles”
“you have what?”
“Do I have your attention?”
“Undivided”
Now I know this chick’s head and I always labeled her “suspect” That’s a term I reserve for chicks who you feel might be slinging pussy behind your back. Ya know sorta of a Kmart version of a Blue light pussy special.
“Attention Kmart shoppers, Christine is slinging some major taco in aisle four”
Just a feeling I had with her. Prior to having sex she started to feel me out with questions like “are you kinky?‘
She was never subtle. I told her the truth I could roll anyway she wanted. She was the atypical sexually frustrated married woman who was dying to fulfill some major fantasy. She came to the right place.
So the big day arrives and she comes in with a duffel bag that looked like it weighed about three hundred pounds. I empty the fucker on the bed and tell her,
“Babe, if I pulled a McGuyver here I think I could build a miniature nuclear weapon. No shit, there were butt plugs, dildos, vibrators, lubes, cock rings, restraints, leather masks (WTF?) I wanted to have a sword fight with this huge black dildo, I hid that fucker under the bed. No fucking way! There was even a vibrator that doubled as an AM/FM radio and a GPS unit.
She undresses and lays on the bed and I have my choice of weapons. Being the bizarre fuck I am an image of the three Stooges comes into my head the one with them in the operating room, “Scapel…check…Forceps…check…Dildo…check…
So I chose restraints, a blind fold and a large feather. I figured any poor fuck could hammer her with a dildo it takes an artist to use a feather. I did and it was great. Once you get into it, it’s amazing what you can do with a feather, restraints, a blind fold and some timely lightly blowing breaths. No lie, She was hands down the best sexual partner I ever had. I swear we did it for hours, it was insane, I would fuck her, whip out a toy, work it, fuck her again. Man could she come and the crème de la crème?: she was a squirter. Yea, my first. I was working the climax and plop my face is suddenly dripping with precious bodily fluids. I was like, “Did she just piss in my face?” I recovered and realized but your first squirter will throw you for a loop.
One would think the relationship was destined for greatness but sex only goes so far; Then you have to talk to them. Ah, theres the rub, I have never figured out how to bypass that whole talking to them thingy. When I do men will be knocking down my door. “Oddpoet did what?” “Bypassed the whole talking to them thingy?” “That fucker is my hero.”
But… we started talking, got into a hellacious fight. She puts this Country music station on I asked her to turn it off, She said “deal with it” I did by ripping the radio out of the dashboard and throwing it into the street. Ya know typical lover’s quarrel. I do miss the sex.
Turns out she was not dying from an STD, I guess she just wanted to break my balls one last time for old times sake.
Oh well…
I’m gonna have to write about Debbie, the one that got away. Yea, I left her for my wife. I always did things ass backwards.
~Adult~Reaming the Rectal Roadway
Wednesday, December 23rd, 2009So I am in this Motel room and I have my Johnson poised to enter this chick’s ass. She says “I never engaged in this kind of thing before.” Well, I tell her, “nether have I.”
I use to operate under the assumption that Women were a gift of Aphrodite. An altar where I worshiped, a magical interlude, a punctuation of real, in an otherwise boring life, that was before…
I’m getting ahead of myself…
So I’ve been fucking this bitch for about two hours and I’m feeling good about myself, kind of like Wyatt Earp at the O.K. Corral and the bitch is one the Clanton’s. So I’m pounding away, my gun is primed; being a musician I’m pounding a whole slew of rhythms in that pussy. I am a jazzed ass cocksmith, I’m giving her long strokes, short strokes, varying rhythms, I am Thelonious Monk and the bitch is my keys.
All of a sudden she can not breathe, well, not my problem; she wanted to fuck, right?
And I realize my cock is a potential instrument of death and I play the scenario out.
“What happened here?”
“Officer we were fucking and she died.”
“You trying to say you fucked her to death?”
“I guess so Officer.”
“My MAN!”
High fives…
Of course I stopped. Why?
The story demands our attention…
Five hours earlier…
I knocked on her door, first looking left, then right, a paranoid thing. I have never been comfortable going into another man’s house for the purpose of fucking his old lady. I don’t respect myself, in fact I hate me, but pussy is pussy and my old lady is useless.
I wonder if the same scene is playing out at my crib, some Mandingo mother fucker who’s got my worthless wife slammed against the wall, and she’s repeating verbatim what’s going through my head. Shit! She’s not a Poet; fuck her and her Mandingo boy.
She answered. Her smile was predatory, she looked like she wanted more than I could ever give, anyone could give. She looked that hungry.
Her eighteen year old boy is on the couch eating a hot pocket, watching Nickelodeon and eyeing me. Now he has no dog in this fight his biological Dad is on his third ex-wife and his Mom is fucking me at the moment. His step Dad is in South Carolina at the loving suggestion of his never faithful wife.
Our eyes meet. I can’t read him…odd…
She grabs my hand,
“Let’s go in the bedroom.”
I look at the bitch like she has two heads. Her room is right behind the wall where the TV is playing Scooby Doo. And the thought of Scooby saying Rut Roo and Her Mom screaming Fuck me Jesus…Fuck me… Is even too much for scum like me to bear.
Besides don’t need her kid calling me Jesus.
She is insistent! Won’t let up. I know her kid hears her pleas, her need. I’m making a joke out of the whole thing. It’s like a fucking Kafka novel, here I am trying to protect her and her kid and she wants to kick my ass because I won’t fuck her with her kid in the house.
“I’m outta here.”
I walk to the door.
She follows me, grabs me and pushes me against the wall.
Now I’m not a big dude, I’m a bad mother fucker but I’m not big and I let her manhandle me.
I’m thinking about the kid…her…
I look at her and then her kid munching on a hot pocket pretending…the world is… Rut Roo…
She is a tangle of needs and wants…
I knew at that moment I could never be the answer to that thing that burned in her, her eyes…
“We’ll get a room”
I should have run away and never came back, but… pussy is pussy and I have not had any in a while, being married and all that…
So…
The middle was the beginning and the beginning is now…
I’m looking at her ass like Columbus looking at the new world. She never been ass fucked and I … what the fuck… My cock was sucked into her ass, it was like Lassie running into the arms of little Timmy, home sweet home.
It was a violent ass fuck, I slammed that mother Fucker and she bucked, lord did she buck. I was angry, I was fucking her lies, her Son, her husband, but most of all me. I should know better…
She shivered and shook and collapsed on the bed. I was amazed a woman could cum being ass fucked. She reached behind towards me and grasped my hand. I pulled away and ran to the bathroom. I started vomiting and wiping the brown sin off my dick. I knew it would never be clean again. No matter how long or how hard I scrubbed.
“You okay Babe?”
I couldn’t answer.
You Fall Apart
Tuesday, December 1st, 2009I try to hold you
In my arms
But you
Fall apart
Disintegrate
Vaporize
Dematerialize
Spewed graveyard dust
Dispersed
Scattered
Lost in time’s brothel
Were you ever here?
There can be
No solace in memory
Surrounded by
Melting Phones
And the Hangman’s noose
Madmen sing harmony
Writing songs
That make Angels cry
Unfinished words haunt me
Always of you
You
But you were
Never
Here
A figment of Passion’s need
A lonely heart’s desire
Crying
Alone
The harbinger of dawn approaches
Mocking sunlight will once again
Fill the World
Why do the birds sing so?
What need powers such melody?
The green creatures
Stir
I feel their pity
“Share in the glory”
“You need not be alone”
I am
Guinevere
Friday, November 20th, 2009Guinevere
Lay beside me
Let us lie upon silver clouds
Huddled in Blankets of rainbow
Bathe in essential starlight
Each point of light diaphanousness portals
To what never was
But might yet come to pass
Where this bitter world does not exist
Where tears are never shed
Each new day a mystery
An unopened present
A child’s contented heart
Guinevere
Do not speak
Words are clumsy useless constructs
The mere cackling of crows
Let the quickening of our hearts
And the trembling of our flesh
Sing our song
Let angelic choirs sing rhapsodic counterpoint
Let the maestros of yore
play celestial instruments
Shaking the heavens
In thunderous melody
Where even the dour Gods smile and nod
Knowingly
Guinevere
I am lost in your eyes
Falling helplessly to an essential core
The eye of the storm
The center of all things
I am no longer who I was
Merging, melding, blending
Into something new
Distinct
Pure
What never existed before
Yet older than the ancient bones of Gaia
Guinevere
Your name is the soft caress of a midnight breeze
A glorious spring day
A gentle rain that succors parched earth
A balm that heals a broken heart
Guinevere…
Guinevere…
Guinevere…
A single tear rolls down my cheek
It is my gift to you