Tag Archives: poetry

The Art of Tweet-sized Poetry: Few Words, Much Feeling

The Art of Tweet-sized Poetry: Few Words, Much Feeling

Marianne Moore was never so confounding as when she dabbled in simplicity. In The Complete Poems of Marianne Moore, published in 1967, the 80-year-old poet had ruthlessly pared down “Poetry” from 29 lines to three:

I, too, dislike it.

Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers in

it, after all, a place for the genuine.

Quoted from Slate.com by Jennifer Szalai

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COMMENTARY by Kathleen K., indie author and publisher

Poetry has been taken out of the hands of most readers, sadly denying them the fun of discovering writers who are wringing out the distractions and conveying the message.  Erotica poetry has the double-burden of being naughty and nerdy.  Don’t flip it off so fast, it might fertilize your fantasies.

Arching Over (Collected Collections of Graphic Poetry) assembles four small books of erotica poetry into a compendium of oddly thoughtful words about love∞sex.  The book has been professionally assessed by Kirkus Reviews:

[This] collection of erotic poetry offers a cavalcade of love affairs, focusing on the narrator’s moment-to-moment fantasies and experiences.

A sprawling collection… that intriguingly lays out a dance of seduction in all of its conceivable steps.

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I invite you to consider the following samples, out of context, to discover if perhaps Tweet-sized poetry is one way to yank your mind around.

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resurrect the words

that have been drowned in soap

i’m not supposed to like hearing them

any more than you are supposed to like saying them

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want to feel you again against me

wrapped around your wishes

want to know the commotion

at the center of your sensual self

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120 smiles:

run tongue

from clit down slit

to slot

and back up

rest

repeat     repeat

rest

10 repetitions, 4 sets

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serial jack off

first, me for you

then you on me

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i didn’t lie

those are my own pinch marks…

i missed you so

_____________________

the goal is to go over

the edge

teetering teetering

finally tottering

_____________________

from behind me

your hands curve

and cover my breasts

like my own do

naturally

_____________________

i sit up

you stand back

we connect

male plug

female receptor

alternating currents

_____________________

It is your own hand that brings you off

but it is my voice in your ear

as you crest, as you peak,

you at the vertex

with me in the vortex.

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Twitter.com/KathleenKBooks

Vivid Family Fiction:  KathleenK.com

Vintage Boomer Porn:  KathleenK.xxx

#Erotic #Poetry #AdultsOnly

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Erotic Sexotic Romantic Poetry by Kathleen K.

EROTIC POETRY by Kathleen K.. underground writer and indie publisher of Bedside Readers for the Adult Mind

Announcing the publication of ARCHING OVER – Collected Collections of Graphic Poetry

Available End of Summer 2013

At the end of the day, snuggled in your bed, reach for something different to read… thoughtful, evocative, fertile with feelings.  This collection of poetry is sexotic and brash, yet tender and yearning.  Poetry like this strips away the exposition to focus on the sublime precision of fantasy and memory.  There is no distance between the reader and the writer, we’re the watchers and the watched.  We’re drawn together by the thrum of heated hearts heaving.  Not suitable for some, appreciated by others.  For the rowdier reader.

SAMPLE  I

i don’t give a dime for your reputation

as i have no intention of enhancing it

you can tuck away your social position

bury your money

hide the finery

come to me naked

only then does your desire show

this one isn’t for them

it is for us

and it is for us alone

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the first thing you removed

was my necklace

the beads were hot to the touch

and when cupped in the palm

of your hand radiated

they were scented

alive

mine

suddenly you wanted to eat

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i don’t know whether to believe you or not

when you say you think of me

you claim it makes your cock rise

as you remember

me

and things we’ve done

do you think i’m going to hush you up

when you tell me that even as we speak

part of you hardens

as part of you softens?

don’t i know it?

part of you lingers within me still

i may be a fool to listen

but of all the words you could pick

you seem to know which ones will ring in my ear

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SAMPLE II

i purr beneath your hand

stretch out, lay belly up

scootch a little this way

scootch a little that way

quit moving altogether

am rigid, silent

alone at the end of the road

hoping you’ll bring me home

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it is electrifying

to trace the outline of your body

with my eyeballs

had i thought of it before

i’d have understood the clothes you wear:

the loose pleated pants for those strapping thighs

and high tight cheeks:

open necked shirts for the expansion of your chest

and those big square shoulders:

underneath it all a jock strap

because nothing so precious

should be without protection

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i fondle my breasts for you

lick my finger, rub my nipples awake

let you look, look at my bare breasts

let them spill down my chest as I stand

let them ride high as i walk toward you

let them hypnotize you with their heavy sway

i know that you like

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i press the vibrator

against the bone, along the crack

past the first hole, not quite to the second

and hold it there, tight there

until i come with a shudder and a gasp

your eyes glitter, your hand plunges

i feel hot, i feel open, i feel everything

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i wonder what you see when you pull me apart

a mirror can’t tell me

you have sounds but not words

you look long & deep

before you immerge

you look so closely i feel your eyes on me

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SAMPLE III

Of all the marbles in the box

you are the one I feel like rolling

in the palm of my hand.

I want to feel you.

The smooth wholeness

balancing at the point of being you,

set in motion

by me being me.

I’ve never loved me as others have.

How could I possibly dare

to warn you… they say I should say:

I have extreme feelings for you.

We’ve agreed to a sexual friendship

unlike any we’ve had before.

I promptly leave town

(on a pre-scheduled trip)

and unhinge my heart

to allow the circumstances

of love evolving.

No need to hurry, it is in every way

a matter of relishing.

—–    ˜™    –—

Pounding salt/water energy

carving the earth

etching my heart.

Life coursing to and from the sea.

People on journeys leave their homes behind

but carry their thoughts with them.

Inside me a flicker

of future

change.

But, first, the past:

A long-held love reaching its best conclusion –

a heart reconstructed from promise to fruition

by grafting pieces of mine to the strong empty chambers

he presented me way back when.

Our love powers his leaving me.

—–    ˜™    –—

“Go.  Go – before I don’t let you

leave as easily as this.”

“Go.  Go – I can’t bear it.”

That decision made

a hundred times a hundred times

he didn’t take me.

How often, how many, how deep,

the times he crawled on me?

How can it be

those feverish vows

intimations

… gone?

No.  They’re going, like he’s going.

not away – just deep deep inside

to give us the wait of experience.

—–    ˜™    –—

I was wrong, sorry even then.

But, oh, so sorry now.

I could have been kinder

tried harder

expressed all my feelings.

Taking for granted, as granted.

The grant now revoked.

A new treaty.

All those pent-up kisses

lost.

—–    ˜™    –—

And to him, I say:  you fucking fuck,

terminating | cauterizing

what should have been

as nakedly ended

as started.

You deny the only fact

there ever was –

it was always ours

to make and break.

It was always ours

to shatter.

—–    ˜™    –—

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