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      Crimsin wrote a new post

      libido

      insulted lust craving you in the momentacess denied so cruellycarelessly I did the same so many timesjilted desire to burn and it not be returnedshifty need so fickle now you're painfully aware of what my body can dowithout provocation...

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      • Passionately penned, Brenda. Amazing write my friend. Appreciate you.

        Damian

      • Chère C.,
        On DUP my nom de plume was Jilted Johnny.
        Not practical, because on SoundCloud the seemed to be somebody with the same name.
        I like it that you use Jilted in this very beautiful new poem of yours.

        Love it a lot. The artwork too.
        An awful lot.
        Warme groeten, Gus

      • hi dearest Gus you honor me with your presence thank you my friend and jilted I can’t see it I deeply appreciate your thoughts ❤️

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      Ghosteen wrote a new post

      Blackbird On The Wire

      A phone call now may wake her  straddle waking dreams to the hymen-ever-after  once upon a sleeping crime nothing rhymed    ....and the moon is a voyeur’s pearl  stringing whispers to sky balustrade    A phone call now may wake her  strip negligee to bone  dribble honey thru pillow hives  flood hornets’ nest between legs    ...and I’ll sail this sleep...

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      • Many times writes are over my head, like this one. LOL. I’m pretty good at deciphering poems, etc. Yet some are more complex and perhaps “inside” than I can travel to. But, pixie sticks poems have kept many a reader caught up in the meanings, looking for that connection with the author. It is a bond formed of our mental values. Of what we grasp for, as writer and reader. You make a hell of a spider.

        • Thanks Mark. Sometimes metaphor and images over-power the meaning and think this is such a case. It’s really testament to how an unexpected phone call can change life’s narrative.

          A spider? Ha. I could certainly do with 8 legs at moment. Broke the same ankle thrice and in the cold weather walk like a penguin with flatulence.

      • Oh motherfuck YES, this is goddamn poetry. I needed to get my head out of my own ass and breathe some air, and you, my sweet Welsh friend, are cold wind on a warm day.

        The way you fuck a line, gods, with lube and soft kisses and hair pulls.

        You weave a poem and use an unexpected trope-twist to make real magic. I’m reminded of why I word-crush on your shit.

        THE FUCKING LANGUAGE…

        straddle waking dreams to the hymen-ever-after

        AND THIS?! Fuck you. I’m literally jealous I didn’t write it…

        ….and the moon is a voyeur’s pearl
        stringing whispers to sky balustrade

        THIS?! AAAAARRRHHH!
        strip negligee to bone

        I’m almost over-stimulated and about to cuss you out for being brilliant but this?!

        sea-shell coved against my ear
        like a seance with the deaf

        …. that was amazing

        I wish I hadn’t quit smoking.

        Kickass shit.

        BB

        • Well Betty Boo, such praise from a writer like yourself, keeps my keyboard warm in middle of night.

          Not everyone gets me (so to speak) but I’m cool with that. It’s enough that the poets and people I hugely respect, give a considered nod to my scribbles.

          I’m yearning to visit Snowdonia (Eryri in Welsh). It has proved to be the most cathartic landscape.

          Keep the faith

          Rob x

      • Dear R,

        The energy of night passion jumps off the page in this piece. Two lovers trying desperately to make it happen without consequence of hurting others. The romance of the ocean in the back ground is hot and (al)luring. I really enjoyed the beauty, intensity and sexy shivers in this poem. H 🌷

        • Oo. Diolch H. You get it. The night tells all – there are reasons why my pillows are frayed.

          Even as a fiftysomething, I take great pleasure in scratching names in the sand. Last week I took a night walk to sing to the harbour lights – ignoring the bitter cold and manic screech of the junkies. The sea was so calm.

          Rob x

      • Hauntingly, up my alley…fantastic!

      • Powerfully penned, Ghosteen. Excellent write with great storytelling my friend. Appreciate you.

        Damian

    • Strange Taste LIVE 11: Aftertaste

      Aftertaste:April Fool’s Day 1973:Georgie was heavy with child. Her breasts were swollen with milk. Her abdomen, fully distended. She slumped on the wicker chair feeling her baby prod her stomach. Her fiancé marvelled at how she pushed herself to...

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      • We assumed e targeted women with his mushrooms thinking them weaker, but did she see a weakness in him that made him her perfect target. Based on her abuse did it give her insight into his truly fragile state, as the reader knows she’s calculating. Could she had seen suicide in his weakness, that’s a question. Tight one Lady

      • Great questions! Life’s full of them.

    • Strange Taste LIVE: 10 Child

      Child:‘I dreamed I was a child again,’ Georgie whispered, her voice laced with wonder, ‘dreamt my daddy was alive, frolicking in the hay with me, the baby lambs. He gave me one as a pet, y’know. I called her...

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    • Strange Taste LIVE 9: Addiction

      Addiction:When he returned to the bedroom, she was lying on the bed haphazardly: one knee jutting over the edge of the bed, her arm dangling loose, fingers brushing the carpet. Sensing his presence, she opened her eyes, wiped away...

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