Category Archives: Poetry

hard-on and honeydew lips

09 Thursday Feb 2012

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on hard-on and honeydew lips

Tags

, , , ,

Author’s note: Abu Nuwas was one of the greatest of the classical Arabic poets (756–814). “Father of Curls,” so named for his long flowing hair that hung down to his hips, his work has been collected in the book “O Tribe That Loves Boyish Men.”

* * *

‘Father of Curls,’ Abu Nuwas: “Always
I will scatter god and gold to the four
winds. I love heathen boys, devil girls; praise
what the Book forbids, embrace what you swore
were sins.” Dead Uncle Abu came to me
in a dream: “I am drunk by this pisser,
all hard-on and honeydew lip. Cocky
boy, come kiss me.” I’m a ghost’s boy lover,
the sort that sleeps in the margins unseen.
I love the cold lips of a ghost: carnal,
sad eyes, passions straight out of hell. Obscene
dreams are all that keeps us alive, Uncle.
I’m your heathen, devil, boyish man, too.
Raise up, dead, I want to go down on you.

soft boys and hard girls

07 Tuesday Feb 2012

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on soft boys and hard girls

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Sappho wrote: love shook me like a mountain
wind in the oaks. I’d fuck you like eagle-
god Zeus fucked Ganymede. Raging, drunken
on speed and cum, coming down, an awful
lightning bolt. I like soft boys and hard girls.
When dear Hercula won the boxing match
I crowned her with laurels, then gave the curls
over her bloodied face three kisses. Snatch
pleasure, bittersweet like myrrh, where you will.
I’ve felt lightning, wind in the oaks, all this
we call lust. But it was her broken face
that turned me on. Scars and the urge to kill.
Kiss me, love. I want to feel your rage. Kiss
me with something like a murderer’s grace.

Das Nachthexen Sonett: 01

07 Tuesday Feb 2012

Posted by in Erotic, Feminism, Poetry

≈ Comments Off on Das Nachthexen Sonett: 01

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Lily, unless the gifted Anahit
lies at your side, sleepless you must now be.
To watch a lover burn up, like mincemeat,
over No Man’s Land. How your poor empty
bed must recall the groans then moans? Again
all these odes to war. Nine muses, you say?
Sappho the Bisexual makes it ten.
Poet of Wars and Clits. Old Boss DJ
still spins your tracks. “I am what I say.” Poor
Sappho, you are bones and dust. Lily’s love
lays, burned in a field. Not even the sky
can drink up all her tears. What fool said war
was good sport? Let her grave be of foxglove,
wild plums; even bisexuals must die.

կրակը ձեր խաղում եմ շուրթերը / i’m playing with fire in your lips

25 Wednesday Jan 2012

Posted by in Armenia, Poetry

≈ Comments Off on կրակը ձեր խաղում եմ շուրթերը / i’m playing with fire in your lips

Tags

,

Ջերմացնէ զիս.

Հրճվում եմ.

Բոլոր աշխարհում,

լեռները, ու մեգ մշուշի.

Ջերմացնէ զիս.

Իսկ կրակը ձեր

խաղում եմ շուրթերը պես.

Համբուրել ցավ.

Օրհնություն.

rum, coke and cum

02 Wednesday Nov 2011

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry

≈ Comments Off on rum, coke and cum

Tags

, ,

Hoje, estou comendo Halloween-doces.

Eu estou bebendo vodka, estou inalação

Sweet-n-low. Eu canto: “Lingua, clitóris

e esporra, coke numa entre as tua bunda

e rum em tuas mamas,” uh, “Tongue, clit

and cum, coke between your butt and rum

on your boobs.” Whatever. Os cornos

do teu pai. Já posso sentir o

calor cantando entre tua pernas.

blood feud

14 Friday Oct 2011

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on blood feud

Tags

, , , , , , ,

I tell you this, revenge is not a sin.
Yes, the craven are always saying we
should turn the other cheek. But, then again,
they are the ones who caused more misery
in their short lives than all the rest of us.
You hurt me, then you left; as if distance
would then protect you. Child, from my malice
there is no escape. All this dark science
at my disposal shall hunt you down, blood
feud. Ten thousand dollars and the pinkie
of your left hand will placate my hatred.
Something to tell your wretched progeny;
that all karmic debts call for sacrifice;
that for grace your finger was a small price.

tão

23 Friday Sep 2011

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry

≈ Comments Off on tão

Tags

, ,

The problem with ex’s is that they keep popping back up into your life years after you’ve buried them and moved on. I know I’m damaged goods, but I try to live a good life anyway. I’m a hospice nurse and take care of the dying, but there are times when I can totally understand the allure of being petty and wanting revenge, wanting to be a rock star and be adored for no other reason than to show those that have hurt us just how the world honestly and deep down totally hates them. Then I want Congress to pass a law that says officially every song ever written about two-timing bastards was written with them in mind, and that the general public can beat our ex’s with sticks if they’re ever caught singing the blues. But mostly I want the little finger on their good hand cut off and wrapped in silk and mailed to me, just like how Japanese gangsters, the Yakuza, show repentance. After all, just like in love, if you’re not going to dream big you might as well not dream at all.

For the record, Good Vibrations is a sex toy store in San Francisco my ex and I use to go to.

* * *

Você dizia, que você teria me ama

até você morrer, mas você ainda

está vivo. Curious. Tão, quem fica condenado

ao Inferno? é um sistema de pontos? ou

é ele o ódio de outras pessoas? Porque eu

sou mesquinho, e você tem o Inferno

para pagar. Eu estou aqui porque da bagunça

que você deixou quando foi embora. Você

perdeu o direito de cantar o blues.

Um 100 anos de inverno tem definido

a alma da América, e Good Vibrations

está falido e o ar está cheio de agitação

de cães raivosos e vibradores. Mas você não

entende nada sobre isso, porque isso exige

uma consciência sobre as coisas que você

tem feito. Eu jogo com um pacote perverso

de cartões: O Sodom e Gomorrah de Tarot.

Eu quero minha libra de carne. Eu quero meu

dinheiro de sangue. Eu quero você

no Inferno, olho do cu.

eu quero ir e descobrir

23 Friday Sep 2011

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry

≈ Comments Off on eu quero ir e descobrir

Tags

, , ,

Eu quero beijos.

Eu quero velas, sangue,

o cheiro da manhã.

Vamos fuder no na encruzilhada,

vodu criança. Misturar nossa

o som do gozo com fantasma-

gemidos. Esfregue na nossa

pele, esporra, e magia negra,

beijos. Como fazer a nossa pele,

queimar durante a noite?

Eu quero ir e descobrir.

In English:

I want kisses. I want candles, blood, the smell of the morning. Let’s fuck in the crossroads, voodoo child. Mix our joy with the sound of the ghost-moans. Rub into our skin cum, and black magic kisses. How do we make our skin burn during the night? I want to go and find out.