Bedded, blessed and bared

  • So many contemporary depictions of sex are crass, pornographic and over-idealistic, in novels and films. This poem attempts to be erotic, and at the same time, subtle.

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    Plump and pretty, crowned with surprise;

    beautiful your buttons, delightfully they rise,

    gravity un-defied, our bodies slightly battered,

    tired limbs entangled, hearts somewhat tattered.

    Fumbling blind in your hinge-opened thighs,

    slow foraging fingers, sleep-sensual eyes;

    purse-clasp open, pressed pussy-willow tip:

    rhythmic spasms whip your shapely hips.

     

    My crooked warm wonder shows little indecision,

    bare bishop-head smooth, piston-like precision,

    sunken to hilt, my sword sinks to inner core,

    ecstatic neurons sing but tendons slightly sore.

    Silent bodies bump, deep in understanding,

    mutual submission, romantic that *commanding,

    long covenanted couple, deep our strong roots,

    bedded, blessed and bared, sweet shared fruit.

    ______________________________________

    * Sexual drives are strong, but marriage is strong enough to contain them and provide for a balanced and fulfilling sexual life in a world of sexual disorder. The marriage bed must be a place of mutuality—the husband seeking to satisfy his wife, the wife seeking to satisfy her husband…1 Corinthians 7: 2 & 3

    “The Song of Songs” – woodcut by Eric Gill, 1925

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Down high hedgerow lanes

Douglas Percy Bliss

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Take me down high hedgerow lanes

when happy summer sun is high,

past the somnolent old houses

as hallowed haze blurs the sky.

 

I will walk with stick on shoulder,

my skulking collie leads the way,

birdsong embroiders fertile foliage,

wild mammals tenuously stray.

 

Few cars colonise this rural scene,

noble trees wear leafy crowns,

I walk to pass the time of day,

I’m long since retired from town.

 

One day I hope to hold a hand

much smaller than my own,

seesaw sized, we’ll amble slow,

God says: not good to be alone.

 

Many quaint questions asked,

amusing toddler, serious sage,

keenly detected family traits,

annotated those poetic pages.

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happy days for rescue dog!

photos by Dora Kazmierak http://www.instagram.com/dorakazmierak/

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Tennis-ball dropped quite near feet,

then hidden behind tree he waits,

tick-tock tail-wag, smile so sweet

  • who taught such charming traits?

 

Paw-worn path around tree base,

forays remind, needed assistance,

– ball throw triggers manic race

speed pursued, terrier persistence.

 

Orb ballistic, racquet propelled

down the long garden at speed,

bounce area athletically smelled,

lock-jaw clenched ball retrieved.

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Hard-chased any object thrown,

helter-skelter, pursuit crazy,

target-locked, predator-prone,

hotly pursued, Jack never lazy.

 

Slightly stiff this pup-at-heart,

dog-centric much domestic dialogue,

sparse canine time spent apart

  • happy days for rescue dog!

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Happenstance

I had been trying for many years to write a poem about the boarding school girlfriend, who started me off writing, in 1972. One day in 1980 she turned up, out of the blue….for just a few hours. I never heard from or saw her ever again…until someone kind found her online for me in recent years.

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Lips long un-kissed, once-curtained by hair,

long-rued troubled muse, late my care;

unassuaged guilt, how far can a sinner fall?

Predestined, I caught your  phone call?

 

Old school friends, we readily agree to meet:

your mini skirt admired on that city street;

many mementos devoured in a dimly lit cafe,

time significant spent – much to ask and say.

 

Amsterdam to Dublin, an anguish-event:

your father’s life edited, too-soon spent;

squeezing extra time, parted at midnight,

bit back tears, our hugs lingered tight.

 

Decades later rediscovered: online, smiling,

my naieve card hoped repeat reconciling;

long your silence, I still yearn second chance –

vain the patient wait for second happenstance?