Gwerful Merchain bawdy mediaeval Cymru poet , whose lyrical joy is a pleasure to read
If God Gives A Penis
Tag Archives: passion
Girls bringing sherbet
raise the camp fire,
blankets spread on
the ground,
singing dead and door
tunes,
sex chorus behind
rolling orange orb
waiting for the sherbet
Wheatfields
Wheatfields
she hitched her
shorts the cleft
appeared
and in that moment
all tides surged
today had become
brighter.
Ukrainian girl in wheat field Painting
Ukraine
Painting, Oil on Canvas
Size: 25 W x 35 H x 1.4 D cm
Naked Orange
standing naked in the kitchen
talking on long cable
green wall phone
handset greasy
from pan fried bacon
I needed you
as we spoke
long distance
bare feet paced
on tactile floor
your voice oozed
sweet through receiver
I could see you
imagine you
black neglige
auburn hair
remaining flaccid
slapped to my thighs
as I knew
his cigarette tasting
tongue would be
caressing your neck
hands massaging
needy breasts
you will come home
shower fresh panties
and we would
cradle ourselves in love
on the couch
breathing in voices
Judy lay silicone silent
under blanket
her submissiveness unconditional
lubricant with sleeve
my cream cockroaches
flow without conception
inception or growth
they crawl in that
cavity I adorned
colored with marker pens
to realise my own
lost to the dusk imagination
she will not play it down
as I whisper
she will listen
without utterances of condemnation
stroke her face
expression of a blonde bored
I need animatronic
never real
real is a prospect in terror
Judy is subjected
to all my pain
isolation and grief
and will never
need a coffin
It is Done
Symbiosis
morning came
a turbid blue
Afreya awoke
stretching into her morning
wash away the sleep
soft gown falls
naked supple
moves into the garden
emerging from the still
green shrubbery
the ungrich
beaked and blind
with anal spewed eggs
that Afreya would sing to
her voice, her touch
broke soft shell
baby ungrich
fragile wet flesh
scooped and offered
Afreya took each one
devouring them
soft bony morsel
tissue swallowed
belly and breasts
began to swell
eager baby grew
her body tremors
with each and every
bite
enjoying what mother ate
Afreya smiled
her own offspring
would come
to nurture on her red milk
the world would
become theirs
as Afreya collapsed
withering to a husk
she had done
what her birth had intended
repeat the process
and die again
in that way
Not my usual kind of work, but felt compelled looking at Michael Hutters paintings, that have defining and disturbing depth of beauty
Glory Garden
idleness of circumstance
Eve had gone
sinew as forest twine
flesh spit drowned flattened
meek without doctrine
clinging to
the something of the sun
solar passage
lunar dip
death had a taste
but not a flavour for now
he would seek
Eve
no soiled mattress
or overgrown brothel
he thought
he was his own keeper
Eve his zoo
garden foliage gleam
waiting
a worm feeling frost
not the sun
she would come
patient to those demands
but he is the compliant
not she
she is the earth
the very nature of the garden
each blossom
each fragrance
a hint of paradise
Now an #NFT on Sing the app for iPad
Fields Ploughed
I look at my penis
skin collar
lychee tip
then piss
a long straw stream
you are not a memory
you are a gift
finger folds
and soften furze
we know we belong
but until when
the scythe decides
Chris Lawrence
Mystery Apex
Concussed by mornings
sharpened light
grasping cotton silence
each breath was tentative
alone
without the other
that shadow fragment
of a once upon a night
recalling synaptic responses
she knew
he had departed
but to who
or where
tears where of no consequence
why shed them
fuck memories
and fuck those
who fucked them
velvetmedia 