Looking to start a sexy poetry thread, somewhere along the lines of e.e. cummings - I Like My Body When It Is With Your Body
Post Your sexiest poems
Friendly reminder:
Prose>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Pottery
Pottery is for cucks
>>7788995
ayyyy even she knows
POTTERY KEKS ON SUICIDE WATCH
>>7786970
you like cummings, huh?
. . .
the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night
one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined
they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite
the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss
they speak whatever's on their mind
they do whatever's in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance
>>7789095
wow that's absolute crap
just like 99% of pottery
This Be The Verse
by
Philip Larkin
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
roses are red
violet my blue
I want to fuck you
and cum on your head
>>7786970
It's Cummins you dipshit
>>7789109
What's in the remaining 1%?
>>7789185
narrative pottery
stuff like the Poetic Eddas or The Odyssey
On A Wedding Anniversary
by
Dylan Thomas
The sky is torn across
This ragged anniversary of two
Who moved for three years in tune
Down the long walks of their vows.
Now their love lies a loss
And Love and his patients roar on a chain;
From every tune or crater
Carrying cloud, Death strikes their house.
Too late in the wrong rain
They come together whom their love parted:
The windows pour into their heart
And the doors burn in their brain.
This is actually rather erotic.
. . .
Rite of Spring
by
Seamus Heaney
So winter closed its fist
And got it stuck in the pump.
The plunger froze up a lump
In its throat, ice founding itself
Upon iron. The handle
Paralysed at an angle.
Then the twisting of wheat straw
into ropes, lapping them tight
Round stem and snout, then a light
That sent the pump up in a flame
It cooled, we lifted her latch,
Her entrance was wet, and she came.
