Saturday, 20 August 2016

Domestic Olympiad


After the five-ring circus of their sex
she draped herself in
no-one’s flag, had
no medals around her neck, heard
no applause or cheers from
non-existent spectators, was not
judged or awarded points or
penalised for some
minor infringement, but still
sweated, dripped, struggled to
catch her breath, needed badly to
rehydrate, looked forward to a
possible repechage.

 
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Thursday, 4 August 2016

The Three Graces


I never know which of your
three selves will grace me tonight: your
reflection, all spine, demanding
touch or tongue; or your shadow
so adept at slipping away
giggling at how inept I am at
catching; or your corporeal self
just waiting to be caught.

 
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Friday, 15 July 2016

Held Tight

She was held tight,
held tight to the sheet
held tight to the bed
held tight to the floor
held tight in the house
held tight in the country
held tight in a world that
let her be held tight in
such a photo, this
expression of herself, this
sense of a freedom she
held tight to and
wouldn’t let go.



(I began this poem on the 14th.July 2016 as an erotic poem, left it unfinished then woke to the news of the events in Nice which inspired everything after line 5: in my own way, I think of it still as an erotic poem because the erotic impulse is even more important in the face of the barbaric and censorious)

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Friday, 8 July 2016

Bumps and Splendours


The heavy boardroom table thrums,
your icon flashing within the
cup of my palm, urgent.

A glance assures all around are
comatose as the CEO drones,
oblivious to your nudity.

Thrum: “Bored darling? Me too.
Thinking of Room Service and
what he would find.”

Thrum: “There’s a fateful knocking.
Am I too bare to dare to
answer such a summons?”

Thrum: “And I have no money!
With what can I tip him for
champagne with no cash?”

Thrum: “Seriously vexed! He was like
80 and wretched and kept his
eyes on the carpet!”

Thrum: Photo of a humdrum
hotel carpet “Seriously, do I have to
go down to the hotel bar….

Thrum: “…and thrust my
tits at some lonely out-of-town
salesman to get some…

Thrum: “…attention, or are you going to
get up here pronto and remind me
how you love my….

Thrum: “…lumps and bumps and
splendours?”


 
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Sunday, 22 May 2016

The Roots of Rough




Sometimes she liked it rough though
never exactly knew why his
demanding hand in her hair, sometimes
choking her with his length, sometimes
using it as reins to
slap his thighs against her
arched haunches before
painting her face with his
effusions, made her so very
wet and she wondered whether
any of her underlings at work
would ever understand.
 



(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Saturday, 7 May 2016

A New Touch







Shackled by her shirt she
knelt waiting, her eyes
tight shut to sharpen her
sense of someone else
entering her space, a
different footfall, a new
breath, the prickle of a
strange scent, a sense of
the tension that awaits a
new touch.


 
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Wednesday, 27 April 2016

Dress








That gorgeous dress? The one you
fell in love with through the
closed shop window, couldn’t get
back to for days, amazed it was
still there and it fitted you like a
long, slinky glove but cost
half a month’s salary and a
bad case of conscience? Well it’s
even more gorgeous as it
pools around your high heels,
kicked away into some corner,
forgotten for the next few
unforgettable hours.


 
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)