Category Archives: Hyde Park

This Night

Posted on by
16

My lips curve in my most seductive smile
I’m humming a self-made tune for a while
Crowned dominant by day, but this night I switch
Renewal of a role-play to scratch a different itch
No, this time I don’t command, I only obey
And I enjoy immensely, this role I play

Suspended cuffs at my wrists just a little tight
Gleaming in glare of the camera light
Painted on latex is my only form of dress
And it’s peeled with delighted foolishness
I’m wanton in this peeling and if you think jest
It’s not the cold that peaks me to that I can attest

This night is mine, and it’s only just begun
To redefine the meaning of having fun

This is my desire, being chained and seen
By those with the tastes and the mean
To explore the uniqueness I offer them
Surrounded by all the tools of my BDSM
Like the tense chains holding me in thrall
Upon the spreader bars exposing all

Except for the mask covering most of my face
Only my scarlet lips left in the open space
For the gear covers my ears and my hair
A way to see me, yet ignore I’m there
Even my eyes are covered, I’m denied sight
I’m just a nameless, faceless fuck tonight

This night is mine, all inhibitions strewn
I’m living on the dark side of the moon

My Master’s voice calls out loud to the voyeurs
“She’s your toy ladies and gents – go enjoy her”
It wasn’t in the script, but I’m happy to comply
Feeling the first brave soul pinch me hard inside my thigh
“That’s all you’ve got?” I ask with a mocking pout
Laughter follows, they’re amateurs I have no doubt

But I should have known better than to speak
A mirth removing slap reminding to play meek
Stroking, pinching, hair pulling and bites
Each squeeze is one more unimaginable delight
Soon it’s a blend of sensations all over me
One into another in a sexual cacophony

This night is mine, and no one hesitates
I’m a bell to be rung, they hear me resonate

The endorphins pump in doing their trick
The pain to pleasure ratio getting an extra kick
I enjoy its feel; the sting brings such pleasure,
I enjoy pain in ways others cannot measure
I respond to its voice, the flogger’s sweet song
Both supple and fluid yet biting and strong

Leather against my skin, all is just right
I can tell my “Master” is enjoying my plight
He taunts – teases drawing it across me slow
Or swings wildly in maddening staccato
And he knows me well, reads me like a story
Giving me all but stopping just shy of glory

This night is mine and I know it’s almost the final act
His gentle tug on swollen lips confirms that fact

But as an I act, I milk it for all its worth
Of visual stimuli there is no dearth
Yes, I’m a shock to those newly initiated
But no denying hours later that I’m satiated
And with his only kiss as cool as you all please
Brings me the glory that finally weakens my knees

“And so it must end!” he yells to all
My head snaps back at the sudden call
There is no acting the surprise on my face
At the reality of what was next to take place
The unwritten final act – he removes the blindfold
And the sad look in his eyes is the last thing I behold

This night was mine, to be set fully free
A gun to my head makes a snuff film of me

====================

Thursday Poets Rally Week 67 (May 3-9, 2012)

When The Music Moves

Posted on by
8

When the music moves the chef and the menu
I can not help but rock to the venue,

I grate and wind and fold and dip, all while cooking and that’s just my hips

Serving Foie gras to a Beyoncé bass beat?
I’ve played Metallica while serving Crème brûlée sweet.

I sway to a strawberry’s single sweet soliloquy
As I would to any doo-wop’s three-part harmony

My sifter sounds like maracas, the water running is backup hum,
And I’ll drop them all in heartbeat to do a Phil Collin’s air drum

Notes ringing crystal clear as an opera singer
Are like the perfect bite whose flavors linger

The perfect flavors require as much of a chef’s orchestration
As any conductor pulling together a musical temptation

And I dance as I chop and I chop as I sing and I sing as I fry, it’s a symbiotic thing

I can not help but rock to the venue,
When the music moves the chef and the menu

<>==========<>==========<>

Written for

Poetry Picnic Week 32: Topics on Twitter.com

Source Tweet: When Music Moves The Chef And The Menu

To those not familiar with Phil Collins I included a link to the reference within the poem. While the specific drum solo starts after the 5:00 mark, you really should listen to the entire song to get the full feel on why any of us familiar with the song will drop almost everything when that part comes to do the air drum.

They Won

Posted on by
6

She locks them down deep in her heart
The pains that are much to hard to bear
Not knowing pains are living things
They too have a need of air

She paces back and forth
As her soul rips at the seams
The pains try to find a voice
But she suppress the urge to scream

The pains search in vain
Desperate for way to be heard
But not computer, pen or paper
Is touched to give her pains words

But pains are a force of nature
Pains finds a way to succeed
As she picks up a straight razor
And in little cuts starts to bleed

And but for a short moment
The pains do ease inside
Covers the cuts in long sleeves
A whole new way to hide

For days, weeks, months, on end
She and her pains do this odd dance
She suppressing the cuts of evidence
As pains sneak out when they gets the chance

And all the lies rapidly collected
To give her scars a blame
Only cuts deeper than the physical cuts
That can’t quell her personal shame

She refused to reach out
To those offering her their hand
But she just wasn’t ready
Wasn’t prepared to understand

That to accept help was not a weakness
On the strong who reach out survive
But in her head only pains say she’s living
That only the pains keep her alive

Over a year on a late summer night
The clock ticks about a quarter to four
And finds that’s she’s still cutting
Alone on the bathroom floor

And for the first time she sees her arms
The crisscrossing along her inner thighs
The fresh blood trickling from her wrist
And for the first time she truly cries

The avoided mirror reflects all her hurts
Only as painful as the eyes can see
At last her pains have found a voice
And now owned will not let her be

It suddenly felt like so many hands were on her
More than what could possibly be real
It was heart reaching out to all who touched her
Desperate for a chance to finally heal

For the heart’s not made to hold pain for so long
And her pains no longer had the patience to wait
Freed at last it gushed through every avenue
She’d finally reached out, but it was too late

"THEY WON" carved into an arm.

<>==========<>==========<>
Entered in:

Thursday Poets Rally – Week 65 

Poetry Picnic  – Week 30

Two Princes

Posted on by
3

Two New York princes on a subway train
Two different styles, two different manes
Mister Business so perfectly dressed
While Mr. Free Spirit’s so casually tressed
One baby bottom smooth as always
One hasn’t seen a razor in many days
Mr. Business is the model of all things materially
But it’s Mr. Free Spirit who captivates me
Is it the flip-flop sandals on his feet?
Or that reappearing dimple in his cheek
Head bopping in beat to his own tune
In a way Mr. Business’ would never swoon
Business is cool as in ice, Spirit’s cool as in fun
Maybe I’ll take the money under another sun
But for today Mr. Free Spirit is the one

========<

Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

Midnight Flute

Posted on by
22

I remember it was late
late in the night
I had just turned off
the bedroom light
Humming an old tune
I couldn’t remember the words
I just stopped
when a sound was heard
As sound that challenged
teased, taunted
So pretty, yet so alone
it seemed almost haunted
Standing in the darkness
I could feel it surround me
Bringing its presence
to everything around me
Reminding me of past evenings
serene and tame
Of fire and romance
when love was in flame
The memories of things
I still regret
Past happenings, mistakes
I wanted to forget
My knowledge of the moment
suddenly lost
The sounds turning my thoughts
to such utter chaos
It was a long time before my hands
touched the blinds
Seeking out whatever
I hoped to find
Which turned out to be
just an empty street
Quiet and deserted
not a soul to meet
Only the silent moments
that lingered on
Made me realize
the sounds were gone
Its chilling warmth
and heated cold
Newly arrived
yet centuries old
Leaving me to wonder
if ever again
Would I hear the warm sounds
of such a cold friend
Or was it an enemy
I’ll never get to know
With its once becoming sounds
now haunting me so

>========<

Entered in

Thursday Poets Rally Week 64 (March 22-28, 2012)

The Mystery Inside

Posted on by
8


Yes, enter this orchard of distinct cherry
I believe I am more than ready
To place all my trust in you to let
You handle this orchard’s precious get

Yes, I grant you access to my colorific wonders
But please, do not embark inside to plunder
You must be gentle, don’t brusquely grope
Slowly ferry your intent, along the brief slope

First press yourself against my door gently,
There will be a sound, which grants you entry.
Listen for the gasp between a moan and a sob
As you place your fingers on my mansion’s knob,

With a kiss as your token to be on queue
As I take you abreast for proper homage due
Wooing my passion with your tongue,
You’ll revel in just how my gem’s bell is rung

Being gentle does not mend to being meek
When I let you in to all that you seek,
You’ll find my resistance wearing thin,
As I deeply ache to let you in

Heat that cooks when you come in from the cold
Ancient sacred treasure, that somehow stays gold
The blaze of an epiphany, behind solid advice
Euphoria’s loss in a Fool’s Paradise

Access granted, you’ll find me a gregarious host
As you decide which lips you enjoy most
Exploring beauty redefined for the something I hide,
For my mystery changes each time you’re inside