For Fame and Acclaim

Go ahead, strike a pose!
No one knows who you are
In this quixotic little bar;
Go ahead, untame yourself
Like uncontrolled flame,
After all no one will blame
Cause the name of the game
Is fame, my slipshod dame!
Go ahead, undress yourself
And press into the crowd;
They’re a loud, proud bunch,
Ready for the punch-crunch
Because they’re all drunk
And sunk into the mire afire,
Ready for a fast-blow show,
So trot on up to the stage,
You’re surely the right age;
So jump, prance and dance,
Cause they need no one fancy
To fulfill their lurid fantasy;
Yeah, I guess I will confess
That success begins with skin,
And the more shown, the more
You score with this loud crowd;
You’ve just got to sell yourself
To hear the hell-bell of success,
Then fame is yours with no one
To blame … except yourself
Buried then in your own shame.


Sélená the Untamed Wild


Hear my promise to you to show you my love, my dove,
As sacred rhythms float gently thru the air carefree,
And I wrap myself around you like an alluring coat;
Dear boy, shed not one tear and be not drear, but hear
What I whisper promise in your ear; no need for fear
Child, meek and mild… I am Sélená the untamed wild,
My passion unchained, gateway opened wide for you
To enter in and abide inside of me, and to be clothed
In my warm flesh, fresh and nourishing, tightly bound
And rightly held as we meld together as one underneath
Bright shining Sun; this affair has only begun, my love!


Saga of Sara and Emma Jane

In courtroom large, the high charge stuck:
Sara’s man could not buck the stolen horse,
So chained and off to prison, the course
Of her life changed, radically rearranged;
Could she manage alone, fields newly sown?

Meanwhile, Emma Jane wept where cold body slept
In silent keep of death, and no one else would weep;
So what else could she do but sell out and bail out?
One man was tied as the other died, and both cried,
But Sara kept her claim and so Emma Jane came.

CosgirlsAnd the two bright, strong women would fight
To keep their only plot of land — not a lot —
Sara and Emma Jane plowed and prayed for rain
Again and again to adorn their field with corn;
Work, no play — the pay was strong bond of love.

Out in the wild, wild West they would survive,
Hope kept alive by burning backs, aching arms,
And no time for charm till dinner bell chime;
Sara and Emma Jane would climb up into bed
And lay their heads down with very little said.

Ah, they had their land and crops, home and slop
For hogs and wood to chop in a virtual sweatshop
With no whistle-stop — work begun had to be done
Under the sun — and they rarely made it into town;
But these two had their space on their own place.

Sara and Emma Jane, given to one another, could
Never be won by man passing by, try as he might;
Light of love bound to survival in ever revival
Of one spirit in two bodies married these two
In true love forged above and sealed on earth.

Sara and Emma Jane stood their ground, so profound,
Against so many hounds of hell striking warning bell;
They would not sell, no, not Sara’s land to band
Of thieving men bent on sin to win what belonged
To two women so strong, who’d chosen the long road.

And Beauty stood tall, formidable, nothing biddable
As Sara and Emma Jane tamed the wild, wild West. . .


Tease: ‘With the Wind, My Friend’

Where do you begin and where do you end?
Yes, you say, ‘with the wind, my friend;’
But who knows where the wind blows?
You show me you intimacy, sweet delicacy,
Magnificently interwoven so infinitely
Lovingly and just a little impudently,
And teasingly, too, for this is the you
I know and love from above, bitter dove;
But where ~ here or there ~ do you begin
And end, and why at height of ecstasy do
You send me away and hold me at bay?
Cruel like the wind that wraps but never
Holds; too bold, you leave me in the cold.

Oh where do you begin and where do you end?

Dominatrix: Humiliation & Degradation

Warning: If Offended by Erotica, Do Not Read


You tried when you tied my hands behind your back,
And made me kneel to you to steal all my innocence;
No defense against your naked essence; my weakness
Shamefully shown; you laughed and it was blown away
That day in your dank keep, when my milk seeped out
All for your good pleasure, from your chained treasure;
Measured me for sake of humiliation in degradation,
And there was no love at all as you stood tall above,
And scorned me and my then-wilted tree for all to see;
How could I hold on with you so strong and ever-bold;
You told a story of conquest as I curled in your nest
Like a little bird, and no one heard my cry . . .
Except you, my power-mistress, writer of my distress.

Note: After visiting the sadomasochist site of one fellow-blogger,  I left wondering if I could pen poetic-erotic centered upon the dominatrix.  How well I’ve executed this, I suppose, only time and my reader-followers can tell!