I think I remember having such experiences with some women in a time gone by. I don’t think I dreamed it. I hope I didn’t dream it. No, I didn’t dream it. Today, I dream of other things viagra has nothing to do with. I have a prescription to a viagra generic, but it sits on the shelf where I put it after my pee pee doctor prescribed it, on the chance it might come in handy... someday. I have not practiced with it, not wanting to get all hot and bothered with only my hand to massage it.
I suppose I would re-write, cast this into verse, make it a poem, but then, that’s now how she came out of me, so she is what she is.
Once she massaged this up out of me onto a page of my writing journal...
He feels deep beauty in the dark pool from which his writings flow. She clings to him like fine silk, precious oil. She feels solid, compressed, like... a black pearl, growing ever larger from inside out with each stroke of his pen, pushing her precious waters over her banks into his dreams and life.
Before that, she massaged this out of me...
Who invented the rule that poetry must rhyme, have pentameter, be cast into verse? Yes, please tell me, who, just who, invented that really silly rule? Surely it wasn’t the maker of the first stone - otherwise, there’d be no stones to break all those slavin’ rules!
Today I posted at my substack something entitled "What Israel, Hamas, America and the rest of humanity need is a massive estrogen injection”. What fueled it really pissed off a man, and a woman I didn’t know joined in and gently yanked his chain a bit.
In my opinion poetry just like some movies (think of David Lynch’s movies for instance) are like an “algorithm”, a key that allows one to reach to an outcome different than others depending on the input (personal experiences, emotions, education and so on). It would be sad to pin the meaning of a poem in one rigid frame and oblige everyone to see it in the same way. Why not enhance it by allowing each reader to put a bit of himself into the poem and see it accordingly? 😉
I appreciate creative minds seeking to compose or recompose reality in their own personal manner. Thank you for your perspective on the poem! Now that you mentioned it I cannot “unsee” it 😅. Not sure what the author had in mind but hell, why not? It could very well be that! But what do you say about Satan? Lucifer, the bringer of light, the archetype of the sinner, of temptation and lust? I think I saw a reference to that somewhere… I can't find the source again unfortunately
Thank you so much. I shared it with so many folks around the globe. Amen and Aho!
I think I remember having such experiences with some women in a time gone by. I don’t think I dreamed it. I hope I didn’t dream it. No, I didn’t dream it. Today, I dream of other things viagra has nothing to do with. I have a prescription to a viagra generic, but it sits on the shelf where I put it after my pee pee doctor prescribed it, on the chance it might come in handy... someday. I have not practiced with it, not wanting to get all hot and bothered with only my hand to massage it.
I suppose I would re-write, cast this into verse, make it a poem, but then, that’s now how she came out of me, so she is what she is.
Once she massaged this up out of me onto a page of my writing journal...
He feels deep beauty in the dark pool from which his writings flow. She clings to him like fine silk, precious oil. She feels solid, compressed, like... a black pearl, growing ever larger from inside out with each stroke of his pen, pushing her precious waters over her banks into his dreams and life.
Before that, she massaged this out of me...
Who invented the rule that poetry must rhyme, have pentameter, be cast into verse? Yes, please tell me, who, just who, invented that really silly rule? Surely it wasn’t the maker of the first stone - otherwise, there’d be no stones to break all those slavin’ rules!
Today I posted at my substack something entitled "What Israel, Hamas, America and the rest of humanity need is a massive estrogen injection”. What fueled it really pissed off a man, and a woman I didn’t know joined in and gently yanked his chain a bit.
https://sloan.substack.com/p/what-israel-hamas-america-and-the
Romance is not dead
Baudelaire is dead… but yeah, I hope you’re right 😉
Hmmmm, is he not talking to the fire and torturous mystery of his own soul?
In my opinion poetry just like some movies (think of David Lynch’s movies for instance) are like an “algorithm”, a key that allows one to reach to an outcome different than others depending on the input (personal experiences, emotions, education and so on). It would be sad to pin the meaning of a poem in one rigid frame and oblige everyone to see it in the same way. Why not enhance it by allowing each reader to put a bit of himself into the poem and see it accordingly? 😉
I appreciate creative minds seeking to compose or recompose reality in their own personal manner. Thank you for your perspective on the poem! Now that you mentioned it I cannot “unsee” it 😅. Not sure what the author had in mind but hell, why not? It could very well be that! But what do you say about Satan? Lucifer, the bringer of light, the archetype of the sinner, of temptation and lust? I think I saw a reference to that somewhere… I can't find the source again unfortunately
Any idea who did this translation of Baudelaire?
This is passion.
Nothing like an evening of wilde and crazy remembrance from full moon's gone buy.
Blessings to Charles B. who bared his soul too to many comrades.
We can do no less.
love always dave p
I love that last verse.
whose translation???
Nice, sensuous poem.
I think "censor" should be "censer" ?
Yeah, I think they corrected it.
Really loved this piece! Could feel the longing word after word. Still in awe.