Reblogs – Holly & MidWest Fantasy

The heat of passion burns so good…

Summer Heat by Holly

Your lips are warm as a summer day 

Your sun burned skin tastes of salt 

your eyes are the color of the sea 

with my body pressed to yours 

we are fire. 

Untitled by Midwest Fantasy

I need his hands 
sighing my name 
across this impatient skin 
whispering kisses 
tingling along an eager 
neckline 
flickering tongue 
teasing the very tip 
thrusting hips 
talking to mine 
in lust’s language 

Open

Redux

Originally posted on I Write Her 7/7/2018. Published here with revisions.

pixabay.com

lady luck presents a life-altering prospect
an enticing, not-so-subtle invitation
a seductive and alluring treat
or a delicious deception
like a meet-your-maker kind of wile

i want to get wet, and i think I might drown

teased by lousy timing
yet it keeps me invested
my head fills with rich fantasies
more possibilities awaken

the proverbial juices are flowing

the world is spinning on a new axis

i’m confused

but i’m open

Alice

Inspired by Sadje’s What do you see #137

a tumble begins the adventure
chasing a white rabbit
mystery drink drunk
becoming a shrunk girl
eating a cake to become a giant
crying many tears to make a pool in a room
fanning herself and shrinking again
falling into a pool and getting wet
running a race to dry off
an errand bringing her to the white rabbit’s house
another mystery drink gets her stuck in one of the rooms
she shrinks again after eating pebbles become cakes
the caterpillar teaches her to eat mushrooms for size control
attending a mad tea party
visiting the duchess
then ending up rescuing a baby
meeting the cheshire cat in the forest
joining the queen of hearts for a game of croquet
meeting the mock turtle and gryphon
attending the knave of hearts trial
growing large and brushing away the deck of cards with ease
waking up at her sister’s side and telling the tales
this is the way of a wild mind
go ask alice

Joni Caggiano

Sadness Moans

shooting pain lurches like a stranger in the blackest night
where monsters live releasing their copies, swarming past, out of sight

jealousy walks on rugged stones stealing from the gifted
holding hands of small cactus plants until the desert sands are shifted

behind their peering eyes a Judas runs to throw a stone
whiffs of his betrayal, climbing to the top of the field, I hear his moan

trust a blanket, with a thousand promises, tickling me
deceit, painful rubbing of an alligator’s bony plates, I run to a forest tree

a stranger in this house of horrors, yet I have to live
stealing glances, taking chances, as I taste the bitter love I cannot give

Luna Moth and Her Lover

intense eyes open imaginary shutters
her green wings, the luna moth flutters
she mates once has no mouth, dies, lays eggs in wooded covers

would I give my life for one more night
knowing death would be my one last flight
with you, my darling, keeper, and lover of my heart, I just might

Rumor Damage

rumor is a spineless seed dipped in fertile shadow dirt
that multiplies and causes pain and unexpected hurt

silence, a bed partner that takes but never gives back
as a man tells a buddy how easy he got her in the sack

black spots jump off potatoes and out of a perfect dish
surviving boiling water and a blemish on an ideal wish

misfortune of a hammer that averted a four-inch nail
a hungry man begs for food and becomes a vulgar tail

her legs jump from flower to flower, hoping for a treat
for sleeping alone with her legs and scheming little feet

jealousy and deceit was the cause of their blue demise
scissors cut paper, and true words, well – their end is no surprise

Uncle’s House

memories grow roots that spring up like dandelions on a freshly mowed lawn
hiding among floating clouds, unwanted hands, or those thin leafless limbs
the taste of cigars on lips or the slimy feel of uncles’ probing thick tongue
he took me to church, like to watch me dance and listen when I sang hymns

lots of summer afternoons, I sat for hours while the birds sang songs to God
his lap was big, and it felt good to have someone to care what I liked to do
summer days remind me of candy, fishing, and rum bottles hiding everywhere
the smell of marigolds or that living room and wiggling to get away from you

Mermaid’s Lost Love

seaweed, green, like my eyes, harbor me in this woeful abyss
waning as my golden blueish scales morph into blackness
shadow life, and inquisitiveness died and bled the colors of the
Bolivian orange-red sunset, which calls to your land’s hummingbirds
as their darting ceased, when my only child died not far from your brown banks

caught in a mile-long fishnet with a dolphin, and sea turtle friends
a triangle of death as I watched her die slowly as I tore my fingers
trying to save my little mermaid child as my blue tears floated skyward
a mere full moon later my merman swam into a black pool of thickness
unable to swim, black death covering his scales, cocooned as he died a painful death

I visit a river that has ancient trees with long gray hair, our family knew
my sorrow theirs, for they would clap as we would sing our odes
large white stones for basking, close to flowers that smell of love, and hope
braiding the morning glories, red swamp hibiscus, and white gardenias
into black hair as reminders of the lifeless and those that will follow

our world under and above the sea is dying from white man’s greed
regret and sorrowfulness breaks my heart into pieces
soon cut into ribbons like the seaweed I will die from sorrow
for no longer do I wish to see the sunrise, no, not one more tomorrow

Old News Is Not Old News

whites of fearsome eyes looking up from blood-soaked boards
black bodies stretched naked, branded, and shackled to floors
fifty women drowning overboard that enslaver’s work quickly done
another coast, heavily greased black muscles, glimmer in the sun
2021 computers on –  I listen while today’s news on a video rolls
spinning lies another bright young man died as this story unfolds
choked, gaged, sprayed, or flayed, old news nothing fresh today
sadness is killing me daily, as I think, what will their mothers say
another way of killing folks instead of hanging on a hoary oak tree
black people want to live their lives, be respected, and to be free
I am sick and tired, of being sick and tired, of the filthy shocking pace
of how white men keep eradicating people, not included in their race

~~~

Joni’s blog is Rum and Robots. Her national and international publications can be found here: https://the-inner-child.com/publications/. She is a surviving Adult Child of Alcoholics. Joni is a retired nurse and paralegal. Since the age of six, she has been writing songs and poetry. Joni is an avid environmental advocate. She was first featured on The Short of It in December 2020, and her work was published in the first anthology – The Sound of Brilliance.

Untitled

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Man(made)

Inspired by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Saturday Mix – Opposing Forces – Love, Hate, Rain, Drought

love me so hard
that i’ll hate you for stopping
this tidal rain of passion
when over
leaving me in a drought
and in a wrecked state

where is this man
bringing me to ecstasy
ushering forth
the epitome of having a stroke

never mind, i’ll just put myself in a coma

Reblog – Her Secret

When fantasies become real…

A Faded Romantic's Notebook

art-by-marcos-beccari

It is her secret.

It always has been

Ever since she can remember. The longing. The desire. The ache.

A deep sexual yearning to lose control. To abandon her free will to the pleasure of another.
And in doing so find her own glorious, magical, delicious release.

Sometimes, in her private moments and when she allows herself, she has the scenarios in her head. Scripted and endlessly rehearsed, she plays them in a bold, burning, breathtaking loop. Fantasies and fetishes that leave her wasted and wet as she allows them to wash and lap over her.

Other times it is a jumble of words and images, of instruction and discipline, obedience and compliance.
Of being watched.

Of her body being used and pleasured. Stroked and caressed, kissed and pinched, slapped and whipped, licked and scratched, nibbled and teased.
And of being restrained.

And of fingers, and lips, and toy after toy. And his tongue and…

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Freya Pickard

Once upon a time, in the world of Nirunen…

Werebeast

once a warrior
the beast within now rampant
lost in hunger surge

Enril-tura

wind haunts hollow shells
where water flowed, dust now drifts
clawed hand stretches high

Gwanutta

safe within these wards
green leaves hide secret city;
eerie song whispers

Amah

feathered wings smolder
vine erupts, flowers, explodes
eternally burns

Imelenti

pewter stone rises
craggy head cloaked in rainclouds;
the last mountain looms

~~~

Freya Pickard finds fulfillment in writing about the mythical world of Nirunen in both poetry and fantasy novels. This is her 2nd feature on The Short of It. She is currently working on her epic fantasy, The Kaerling, and gets her inspiration for the villains from the people she meets in the hospitality industry.

Untitled

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#TheShortofIt

Open

Lady Luck presents a life-altering prospect.
An enticing, not so subtle invitation.

A seductive and alluring treat.
Or a delicious deception?

Like a meet-your-maker kind of wile.

I want to get wet, and I think I might drown.

Teased by lousy timing yet it keeps me invested.
My head fills with rich fantasies, more possibilities awaken.

The proverbial juices are flowing.

The world is spinning on a new axis.

I’m confused.

But I’m open.

**Originally published 7/7/2018 on I Write Her

A New Home

Sailors confused her home with a bottle of their favorite drink, releasing her accidentally. They callously pitched her green housing to the sand upon discovering the error. She decided no wishes would be granted upon seeing the multitude of lecherous and treacherous men. It was wise to remain out of sight. They didn’t deserve her help, nor would she be a slave to them and their filthy, disgusting wishes.

Besides, thinking to herself – Why would I ever go back to that little space when I’m out here in paradise? No, the genie is not getting back in the bottle.

Dream Lover

i felt your strength
in those moments
of my weakness
the inescapable honesty
shown me with your deeds
and sumptuous lips

a day never ended
without your hardest efforts
fulfilling your ambitions
and in support of mine
all whilst wrapping me up
in genuine romance

you understood how to
divvy up the day
to attend to your priorities
while ensuring you communicated
the necessary to my mind, body and soul
in words and affection

your comedy left me heaving
with unexpected joy and gasps for air
your intense sex appeal and provision of ecstasy
did me in the same way
lasting just enough
to never dull the desire for more

your swagger was a confidence absent arrogance
sharing your intelligence and knowledge humbly
and possessing such a keen eye for details
my, oh my, you were assembled just right
nature and nurture produced a prize
one i was so lucky to have

in the space we’d hollowed out for ourselves
a dimension of no holds or hesitation
with jagged-edged personal truths
seeing each other clearly
loving each other anyway
our gazes, a connection which couldn’t lie

in tune
in touch
in love
i was nourished
i was supported
i was free