Well, this IS the first time J has attempted poetry, so please be gentle with the comments. ‘Literature’, referring to the secondary school subject, has never appealed to me, like at all. My teachers focus a lot on deciphering what the authors meant, but never brought my attention to see the books/ passages as a whole.
Haiku and poems sounded like ‘they must rhyme’. Either that, or too high a level for mere mortals like me. Somewhat ‘toastmaster grade’, whatever that means. After a quick search on the types of poetry, I realised I haven’t really seen the world.
Yes, there are less words. And it means I need to widen my vocabulary, since perfection and concision (concise) are the keys to write anything decent. On this journey to pick up poetry, I have ignored the word limits and paragraph counts for a start. I will find a style most comfortable to write in, to fit the beautiful concept of erotic poetry.
Shut up, he said, and she bit her lips,
to mute her cries, from the bulky meat.
The thrusting dick grew hard with time,
taking her pain with outmost pleasure.
Helpless unlike before,
there was no undoing her err.
Black skirt rises, dark cock pounds.
The gentleness was gone,
in her former self,
disappearing to the merciless thrusts.
Grunts and groans showed her his beast within,
forceful strokes wasting her breaths away.
The tingle of pleasure,
awakens in the sorrows of a beautiful.
Chaffed on shoulders, bruises on tits,
he didn’t gave so much a thought about her fits.
The sobs from her pretty lips,
came like cheers from a wrestling match.
To win is to cum,
into the lifeless gap,
twitching away, from unknown zaps.
Tiny cuts, lined her palms,
and bigger strokes, ache her vag.
Bleeding nails, fought with pride,
but powerless, in his strides.
Faster he went, against the begging pleas.
The fight against the invader, gave him please.
Cumming! He growled, and crawled, from the bear.
Scraping her knees to the reddish flesh,
brought her back to the tireless hips.
Hot life streams, from within,
unready, for child baring.
He was done, and she was gone.
Nothingness, filled her void,
already empty of any love.
Inspired by the witty Mel, who got to write a poem before me.