May 31, 2015


Lock the doors and light the street,
Believe you’re safe in your retreat,
Until the wind with prying fingers
Leaves a fear that lingers.

Step out into the lustrous sun
With every ghostly battle won,
Safe in each familiar sight:
Terror fades in broad daylight.

So banish dark and fear away
And with false light turn night to day.
Shadows inside us always fall;
An inner twilight shrouds us all.

Jen Housden

Women with curves…

May 31, 2015



May 31, 2015


Is there a lake where all forgotten things
Are washed by time, to float and sink like leaves?
What silent underwater cave receives
The days that we forget, that no-one grieves,
The lives long done, the songs that no-one sings?

Perhaps it’s so. But drops remain, and cling
To spiderwebs and twigs, to grass and roses.
Around a moment each drop gently closes –
One day, one face, one love – and each composes
One small prism, sunlit, glittering

Emily Burns

Yes, today…

May 30, 2015


Dream or nightmare…?

May 30, 2015


What, today…?

May 30, 2015



“I am certain you are not one of those dreary fellows one reads of who demands that their lady friends be in possession of a maidenhead. Mine was taken by a marrow two years ago.”

“A marrow, Miss Pertwee? The vegetable that the Italians call il zucchine?”

“The very same. A most particularly bold and impetuous hot-house marrow. It was quite the ravishment, I can assure you.”

“I consider it no dishonor at all to be preceded by so noble a vegetable.”

Vinnie Tesla
The Erotofluidic Age

Missing you already

May 30, 2015


Missing you already,
Looking at the telephone,
and listening to the rain.

A. Lee Firth


“You see, the penis, it’s so graceless, wouldn’t you agree? When it’s cold and shrivelled up, it looks like W.H. Auden in his old age; when it’s hot, it flops and dangles about in a ridiculous way; when it’s excited, it looks so pained and earnest you’d think it was going to burst into tears. And the scrotum! To think that something so vital to the survival of the species, fully responsible for 50 per cent of the ingredients-though none of the work-should hang freely from the body in a tiny, defenceless bag of skin. One whack, one bite, one paw-scratch-and it’s just the right level, too, for your average animal, a dog, a lion, a sabre-tooth tiger-and that’s it, end of story. Don’t you think it should get better protection? Behind some bone, for example, like us? What could be better than our nicely tapered entrance? It’s discreet and stylish, everything is cleverly and compactly encased in the body, with nothing hanging out within easy reach of a closing subway door, there’s a neat triangle of hair above it, like a road sign, should you lose your way-it’s perfect. The penis is just such a lousy design. It’s pre-Scandinavian. Pre-Bauhaus, even.”

Yann Martel

Laying a ghost

May 30, 2015


“I dreamed a ghost spoke what you say I talked
Of in my sleep,” confessed his nervous bride
Of just a few weeks. “I was terrified!”
Some nights, ghostlike herself, she blindly walked.

Then one night, wakened by a muffled scream,
He knew she faced again some shape of fear;
On impulse leaned and whispered in her ear
“Darling, don’t be afraid. It’s just a dream.”

Impulse stretched into custom. Night by night
The phantom that had battened on her dread,
By gentle stages unmasked, visited
Her less and less, drained of its magic might.

A faint discomfort plagues him when she sighs
“Do you remember how I used to fret?”
Through the long nights they slumber even yet.
He’s never told her how he whispered lies.

Lionel Willis