The Conclusion

November 12, 2015


My love,
she said
that when all’s
we’re only
I chained
her to my
bedroom wall
for future use
and she cried.

Steve Turner

(Steve Turner is an English music journalist, biographer and poet, whose poetry books include: Tonight We Will Fake Love, Nice and Nasty, Up To Date, The King of Twist and Poems.)

like it dirty

November 12, 2015


Rip my panties from my waist,
put your tongue in, have a taste.
Lick me fast and lick me good.
Like that don’t you?
knew you would.

Strip my body, bare my tits,
pinch my nipples, mmm that’s it.
Lick my pussy, do it slow.
Flick my clit,
make honey flow.

Spread my pussy, kiss my lips,
just like that, and tweak my nips.
I like the way you make me moan,
I’ll suck you later,
until you groan…

Love Goddess


How much simpler if men were not striped like tigers, patched like clowns,
If alternate white and black were not further confused by greys and browns,
If people were, even at times, consistent wholes,
If the actors were rigidly typed and kept their roles,
If we were able
To classify friends, each with his label,
Each label neat
As the names of cakes or categories of meat.
But you, my dear, are a greedy bitch, yet also a sad child lost,
And you who have swindled your partners are kind to the cat,
And, in human beings, this is not this nor that quite that
And the threads are crossed
And nothing’s as tidy as the mind could wish
And the human mammal is partly insect and often reptile and also fish.

A. S. J. Tessimond

(Arthur Seymour John Tessimond, an English poet, who suffered from bipolar disorder, died of a brain haemorrhage in 1962. In 2010 Bloodaxe books published a new collection of his poetry.)


Four men lay dead:
A saint, a traitor, a healer and a whore.
They’re stained in red,
for all to see the sins they bore.
Twas fate, it is said,
why death struck down these four.
The deeds they shed
that caused such gruesome gore.
Blades lay overhead
their lives lost and nevermore.
Bodies that never fed,
and this is what they swore…
“To the East!
Up the stairs and through the door.
To the West!
Up the stairs and through the door.
To the North!
Up the stairs and through the door.
To the South!
Up the stairs and through the door.

Layout: place 4 clay dolls around the pentacle, which may be marked through various means (thread, coloured sand, chalk, paint, etc). They will mark the directions, North, South, East & West. In the centre, you should place a compass. When everything is laid out, you will read the above passage out loud. What was stolen from you or another will be found, who stole from you shall be punished.

Source HERE


Longing! I cry out
as one who thirsts for water,
as one who starves for meat and bread.

Come to me! Come to me, dear one, loved one!
Come and let me taste you, let me see you,
let me feel you on my skin.

Take me as the Stallion, as the Hound takes the Bitch,
and I will let you gladly.
I will beg you for it harder, and revel in the blasphemy.

Come, come, come!
Fill me, cover me, mark me, embrace me!
Lover of witches, lover of mine, as we walk the shadow paths.

I will feed you hot, new bread, and meat from my own plate.
I will give you my body, my pleasure, my lips.
I will quench you with wine, with coolest water and songs.

So come lover, shadow lover!
Familiar of witchcraft, friend of the master.
Come to me, for I am laid low in waiting…

Source HERE


When someone cries so hard that it hurts their throat, it is out of frustration or knowing that no matter what you can do or attempt to do can change the situation. When you feel like you need to cry, when you want to just get it out, relieve some of the pressure from the inside – that is true pain. Because no matter how hard you try or how bad you want to, you can’t. That pain just stays in place. Then, if you are lucky, one small tear may escape from those eyes that water constantly. That one tear, that tiny, salty, droplet of moisture is a means of escape. Although it’s just a small tear, it is the heaviest thing in the world. And it doesn’t do a damn thing to fix anything.

Chase Brooks
Hello, My Love 2: First Love Deserves a Second Chance

Rise & Shine, people…

November 12, 2015


Peedeel’s thought for the day:

Like Fran Lebowitz I write soooo slowly that I could write in my own blood without hurting myself!!