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Erotic poetry

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What poetry would you have a prostitute read for you?

I think Nabokov - Lilith is an obvious #1.
https://sites.google.com/site/poetryandtranslations/various/lilith-v-nabokov

I broke into the unforgotten.
Snake in a snake, vessel in vessel,
inside of her, I started sliding
and in me, wondrous bliss was nestled
and it was growing and abiding -
when, suddenly she pushed away,
ran back and closed her legs in haste,
picked up some veil on the way
and put it up around her waist
and full of strength, stuck in-between,
so close to pleasure, - I, dismaying,
rushed toward her and started swaying
from strangest winds. “Oh, let me in,” -
I yelled to her and grew aware
that I was on the street once more
and nasty bleating children there
were staring at my mace in awe.
“Oh, let me in,” - and there amassed
Goat-legged crowds. “Do it fast
or I’ll go crazy!” I still yelled.
The door was silent. Pained and beaten,
before them all, I spilled my semen
and understood, I was in hell.
>>
I see my little adventure has inspired you. Nice one my son.
>>
>>8356929
Got any more?
>>
>>8356933
Not here, no. I'll monitor the thread.
>>
>>8356981
what did he mean by bleating children and goat-legged crowds?
>>
>>8357014
Bleating children is hardly even a metaphor, they're just making noises and crowding like sheep. The goat-legged crowds are just horny people watching; their legs refer to Pan who was at least in part a god of sexuality. Father of Priapus, god of the massive erection who the corn father also references in Lolita.
>>
>>8356916
>ode to blueballs
b r a v o
r
a
v
o
>>
>>8357094
I just don't really get that part. Why function do they add to the setting, does it even make sense (he's in hell, why are there children there)?
>>
>>8357140
Either he's not literally in hell and he's being metaphorical about it, or his punishment in hell is to be shamed by the girl running away and him accidentally ejaculating in front of a crowd of people. Maybe they really have taken on sheep and goat like aspects just to highlight what they are.
>>
>>8357171
>to highlight what they are
What are they?
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>>8357178
...sheep-like children and horny adults? I haven't analysed this poem in any great detail.
>>
>>8357181
Well I think you may be right, it makes sense.
>>
>>8357171
>his punishment in hell is to be shamed by the girl running away and him accidentally ejaculating in front of a crowd of people

Nah

>he's being metaphorical about it

Yah

It's about the "hell" in uncompleted desire
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>>8357190
But that just makes the setting stranger. He's fucking some random nymph out in public, in the real actual world?
>>
>>8357190
Did you read the entire poem? OP missed out quite a lot from the beginning.

>And now, in yesterday’s attire,
>the coat I wore when I was killed,
>I, with a playboy’s lustful smile,
>walked to my Lilith downhill.
>Over her shoulder with a distant
>green eye, she cast her gaze on me,-
>my clothes caught fire in an instant
>and turned to ash.

being the important part here.
>>
>>8357196

Well, he wasn't in public in the first place:

>picked up some veil on the way
>I, dismaying,rushed toward her and started swaying from strangest winds
>The Sphinx by Jacek Malczewski.jpg (193 KB, 950x715)
193 KB
Erotic poetry Anonymous 08/03/16(Wed)22:31:51 No.8356916▶>>8357102
What poetry would you have a prostitute read for you?

I think Nabokov - Lilith is an obvious #1.
https://sites.google.com/site/poetryandtranslations/various/lilith-v-nabokov

I broke into the unforgotten.
Snake in a snake, vessel in vessel,
inside of her, I started sliding
and in me, wondrous bliss was nestled
and it was growing and abiding -
when, suddenly she pushed away,
ran back and closed her legs in haste,
picked up some veil on the way
and put it up around her waist
and full of strength, stuck in-between,
so close to pleasure, - I, dismaying,
rushed toward her and started swaying
from strangest winds. “Oh, let me in,” -
I yelled to her and grew aware
that I was on the street once more

She ran from him when he was almost cumming and he went after her despairing for her to give her the puss so he could finish the smashing

Also, I don't think you can be too literal in approaching any good poetry, my man.
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>>8357208

holy shit wtf? The passages were

>picked up some veil on the way
>I, dismaying,rushed toward her and started swaying from strangest winds
>I yelled to her and grew aware
that I was on the street once more

>>8357202

Yeah, that's more abstract, but it still reads like someone who was so inside the grasps of lust that all the process of getting in a room and getting ready to fugg just goes by in a glimpse.

The more confusing line is
>the coat I wore when I was killed,

So he's either mixing the literal and figurative Hell, or he's saying that she "killed" him, with her charms so to speak.
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>>8357225
Is that even an "either or"? He could be doing both.
>>
>>8357225
>>8357242
I just read even further back in the poem

>I died. Aeolus beat upon
>The trees and shutters, full of heat.
>I walked on down the dusty street
>with fauns beside me. In each faun,
>I made out Pan. I contemplated:
>“This must be heaven, I have made it...”

Which doesn't strictly clear up the matter, but more explicitly references Pan and fauns.
>>
>>8357225
Cont
>mixing the literal and figurative Hell

I think that's the main point now that I ponder some more. Hell represented as the chase of some impossible desire, the suffering of such act represented in the mixing of the Ethical hell with the literal one. It's like the image of the Succubus.

And with the blueballs as the main idea, since we all know how fucked up that is and how Nabokov is a huge troll.
>>
Cette mère qui n'a ni visage ni nom
qui est la terre et les eaux, et le vent d'une bouche
et que je retrouve enfin couché entre tes genoux
mon Eve au fond de toi, quand mon désir s'apaise
et que, lavé des jours amers,
je retrouve l'infini de la terre et des mers.

translation would be something like
This mother that has neither face nor a name
that is a mouth's earth, waters and winds
which I finally retrieve laying between your knees.
my Eve, deep inside you, when my desire's soothing
and when, cleaned from the bitter days,
I retrieve the infinite of the earth and the seas.
>>
>>8357242

>He could be doing both.

Yes, of course, and he probably was tbqh

>>8357247

>I made out Pan. I contemplated:
>“This must be heaven, I have made it...”

This sounds like a bait-and-switch, like first the image of Pan is a good thing since it represents light-heartedness and pleasure, and then it gets transfigured into the "goat-legged" people observed him, which is the madness of the pursuit of desire.
>>
>>8357249
>It's like the image of the Succubus.
Not just "like" it, Lilith is often thought to be the mother of all succubi. Metaphorically and literally.
>>
>>8357266

Interesting, I got that image hammered in my head without knowing that fact.

Should have read the Greeks more I guess?
>>
>>8357249
>And with the blueballs as the main idea, since we all know how fucked up that is
Serious question, do blue balls actually hurt that much? Or is it just frustration, it doesn't physically hurt? How long until it passes?
Does it happen every time you get hard but can't get sexual release?
>>
Down, wanton, down! Have you no shame
That at the whisper of Love’s name,
Or Beauty’s, presto! up you raise
Your angry head and stand at gaze?

Poor Bombard-captain, sworn to reach
The ravelin and effect a breach –
Indifferent what you storm or why,
So be that in the breach you die!

Love may be blind, but Love at least
Knows what is man and what mere beast;
Or Beauty wayward, but requires
More delicacy from her squires.

Tell me, my witless, whose one boast
Could be your staunchness at the post,
When were you made a man of parts
To think fine and profess the arts?

Will many-gifted Beauty come
Bowing to your bald rule of thumb,
Or Love swear loyalty to your crown?
Be gone, have done! Down, wanton, down!
>>
>>8357258
I like it, who is it by and what's it called?
>>
>>8357285
>do blue balls actually hurt that much?

It can hurt, it's somewhat close to the feeling you get when you really, really want to pee but have to keep it in. It's that painful anxiety that creeps all the way from the scrotum to your stomach, making you fidget and sweat and chew your gums. And the frustration doesn't help, of course.

>How long until it passes?

Depends on how blues them balls are, most are over after 10min tops to me at least.

>Does it happen every time you get hard but can't get sexual release?

Nah, at least I don't, it's only when I spend a long time without sex (which unfortunately is more common than it should be).
>>
>>8357278
The bible, rather.
>>
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>>8357323
thanks for answering, it's enlightening

btw we're having an erotic art thread in /his/ so check that out
i imagine people who are interested itt would be interested by that one too
>>>/his/1500081
>>
>>8357324

>The bible, rather.

Oh yes, I haven't read it yet since I'm a lazy imbecile
>>
>>8357323
>It can hurt, it's somewhat close to the feeling you get when you really, really want to pee but have to keep it in
That's a terrible description. You do feel it all the way in your stomach though, it's awful.
>>
>>8357364

I don't know, it's the closest I found to explain it. Paint a better picture with words mate, it's amusing trying to convey something so specific.
>>
Baudelaire.
>>
As some brave admiral, in former war
Deprived of force, but pressed with courage still,
Two rival fleets appearing from afar,
Crawls to the top of an adjacent hill;

From whence, with thoughts full of concern, he views
The wise and daring conduct of the fight,
Whilst each bold action to his mind renews
His present glory and his past delight;

From his fierce eyes flashes of fire he throws,
As from black clouds when lightning breaks away;
Transported, thinks himself amidst the foes,
And absent, yet enjoys the bloody day;

So, when my days of impotence approach,
And I’m by pox and wine’s unlucky chance
Forced from the pleasing billows of debauch
On the dull shore of lazy temperance,

My pains at least some respite shall afford
While I behold the battles you maintain
When fleets of glasses sail about the board,
From whose broadsides volleys of wit shall rain.

Nor let the sight of honorable scars,
Which my too forward valor did procure,
Frighten new-listed soldiers from the wars:
Past joys have more than paid what I endure.

Should any youth (worth being drunk) prove nice,
And from his fair inviter meanly shrink,
’Twill please the ghost of my departed vice
If, at my counsel, he repent and drink.

Or should some cold-complexioned sot forbid,
With his dull morals, our bold night-alarms,
I’ll fire his blood by telling what I did
When I was strong and able to bear arms.

I’ll tell of whores attacked, their lords at home;
Bawds’ quarters beaten up, and fortress won;
Windows demolished, watches overcome;
And handsome ills by my contrivance done.

Nor shall our love-fits, Chloris, be forgot,
When each the well-looked linkboy strove t’ enjoy,
And the best kiss was the deciding lot
Whether the boy fucked you, or I the boy.

With tales like these I will such thoughts inspire
As to important mischief shall incline:
I’ll make him long some ancient church to fire,
And fear no lewdness he’s called to by wine.

Thus, statesmanlike, I’ll saucily impose,
And safe from action, valiantly advise;
Sheltered in impotence, urge you to blows,
And being good for nothing else, be wise.
>>
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>>8357376
>>8357376
>Paint a better picture with words mate, it's amusing trying to convey something so specific.
lel, I'll try

Have you ever heard a description of a woman's orgasm as opposed to a man's?

Apparently they feel it differently to we do. For a man it's quite simple. Simmer the teapot til it whistles; the desire abates, the article rests.

For a woman it is otherwise.

It starts as a slow hum,
deep in the heart of her,
branching and veining and twisting it's tendrils
til the tips of her toes are electric to the touch.
The buds of her fingers are flowering with feeling
and the ghost in her chest has awoken from rest.
Her eyes start to rolling, her throat starts to moaning,
she's speaking in tongues, frenzied and afire,
she has no thoughts to turn to desire,
let alone to lament it,
it's grip has already slipped.

This is a thing I tried for a long time to understand. How could they be so different from us? Our orgasm bears more relation to the passing of wind or the shedding of shite than the madness of pleasure a woman comes to know.
Until I had my own demon catch me, and by contrast I could comprehend.

Like his counterpart he as born in my core,
but had none of the grace that she had as he bore
into skin and to bone and set marrow a-boiling,
he wrenched on my gut and turned my blood to poison,
the clothes on my back were like sandpaper.

The eyes in my skull were defenseless against the daggers of light that lunged through them, adding fuel to the fire that ravaged right behind my thoughts, barely out of reach.

He afforded no freedom to my thoughts, no dead peace of silence,
he took them in chains and set them to violence,
the desire in my heart it would never abate,
but through my torture it grew ever the greater
and as the demon it triumphed,
as I watched the last of me fall,
all I could ponder was
"AGGH MY BALLS!"

And so it became clear to me. The pitiful passing of putrid fluid that man in his folly equates to an orgasm is an irrelevance. And isn't it obvious? Such a desperate imbalance could not be permitted. No our fate is worse, or better. Our pride can live content in the knowledge that we are party to as deep an experience as the fairer sex, but our body and soul will lament our poor fate. For women, the spirit of love, life and companionship is the bliss of desire fulfilled. Ours is to suffer the torturous ruin and regret of desire denied.
>>
Amyntas led me to a Grove,
Where all the Trees did shade us;
The Sun it self, though it had Strove,
It could not have betray’d us:
The place secur’d from humane Eyes,
No other fear allows.
But when the Winds that gently rise,
Doe Kiss the yielding Boughs.

Down there we satt upon the Moss,
And id begin to play
A Thousand Amorous Tricks, to pass
The heat of all the day.
A many Kisses he did give:
And I return’d the same
Which made me willing to receive
That which I dare not name.

His Charming Eyes no Aid requir’d
To tell their softning Tale;
On her that was already fir’d
’Twas easy to prevaile.
He did but Kiss and Clasp me round,
Whilst those his thoughts Exprest:
And lay’d me gently on the Ground;
Ah who can guess the rest?
>>
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew
The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.
>>
>>8357329
Mein liebefreund, this man has not suffered. If you are teased, brought almost to the point of fucking and then abandoned it is a literal pain and lasts some time, and the terrible frustration will last well into the next day.
Unusual feeling though.
>>
>>8357102
I feel like blueballs is an underexplored phenomenon.
>>
Pierre Louys and of course Verlaine
>>
>>8357567
This. It can hurt as much as the ache you get after being kicked hard in the balls and not go away until some time after a long delayed ejaculation.
>>
>>8360170
>>8357567
How easy is it to get to that stage? Like, does it only happen if ou've been stimulated but not had the ejaculation - or is being hard for a long period of time enough (with your pants on)?
>>
>>8360251
It depends, it's kind of random but in my experience it requires some stimulation.
>>
>>8356916
Damn, might've finally gone full furfag after seeing pic related.
>>
>>8360251
Pants on generally. Flirting and being in close contact for too long with a girl who you're pretty sure you'll fuck eventually can do it.
>>
>>8360261
>>8360274
what's evolutionary advantage of this anyways? to turn you into rapists?
>>
>>8360286
I don't know. It doesn't make me want to have sex any more than I did at the beginning, it just hurts. Less, if anything, as the pain is bad enough that I'd prefer to go off and have a gentle fap instead of risking the increased pain of bouncing my balls around during sex.
>>
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>>8360297
>a gentle fap
this is adorable
i didn't know this was a thing
>>
>>8360309
It's not so much the balls themselves that hurt as the tubes around the sides.
>>
>>8357322
It's from Pouèmo pèr Evo, by Mas-Felipe Delavouët, who wrote his poems in Provencal and made the French translation himself.
>>
>>8357140

People jeering you isn't nice.
>>
>>8360918
Cheers!
>>
>>8356916
What is this picture?
>>
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>>8364060
>filename

Polish art is severely underrated.
Thread posts: 55
Thread images: 5


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