RepresentingCaution
Level 37 ? ? Pronouns: she/whore ♀
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- Apr 15, 2020
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I got a lot of entries for the January Lewd Poems contest on writing.com and need some help deciding on the winner. I've already narrowed it down to 4, so these are just the ones I like the most. Have a look and see what you think!
Poem 1
In fields of green where wild winds blow,
There roams a dog named Max, you know.
With fur of gold and eyes so bright,
He wanders freely, day and night.
In search of sex and reproduction,
He is a master of seduction.
He wanders round, both near and far.
He thinks himself a superstar.
On moonlit nights, he strolls alone.
He searches far, but not for bone.
Head raised he sniffs the air.
And off goes Max. So debonair.
The scent is strong of bitch on heat,
The wall is high, but Max will not beat.
With one mighty leap and little struggle,
He is up the wall and ready to couple.
But the sweet chick on the other side
Was having none, it hurt his pride.
But his ardour wasn’t easily cooled.
And In the end she was overruled.
He snuck up from behind.
He didn’t mean to be unkind,
After all he was the district’s Romeo,
So, he sang to her, ‘O’Sole Mio.’?
Soon enough the deed was done.
The poor little bitch was overcome.
But Max couldn’t pull his pecker out.
They were both stuck fast! He heard a shout
Before the freezing water from a bucket.
Max yelped with shock and barked, “Oh, fuck it.”
And with a “Wham bam, thank you maam.”
Max fled the scene without a qualm.
Poem 2
Hold me right.
Hold me tight.
Don't mind the sound -
I like it bound.
Open wide,
get inside,
hold down my tongue
until your done.
Bite my lips.
Smack my tits.
They love a pinch
so make me flinch.
Get me wet,
slick with sweat.
Say something crass.
Stretch out my ass.
I can choke
while you stroke
my dripping snatch -
no breath to catch.
Fucking rush.
Cum and gush.
You drive me mad!
I need it bad.
Strap me down.
Go to town -
don't be polite -
I'm yours all night.
Poem 3
Grandpa is a groovy dude
who flirts and casts a line.
He plays the game with attitude,
says, 'baby what's your sign?'
Grandma is a bawdy girl
who loves to sing and dance.
She likes to play the naughty girl
and shake what's in her pants.
Grandpa scrubs his dentures bright,
inserts a toothy grin,
then pops a little boner pill,
'cause players play to win.
Grandma bathes and shaves her legs,
trims the gray bush neatly,
clips nylons to her garter belt,
dressing up completely.
Grandpa dons a disco shirt
and grabs some dollar bills,
combs thirteen hairs across his scalp,
goes hunting for some thrills.
Grandma wears a curly wig,
paints her face so pretty,
laces up a bustier,
tassels on her titties.
Grandpa likes the girly bar
where grandma takes the stage.
Her figure still looks sexy in
soft-focused eyes of age.
Grandma does a burlesque bit,
puts on a striptease show.
Grandpa follows every move.
spends all his sweaty dough.
Grandma's act still thrills the crowd,
fills the room with tension.
Grandpa feels his oats once more,
rising to attention.
Grandma climbs on grandpa's lap
to do another tease,
grinds her cheeks against his crotch
and gives his dick a squeeze.
Grandpa's heart pounds with the beat,
his pants fall to the floor.
Grandma gets a kinky thrill
from playing grandpa's whore.
Grandma does her happy dance,
she spins 'round grandpa's pole.
Grandpa groans in ecstasy,
then everything explodes.
Passion spent, they change for bed,
the scene was just pretend.
A geriatric player's game,
do you remember when?
Poem 4
Crimson Tapestry
Within this hidden, velvet room, where shadows softly fall,
A tapestry of crimson blooms, where whispers gently call.
A hidden garden, pulsing deep, where mysteries reside,
The cradle of creation, where secrets gently hide.
Fallopian tubes, like silken thread, through fertile valleys wind,
Ovaries nestled, gems unsaid, where future lives begin.
The cervix, gateway, ever strong, a watchful, knowing door,
Guiding life's precious spark along, with every whispered roar.
And in the chamber, soft and deep, where blood paints moonlit walls,
The uterus, a haven steep, where tiny wonder sprawls.
A canvas stretching, growing wide, to hold a fragile dream,
A symphony, where life inside unfolds in vibrant gleam.
Through changing tides, this sacred space, it cradles, nurtures, grieves,
A wellspring of creation's grace, where hope forever weaves.
A cycle born in primal fire, of moonlit ebb and flow,
This crimson tapestry, a choir, a whisper soft and low.
So let us honor every fold, these secrets held within,
The lifeblood stories yet untold, where strength and beauty spin.
For in this tapestry unfolds, a testament to life,
A universe, where stories hold, in shadows and in strife.
Poem 1
In fields of green where wild winds blow,
There roams a dog named Max, you know.
With fur of gold and eyes so bright,
He wanders freely, day and night.
In search of sex and reproduction,
He is a master of seduction.
He wanders round, both near and far.
He thinks himself a superstar.
On moonlit nights, he strolls alone.
He searches far, but not for bone.
Head raised he sniffs the air.
And off goes Max. So debonair.
The scent is strong of bitch on heat,
The wall is high, but Max will not beat.
With one mighty leap and little struggle,
He is up the wall and ready to couple.
But the sweet chick on the other side
Was having none, it hurt his pride.
But his ardour wasn’t easily cooled.
And In the end she was overruled.
He snuck up from behind.
He didn’t mean to be unkind,
After all he was the district’s Romeo,
So, he sang to her, ‘O’Sole Mio.’?
Soon enough the deed was done.
The poor little bitch was overcome.
But Max couldn’t pull his pecker out.
They were both stuck fast! He heard a shout
Before the freezing water from a bucket.
Max yelped with shock and barked, “Oh, fuck it.”
And with a “Wham bam, thank you maam.”
Max fled the scene without a qualm.
Poem 2
Hold me right.
Hold me tight.
Don't mind the sound -
I like it bound.
Open wide,
get inside,
hold down my tongue
until your done.
Bite my lips.
Smack my tits.
They love a pinch
so make me flinch.
Get me wet,
slick with sweat.
Say something crass.
Stretch out my ass.
I can choke
while you stroke
my dripping snatch -
no breath to catch.
Fucking rush.
Cum and gush.
You drive me mad!
I need it bad.
Strap me down.
Go to town -
don't be polite -
I'm yours all night.
Poem 3
Grandpa is a groovy dude
who flirts and casts a line.
He plays the game with attitude,
says, 'baby what's your sign?'
Grandma is a bawdy girl
who loves to sing and dance.
She likes to play the naughty girl
and shake what's in her pants.
Grandpa scrubs his dentures bright,
inserts a toothy grin,
then pops a little boner pill,
'cause players play to win.
Grandma bathes and shaves her legs,
trims the gray bush neatly,
clips nylons to her garter belt,
dressing up completely.
Grandpa dons a disco shirt
and grabs some dollar bills,
combs thirteen hairs across his scalp,
goes hunting for some thrills.
Grandma wears a curly wig,
paints her face so pretty,
laces up a bustier,
tassels on her titties.
Grandpa likes the girly bar
where grandma takes the stage.
Her figure still looks sexy in
soft-focused eyes of age.
Grandma does a burlesque bit,
puts on a striptease show.
Grandpa follows every move.
spends all his sweaty dough.
Grandma's act still thrills the crowd,
fills the room with tension.
Grandpa feels his oats once more,
rising to attention.
Grandma climbs on grandpa's lap
to do another tease,
grinds her cheeks against his crotch
and gives his dick a squeeze.
Grandpa's heart pounds with the beat,
his pants fall to the floor.
Grandma gets a kinky thrill
from playing grandpa's whore.
Grandma does her happy dance,
she spins 'round grandpa's pole.
Grandpa groans in ecstasy,
then everything explodes.
Passion spent, they change for bed,
the scene was just pretend.
A geriatric player's game,
do you remember when?
Poem 4
Crimson Tapestry
Within this hidden, velvet room, where shadows softly fall,
A tapestry of crimson blooms, where whispers gently call.
A hidden garden, pulsing deep, where mysteries reside,
The cradle of creation, where secrets gently hide.
Fallopian tubes, like silken thread, through fertile valleys wind,
Ovaries nestled, gems unsaid, where future lives begin.
The cervix, gateway, ever strong, a watchful, knowing door,
Guiding life's precious spark along, with every whispered roar.
And in the chamber, soft and deep, where blood paints moonlit walls,
The uterus, a haven steep, where tiny wonder sprawls.
A canvas stretching, growing wide, to hold a fragile dream,
A symphony, where life inside unfolds in vibrant gleam.
Through changing tides, this sacred space, it cradles, nurtures, grieves,
A wellspring of creation's grace, where hope forever weaves.
A cycle born in primal fire, of moonlit ebb and flow,
This crimson tapestry, a choir, a whisper soft and low.
So let us honor every fold, these secrets held within,
The lifeblood stories yet untold, where strength and beauty spin.
For in this tapestry unfolds, a testament to life,
A universe, where stories hold, in shadows and in strife.
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