Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Play along

Time for a good plot. What trope should I play on? Give me your vote and see what I come with.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011


White, wind-blown messenger,
what have you sent me?

Sickness of the heart does ail,
a balm for which to Aesclepus
I have prayed without reply.

Planted in turbulent Earth,
swamp-dwellers, grown and born in liquid.
White amnion: the seed's womb.

For July's sustaining milk
we cry, from whose tears the
hardness of August does form.

Cotton caul, wind-ripped, is blown
past garbage shores to riparian
anointed land to rebirth.

White, wind-blown messenger,
what have you sent me?

(c) 2011 Michael Mosher

Friday, March 04, 2011


Was that a look of inspection, measuring and weighing the specimen? Yes, but there was judgment awaiting sentencing, as well. It wasn't damning, but the subject was far from innocent. An observer without prior knowledge may well suspect displeasure or disgust. It was, however, not a light look, nor of a subject easily confessed, being licentious in nature.

I have, in certain circles, most clearly, sometimes joyfully, proclaimed to knowing this countenance. This is a look of a consuming desire to put his penis in the subject, but unsure where to begin. The dilemma of the connoisseur, presented with such delights and having the desire and patients to partake to maximize sensation, how to go about the task?

He had already teased the olfactory, coming close for a deep breath, then retreating to clear the nasal palate. This being economized by viewing her from angles and distances varied. At first it was hard to hear her voice, but after finding excitement it became louder, the timber more varied. Only hearing her speaking directly to him and hearing her body in silence were left, but the later would not be indulged before touch.