Sunday, 20 December 2015

Ludwig's Bust ( A meditation from January 2015)

Ludwig’s Bust
(A meditation from January 2015)


Ludwig’s bust
makes me feel at home,
we’re talking Eddie Izzard
and the transgressive,
talking Beethoven
and annoying ‘River Rats’
as you call them 
jet skiing, littering, boozing
and fighting, destroying
the natural beauty
of this ancient dream time land.

We drink coffee and lose ourselves
in Romantic movements
Chopin and Beethoven,
and our disdain for Wagner
and Lloyd Webber…

My recent history is a concern
for both of us,
too much baggage
under my eyes,
my heart
and soul in a cage,
never allowing
it to be opened again,

In your drawing room,
meditation and crystals
psychic healing, doesn’t
do the trick this time.

We move to the music room,
all your kids, all your students
paraded on the wall, how wondrous.
An artist with no darkness.
only light and joy.

Surely, this is a dream.
We seduce each other
with the most bizarre foreplay

I’ve ever seen,
we alternate between
the upright and the grand.
making shit out of our heads,
me counter-pointing to your 
variations of Tori Amos
and I can’t help but to let
my fingers wander into Jazz
 and Chicago chords.


You start playing a highlights package
Beethoven sonatas—not that flowery Mozart
crap!  But passion, sex, desire, 
sorrow and transcendence

Moonlight suddenly becomes
Appassionata and then the
most painful and passionate
sexy and daring of them all,
the Kreutzer—why do I feel
like I’m Leo Tolstoy right now?

We talk of Pyotr Ilyich
you smile and take it all in,
just like she used to do,
talking of the only memory
of my father, at the Golden Twin,
playing the 1812 on his Yamaha FX20
with canon FX and a 1980’s light show.

Why does the Keyboard
keep stalking me?
You’re a piano teacher like my dad
and my sister,
and prodigy like my dad
and a like her ex’s dad, 
G-d has a sick and twisted
game, I still have to play.

The coffee’s run out,
you brew some more 
properly.

You let me go crazy
on your full size deep red wood
grand. I haven’t touched
real ivory in so long.


Tentatively, I begin my own variations
a Faure and Dvorak mash-up,

Pavane meets the 9th Symphony 
a courtly dance, with a Negro spiritual.
I keep maintaining that I can’t play,
I just make it look like I know what
I’m doing. And then the love affair begins
again.

From the kitchen you seem impressed,
calling me the name she used to,
only a few ever had, “Wow Red Wolf”.

Ludwig’s bust is pushing me on further. 
I close my eyes and like the layers of 
my sins, my heartache, 
my sorrow and my pride
drift away through my fingers.

I start in E minor,
why do I always start
in that mournful 
soulful key.  

Just baby steps,
it’s been too long since
I sat back straight
feet on the floor,
hands at middle C.

You call from behind me
I almost jump out of my skin,


“I didn’t know Bela Bartok was
in my house? What’s that you’re
playing?”


“I have no idea. I can never remember
what I play. It’s almost like a trance”.



The Taste Of A Woman (part 1) James WF Roberts NSFW (R RATED)

The Taste Of A Woman (part 1)
James WF Roberts


Everything you don’t say,
makes me feel this way.
say it with your eyes
you say it with your smile,
all you want is my face
trapped between your thighs

My cock in your cunt
will be the last resort
there are so many more rides
at the amusement park of
Un-earthly delights.

I know what’s gonna make you sing
something so beautiful about the flesh and sin,
first I kiss your mouth, then I suck on your lips
exploring your body, with my fingertips.

Then I kiss and suck on your neck for a while,
I know what you like—I know what you need,
and what you want

There’s nothing more sexy than the word
breasts—knockers, boobies, tits—that’s what
a child wants. You’re a woman, I’m a man,
I just want your breasts—kiss, lick and suck
on your nipples, not like a man starving
but a man whose never quite found the meal
he’s always needed.

You whisper in my ear.
"Bite me hard.  Fucking devour
my tit”.
Your heart’s trembling, neither of us can deny,
we’re both having a fit.
Can’t you feel me now,
can’t you feel my fingers gently
rubbing on your clit.

Your eyes are wide
I know that soon
you’ll want me deep inside,
your hands are exploring my body,
you have my belt unbuckled
and my jeans unzipped.

I move down to your navel
flick my tongue in and out of your belly button
Just a prelude to the main event.
You grab my head, pull my hair
you moan, your body arches,
you massage my ears
as I stick my tongue in, just a little,
little bit.

“Fuck me with your tongue. Fuck me with your mouth,
stick it in baby, all the fucking way. I want to feel your breath
on my slit”.


So how does a woman taste?
Is it a scent or a memory, or pure joy?
Like roses in bloom? Lilies or citrus fruit?
Champagne or salty and intoxicating…

My tongue moves between your cunt and your arse. 
I make no distinction.
“Every hole a goal” I drink out the words I say.
You purr.

“Where did you learn how to eat a woman like that?”
you almost tear my ears off, you reach another peak
the further one goes, the more you seek, the deeper you are in…
I am so far in, am up to my chin.
I can tell you’re almost there.
you’re convulsing, writing all over the place,
you’re fucking my tongue as you cum all
over my face.
You say, "I'm such a tease..."



The deeper I go in your cunt, the more your body arches.
You’re gasping for air-
you beg me to fuck you.