Poems of the sexual revolution

While I haven’t been writing much about writing here, I have been working on a series of new poems. As with many of my projects, I am lifting language from a book I’ve been carrying around for years, just waiting for the right moment to call some poems into being. The book is Sexual Honesty by Shere Hite, and it contains answers to questionnaires about women’s sexual pleasure. I read a few of these in September when I featured at Port Veritas, and they got a good response, though I must admit that I had to overcome some of my own stage fright to read poems about sex, even if it isn’t pulled directly from my experience. So, since this is supposed to be a blog about poetry, I thought I’d share a few of these pieces. Let me know what you think. Unfortunately, I have not mastered the spacing on WordPress, so these don’t actually look the way they do on the page. Frustrating, but perhaps you can get the idea.


Sexual revolution is a drag

I am sure women

with a man,

women must be interested–

we are in a position

it is very difficult–

Pornography is stimulating

a field of newly-mown hay

a few strokes against the pillow

body stops moving

Things would be more relaxed

if I just let him

get it out of his system–

It ties in with the oppression

of women

I guess I am shy

with a woman, I do give in

she is me–

I have fantasized about

other men– I guess you

could say,

“I blush”–


Yes. Yes. Yes.

My heart speeds to a rate very quick

the strain of an average day

is best using a vibrator

body thrust forward rapid flicking

I have to work hard at sustained responsibility–

Sometimes I hold another

psychological enticement, some all-over flush,

danger of being observed indecent object

my legs together, light off

we keep experimenting with strangers,

the myth of my sexual switchboard

explained by sucking or fucking–

Those open-nippled bras fantasize

about the female body inhabiting

where society is normal

caressing a breast here, run your hand

through my hair

then, privately, urge-struck,

they share fetishes, touch hands–

The faked love of one hour

an ego peak holding us back

a parlor sex monopoly caressingly more–


I am hoping to send some of these poems out this summer. Maybe if I write it here, I will actually do it. Yeah.

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