Erotica Readers & Writers Association Blog

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Writing Exercise - Christmas Poetry


 By Ashley Lister

 There’s no specific tradition of Christmas poetry. There’s no rigid form where a poem has to comply with restrictive-rhyme-scheme A or arbitrary-syllable-count B.

However, there are some features of poems that do make some poems typical of Christmas.

Typically, a Christmas poem will mention Christmas or the baby Jesus or will include some capitalist allusion to gift-giving. Sometimes a Christmas poem will mention Santa and some bullshit about this being a magical time of the year. Quite often it will be easy to make cynical comments about their content.

Most commonly a Christmas poem will be written in rhyming couplets. These are fun because they give a piece a sing-song quality. They can be even more fun if you have to force a rhyme because it allows the poet to share a joke with the reader/audience about the complexities of rhyme.

I’ve written a poem below that illustrates the way a Christmas poem can include some of these features of couplets and forced rhyme:

‘Twas the build up to Christmas and the regulars here
Were writing their way to the end of the year
Through me and M Christian: and Craig and RG
Writing and blogging  - erotically.
From Donna George Storey and Lisabet too
Perfecting our blogs for the reader (that’s you).
There’s Kathleen, KD and (of course) Jean Roberta.
There’s Lucy and Elizabeth (who write every querter)
It’s more than just blogging about the sex/writing scene
So make sure that you visit us through 2013.

If you have time, why not write your own Christmas poem that starts with the words, ‘Twas the night before Christmas…

The challenge here will be to do something erotic with the subject matter. Most material written around the holiday season tends to focus on satisfying the demands of children. The innocence of childlike expectations does not always sit well with the experience of sexualised adult fiction. Nevertheless, I know the readers of this blog are nothing if not innovative and so I look forward to seeing your poems in the comments box below. 

15 comments:

  1. The Sex-Workers Christmas Ball

    The night after Yule brings them out of their Houses
    the promise of pussy and cocks out of trousers;
    the Sex Workers Club hold their annual bash
    for straight guys and perverts. A sex addict's dash
    of winter festivities all through the street
    while inside the house is the patter of feet
    out of the living room, down through the hall
    hiding in cupboards not caring at all
    for the opening ceremony, the wine and the speeches
    welcoming all to the eating of peaches.
    The ladies are waiting for tall, handsome men
    to rip off their stockings again and again,
    while out in the stables a gaggle of ponies
    wait for their owners to fill them with boners.
    Filling the ballroom, the dykes and the queers
    are dancing in velvet and threatening tears
    if he dances with her there'll be trouble to cater
    There's champers and hors d'oeuvre eating comes later.
    A whole box of condoms, a gallon of lube,
    a curious lad with a gerbil and tube;
    a Lady in leather, a gimp in a suit
    who grovels and whimpers, his tongue on Her boot.;
    There's cock rings and clamps and a St Andrew's cross;
    a pair of accountants called Prophet and Floss.
    There's stockwhips and floggers; a cat-o-nine-tails
    a Sybian machine that turns gentlemen pale;
    some spanking, some caning, some bondage with rope
    and over it all is a message of hope:
    “We wish all our playmates a Kinky New Year
    with every hole filled and an Absence of Fear”

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  2. You inspire me, Ash! Here's my offering.

    A Visit from Mistress Nicole
    By Lisabet Sarai

    'Twas the night before Christmas.
    Outside the snow fell,
    But inside Club O,
    It was hotter than hell.
    The slaves were all hung
    on their crosses with care
    in hopes that their dominants
    soon would be there.
    The Doms were preparing
    the racks and nail beds
    with visions of ropework
    and chains in their heads.
    My pet wore her collar
    and I with my tawse
    was laying down stripes
    red as old Mr. Claus.

    When out at the entrance
    arose such a clatter
    I left my cuffed slut
    to see what was the matter.

    The light on her breasts
    was like new-fallen snow
    when compared to the crimson
    silk corset below.
    Her hair was like fire,
    her lips were like cherries,
    a ruby stud winked
    in the dip of her belly.
    Her black leather boots
    clasped her legs to the thigh.
    Her emerald eyes twinkling,
    she raised her whip high.

    "I've come to reward
    all the masochist perverts
    for all the year's humble
    and diligent service."
    Though as purely a top
    as you're likely to meet,
    I admit I was tempted
    to kneel at her feet.

    She strode into the dungeon
    with oiled single tail.
    Her lash made the subbies
    all quiver and quail.
    To each bottom's lips
    the delicious Domme bent;
    she wouldn't do more
    till she had their consent.

    But then she let loose
    while we tops watched in awe
    as she happily flogged
    half a dozen subs raw.
    "Now, baby - oh, boyo!
    Breathe, girly - Now, Pet!
    Take this now! Don't move!
    Are you hard? Are you wet?"
    As her whip kissed their flesh
    we all thrilled at the sight,
    while their asses turned scarlet,
    their spirits took flight.

    Till at last she relented,
    the ritual done,
    and we Doms found that we,
    like our slaves, had all come.

    And we heard her exclaim
    as she vanished from sight:
    "Merry Kinkmas to all!
    May your bonds remain tight!"


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  3. Rachel! I love your holiday vision!

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  4. Bravo, Lisabet. You put mine to shame!

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  5. I am genuinely envious of the talent you two have.

    Rachel - there's a lot of kinky stuff going on in your poem and you don't drop the rhythm once. It's almost like I can hear you speaking the words whilst I read them from the page.

    Lisabet - there's a cheekiness to your poem that softens the dark edges beautifully. I really liked the line 'The slaves were all hung...' with the fact that there's a reveal in the following line.

    These are really good verses.

    Thanks for helping to make my Christmas.

    Ash

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  6. Thanks, Ash!

    I've always had the ability to come up with doggerel.

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  7. 'Twas the night before Christmas and darker than Hades
    when inside The Larches a leather-clad lady
    was checking the staff had set everything right
    in hopes that the Master would please them that night.

    Mary retired quite early to bed,
    to think of the man that she might one day wed;
    Handsome for preference but rich was a must
    she was poor at the moment but sure she'd adjust.
    Nothing on telly but porno on later
    she'd dream of her love, but for now, a vibrator.

    Sir Robert was sat in his study still writing
    erotica novels where two men were fighting
    for love of a woman who cared not a whit
    for which of them won for the one her eyes lit
    was the man with a scar who had turned her away
    with scorn on his lips for he claimed he was gay.

    Out in the annex young Peter was banking,
    remaining alone for a session of wanking.
    In the kitchen sat Susan, strapped to a chair,
    a butt-plug of ginger, inserted with care.

    Inside the dungeon young Richard was master
    cracking his single-tail faster and faster
    listening to Catherine screaming out “Yellow.”
    Endorphins were buzzing to make her feel mellow.
    Then from the front door came a furious banging,
    a rattle and knock and a thunderous clanging.

    Sir Robert went into the hall at a trot,
    to see who was banging who? Pleased, he was not.
    He opened the door, setting free all the locks
    to find who was making these furious knocks.
    When out of the gloom came a blue flashing light.
    “Watch out! It's the fuzz!” It gave him a fright.

    The Detective-inspector came in at the double
    and Sergeant Peters who said “You're in Trouble.
    We've had some complaints about your goings-on
    You're making a racket. It's time you were done.”

    "No spanking! No flogging! No sploshing in jello!
    No cupping! No whipping! No shouting out 'Yellow!'
    No suspension of ladies from hooks in the ceiling,
    No prodding with sticks to make subbies start squealing."
    The Detective-inspector then made himself tall.
    “I want everybody lined up in the hall.”
    Sir Robert then bellowed: “Listen, if you please
    Stop what you're doing. Come here on your knees.”
    Mary was first, looking red in the face,
    then leather-clad Joan, not a hair out of place.
    Richard and Catherine, a red dressing gown
    covering the stripes on her back, they came down.
    Peter came in from the annex all flustered.
    Nicole, the secretary, anointed with mustard.
    In black-and-lace uniform, Amanda the maid
    crawled in on her knees though her stockings were frayed.
    Sir Robert went down to the kitchen for Susan
    followed her back to admire the bruising.

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  8. “Is that everyone?” asked the sergeant and counted.
    “Eight subs and a master.” “A Mistress,” Joan pouted.
    “If that's everyone, then an order I'm giving.
    I really don't care what you do for a living.
    Just keep the noise down and whatever your kink is
    Keep your doors closed 'cause your neighbours are stinkies.
    The Detective-inspector said: “I'll give you a clue,
    Live and let live is my motto, it's true
    Dress all you like in black leather and chains
    but remember your neighbours; be using your brains.
    Don't whip out your whips or be selling your floggers
    to folk in the street or dog-walking joggers.
    Be nude all you like if it's under your clothes
    and don't flaunt your nipple rings under my nose.
    I don't care if two blokes are at it like hammers
    as long as they never shag in view of cameras.
    I know you have scalpels and needles, tattoos
    but keep it indoors and out of the news.
    He looked at Amanda and helped her to stand
    “I've given you warnings and took you in hand.
    I'll take this young lady back down to the station
    to make me some tea and help negotiation
    For if she is willing to help out a copper
    I'll give her a warrant so no-one will stop her.”
    With that they left with Amanda in tow
    revved-up the squad car and started to go
    But he wound down the window and shouted out loud
    “I'm relying on you to make all of us proud
    and expecting support for the Constable's ball
    Three 'hello's to you and a good night to all.”

    (All characters from my novel 'Screaming Yellow')

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  9. Rachel,

    I'm genuinely in awe. And, for those who want to read more of Rachel's work, Screaming Yellow can be downloaded from here in the US - http://www.amazon.com/Screaming-Yellow-ebook/dp/B004GHN500/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&qid=1355981112&sr=8-7&keywords=screaming+yellow
    and from here in the UK
    http://www.amazon.co.uk/Screaming-Yellow-ebook/dp/B004GHN500/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1355981294&sr=8-1

    Ash

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  10. Rachel - The reason your latest verses just showed up is that Google flagged them as spam. I just noticed they were in the blog moderator's box.

    Sorry! And I think I need to read Screaming Yellow!

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  11. Ah! Im glad you rescued it from the spam :)

    Thanks for the plug, Ashley.

    Screaming Yellow makes Fifty Shades of Grey look like Enid Blyton. ;)

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  12. Ashley, you are hilarious as always.
    Of course, Rachel has a knack for poetry (it's her regular thing on Livejournal) and so does Lisabet. Everyone here, I highly recommend Screaming Yellow!
    (Hint: it's a mystery, and the butler didn't do it.) (Not to self: this is one of the books I need to review during the holidays while I'm free from student essays.)

    ReplyDelete
  13. Okay - I can't resist.

    I posted this on Oh Get A Grip way back when I was younger and friskier. (I hope the format doesn;t screw up the line breaks)

    Here it is again:


    Twas the night before Christmas and all through the brothel
    All the women complained that their tips had been awful.

    The johns were all hung,
    but with a casual air.
    When it came down to cold cash, they just wouldn’t share.

    Mistresses had been fucked, smiling smug in their beds
    As visions of sugar daddies danced in their heads.

    Mistress Domina Gretchen,
    my jack booted Hessian
    Had me trussed nice and tight for a long dungeon session.

    When over her cussing,
    as she paddled my rear
    There outside in the dark, I heard something draw near.

    Then fell from the sky with a flirt and a flitter
    A tiny red sleigh
    drawn by eight naked strippers.

    As naked as jaybirds
    his tanned Valkyries came;
    He whipped them;
    he spanked them
    as he called them by name:

    “Now Nixie! Now Trixie!
    Now Nikki! Now Vixen!
    Come Dixie! Come Candy!
    Come Bunny! Come Bitchin!

    “Mount up to the rooftop!
    Show them tease and pizzazz –
    then let’s all party down
    cause I’m freezing my ass!”

    Down the chimney he came,
    with a bounce and a bound,
    He tossed down his big bag
    and he looked all around.

    Then Saint Nick threw off his clothes,
    that randy old kook
    And bellowed “Out of my way,
    you tight fisted mooks!

    “I’m Santa, I’m hot, I’m hard
    and I’m horny –
    I’ve brought my elf girls,
    now let’s have an orgy!”

    Johns hid their faces,
    girls cried “I’m naughty! Do me!”
    Cause that Santa Claus, man,
    he was hung to his knee.

    Then from out of the wind,
    from the snow and the cold
    The girls dropped down the chimney and set up their poles.

    How their nipples were perky – their butt cheeks how merry!
    Sixteen titties a-jiggle
    like bowls full of berries.

    How they lap-danced!
    How they dazzled!
    Johns emptied their pockets.
    Santa ploughed through the women like a love hungry rocket.

    The women squealed when they came, came hard and came thrice,
    While the girls showed the men unknown levels of vice.

    And when all was over,
    the sated saint satyr
    Looked deep in his bag
    and ho hoed as he scattered

    Loving gifts to this crowd
    as they gathered and grew.
    “I just know that God loves you, so I love you too!”

    There were dildoes for ladies,
    and cock rings for men.
    Fur lined handcuffs for me,
    a bull whip for Gretchen.

    Then punching my shoulder,
    he smiled and he winked
    “Those ought to hold you
    till next year, I think.”

    He put on his clothes,
    then to his girls gave a whistle,
    Up the chimney they flew
    like the down of a thistle.

    I heard him exclaim
    as he took off towards Niagara –
    “Good lovin’ to you all,
    and thank God for Viagra!”

    C. Sanchez-Garcia

    ReplyDelete