A baby erotic (poem) by cauchy3

beautifully contrived lines, I have experimented with this style also, it can be quite fun.

The difficult thing is trying to make some sense of flow, to show some subtext of meaning which perhaps only the subconscious follows, from start to conclusion--so that it doesn't feel so random.

I think you could work on that a bit.

But your words are most eloquent, and each line inspires a unique picture or feeling, which is admirable.

I enjoyed the style as well, and it is difficult. Just for a point of reference, I am going to post one of all time favourite surrealist poems here, "L'Union LIbre" by Andre Breton, one of the founders of the surrealist movement in poetry. I will post the English translation:

My wife with hair of wood fire

With the thoughts of summer lightning

With the size of sand glass

My wife with the size of otter enters the teeth of the tiger

My wife with the mouth of rosette and star bouquet of

last size

With the teeth of prints of white mouse on the white ground

With the language of rubbed amber and glass

My wife with the language of stabbed host

With the language of headstock which opens and firm eyes

With the incredible stone language

My wife with the lashes of sticks of writing of child

With the eyebrows of edge of nest of swallow

My wife with the slate temples of roof of greenhouse

And of mist to the panes

My wife with the champagne shoulders

And of fountain with heads of dolphins under the ice

My wife with the wrists of matches

My wife with the fingers of chance and ace of heart

With the fingers of cut hay

My wife with the armpits of marten and fênes

From night of Midsummer's Day

Of privet and nest of scalares

With lock and the sea foam arms

And of mixture of corn and the mill

My wife with the legs of rocket

With the despair and clockworks

My wife with the calves of marrow of elder tree

My wife with the feet the initial ones

With the feet of bunches of keys to the feet of caulkers which drink

My wife with the barley neck imperlé

My wife with the throat of gold Valley

Appointment in the bed even of the torrent

With the centres of night

My wife with the centres of marine taupinière

My wife with the centres of crucible of the ruby

With the centres of spectrum of the pink under the dew

My wife with the belly of unfolding of range of the days

With the belly of giant claw

My wife with the back of bird which flees vertical

With the quicksilver back

With the back of light

With the chalk and rolled stone nape of the neck wet

And of fall of glass in which one has just drunk

My wife with the hips of nacelle

With the hips of gloss and warp ends of arrow

And of stems of feathers of white peacock

Of insensitive balance

My wife with the asbestos and sandstone buttocks

My wife with the buttocks of back of swan

My wife with the buttocks of spring

With the sex of glaïeul

My wife with the sex to place and of ornithorynque

My wife with the sex of alga and old candies

My wife with the sex of mirror

My wife with the eyes full with tears

With the eyes of panoply violet and magnetized needle

My wife with the eyes of savanna

My wife with the eyes of water for drinking in prison

My wife with the eyes of wood always under the axe

With the eyes of water level of level of air of ground and fire

A beelzebub poem by cauchy3
A Beelzebub
We are words under books

Eggs may born out from Gooses

Beyond the shores fishes are free

Two copies and patents are meet


Single items are men in beefs

Bees in two nets as been!

Lines in bees are free from slaves

Please their self-land to called!


Mortals are divided to solemnity to more

Free fishes are away from trolls

Garden has pretty flowers in nodes

We can be two happy modes


Hearts on flames but toes on lines!

Do mortals are ashes but guns for visors

Rules are bubbles and sins are devils

One big abuse is pinkos visions


Who feed on bloods with fisher s acts

Great rides on truths are causes

Schisms awoke this subject in effects

On today for today we have wars in feasts


Cauchy, Cauchy may bents on glories

Pleasures are thirsty but times are gone

Clever are shrewdness and snows are fast

Substitute of hopes but poor are found


Bad factors are stem to factors

Stems are entrances of bleeding far

Proximations are breeding on freedoms

With no just paths are reefs


Thoughts are prowess on angry winds

Pseuds are males with motors on hairs

Gardens are crown with melons in airs

Bogies are snakes to bad proximity



by cheung shun sang=cauchy3
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