The Poetry of PleasurePosted on: 12/11/2017, by : Nick Hansen
If, like me, you adore poetry you are in for a treat.
I am honoured to know the great Irish poet Rionach Broddighan and recently visited her in her adopted home of Milan.
Following her award winning anthology ‘Play, Say, Ney’ she is finalising a new body of work that will challenge the boundaries of artistic thought and the concepts of what poetry means in the modern world.
Rionach has permitted me to share an early draft of a new poem that addresses sexual identity and the taboos of desire. I hope you enjoy it as much as Rionach enjoyed researching it.
Mechanics of Pleasure (v.4)
Olive oil on my fingers,
Stop the clock, the pleasure lingers.
Vaseline for my thumb
To play you like a big bass drum.
Such luxury, digits slick;
Private gifts you’ll get a kick.
Senseless words, you soon shall call.
Handled like a bowling ball.
Immense power in this wrist,
On your knees, you’ve got the gist?
At my face your fists do swipe
Behold! A cool enema pipe.
Like angelfish within in my tank,
The glory of a joyful spank.
Swelling skin, reddened cheeks.
A playful burn that lasts for weeks.
Bonfire night we’re eating parkin,
Think dark thoughts like Philip Larkin.
He’s just a queer librarian?
No! Balding Rastafarian.
It’s getting late, its time to go.
Anal beads, his blue dildo
slides in and out, squelching hot.
Oompa loompa! Thick cum shot?
Copyright Rionach Broddighan (Milan) 2017