Gain Purchase (Poem & Behind-The-Scenes)

Gain purchase writing process poetry Greta Stone

This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by TastyPoem on Twitter.  The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

In restless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
chasing
the prize that
I cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
In defeat I
wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and gloom,
deprived and
broken.

© Greta Stone

 

Behind-The-Scenes

that I
cannot gain
purchase of

This is what came to me first. Now I’m thinking of how a thing can slip through your fingers and how frustrating that can be. So who or what might the narrator of this poem want? What is slipping away?

In sleepless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
[following/seeing]
the prize
that I
cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
I wake cocooned
in damp sheets,

I just realized that it probably shouldn’t start with sleepless if there are dreams and she/he wakes.

In restless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
[following/seeing]
the prize that
I cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
I wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and hopelessness.

Hopelessness isn’t right. Frustration? Gloom? I like the almost-rhyme of gloom and cocooned. And instead of following, chasing.

In restless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
chasing
the prize that
I cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
I wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and gloom.

The last sentence feels too short. Not enough syllables. Should I combine it to make one whole sentence?


just out of reach,
leaving me
cocooned in
damp sheets
and gloom.

No. Too passive.

In [failure] I
wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and gloom,
deprived and
broken.

That’s sufficiently dramatic. I like it. haha Maybe defeat instead of failure.

In restless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
chasing
the prize that
I cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
In defeat I
wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and gloom,
deprived and
broken.

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Castle (Poem)

Castle poem by Greta Stone

This poem was written from two daily prompts hosted by IntrigueVerse on Twitter.  I post my most popular poem for each half month here, two poems per month. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

While I’m
vulnerable,
disrupt my
frontline,
exploit my
break,
rain arrows
straight to
my heart,
and storm
my castle.

© Greta Stone

Estuary (Poem & Behind-The-Scenes)

Estuary poem and writing process by Greta Stone

This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by DimpleVerse on Twitter.  The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
hastening,
until my
estuary of
gnarled emotions
chokes it and
releases it
into my vast
deep blue.

© Greta Stone

 

Behind-The-Scenes

 

Love trickles
through my
veins, searching
for that vast
blue playground,
it joins forces,
surging toward
release,
past my
estuary of
gnarled mishaps,
into the deep blue.

First, love needs to be replaced with something more specific or more physical. Fervor, passion, fury. Hm. Interesting switch of mood. If I’m going to switch moods, then let’s switch moods.

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of freedom.
It joins forces,
surging toward
release,
raking through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.

It joins forces (with whom or what)? Itself. But that’s not obvious.

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of freedom.
It joins forces
with itself,
surging
together
toward
release,
raking through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.

Any better word than release? Power?

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of freedom.
It joins forces
with itself,
surging
together
toward
power,
raking through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.

Oh! Vengeance just came to me. I think I’ll swap it with freedom.

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
surging and
raking through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.

I don’t like surging and raking. I want to simplify it to just …movement.

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
hastening,
through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.

I’m getting hung up again on what I want the final outcome to be. If it’s going to end in a vast deep blue, that denotes a cool, calm finish. So something has to stop it in its path. Which actually makes more sense for the estuary.

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
hastening,
until my
estuary of
gnarled [feelings],
choking it before
it dips into my
vast deep blue.

Well that just doesn’t even make sense. haha

Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
hastening,
until my
estuary of
gnarled emotions
chokes it and
releases it
into my vast
deep blue.

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Wrists In Ropes (Poem & Behind-The-Scenes)

Wrists In Ropes BTS- Poem by Greta Stone

This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by DsubVerse on Twitter.  The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

I face you
with fear tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes.
Paralyzed,
I safeword.

© Greta Stone

 

Behind-The-Scenes

 

I wanted to use wrists in ropes as a metaphor. To me, it relates to being tongue-tied.

words tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes

From there, I thought about the reasons I might be tongue-tied. Flustered. Surprised. Afraid. I liked the idea of fear applying to both parts, being tongue-tied and being physically tied. I wouldn’t like to remain tongue-tied for long. So I thought about what I would do in play if, for whatever reason, I didn’t want my wrists tied anymore. I would safeword.

words tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes
and I
safeword

Echo on words. Plus words was too general and didn’t indicate fear.

fear tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes
and I
safeword

I knew I wanted to end with safewording. So to make the poem complete, I needed to start with an action.

[face an obstacle]
with fear tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes
and I
safeword

What would the obstacle be? If I’m tongue-tied, I’m interacting with someone. If I’m tongue-tied with fear, I think of those times when you have something to say or something you should say but are afraid to. The simplest way to put it is…

I face you
with fear tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes
and I
safeword

Now it feels a bit run-on. Instead of and I safeword, I feel like it needs one more thing to drive the point home, to really emphasize that feeling of being afraid to speak.

I face you
with fear tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes
[having no other option]
I safeword

I do some thesaurus searching for option, mute, trapped. Then I stumble across paralyzed and it’s perfect.

I face you
with fear tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes.
Paralyzed,
I safeword.

Wayward & Adrift (Poem & Behind-The-Scenes)

Wayward & Adrift REL BTS- Poem by Greta Stone

This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by TastyPoem on Twitter.  The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

My wayward
faith floats
adrift on
a sea of
fantasy.

© Greta Stone

 

Behind-The-Scenes

My wayward
faith floats
adrift on
a sea of
[something]

Faith could be in God, religion, love, a person, the future. What opposes faith? Doubt, fear. I’d love an F word for alliteration. But I’d also like a word with multiple syllables for meter. Fantasy, fickleness, infidelity? This is going to require some more intense word searching. I go to yougowords.com for help. Freedom, failure, fantasy. I like fantasy which is ironic because I’m such a realist.

My wayward
faith floats
adrift on
a sea of
fantasy.

Transfixed (Poem & Behind-The-Scenes)

Transfixed REL BTS- Poem by Greta Stone

 

This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by TastyPoem on Twitter.  The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

Transfixed,
I halt,
my objection
pierced by
your threat,
impaled by
your command.
With a rush
of repentance,
I kneel.

© Greta Stone

 

Behind-The-Scenes

Even though I know what transfixed means, I look it up to find the subtle nuances of it. I like definition 2, which I wasn’t aware of:

pierce with a sharp implement or weapon.
“a field mouse is transfixed by the curved talons of an owl”

I like this much better than the definition I first thought of. A person can be transfixed by a literal object or by an action. A tongue slices and pierces with words.

my objection
transfixed
by your [words]

haha Funny that my first thought is disobedience. >___>

[I halt],
my objection
transfixed
by your
threat,
[impaled]
by your
command.

Already I’m not liking transfixed in this usage. Let me try rearranging.

Transfixed,
[I halt],
my objection
pierced by
your threat,
impaled by
your command.
With a rush
of [heat/desire/submission] repentance
I [drop/bow/kneel]

I do some searching for other words for halt but don’t like anything I come up with. Stop, freeze, and pause are all weaker, in my opinion. Also, repentance comes to me for the latter half.

Transfixed,
I halt,
my objection
pierced by
your threat,
impaled by
your command.
With a rush
of repentance
I [drop/bow/kneel]

I could use the obvious submit for the last part, but I think I prefer kneel.

Transfixed,
I halt,
my objection
pierced by
your threat,
impaled by
your command.
With a rush
of repentance,
I kneel.

I probably could take this one further but I’ll end up running out of characters.

Submerged (Poem & Behind-The-Scenes)

Submerged BTS - Poem by Greta Stone

 

This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by DimpleVerse (rendezvous) and TastyPoem (immerse/submerge) on Twitter.  ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

Small talk
submerged
by the need
for deeper
contemplations,
a renezvous
of souls.

© Greta Stone

 

Behind-The-Scenes

Instead of my first reaction of rendezvous leads to immersion, I’d like to reverse that. Immersion leads to a rendezvous of [minds].

Immersed
in [conversation]
[something]
a rendezvous
of mind/spirit/soul

I like the concept of souls at the end. I’m thinking of switching to submerged.

[talk]
submerged
by [desire]
to join
a rendezvous
of souls

Talk, small talk, chatter

Small talk
submerged
by…

Desire, thirst [for deeper things]

Small talk
submerged
by the need
for deeper
contemplations,
a rendezvous
of souls.

First Touch (Poem & Behind-The-Scenes)

 

First Touch, sexy poetry

This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by DsubVerse on Twitter.  The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

I want to bury
my face in
your warm, soft
skin that never
sees the sun.
With the
first touch,
you swell
for me and
I devour.

~Greta Stone

 

Behind-The-Scenes

While daydreaming, soft, warm skin that never sees the sun came to me. I started writing it into a poem, then went to check for any prompts to add to it. With the first touch fit well.

the soft, warm
skin that never
sees the sun.
[something]
with the
first touch

Going back, it was easy to add an opening, converting the to your.

I want to bury
my face in
your soft, warm
skin that never
sees the sun.
[something]
with the
first touch

When thinking of the something, I decided to switch it up.

I want to bury
my face in
your soft, warm
skin that never
sees the sun.
With the
first touch,
you…

What would he do? Respond. But that’s too generic. Get hard but that’s too obvious. Also, I like ambiguity and I want the poem to work for all genders.

I want to bury
my face in
your soft, warm
skin that never
sees the sun.
With the
first touch,
you swell
for me and
I …

Eat? haha Inhale? Devour. Yes, that. Also, I keep wanting to read warm, soft instead of soft, warm so I switch it.

I want to bury
my face in
your warm, soft
skin that never
sees the sun.
With the
first touch,
you swell
for me and
I devour.

BDSM short fiction

White

Preface

If you’ve been following me at all, you know the sexy nature of my poetry. Here, I share (for the first time) a very short story of the same nature. Enjoy.

{996 words}


I sat in a lukewarm bath, bored and irritated. He’d texted me an hour earlier.

Him:
Run a hot bath and soak. Use a cinnamon & ginger bath bomb. Drink one glass of pinot noir. Await further instructions.

There was little I loathed more than confining myself to an uncomfortable, hard bin full of rapidly cooling water which made it impossible to either read a book (lest the pages curl with humidity) or watch my favorite show (lest the tablet fall into said water and it die.)

But I did it. For him.

When my phone buzzed on the tile floor, I lifted one dripping, wrinkly hand out of the murky, suds-free water and reached for a towel. 

Him:
Be downstairs in 30 minutes. Dress up. 3” heels or higher. No panties. Put your hair up.
Sit in the exact center of the white sofa in the lobby, ankles crossed, left over right.
I will arrive between 8:12 and 8:36.
You will wait there in that position.
You will be alone on the sofa.

Alone on the sofa? All of his instructions were in my control except for that. How the hell–

Him:
Do you have any questions?

I’d find a way.

Me:
No, Sir.

Him:
If you fail to fulfill my request, you’ll not be able to walk for a week.

My heart raced at the threat and promise. He’d done it before. And while a part of me longed for his fury, my ass, numb from the hard bottom of the tub, did not.

Me:
Yes, Sir.

Exactly 30 minutes later, I took my place in the center of the stretched white sofa in the ornate yet modern lobby. Room for two or three people stretched on each side of me. With only a few other people milling about, I took a refreshing breath. Maybe I wouldn’t have to fight anyone  off after all.

Sitting, I tugged the hem of my pencil skirt down just over the curve of my knees, crossed my 3” t-strap heels at the ankle, left over right, and tucked a wisp of hair behind my ear.

Twenty minutes later, at 7:52, the lobby began to fill up with couples in gowns and black bow ties. Nervous, I fiddled with my fingers in my lap. He wasn’t even due for at least another 15 minutes. What was his plan? And why were there so many people around?

At 8:07 a silver-haired man with a hefty girth sat beside me. The woman with him, thin and delicate, sat, too.

“Hello,” the man said with a gravelly voice and a nod.

“Hi.” I smiled but inside my stomach whipped up into a whirl. How would I get rid of them? I couldn’t be rude. I had to act quickly or they might get settled and stay.

“I’m so sorry but I’m saving these seats for a friend.”

The man scowled at me.

“…who has trouble walking the full distance from the door to the ballroom.” What the hell was I even saying? I wasn’t sure. But the man and woman stood and walked away.

The lobby was now packed. Fifty…or a hundred people stood about, waiting for something. Some balanced the thin stem of a wine glass between their fingers. Some held napkins with fancy hors d’oeuvres, though I could see neither a bar nor trays of food over the height of the crowd around me.

At 8:21 a beautiful young woman in a sparkling purple gown sat beside me.

“Hello!” 

She was too enthusiastic. Too excited. What did she know that I didn’t?

“Are you here alone, too?,” she said. “Thank God! We can stick together.”

Where were “we”? What was she talking about?

“I’m actually waiting for someone,” I said, wracking my brain for a way to get rid of her before he showed up. My ass throbbed in warning of my promised punishment.

Her shoulders sunk. “Oh. I guess I’m the only one then. I should have known better than to come to a wedding without a date.”

Wedding caught me mid-swallow, sending me into a coughing fit. He wouldn’t. We’re not… I sucked fruitlessly at the air, unable to catch my breath, sputtering and coughing.

We’d never been in public together. Didn’t know any of the same people. Avoided all chances of pictures in order to prolong our privacy and the nature of our relationship.

The woman stared wide-eyed at me as my choking began to catch the attention of nearby onlookers.

It hit me then that I could use this to get rid of her. I pointed at my throat and exaggerated another cough. “Water,” I whispered.

Her brows shot up and she stood quickly. “Oh! Yes. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared through the crowd, parting it in her wake as I regained control of myself. With one last swallow, I raised my head, squared my shoulders, and caught his eye through the maze of people between us.

He paused, took note of the empty sofa beside me, and pulled half his mouth into a smile. Recovering himself, he strode straight toward me, wedding guests flowing out of his way as if there were some invisible force moving them.

When he reached me, he held out his hand, smiling. “Miss Adesso.”

I placed my hand in his and stood. “Mr. Burke.”

Tucking my arm under his and wrapping my hand around his forearm, he leaned in to kiss my ear, inhaling. “I could eat you right here.”

My neck and face flushed hot. Could everyone tell I was bare beneath my skirt?

He grinned as I squirmed.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“We’re going to a wedding.”

My eyes shot open. “Whose?”

“Don’t know. We’re crashing.” He leaned in to whisper. “And you’re going to come before we leave tonight.”


I’ve shared this story in full as it was originally written. If you’re interested in seeing more of Miss Adesso and Mr. Burke’s night, please persuade me to write it by commenting below. ~___^

Thank you for reading!

Guide* (Poem & Behind-The-Scenes)

guide poem by Greta Stone D/s Dom sub

This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by Tasty Poem on Twitter.  The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).

Absorbed
in you
I am blind
to the world,
your touch
my anchor,
your voice
my guide.

~Greta Stone

 

Behind-The-Scenes

I want it to be about the absolute trust a sub has for her Dom, that he knows her 100%, what she can handle and what she needs.

[blindfolded/dark]
your voice
my guide

I don’t necessarily want a literal blindfold, but a conscious one, like when the whole world is shut off except his touch at the moment.

Oblivious,
the world
reduced
to your touch,
I am blind,
your touch
my anchor,
your voice
my guide.

I can’t have touch twice.

Oblivious,
the world
reduced
to you,
I am blind,
your touch
my anchor,
your voice
my guide.

The opening is a bit stuttery and I don’t think it’s portraying the message I intend. Oblivious can be taken in a negative way but I don’t mean for it to be.

Absorbed
in you
I am blind
to the world,
your touch
my anchor,
your voice
my guide.