 | Cuckold Poetry |
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There’s something in the air, I guess. Or the water. Or maybe it lurks in the hearts and minds of secret kinksters everywhere? I obviously read a lot more into some of this stuff than others do. But, hey! Look what I do for a living. Can you blame me? Can you, can you, can you?
Without further delay ‘cuz I know you’re dying to see what I came up with for this. Three cuckold poems. Kinda-sorta:
Betrayal
Angela Hickman
his mouth caught her by surprise
but she kissed him back. not kissing him
really, but the man she loved, through him.
and she thought of how horrible she was,
to kiss another, while her love was away.
but love is the loneliest feeling in the world,
so she couldn’t judge herself, or the feeling
of his hands on her skin, long after he had gone.
***
Wan Chu’s Wife in Bed
Richard Jones
Wan Chu, my adoring husband,
has returned from another trip
selling trinkets in the provinces.
He pulls off his lavender shirt
as I lie naked in our bed,
waiting for him. He tells me
I am the only woman he’ll ever love.
He may wander from one side of China
to the other, but his heart
will always stay with me.
His face glows in the lamplight
with the sincerity of a boy
when I lower the satin sheet
to let him see my breasts.
Outside, it begins to rain
on the cherry trees
he planted with our son,
and when he enters me with a sigh,
the storm begins in earnest,
shaking our little house.
Afterwards, I stroke his back
until he falls asleep.
I’d love to stay awake all night
listening to the rain,
but I should sleep, too.
Tomorrow Wan Chu will be
a hundred miles away
and I will be awake all night
in the arms of Wang Chen,
the tailor from Ming Pao,
the tiny village down the river
***
The Moon Versus Us Ever Sleeping Together Again
Richard Brautigan
I sit here, an arch-villain of romance,
thinking about you. Gee, I’m sorry
I made you unhappy, but there was nothing
I could do about it because I have to be free.
Perhaps everything would have been different
if you had stayed at the table or asked me
to go out with you to look at the moon,
instead of getting up and leaving me alone with
her.
***
When I went looking for more info to hook you up with, I really couldn’t find much of anything on Ms. Hickman or Mr. Jones. And I am pretty sure many of you are already familiar with Richard Brautigan (Thanks Mr. M. for the book you sent me…you know which one!), and are perfectly capable of copying and pasting, or typing, his name into a search engine if you’re in the mood.
And I am off to bed.
xo, Angela
Wow. Three fine poems, all three of which cut knife-like to the heart of anyone who has ever feared being cuckolded. Some may find that fantasy excitig; I find it terrifying. And these poems stroke that kernel of terror.
You are never less than amazing.
You always stop me in my tracks. Even with this you expand my literary awareness.
It is refreshing to read this blog. Thank you Ma’am.
Watch it, fellas. Flattery just might get you everywhere.
Hi- I’m available at any time to look at the moon with you, Angie. Beautiful poems, beautiful blogstress.
“Something in the air” indeed. “Cuckold” is the sort of word you can go months without hearing or reading, but lately I keep running into it. I’ve read several things about people with cuckold fetishes. It’s a strange phenomenon. These types enter into long-term relationships but then undermine the usual conditions that come with it: monogamy, possession, fidelity.
Or then again, maybe they only *seem* to undermine it. How many long-term relationships really abide by those conditions anyway? Maybe the cuckold fetishist just takes a conscious approach to it. “I would rather encourage it,” the fetishist says, “than be ignorant of it as it happens behind my back.”
[…] read poetry. We found some cuckold poetry. And then there was the poem that made me cry the first time read it. And who can […]