My Christmas Poem

In honor of the Yuletide season, here's a Christmas poem I wrote along about 1990, give or take. I hope you enjoy it and I hope you have a wonderful Christmas season.




I heard a strange noise late last night
And arose from my bed prepared to fight
I fetched my pistol and descended my stairs
My eyes aglow with a malevolent glare
In the dark shadows of my living room
I beheld a figure that looked like doom
Over his shoulder was flung a very large bag
And I quietly aimed my .44 Mag
I centered the shadow in my sights
Then I fired three times and turned on the lights
What next I saw did give me pause
For I'd just slaughtered Santa Claus



..........II..........



Now today is December twenty-sixth
Wasting Santa has put me in one hell of a fix
I've been condemned by the worldwide press
I'm being compared to Stalin and Hess
A picket line has sprung up outside my home
I'm been burned in effigy from Tokyo to Rome
A hanging was planned with a request to the Pope
That he bless the gallows and the hangman's rope
While all this goes on, I sit and plan
In April, I shall make my stand
You see, killing becomes a funny habit
Come Easter, I'm gonna waste that bunny rabbit




Patrick H.
circa 1990

Senseplay: An Elizabethan Sonnet of Kink

She lies naked on the bed
Tied to the post spread eagled and blind
A million feelings fly through her head
What sensations would Master let her find

Will she feel great pleasure
Or the agonies of his cane
She knows she's greatly treasured
Even given the very worst pain

She yelps as he trails ice down her spine
Goosebumps as he drags nails across her shoulders
She utters not one word, but helplessly whines
Shivering when the air grows colder

Master so easily makes her every nerve sing
She cries loudly, in ecstasy, as her sweet spirit takes wing




--Patrick H.
--08 April 2001, A.D.

From the Darkness

The thunder roars 'cross the eastern sky
As the whip strikes the slave and she loudly cries
Her master driven to correct her wrongs
Her skin on her shoulders crossed with marks
As clouds cross the sun and the sky goes dark
And we hear her sorrowful song

She shudders in her bonds awaiting the lash
As it strikes her creamy shoulders with an awful slash
She did wrong and now must pay
She loses count wrapped in her pain
Her cries covered in the pouring rain
In the high-noon dark of the day

The pain she suffers is wrenching
As the rain outside is drenching
And she hates herself for her screams
Her master says not a thing
As she writhes as the whip stings
Knowing her cries will haunt tonight's dreams

But with her whipping she is cleansed
Her guilt is painfully rinsed
Like the rain outside their doors
She hates having to pay this price
But nothing else would suffice
To lift this burden making her soul sore

Under the lashing, her skin fails
Blood trickles with louder wails
A little red river down her spine
She bites her tongue, staying awake
Demanding of herself all that she can take
Gritting her teeth, refusing to whine

She scarcely knows her whipping is done
As the clouds uncover the sun
Bringing light back to this day
Her master lays the whip aside
Pitying her for what was done to her hide
But knowing she had to pay

He releases her from the cuffs
Knowing she's had enough
And helps her as she gains her feet
Tells her this matter is done
As the puddles glisten in the sun
And again, she feels complete

He tells her he loves her and holds her tight
As the noon sun bathes the world in light
And she sobs in her relief
She thanks him with all of her heart
Knowing it hurts him to do this part
But now they're both done with grief



Patrick H.
14th May 2003, A.D.

Girl and Her Master

A pale sliver of moon looking over the night
Lying in her bed, eyes closed so tight
Her master filling her spirit's inner sight
Mind slipping its moorings, preparing for flight

She feels his hands teasing her below
Although already filling her, passion starts to grow
Time becomes flexible, ebb and flow
What comes next she already knows

She climaxes hard, it fills her head
Then she's roughly flipped over on the bed
She's spanked with a paddle till her butt goes red
Resistance gone, like the wind it fled

Her ears hear his order, "up on all fours"
She eagerly obeys, his happy whore
Knowing all that waits in store
Knowing even so, she wants so much more

Finally spent, she collapses into her sheets
Her master's attentions at long last complete
He drifts cross her vision, light and fleet
As fantasy and vibrator go back to sleep




--Patrick H.--
--9 January 2004, A.D.--

A Chance Meeting

In the year 2001, I found myself spending many evenings after a day of work on a car lot in a local Denny's, doing a lot of writing, including over 400 pages (handwritten) of a novel that's even now trying to chug its way through a writer's block. Believe it or not, Denny's is a pretty good place to write in privacy, because even packed to the rafters, nobody is really there to bother you. And so, I'd get there by ten or ten-thirty, and would sometimes stay four or five hours, mostly writing, but also people-watching.

Of course, any cafe in the world has its regulars, and this particular Denny's was no different. During this time, I was one of the regulars, and the gentleman from this poem was also one of them. The poem that follows tells a true story of a true encounter, and was on paper not even a half-hour after he and I parted company.

Strictly speaking, this isn't a D/s-based poem, but for some reason it's been ringing through my head a lot lately, and what the hell, I was writing a BDSM novel when this gentleman sat at my table to talk. Aboard the Seaborne Wanderer will hopefully someday find its way through the writer's block that's kept it hung up for so long, and I'll be able to share it with you, but I digress. I can't say I hope you enjoy this poem, because it's not a terribly happy one, but I hope perhaps it gives you pause to think ...

--Patrick--





Nameless faces in a little cafe'
Bitter coffee to drink on a lonely day
Worn out jukebox playing worn out songs
People pondering their lives and what went wrong

One old gent's here whom I see quite often
Probably not yet fifty, but ready for his coffin
Coffee and cigarette, the man looks spent
Eyes already rheumy and his shoulders forever bent

While I sit and write, his eyes meet mine
Young and old and painful, it chills my spine
He comes to my table and takes a seat
Offers a gnarled hand as we somehow meet

Without a prompt, he starts to tell
Of his life that's become a living hell
Of a life still young yet already done
Of not wanting to see even one more sun

He's tired of life, tired of his fate
Tired of his wife and too tired to hate
It hurts to see anyone so full of sorrow
I wonder if he'll even be alive tomorrow

He lights another of probably one million smokes
I watch with interest as I drink at my Coke
Wondering at the stories this man could say
Of his happy life before too many yesterdays

We talk of life and death and the big bad world
Smiling gently at the waitress, a cute young girl
I wonder, seeing this man, how this girl's life will be
What joys and terrors will this young girl see?

Time for home and bed, and we shake hands and part
I go home with sad thoughts and a heavy heart
And to work tomorrow with fear and hope
That I'll not come so sadly to the end of my rope




--PTH--
--07 August 2001, A.D.--

Spacey

Waiting in the dark for her master
Wondering what will he do
Heart in the dark beating faster
Emotions awhirl in a stew

He smacks her hard on her ass
She squeaks in her surprise
He says, "you're my property, lass"
She wants to start to fly

She feels his nails drag down her spine
His breath so warm on her ear
"Yes," he says, "you're entirely mine"
She can't see, but feels his leer

And then she yelps at newfound cold
Ice trailed down her skin
A flare of heat; her mind struggles for its hold
Starting a spacey spin

And then scratches between her breasts
From his unshaven stubbly chin
She stays her ground though this little test
And he nuzzles down the valley again

Then a tickle across her belly below
His fingertips light like feathers
She feels her heart start to slow
In this tempestuous inner weather

And then his teeth nibble her belly
And he smiles up at her pretty face
As her knees turn to thin jelly
And she bursts out into space

He holds her in her sexy swoon
Eases her to the floor
Knowing she won't return very soon
She deserves all of this and more

He lies beside her, strokes her hair
And kisses her sweated brow
Giving her all his loving care
As she vacations from here and now





--Patrick H.--
--01 November 2004, A.D.--

Her Hair

Long silken hair
Shimmering with inner light
Fanned out on a pillow
Candy to his sight


Sexy on the femme
So soft in his hands
Reins for just the right "him"
Who is chosen as her man


Pulling at her hair
To draw her into a kiss
A handle, but maybe not fair
But oh, such sexy bliss


And pulling her head back
As he takes her from the rear
A sexual mock attack
And a very happy leer




--Patrick H.--
--28 Sept. 2004, A.D.--

Fire and Ice

Her eyes flash fire
Brighter than the candles' glow
Her heart a blazing pyre
In a dungeon cold as snow


The blazing whip cracking on creamy skin
She utters not a cry
The leather's roaring rumble finds her again
This one's proud, not one bit shy


The blazing whip can't match inner heat
Her cravings and dark desires
But lashes her continually, its work not complete
As her heart slowly banks its fires


And the cold of the dungeon and heat of passions
Meet in the dungeon's still air
Static builds 'round the lashings
Thunder rolls so loud to scare


Then suddenly in the clap of thunder
The girl on the post screams aloud
Passion, resolve, torn asunder
Flown to space, abandoned her proud


The blazing whip is coiled, and laid to the side
Soothing hands caress welted skin
She cruises through her marvelous ride
Her face lit with a dazzling grin




Patrick H.
4th March 2004, A.D.

The Beauty Within

Rough chunk of wood, weathered and grey
Out in the rain and shine for many long days
Selected from a stack of prettier wood
A lesson needs taught and understood

A piece cut off about six inches square
He puts it on the lathe and works with care
A thing of beauty emerges from within
A mellow glow starts as the rough bowl spins

Sanding and polishing until it's done
Glowing beside the window from the light of the sun
A finish laid to protect the beauty
And so begins a lesson for his cutie

He loves his lady, but she gets on his nerves
She doesn't see the beauty he sees in her curves
She doesn't see the wonderful woman in his eyes
He tells her she's lovely, she keeps showing surprise

The wooden bowl done, he makes a glass case
His loving mind filled with her lovely face
He puts the rough tailing on one shelf inside
And then the lovely bowl goes in behind

He hangs the case on their bedroom wall
A lesson for his lady that he prays never stalls
And then he calls her to their bedroom, puts her on her knees
Tells her he requires her attention now, please

She looks curious as he picks the rough chunk from the shelf
"My darling, this is how you see yourself"
And then hands her the bowl with its beautiful sheen
"But baby, I see the beauty that lies within"

"You're more special to me than diamonds and gold
You're polished to perfection to me, just like this bowl
In my eyes, you've never worked for less than perfection
And I love you, my slave, with all my heart's affection"

"Master," she said, "I think I finally see
It's difficult, but I can maybe even agree
Yes, I've given to you all that I can
I love living my life in your caring hands"

He smiles at his slave, before him knelt
A painless lesson hopefully forever dealt
Then falls to his knees with her, takes her in his arms
Wanting her forever to feel safe from harm

Fifty years later, as she wailed aloud
As they wrapped her master in his shroud
She came home to these things on display
Feeling her lesson as strong as she did that long-ago day

And knowing she'd live out the rest of her time
Knowing she'd served well, they'd done just fine
Simple things, but cherished above all else
As she kisses both items, and puts them back on their shelf

--Patrick H.--
--26th October 2004, A.D.--

The Cruise

Way way out at the border of subspace
A glowing bonfire guards the gates
She dances before the fire as it lights her pretty face
As lashings on earth go a steady pace

And then the time comes and the fire dies
The girl takes wing and into subspace flies
Her spirit soaring as she happily cries
Her reward for this beating is this delightful prize

She cruises billions of miles per hour
Her soul alight with wondrous power
Looking down on even the highest towers
The air scented like the sweetest flowers

Back on earth, the lash continues to fall
Driven by her master, hard and tall
She's scarcely aware of this down the long long hall
Time is nothing, both at a zoom and a crawl

Then he sets aside the whip and his hands caress
Happy to see his girl cruising and under no stress
Feeling as though he passed a great test
As he patiently waits for her to return to this nest




---PTH---
--- 09 November 2001 ---