Category Archives: Poetry

A.H. Scott: Tatiana’s Theme

Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2019

Poetry by A.H. Scott, Copyright 2019

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Tatiana’s Theme

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Tatiana knew there was something interesting about Stu.

She was amazed how his horn always blew.

At Club Caliente, she sat in the first row.

Stu played sax nice and slow.

After his midnight set. Tatiana was feeling oh so mellow.

Burgundy halter dress and red hair like a wild mane down her back, Tatiana waited for Stu in his dressing room.

When Stu walked in, an intimate improvisation would begin.

Sitting in the edge of the mirrored vanity Tatiana smiled, “You sure know how to hit the right notes, Stu”.

“Using a trusty instrument it’s true”, Stu winked back and placed sax on its’ stand.

Tatiana folded legs, as burgundy dress revealed a slit that left skin on display.

“I’ll take you for a late-night bite as soon as I get my things together, Tatiana”, His response was quickened by the lovely lady in his midst, as he started changing from stage clothes to street threads.

Stu unbuttoned his white silk shirt.

Tatiana didn’t want food, but decided to flirt.

“Maybe a burgers, fries and shake aren’t on the menu tonight”, Sliding off that vanity, she wrapped arms around his neck.

“Oh, heck”, Stu replied with a kiss to her lips.

His hands in her hips moved with such ease.

Both of them were eager to please.

Tatiana’s burgundy dress was released with a few flips of his fingers and fell to the floor.

Stu held her with right arm, as his left hand made sure of the closure of that dressing room door, “No interruptions will make this oh so nice”.

“Nice and slow, just like your horn right now I’m gonna’ blow”, Tatiana stood braless and only in a lime green thong, slowly bent down to get closer to his instrument inside of black pants.

Unzipping his pants and releasing his flesh from within, Stu began to grin.

She gave him something good to start off their symphony of lust, as he knew to meet her moist meadow was a must.

Each of them had the taste of the other upon their lips. Stu inserted himself inside of Tatiana atop the vanity’s edge, exchanging whispers and kisses in a melodic pledge.

Motion of bodies made the mirror begin to shudder.

Tatiana breathlessly uttered, This is so divine”.

He gave her several kisses and concurred, “Baby, you are so right”.

Tatiana’s theme was one of being a tempting orchestrator for an adlibbed anthem of arousal.

Notes of flourish filled that dressing room, as an entanglement of ecstasy drifted in the air around them.

Pressed against one another, they lingered a little longer.

Strands of Tatiana’s red hair made contact with his chest like a few strokes into canvas.

As for Stu, his hands softly patted her bare ass and exhaled, “You are my most tempting tune”.

Tatiana laughed, “And, you know how to play me, Stu”.

Dressed and ready to leave Club Caliente in under fifteen minutes,  Stu took Tatiana by the hand and spoke to the club manager who was over by the bandstand.

His name was Jerry and he had a chuckle in his voice, “Stu, it is always nice to hear you blow. It really classes up the joint, my man”.

Stu shook his hand, “Thanks , Jerry. I’m glad I can count you as a fan”.

Both men ribbed each other as friends for over many a year, as each laughed so hard they almost came to tears.

Tatiana smiled, as  she watched Stu and Jerry joke.

She was still tingling all over from this musician’s pleasurable poke.

Diner down the avenue was about to close in under thirty minutes.

Jerry said his farewells, as Stu and Tatiana waved to him goodnight.

Making their way to a diner nearby to get a hearty bite, the crescent moon and a few visible stars seemed to be winking down at them in delight.

Beautiful duet of desire was shared by Stu and Tatiana on that memorable night.

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About The Author: A.H. Scott is a poet based in New York City and frequent contributor to Tony Ward Studio. To read additional articles by A. H. Scott, go here: http://tonyward.com/a-h-scott-unraveled-we-fall/

 

Also posted in Blog, Erotica, Friends of TWS, Glamour, lifestyle, Models, Photography, Popular Culture, Portraiture, Student Life, Women

A.H. Scott: The One

Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2019

 

Poetry by A. H. Scott, Copyright 2019

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THE ONE

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What are you waiting for?

For that moment when everything will be just right?

For the moment you’ll be blessed with a kiss goodnight?

Or, when you walk into a room to have someone look at you with a gaze of perfect delight?

Pondering your worth in another person’s life?

What are you looking for?

What do you seek?

Is it something or someone that will tip your dreams to its’ peak?

Maybe all of it

Maybe none of it

When will that day come?

Thinking you can be the one

The one in the mirror that makes you smile

The one who finally sees you and wants you to stick around

The one who realizes strengths  within that will endure

The one that knows there’s more to this life for sure

The one obscured behind that internal jawboning of defeat

The one who compares to another in a race which we didn’t compete

The one who has settled in ways both large and small

Wanting to expand horizons, but afraid to shine

Affixed to that humble grind

Sitting back and watching seconds turn to years

And, stunted by fears

Staying in your own lane, you never complain

Hands of time can never unwind

Obsolete in stoking a fire within another

Inside of you there’s a yearning flicker of embracing something beautiful and new

Settling is safe, as is the shore

There’s so much more to life to adore

Maybe, it’s not another which you seek

It’s someone closer than you think

The one is you

Just look in the mirror

You will see it through

You will see it true

The one

You

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About The Author: A.H. Scott is a poet based in New York City and frequent contributor to Tony Ward Studio. To read additional articles by A. H. Scott, go here:http://tonywardstudio.com/blog/a-h-scott-madisons-key/

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Editor’s Note: To see more pictures of Alice as well as other pictures and films from Tony Ward’s erotica collection, click herehttp://tonywarderotica.com/category/membership-account/

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A.H. Scott: Madison’s Key

tony ward erotica memberships available online collection archives key

Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2019

 

Poetry by A.H. Scott, Copyright 2019

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Madison’s Key

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Mauve painted nails gingerly pressed against Maurice’s chest
Madison whispered, “Babe, you should get some rest”
Maurice’s left hand had a different plan
He placed his hands over hers and warmly remarked, “Whenever I relax with you, my dear. It’s always best”
“You lay back on this bed”, Madison knew their calypso of caressing would soon begin
As he did so, their hands parted ways
He folded hands behind his head and waited for her delightful play
Madison’s auburn locks flowed against the tip of his cock
“Oh”, Maurice reacted from this feathery touch
“And, to think you were just yawning few moments ago”, She purred, “When you’re turned on it, gives me a rush”
Shaft palmed and funneled slowly by both of her hands
Maurice knew he needn’t make any demands
Madison’s mouth proceeded upon him in a silent dialogue of skill and tenderness
Maurice was never a man to be selfish in the sphere of satisfaction
He enjoyed Madison’s delectable attractions
“Feels nice, feels good”, He motioned hands from behind his head and against her swerving shoulders
Madison gazed up at him with eyes of electric ecstasy
Maurice smiled, “To have you is my wish”
Her hands moved from his root and up to his mouth slowly, “Wish fulfilled”
Maurice’s lips lightly tapped against those painted nails, as he would return the favor and taste her flavor
Madison switched places with him upon the bed
She laid back and revealed her precious gem
Maurice polished her to a state of shimmering ascent
Madison’s moans filled the bedroom, as she kept eyes on him
His mouth took her there
There to that place where her core existed
As Madison squealed, Maurice knew he had her
Not just in an exquisite feast of fantasy’s flourishing
But, an excavation and expectation of spiritual symmetry
Madison’s fingers ran through his wavy, brown hair
Maurice’s head moved with precision in the realm of precious pleasure
Connection of root and rose came in moments next, as Maurice and Madison melted in movement
Like a balmy wave in summer, they glided together on that bed with tempered ease
Crashing minutely, yet cresting in a simultaneous tide
This was their comfort as the dew of dedication seamlessly swirled in a scintillating culmination between them
As they locked eyes in that familiar way, each were draped in devotion’s view
She was unlocked and absorbed in his rousing reverie
Maurice was Madison’s key
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About The Author: A.H. Scott is a poet based in New York City and frequent contributor to Tony Ward Studio. To read additional articles by A. H. Scott, go here: http://tonywarderotica.com/4827-2/
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Editor’s Note: To see more pictures of Maurice and Madison as well as other pictures and films from Tony Ward’s erotica collection, click herehttp://tonywarderotica.com/category/membership-account/

Also posted in Art, Blog, Diary, Erotica, Film, Friends of TWS, Men, Photography, Popular Culture, Women

A.H. Scott: Piddler On The Roof

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Illustrations and Text by A.H. Scott, Copyright 2018

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PIDDLER ON THE ROOF

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Artwork by Thomcat23 for Tony Ward Studio. Copyright 2018

Artwork by Thomcat23 for Tony Ward Studio

 

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He piddles here

He piddles there

When he piddles, inhabitants of the Earth better beware

Is it so hard to ask for a man to be of class?

To the Piddler On the Roof, his core is crass

Piddler, oh Piddler, we all are screwed!

Piddler, oh Piddler, why do you do what you do?

He moans and howls of how there are no connections to the bear

But, around every corner the sounds of coins and linkage are heard

Not some grand conspiracy it has to be

Just coincidence of business ties that bind the Piddler On the Roof to the neighborhood of the Black Sea

Piddler On The Roof keeps parroting that there is no proof

He must think we’re fools and we’re all goofs

If we all were asked right in this moment where we get our pay, I bet we all could answer that question without delay

Yet, for Piddler On The Roof, he avoids that question and turns reality to sway

I’m a rich man he boasts, again and again and again

But, as the truth is exposed bit by bit, it proves he’s gotta bow to those who butters his toast

His affinity for strongmen is known near and far

But, if you ask to see his tax returns, he’ll tell ya’ that’s going a bit too far

His allegiance to business is damningly raw

Just ignore that tale of the bone saw

Maybe the royal one had it done

Or, maybe some rogue element went off the script

Either way, Piddler On The Roof has gotta defend the ties that bind

If you ask him about morality, he’ll say that’s a bore and a grind

Howling at the moon from the roof of the house of white, he piddles with delight

He cares not of what others think

But, he should, for the hunt for justice is on the brink

A man of stature and focus is on your tainted trail

Better wise up, Piddler, ‘cuz your phony act is about to fail

That yearning of yours to keep up appearances is swirling swiftly down the drain

Uncorked!

Unplugged!

Unhinged!

Bought & Sold!

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About The Author: A.H. Scott is a poet based in New York City and frequent contributor to Tony Ward Studio. To read additional articles by A. H. Scott, go here:http://tonywardstudio.com/blog/a-h-scott-the-devil-and-the-catholic-church/

 

Also posted in Affiliates, Blog, Current Events, Environment, Friends of TWS, History, News, Politics, Popular Culture, Women

Bob Shell: We All Steal Ideas

Tony_Ward_Studio_Bob_Shell_letters_from_prison_ideas_stealing_nudes

Photography by Bob Shell. Copyright 2018

 

 

Bob Shell: Letters From Prison #21

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Letters by Bob Shell, Copyright 2018

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WE ALL STEAL IDEAS

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I’ve talked about Richard Lovelace and his famous Althea poem. There’s another poem from the same era that you have probably heard without realizing it. It begins:

Once there was a way to get back homeward,

Once there was a way to get back home,

Sleep, pretty wanton, do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby,

Golden slumbers fill your eyes,

Smiles await you when you rise,

Sleep, pretty wanton, do not cry,

And so on. Paul McCartney took credit for a slight variation on that verse, would have been nice if he’d acknowledged his source. Sadly, I can’t now remember the name of the original poet. Anyone know? The song McCartney wrote from that poem has an interesting story as well. One of the original groups signed to Apple Records when The Beatles started that label was a group originally called Poor White Trash, but later shortened to just Trash. They were signed around the same time as The Iveys, whose name was also changed. They became Badfinger, and went on to some fame. Anyway, the song Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight was written for Trash, who recorded the original version. Later, McCartney replaced the vocal track with his own and released it as a Beatles song. Don’t believe me? Listen to Trash’s version and then McCartney’s version. Save the vocals, they’re identical!

The music industry being what it is, I’m sure there are many other thefts from poets. And, after all, if the poet is long since dead, who’s to care? Probably nobody except people with OCD about such things, like me.

I’m reminded of an interview I once read of the great surrealist Salvador Dali. The interviewer asked Dali about his “borrowing” from other past artists. Dali bristled, his mustache quivering, he indignantly replied, “The divine Dali does not borrow; He steals!”. Yes.

If we’re honest as artists, whether with pen, brush, or camera, we all steal ideas. After all, there is always much to be learned from the masters. When I could find time in my travels, I always visited art museums. The paintings of the old masters can teach you all you need to know about light and shadow, and composition. After all, there are only so many ways you can pose a human body and have it look natural.

My own personal favorite artists are those of the Viennese school of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Particularly Klimt and his disciple Egon Schiele. There are some excellent videos on Klimt in the Khan Academy. The Khan videos we get here are very limited, so naturally we don’t get any on Schiele. I was lucky enough to see some of Schiele’s work in a small museum in Linz, Austria. I was there as one of the judges of an international photography competition and after a morning spent looking at hundreds of photographs, I needed a break to unwind, so I was just walking around the narrow streets of the old town. As I recall, there was a small castle on a hill that had been turned into a gallery. There among mostly mediocre old paintings was a Schiele, the first original of his I’d seen. It was wonderful. I’d bought a big book earlier that had all of his surviving works, but most were reproduced small. Here he was in full size. Many of Schiele’s works were destroyed by the authorities when he was imprisoned for making “improper drawings.”. Prudery is not confined to the USA. Today those surviving “improper drawings”are considered national treasures. Schiele did not produce a great body of work because he died young, victim of the 1918 influenza plague that killed so many in Europe. Funny, but I identified with him and his work long before my own legal troubles, which are mostly because I was making “improper photographs.”. At least that’s what the judge thought. He called my photographs “the worst pornography I’ve ever seen.”. Obviously he’s not a web surfer. In fact, he said all he knew about computers was how to turn his on! Here was a complex case about digital images, among other things, and the judge and most of the jurors were computer illiterate. Jury of my peers, baloney!!

But that’s not the topic of this post, so forgive the digression.

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About The Author: Bob Shell is a professional photographer, author and former editor in chief of Shutterbug Magazine. He is currently serving a 35 year sentence for involuntary manslaughter for the death of Marion Franklin, one of his former models. Shell was recently moved from Pocahontas State Correctional Center, Pocahontas, Virginia to River North Correctional Center 329 Dellbrook Lane Independence, VA 24348.  Mr. Shell continues to claim his innocence. He is serving the 11th year of his sentence. To read more letters from prison by Bob Shell, click herehttp://tonyward.com/2018/08/5866/

 

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