• A.H. Scott: Virgin Kiss

    Virgin Kiss

    Posted on October 5, 2011 by A.H. Scott

    .

    VIRGIN KISS

    .

    Virgin kiss was when our lips first met
    Mine were glossed with peach and ever so wet
    Yours were parted with a grin
    And, the newness of an encounter would begin
    First time with someone new is full of the nervous tension in the air
    Girlish giggle came from me
    Even at my age, which is far from a teen
    You had this nervous motion of your hands patting together in a quickened beat
    Virgin kiss was a series of light pecks against one another
    Almost with the butterflies in our stomachs swirling inside of us
    My arms embraced you with mature expression of lust
    You turned from unsure youth to a man of capability on display
    Virgin kiss always starts that way
    Quintessence fades
    Yet, there is a purity
    A new touch
    A new exploration of nude flesh
    My body isn’t a tightly wound band of rubber anymore
    Neither was his, as I grabbed his love handles as we walked through the bedroom door
    Youth may be heralded in some kingdoms of desire
    But, virgin kiss began the culmination of a pair of experienced sojourners
    Maturity has it’s benefits
    And, for those of us who enjoy the rewards of a tender glide of a hand
    This is where I let my soft kisses land
    Tenderly………………..

    Virgin Kiss

    About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.


  • A.H. Scott: Poetry of the Day

    Rush

    Posted on August 31, 2011 by A.H. Scott

    .

    RUSH

    .

    Rush of the shower-head’s pulsation
    Rush of your body against mine
    The tiles in that shower are aqua blue
    And, the touch of your hands is getting me high
    Fingers in an out of every soft spot of mine
    As I kiss your lips, they feel quite divine
    Rush of blood to my head and yours
    That growing friend down below is coming alive once more
    Rush of my arms around your neck and my legs around your back
    Water’s rush begins to pulsate faster and faster
    Silky blond strands of hair upon my shoulders
    Dark brown of yours is soaked with water, too
    Rush into me anytime, my darling
    As we take a long, hot shower together, our hearts and souls will be snarling
    Rush, baby, rush….!!!!

    .

    Rush

    About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.


  • A.H. Scott: Poetry of the Day

    Holly & Matt

    Posted on August 24, 2011 by A.H.Scott

    .

    DAWN

    .

    Dawn seemed to spin forward so fast
    Laying my head against your chest
    Strands of my hair rested gently
    You whispered a few words as we laid there
    Morning’s rising, as was your junior partner
    Oh, I feel something beneath the sheets
    My fingers tiptoe down past your nipples and towards that rising tide
    Ah, the man wants a little before dawn delight
    Yes, you whispered and I winked at ya
    Placing my hand beneath the sheet, I see you are ever so happy
    I slide atop you and we bounce about a bit
    My hair rolls around bare shoulders as I look down at you
    Your fingers play a sort of seductive violin move around my nipples as I move
    Closing my eyes, I begin to sigh as you start to thrust upward slightly
    Your body against mine feels so damned good
    We’re moving in unison like a bolt and screw
    Oh, I can’t resist this joy
    I love being your favorite toy
    Opening my eyes and gazing into your eyes
    Making love is so intoxicating
    We are the ones getting ourselves high
    You pull yourself upward in a slight motion
    We’re facing one another and in an embrace of erotic entrapment
    Arms here and there
    Lips nibbling my ear, as you kiss me there and there
    Boom!
    It’s divine to feel all you give me
    Every inch, every kiss, every touch, every whisper
    Placidity is never around, when we’re together
    Our bodies crashed downward onto that mattress for about another half hour

    I know our time together is brief
    I didn’t want you to leave so soon
    You’ve got a plane to catch before ten
    I’ve always known you are a man with obligations near and far
    Sun cracks like a yolk preparing to bring about a sizzle
    When you are with me, you really are all here
    Not just in the flesh, but your mind is wrapped completely around me
    As you dress and stand before the hallway mirror, I stand nearby and smile
    I have a lover of such warmth and compassion in you
    Before you walk out my door, there is one thing for sure
    There is nothing simple about you, my love
    Your complex nature is the magnet that keeps me stuck in love with you
    I’m only wearing a blue nightshirt that I wore from the night before
    Your hands squeeze my bottom in a secure way
    I bite my bottom lip with a hint of blushing
    You know how to get to me, even as you’re going
    Taking me in your arms so tightly, your lips press passionately against mine
    Farewell shall never leave our lips
    Let’s just say, dawn’s here and see ya’ over the rainbow, darling one…..

    .

    A.H. Scott

    About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.


  • A.H. Scott: Chance

    Self-Portrait 2011

    Posted on August 14, 2011 by A.H. Scott

    .

    CHANCE

    .

    Taking a chance is winking at a sexy man
    Knowing the chance will pay off is when he winks back
    You might not be exactly his type
    But fate is a fickle tickle
    Especially when it’s more than just your body that can raise his pickle
    Beyond the flesh, he sees you as something more than just nice assets
    Of course, it’s primal when he sees you walk across the room
    Yet, nothing is that simple in life
    If you were as dumb as a tree stump with great rack and shapely back
    He might have you once in a while
    But, then again, when the sweaty tangle is over, will a conversation be allowed
    Taking a chance is throwing yourself open to a new interaction
    It can even be one that you would never imagine
    Arousal and amusing him is the trick
    If you can get a man hard and make him laugh, then you’ve really got something
    Chance is going out on a limb with him
    Chance is knowing you might not be the only petal in his bouquet
    But, better to be a treasured petal, than just to shy away
    Chance is taking stock of your own worth
    You know what you have to offer is priceless to him
    He enjoys your intellect as much as your lovely body
    Taking a chance is what life is all about
    Chance is a key that unlocks your happiness
    And, that is why I’m penning this poem right now
    Chance is mine
    And, I’ve taken it, with crossed fingers and an open heart…

    .

    Self Portrait 2011

    About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in New York City, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.


  • A.H. Scott: Eclipse

    Eclipse 1

    Posted on August 2, 2011 by A.H. Scott

    .

    Nude alongside him
    I felt like a half moon kissing the setting sun
    My eyes were closed and he asked me to open them
    When I did, I melted beneath the gaze of his affection
    He was so warm and wanting on this bed of desire we’d made
    Smell of sweat and ecstasy filled the room
    Silky left thigh rested atop his
    I ran my fingers along his handle of love on the right side
    He chuckled as I touched him, like a little kitten with a fluffy toy
    Reaching behind my back, his hand reached those buns of joy
    Now, I chuckled as a few pats of a melody began to play
    Ocean blue was within view, as this house rested along the beach
    Dusk made an alliance with a few stars in the sky
    I started to tingle with every tap of that hand against my asset
    Yet, he began to squeeze me like an accordion
    Oh, being played ever so lightly by a man of sexual delight was nice
    My body rolled away from this melody that he played and kiss him ever so lightly
    I placed my hands on either side of his cheeks and cradled his face with my palms
    We saw each other, bare and raw
    In this moment, I wanted him inside of me
    Nothing less, nothing more
    Muscles on his body were well toned with care
    Having him holding me in his arms made me quite aware
    I laid beneath him, as he penetrated more than my flesh
    He interrogated my soul with every insertion
    My arms became like ropes holding him in place atop of me
    Tighter and tighter I held on to him
    Painted nails and fingertips left tiny impressions on this sensual swath of clay in my midst
    He opened my carnal canal like a Gondolier along a waterway in Venice
    Barely able to contain myself, I whispered something in his ear
    “Stay”
    A single word took his breath away
    Inside of me he came
    Like channeling a book title from Jacqueline Susann, “Once Is Not Enough”
    Enough was never enough for a pair of passionate souls as we are
    We made love until the morning sun began to ripen
    I’d always thought it was just a passing fancy for he and I
    Eclipse of doubt left through the billowing curtains and onward out to sea

    .

    Eclipse 2

    About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in the Northeastern United States, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.


  • A.H. Scott: Flirt

    Self Portrait - Webbcam #1, 2011

    Posted on August 1, 2011 by A.H. Scott

    .

    FLIRT

    .

    Sometimes we know when we are doing it
    Sometimes we may not
    But, a batting eyelash is one sign
    Another is her smile
    She may not be a perfect vision of loveliness
    Yet, she sure has style
    Flirt if you can
    Be it a woman or a man
    She’s got a nice rack
    He’s got a bulge in his pants
    Each knows the dance of seduction as they take each other’s hand
    As long as we are above ground
    Let the flirt of your soul come to the forefront
    Hey, we ain’t getting an younger

    .

    Self-Portrait - Webcam #2, 2011

    About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in the Northeastern United States, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.


  • A.H. Scott: Poetry of the Day

    Film Still - Stairs 1

    Posted on July 30, 2011 by A.H. Scott

    .

    STAIRS

    .

    Going up
    Going down
    Stairs are there as we all move around
    Tanned legs in high heels rise upward
    Warm mouth tastes the thighs of her temptation
    Stairwells have an isolating quality to them
    Tanya found out with surprising results
    In her apartment building in NYC
    She exited the elevator with Arthur and they went into the stairwell
    Manicured hands upon chipped paint on the red staircase held on tightly
    Pink skirt hiked above hips and red lipstick on those luscious lips sighed
    Arthur grunted with every motion inside of Tanya
    She knew it was naughty and didn’t care
    Even if the old prudes in the building decided to enter the stairwell and stare

    .

    Film Still - Stairs 2

    .

    Film Still - Stairs 3

    .

    Film Still - Stairs 4

    .

    Being banged in a semi-private place was so much of a thrill
    Their bodies writhed and Arthur continued to drill
    Crumpled as each came to their conclusion
    Tanya and Arthur rested against the carpeted stairs beneath them
    A few moments passed and she adjusted her skirt and blue shirt
    For him, he buttoned up his shirt and zipped his trousers
    Sounds of a dog-walker coming up the stairs with their furry clients came about
    The naughty pair exited the stairwell and went to their apartment
    They could have done the same thing at home
    But, sometimes it’s oh so nice to let your raunchy side roam…

    About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in the Northeastern United States, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.


  • A.H. Scott: The Debt Ceiling Cobble

    Art Work by Robert Asman - 2011

    Posted on July 29, 2011 by A.H. Scott

    .

    ……….Eroticism is one thing that makes my pulse race. The other is politics. Oh, don’t get me started on the dysfunction that the pampered politicians have created. Asman’s image was mind-bending and thought provoking. President Obama should be like Tyson and throw a single punch to the Tea Party and knock them the hell out. But, that would be too right a thing for him to do, right? LOL

    .

    Okay, I’ll be serious about it. If the debt ceiling was raised time and time again the past, what is so different now? Hmmm, could it be because his opponents think this President is a man who can be steamrolled? I guess so. But, I hope they can come to some kind of compromise.

    .

    Burnt Ash and Blood

    .

    COBBLE

    .

    Cantor holds a tiny dagger behind the Speaker’s back
    Obama is trying to be peacemaker, but he’s gotta be Ali
    Boehner is torn between two t’s – Tea Party & Tanning
    Bachman has that twinkle of chaos in her eyes
    Lawmakers on the Hill act so damned shrill and infantile
    Eagerly paid lobbyists and think tank brains laugh and shuck
    C.O.B.B.L.E, one and all they are with America’s economy
    House, Senate, White House will always have their paychecks in hand
    As for the rest of society, we’ve gotta make a plan
    You see, either way the debate may go
    Elderly, poor and the humbled masses will be cast aside on their asses
    Unless you’ve got a private jet
    Your future will be up in the air
    USA is turning into Lewis Carroll world today
    Black is white,
    Rich is poor
    The rest of us are just decimal points on treasury’s ledger
    Stack away your dollars beneath a mattress of tears
    New Deal and Great Society in the crosshairs
    Yet, Tea Party-poopers act like Alfred E. Newman
    “What, Me Worry?” in their frozen stares
    Of course they don’t
    They win whether or not there is a deal or not
    Without a deal, they can say they are the hero for the common man
    With a deal, they can say we brought ‘em to their knees
    Either way, they come out smelling like roses
    Seeds of destruction that they have planted will blossom in bitterness and destruction
    Bathing an American public in burnt ash and blood
    Bailouts for Wall Street, who needs not a penny
    Foreclosures for Main Street, who needs help but doesn’t get any
    Union crushing and austerity rising
    No wonder America is in a crisis
    And, the band played on…..

    – A.H. Scott
    .

    Hole in the Heart of the Dollar

    .

    About The Author: Draped in freedom’s spirit, A.H. Scott is a sizzling scribe of unveiling sensuality. Residing in the Northeastern United States, this writer is armed with pouting pen of passion and pulsating digits pounding against keyboard. Between this lady’s manicured fingers, a snaggy stylus lacerates parchment and masticates digits against a misting keyboard towards a just climax literary longing. She’s a new voice and vision of fiction. who has been writing short stories and poetry ever since childhood.


  • John Grant: Why You Can’t Call A Spade A Spade In this Country

    Artwork: Downward Spiral By Meredith Edlow

    Posted by John Grant

    Why you can’t call a spade a spade in this country

    An op-ed in the New York Times deals with one of the most vitally important issues Americans could get their minds around — the difference between an Empire and a Republic and just who are we as a people as we deal with two foreign wars and a job-devouring recession caused by financial delusion and chicanery. Unfortunately the topic is not treated totally seriously, and the notion of an American Empire is ridiculed. I’ve encountered this attitude in a running dialogue on the topic I had with Philadelphia Daily News columnist Stu Bykofsky. Stu sneers at the notion we’re an “empire.” He’s a decent guy, and I reduce his argument with me to: “OK, if we’re supposed to be this empire, where’s the emperor in a toga?” I may be obsessive, but I think it’s a good topic for serious discussion. It’s way too easy in the dumbed-down climate of debate in this nation to ridicule the notion of Empire and, thus, of course, avoid dealing with all the real historical and political decisions that lead to the real dynamics of our current reality that suck so much of the oxygen out of our capacity to solve neglected problems. The list is long; for starters there’s a loss of jobs, a lessening of competitiveness due to shortcomings in our education system, crumbling infrastructure and an over-dependency on oil versus developing alternative, green energies — all things we should have been investing more in for the past 40 years. Now, as we are funding two on-going wars, a Global War On Terror and a dismally failed Drug War, these neglected investments at home are coming home to roost. and unless we change, it will only get worse in the future.


  • John Grant: Our Imperial Wars

    Love Not War

    Love Not War

    Red Square

    Posted by John Grant

    I was just reading an 1898 essay by Leo Tolstoy on the Spanish American War in which he satirizes the United States for defeating the “decrepit and doting old man”  that was the Spanish Empire and, as “a young man in full possession of his strengths,” taking over Spain’s imperial role in Cuba and, especially, in the Philippines. The US beats this “decrepit old man” (known for his cruelty) and “knocks out his teeth, breaks his ribs, and then ecstatically tells his exploits to a vast public of just such young men as he is, and this public rejoices and praises the hero who has maimed an old man.” This from a writer who saw real bloody combat in several places and wrote War And Peace. This is late Tolstoy, when, in the eyes of many, he had gone off the deep end to preach Christian pacifism. War to him at this stage is organized “murder.” He is disgusted with governments who tell their citizens their wars are undertaken to protect them. “What you (governments) say of the threatening danger and of your concern about protecting us against it is a deception.” Sounds familiar, given the past nine years, when our leaders launched two major wars, one of which we are escalating in spite of opposing popular opinion — a war our military commanders have begun assuring the occupied Afghans is about “protecting the Afghan people.”

    Red Square

    Now we must absorb the idea of assassination orders for US citizens. Our leaders now openly declare the right to murder American citizens deemed “enemy combatants” — or some such label worked out by PR-savvy lawyers aware of the post-9/11 fear and the lynch mob state of mind in parts of America. First we were worried about warrant-less wiretapping of citizens. Then, it was the three-year “slow torture” of a US citizen in a brig in South Carolina. Now we have graduated to warrant-less assassinations. The President says it’s OK, so sit back on the couch and watch the rest of Hitman4. And the current Supreme Court is probably fine with assassination hits of anybody as long as they are in the pursuit of American Power & Wealth. 

    Red Square

    More Sex Less War

    More Sex Less War

    Red Square

    The target dejure is the US citizen Anwar al-Awlaki, the Yemini Muslim cleric who had conversations with both the Fort Hood shooter and the underpants bomber. US intelligence has him pegged as Satan’s child, but, let’s be honest, US intelligence is not the most reliable arbiter of truth and they have been good at providing popular fodder for demonization campaigns. Al-Awlaki has told reliable Arab journalists he did not encourage either of the above to commit the acts they did, though, after the fact, he said what they did was honorable. Al-Awlaki is currently in hiding for his life, but he seems to argue he was a sympathetic ear to these disturbed men, not their instigator. Like the many people involved in some fashion with the loosely confederated global insurgency we are currently engaged with, al-Awlaki is clearly angry at our invasions and on-going occupations of Muslim lands, our support of Israel for its occupation of Palestine and a perceived general war against Islam. The argument for assassinating people like al-Awlaki is the exact same reasoning used in the Phoenix Program to assassinate nationalist Vietnamese leaders opposed to the US occupation of Viet Nam. The difference is the current war is being played out in a globalized context and our assassinations are done by the CIA or by the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC), the hunter-killer teams commanded so well by General Stanley McChrystal and now operating in Afghanistan, Pakistan and Yemen. They currently favor the use of drones directed by some operator in Arizona with a Diet Pepsi on the console next to him to assassinate people by taking out entire buildings. Of course, no one gets a trial; guilt is established in secret by … well, no one is sure. 

    Red Square

    It’s becoming easier to understand why Tolstoy ended up where he did relinquishing literary and commercial success to take on the war powers of his day. Think back to the 1980s and the outrage in the nation over “war off the books” by Oliver North and his patriotic warriors during the Reagan years. One’s head spins at the moral distance we have traveled since those innocent days. Thanks to rapid technological advances and stagnant human morality, the notion of war off the books is now beyond steroids as a metaphor and approaching some kind of secret robot dystopia in which the soma of the age is a popular culture where The Killer reigns supreme as an iconic figure of comedy and romance.

    Red Square

    It’s been 112 years since Tolstoy wrote about how the US employed a campaign of “murder” to supplant the Spanish and create its own fledgling empire out of the spoils. That empire is now in full plumage and its leaders are ordering the assassination of people around the world based on their motivational influence. That our imperial wars are the prime motivational element in these speaker’s arguments is rarely mentioned. Given the distance we have come in the past 20 years, it’s interesting to imagine where things might go in the next 20 years.

    John Grant

    LOGO