The new dawn - Freewrite and resulting poem

Freewrite/stream of conscious
Helmut newtons bodies in velvet ropes and rooms of amber porcelain silk stocking three sheets to the wind hung candlesticks glinting sweaty windows of six foot tall love. see-through front covers and wrapping fags of woodbine pleasure sitting naked on velvet boxes with deals made in music drugstores on stages with bowties. knee's sore but pleasure gripped with the velvet ruby and amber nest with silly purples, sickly like an infant in a blaze of fields open to the winds where cameras take people on holidays of Amsterdam. We danced the cha cha till the feet broke poor velvet rugs never stood a chance for the yak from Peru needs a hug with the stars, as Tara Lynn and Albert E made out on Kat Dennings nipples like lions in the night surrounding the moon peoples watering-holes.

The new dawn. 

Skinny, tail bushy
Awkward, but ready to learn.
Leaned his back into the velveteen,
watching us wrapping, mixing
movements and hidden moments. Till the
Sharing became shuddering.

Skinny begins to buckle, but firmly
led by me, the mage,
Amber Porcelain, 
into silk stocking rooms.

Before he hits the floor, his clothes
are cornered. Knee’s sore
But pleasure gripped. We bite like lions
Birthing him into his second phase.

Alone,
I take his hands
Bring him to his feet,
Hold him clean.
Till sun-rise, softly,
We dance the cha cha.

Activity 4.3. An almost decent poem... Out with the old, In with the new.

Out with the old, in with the New -

Out with the crusty brown beards, sweating earnestly over their freight-boards

Experts of angled fingers, striking the chord just right, purity was all.

But not to new youths, throats and guts filled by waggy-fingered elders

That the 60’s were the greatest ever! Revolution man!

The Beatles, you must, you should - bow to them, for you’ll never do better,

Boys you’ll have to carry that weight… But Bowie, Roxy & little Marc

Shrugged-off the Beatle weight, and got busy building their own.

Without the drag of all that revolution stuff, man

The crusty Harrison brown beards looked up from the earnest guitars and shook their heads

You’re not doing it right, you’re all look and no substance, but they were wrong, they

Were concrete while we were free… our minds became the universe.

We ganged into the EEC, the yanks fled Vietnam and Stardust committed suicide.

Virginia Plain changed music as just as the Sidney opera house opened and the crook lied.

We couldn’t bury bodies or build a car worth its salt, but we knew the dark side of the moon

We felt the cutting death of that precious crazy diamond, and all the while the brown beards

Stood in the corner, wondering where it had all gone wrong.