Tag Archives: relationships



His sheer walls

are hard to scale

and are truly not

worthy of the climb.

Yet strangely

they still come.


Some to save him

some to soothe him

some to steal him

some to seduce him

some to secure him

some to study him

and some to be his confidante.


Yet only those who seek

to serve him

are not certain

of disappointment.



I wrote and posted this a year ago. As much for the alliteration as anything else. It would be completely wrong of me to give the impression that there are many who would wish to make the climb. Or that it would be a worthwhile effort anyway.


© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Michael Whelan


Posted by on March 22, 2018 in Still Life, D/s, Poetry


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Thursday’s Child


Thursday’s Child


Well, I hear that you have been travelling

with a friend in an open-topped car,

and you revealed to him all your secrets

and you showed him your operation scar.

You painted his name on your mirror

with a lipstick glossy and red,

and you posed for imaginary photos

in the warm nest of your unmade bed..


He sent you a handful of spidery poems

that you captured with pins on your wall,

I read them when you were sleeping

and they seemed to make no sense at all.

Yet you recite them when you are bathing,

trailing your sharp nails over your thighs,

and you emerge mysterious and glowing

with a wild, vacant look in your eyes.


There is more to this than just attraction

or some strange late night trick of the light,

and you shouldn’t be reading his memoirs

in a dress that is so transparent and white.

And I fear that you’ve sensed a religion

in the casual, brave cut of his coat,

as you kneel so sublime at his alter

clasping tight all the letters he wrote.


Now I hear you’ve constructed a bonfire

from the things your sweet mother knew best,

and that you comfort his wide-eyed supporters

who sleep with their hands on your breasts.

But you never once give them the shelter

they crave when the light has grown dim,

and while you suffer the press of their bodies

you save all your mystery for him.


I miss you when the round moon is sailing,

I feel your caress in the turn of the tide.

it is as constant as the ache in my shoulders,

It is the sharp stabbing pain of your knife.

And oh, how I hunger for you to be near me,

your peeled clothes like a sea at your feet,

your pale skin tasting of salt and seaweed.

I’m a slave to your scent and your heat.


But if I plead with him to release you,

with just a snap of his finger and thumb

will you forget his smooth benediction,

or the velvet magic of his silver tongue?



I apologise to regular readers who have read this often – but it has been a year since the last posting. This is one of favourite my ‘performance’ poems. In fact it might even be one of the poems I am most proud of having written. And it was written many years ago. It started out as a song but I struggled to develop a chorus.  As I said, I have posted it a number of times before when this blog was even less popular than it is now.  It tells a story that was inspired by (my) real life events.  Because it is penned in the first person, the reader/listener tends to think that the narrator is writing about himself. Actually I was the writer of the ‘handful of spidery poems’.  

Do listen to the audio – it was a poem that is meant to be read aloud.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photography by Ines Rehberg.   Model is Megan Szczypka. I chose this photo because she is not unlike the female subject of the poem



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Best dress


If you wear

your best dress

and your favourite heels

I will take you dancing

and kiss you

in the night club dark.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Carrie Graber


Posted by on February 27, 2018 in Poetry, Still Life


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What is it like?



What is it like?


What is it like to be with her

hearing her words

knowing her dreams?

What is like to be hers?


What is it like to be closer

stroking her hair

holding her body?

What is like to be there?


What is it like to be inside

feeling her skin

parting her thighs?

what is like to be in?



©  the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by William Oxer

This poem, written by me in my teens, often pops into my head.  Of course, I have no idea what I am thinking about that suddenly brings it to mind…..  Smiles

But here it is – recited by a much older, but sometimes still very inquisitive, me.

Not the first time I have posted it


Posted by on February 26, 2018 in Erotica, Poetry, Still Life


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Dark Priest

Dark Priest


I have know it forever

This desire for sexual control.

It seems as if I was never innocent. My childhood seemed full of yearnings beyond my years. My teens were confusing. I adored women utterly. Everything about them. Mind to body to soul. I saw women as superior human beings – intellectually, emotionally and, of course, sheer heaven physically. I still do. More than my equal. Goddesses to be worshipped.

Yet somehow at the same time I needed to direct, to restrain, to control, to impose pleasure, and perhaps a little pain. Though not without consent. The consent, the giving up of sexual free will, was what made it, and makes it, so deeply erotic.

All around me, in those pre-internet days, were sexual images and physical relationships that were so depressingly vanilla – though I would have never have known that description then. D/s was not the glossy, fashionable, female-fantasy, multi million pound, mainstream media (FSOG) phenomena it is now.

Over the years, with a number of lovers, I began to learn the nature of my desire. I discovered, then ignored, the world of BDSM with its often ugly misogyny and extremes. It did not sit with my poetry or my romantic dominance. I developed my own path, my own direction, almost my own sexual handbook.

And as I grew to understand the extraordinary nature of submissive woman, so I mastered the many diverse pathways to giving her overwhelming pleasure through control. Physically or at a distance.

So I am here. Romantic Dominant. Older and wiser. A man completely at home with his sexual self.

The sole priest of his own dark D/s religion.



I am amazed  to find I wrote this only a year ago. These days I sometimes barely recognise myself.


© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Image found uncredited on the internet.
If this belongs to you please advise and I will remove or give credit.


Posted by on February 17, 2018 in D/s, Erotica, Still Life


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Flown past


I have been reading

our past

our dim distant past

captured like photographs

running like video clips

repeating like gifs

fading on pages

that were new

at the time.


I have been reading

backwards and forwards

endless conversations

desires and wishes

tears and kisses

endings and silence


to remember

and to never forget.


I have been reading

when I should have

been writing.


I have been reading

and the time

has flown past.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jeremy Mann




Posted by on February 6, 2018 in Lovers Past, Poetry, Still Life


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Not a worthy excuse


It would make you angry

my not writing

just because

you are gone.


You were the one

who so often

encouraged me

inspired me

pushed me

roused me

applauded me.


You who were the one

who always

expected more

who insisted

‘you are a better writer

than you believe’.


Even on different paths

in recent years

your first question

‘what are you writing?’

your firmest advice

‘write about everything’.


It would make you angry

my not writing

just because

you are gone.


You would not see

my sorrow

at your passing

as a worthy excuse.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill




Posted by on February 1, 2018 in Poetry, Still Life


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