The moody boy in me died but the broody boy lives on
cos he thinkin bout the way you think the moody boy be gone
And he gone for sure but broody boy he think you don’t want him
so he brooding on the moodiness he think you got him in
Broody wants you to feel loved like maybe moody couldn’t do
and he wants you to know the love he got for you is love that’s true
He wants you to know that at very least if you feel so all alone
then brood on him a moment cos he got you listed as his home
Yeah broody boy alive and well and he think you mighty fine
like a gal that’s worth excavating for to build cellars for her wine
If there ain’t nothing else left in this world for you to take and hold dear
Just know this broody boy loves you so and he’ll whisper in your ear:
“We burn long and bright and through the night to the other side of the day
The eternal Yule log we light to fight and keep them bad spirits at bay
And it’s you and me, we the earth and sea, we the flames and wood below
We here to stay and ain’t going away cos it’s those bad spirits have to go”
Maybe he’s broody and maybe still moody but put a cap on his *** and see
That the boy inside loves that girl in you and he’ll love eternally

The Batman Movie (a review). The clues part was cool, but the end of it got boring. I liked that Batman kept a journal - I like the idea of men keeping journals, because, do men have many thoughts they share? Men’s thinking seems so ephemeral.

In this Batman resurrection, Pattinson’s Bruce Wayne & Batman are Kurt-Cobain-like emo and that seemed to work. Didn’t you just want to take your hand and get his hair out of his eyes? I think guys should have hair - I like hair on guys, not buzz cuts. I liked the muscle-car Batmobile.

I liked Zoey Kravitz, she was girl power, but not in a hot girl way, she had her own motivations, she wasn’t just in danger and served up to fuel Batman.

The movie is too long though. They need to bring back movie intermissions - I’d vote for that. As usual, I drank my giant slurpee and ate ½ my popcorn before the twenty minutes of previews were finished.

It’s a three hour movie. I had to *** so bad by the time the movie was ¾ over that I was grinding on my popcorn bucket to keep it in. I finally had to make a dash for the bathroom - I was afraid I’d miss the KISS scene. Argh!

Let’s talk about Robert Pattinson, the actor, and his arch from Twilight to Batman. Of course, doesn’t every vampire turn into a bat? (joke) but it’s always Pattinson being moody, being hot, figuring himself out and the introspective man - the broody man.

Are broody men ****? I don’t like broody men in real life - I feel that only one of us gets to be moody in a relationship - and it’s going to be me. Pattinson seems almost zany and cheeky in RL so the brood is his method act. I Like that Pattinson didn’t buff-up for the role - I think the buffed-up muscle-man as superhero perfection somehow relates to capitalism. Pattinson’s American accent was good.

What was missing from the movie was horniness. Batman didn’t seem HOT for Cat-girl - he just stood there for her to kiss. What’s boy-girl attraction if it’s not horniness? Where has the horniness gone in movies? Sexiness is missing from ALL the superhero movies - I guess the age demo is too young.

I give it three out of five stars

You bring me good news from the clinic,
Whipping off your silk scarf, exhibiting the *******
Mummy-cloths, smiling: I'm all right.
When I was nine, a lime-green anesthetist
Fed me banana-gas through a frog mask.  The nauseous vault
Boomed with bad dreams and the Jovian voices of surgeons.
Then mother swam up, holding a tin basin.
O I was sick.

They've changed all that.  Traveling
**** as Cleopatra in my well-boiled hospital shift,
Fizzy with sedatives and unusually humorous,
I roll to an anteroom where a kind man
Fists my fingers for me.  He makes me feel something precious
Is leaking from the finger-vents.  At the count of two,
Darkness wipes me out like chalk on a blackboard. . .
I don't know a thing.

For five days I lie in secret,
Tapped like a cask, the years draining into my pillow.
Even my best friend thinks I'm in the country.
Skin doesn't have roots, it peels away easy as paper.
When I grin, the stitches tauten.  I grow backward.  I'm twenty,
Broody and in long skirts on my first husband's sofa, my fingers
Buried in the lambswool of the dead poodle;
I hadn't a cat yet.

Now she's done for, the dewlapped lady
I watched settle, line by line, in my mirror—
Old sock-face, sagged on a darning egg.
They've trapped her in some laboratory jar.
Let her die there, or wither incessantly for the next fifty years,
Nodding and rocking and ******* her thin hair.
Mother to myself, I wake swaddled in gauze,
Pink and smooth as a baby.

He’s young, so very young,
And beautiful.
Dark, broody, beautiful!
No fear in his eyes-
Only quiet confidence.

You fly by night
With sight of the owl,
You climb with your eagle machine,
Fiercely, conquering the night.
Skilfully, lovingly, victoriously!

the clouds storm and stir the horizon
and swoon like a sorrowful bird,

the sun sinks the same way once risen
and deafening the fires of his word,


a lover waits hopeless and dreary,
and hopeless and dreary departs

for love not returned leaves her weary
and breathful her heart.


a vision as clear as the ages,
that reach to the soul or the heart

the storm of the clouds broken cages
long gone those soft clouds that depart


and the sea strides to shore like a viking,
and rages eternal like cloud,

for the storm now is spent and surrenders,
that once stood so proud.


the sea she will wrap me in flowers
and drown me in ivies and wine,

as the sharp winter wind blows wild showers,
that bury the aches of the pines,


and the sea i found tender with rapture
blew me back where the ages relent,

and the sea gave me back all its flowers,
for the love never meant.


desire is no pastry or pudding,
it is death, it is life, it is naught,

in its rages it cries like a blossom
that bursts from the bough and is caught,


no lover could rule or control me,
but they begged and they begged
for my love,

and the love that i gave soon destroyed me,
a lion to the dove.


yet the sea dries my eyes from my weeping,
rejuvinates like vinaigrette,

and love never once won or departing
soon buries its soul in regret,


and the sea sings like a stereotyped lover,
too broody to throw out a rose

and the rose would be tearful my lover,
seas sea e'en froze.


for the sea is a viking of passion,
strange ghost of the wind and the wave,

and knows nothing of love or compassion,
but will leave you with the dark that can't save,


i see her in the **** frost, her blossom,
the waves that still billow like sails

the foam the blue foam near the flotsam,
her song a soft silvery scale.

When you use words like cute and hot
To describe a species you're not
Is it with intent
That you compliment
The animal before you
Or is it in jest that that you call him “the ***”
And for a dog he's incredibly handsome
And “if I were that species I would”
At this beautiful mammal
But would you though, really?
Or is it a facetious use of language
Just a play on words, a pun
You say you're in lesbians
With that orang from the zoo
I laugh and agree, because we both know
That's not what we actually do
This charming pretty creature, I call the bae
The current in-word for other-half
But I don't want to marry this creature, noooo
Or even take them out on a date!
I know many people who imagine themselves
As something altogether exotic
On two legs, in shoes but with a coating of fur
And a fuzzy little muzzle too
And oh I remark without an ounce of snark
All the deviant things I would do
But lowered on all fours with no concept of words
I'll pass on that one, thankyou
Is our species so poor that we hanker for
The features of the rest of animalia?
Why is the stallion and swan the *** icons
Or vixens symbols of seduction?

And why do women turn broody at the sight of a kitten
Much sooner than a juvenile human?

When thy busy brain's filled as a bladder--
Not with *** pepperish--but with ideas potent,
Thy broody head would uncomfortable rather
Be feeling until you let out the content.
And if thou doest achieve the good goal
Of thy restless heart--that burning purpose;
What cool satisfaction and joy to thy soul
Would come as one confirmed free from a dose!
How happy was God when he and Christ created man!
So glad too must a man be when he achieves his plan.

I love reading poetry on this site.

The most common used word is love.
Well, actually ambiguous is used a lot. I guess it makes people feel smart about themselves.

Anyway, everyone uses the word 'love', but has anyone experienced it or are we all deluding ourselves?

Besides the point, I've learned that if you want to succeed in writing on this site, you have to make sure you write about how you 'fell' in love and then follow it with 'heartbreak'.

You can be dark, and probably get some 'acclaim' from the broody broods.
Or you can not be completely pretentious and write something genuine.
Good luck, though. They'll call it cliche or cheesy.
So you deal with that...
But first thing is first: You must get artistic.

                                                    ­                                                       Do this
                                                            ­                                        because
                                                                ­                              it some how
                                                                ­                 makes it look like
                                                                ­              you
                                             ­                                        know
                                                                ­                              what
                                                                ­                                      you're
                                                                ­                                               doing.

Make sure
you seem like you
DO THIS
for a l
          i love you more than i can take
            vicious words cause my heart to break
               in god we trust our love forever
                 never be gone from me, oh no, not ever!
                    good bye my love i'll cherish you... ambiguously


Now let's get wordy.
Let's use some words entirely too much like...
AMBIGUOUS
Then after that, it'll be time to crack open the thesaurus and write words that you're not entirely sure that you're using correctly.

The ambiguous alligator bit with a fervor as the metamorphosis of his analysis changed what he thought (DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE). He was chased by hunters, but was devoid of a cwtch (yeah, that's a word. Maybe he's a welsh alligator. I don't know. Parts of this poem are meant to be...wait for it...ambiguous).

the
     alligator's
                   father
                            died
                                   in
                                       the
                                            great
                                                    alligator wars of 1
                                                               ­               9
                                                ­                              7
                                 ­                                             2012 was an okay year, though.

what a tragedy it is to be abstentious at a buffet...(end it ambiguously)
                                                                ­                                              end

Then we have some depressing stuff on this site. Not that there's anything wrong with writing something depressing, but usually it's kind of stuff that you'd read at a seventh grade poetry slam sponsored by Hot Topic and Van's Warped Tour in partnership with AXE Body Spray and Monster Energy Drink.

We'll call this one....

'pain, pain, and more pain'

I knew this girl
name was elle
she rang my heart
like a ******* bell

i was fourteen
she was fine
we had assigned seats next to each other
but her seat was inside of my mind

we talked about deep stuff
like really deep
she told me she had nightmares
and i said i had them too
BUT NOT ALL OF THEM ARE IN MY SLEEP

the real nightmare was that
she had a boyfriend
he treated her really well
but he was a ******* FOOTBALL PLAYER
**** **** **** LOVE IS A ******* HELL

why not me
why the tool
i can play six songs on the guitar
and my parents own a pool

i could have given you everything
i could have given you my heart on a string
but you cut it with your knife
and ******* did it sting

my heart is black
my emotions in a whirl
i'll be like this for two weeks
AT LEAST
until i talk to another girl


I just love some of the poetry I read on this site, and I hope you like mine.

Thanks, guys!

sea is singing united with the skies
grass is singing with the earth
Man is singing with beauty of it all
All known outer space looks on brooding

molded ***** sky
broody welling grey udders
rain to be cast or snow ?

Seventeen years old and troubled, I took walks in the woods to sort out my mind.  There were miles of it behind the old neighborhood.
I could meditate on thoughts and walk down paths, off paths, for miles if I wished.  My forest grew in semi-rural suburbia of my hometown, just a thirty minute drive east from Atlanta.
I'd like to think it grows there still...  

   One could walk a mile or two through untamed, mostly coniferous, forest but suddenly step out onto a clearing of uninterrupted rock, desolate and pocked like the surface of the moon.  A moonscape bounded by trees.  An anomalous break in the journey of green.  A massive plane of granite lies, apparently, beneath much of our state.  The woods in my area had this unique feature...  Patches where the granite was exposed to the surface.  Some were the size of a small city park.  Others were the size of multiple football fields.  Those accessible by bicycle were especially fun.  They would be explored thoroughly as I jostled and bounced my mountain-bike over the irregular surfaces.  Others lay deep in the woods.  I would walk as much as I could or just lie on the solidness of that ground and look at clouds.

   As pressures in my heart and mind increased, I would come to these woods angry and frustrated.  Pent-up emotions had few outlets.  Poetry was there, a kind of constant companion of the day,  but sometimes I just needed to run.
   Something felt primal and therapeutic about it.  One day, in a lot of frustration and anger, I made up this stupid game.   It was simple.
1: Run.  Immediately.  North.
2: Don't stop. Don't stop.  Don't stop.  Unless stopped involuntarily.

   I leapt off the trail and ran.  Though I felt despairing, the freedom was liberating.  Constantly, there were split-second decisions to make...  Over or under?  Left or right? More often than not, it just had to be "through" and, in my determination and stupid teen nihilism, I plowed through lots of tangles and thorns, scratching up my ankles in the process.  I didn't care and, stupidly, welcomed the blood until a stronger patch of thorns held fast to my ankle. My running speed slammed me to the ground.  I think I laughed, then, like a ******* crazy person.  I saw myself and felt foolish.  I laughed at the sad sight of this broody kid, breathless and bleeding on the forest floor, who actually had life pretty good.  My troubles aren't even worth recalling, they were that trivial, even in the moment.  I picked myself up as if I were happily helping a friend.  I was feeling pretty good and helped him walk, carefully, back south again.

an ogre is like an onion
(meaning if you cut me, you'd probably cry
which is probably why i don't worry about being mugged)
because this ogre has layers

and sometimes i can't tell which one is on top.
it takes a moment sometimes to figure out if i'm working my way
down, to the crisp, clear head that i need to feel happy,
or up, building up my flaky shield with lies and acting and moody broody moping.

i shed enough layers in a night to feed a few starving children.
so why does it feel like i never know where i am?
i hold my balance like i'm dancing on the edge of the knife,
hoping that through moving forward
i'll figure something out
and that things will figure themselves out for me.

but how much longer can i spin metaphors and feel sorry for myself
(scribbling words into a notebook only past midnight)
before i split in half on the end of the blade?

i can only hope someone will be there to pick up the pieces.

I can't see the light in people
It's obscured by crowds
One by one reaching to connect
In the thick-of-it it's too loud
Picking up the ball to take home
Moody gets dark and broody
I crave and crave and savor
Dark and light light and dark

life is fickle,
life is difficult.
life is sweet and moody,
life is dark and broody.
we question things and people,
from the small child to the old and feeble.
so many questions that we still cant grasp,
from the real boring to the shocking truths that makes us gasp.
sometimes we are the ones who create these questions,
sometimes its another person.
life is already difficult as it is,
everyone knows this.
yet its our job as human beings to help the others out,
and not make them scream and shout.
however we feast on sadness and enjoy the hot taster of anger,
we yearn for thrills and danger.
we have monsters in the world waiting for us,
we can even find those monsters within us.
everyone yearns for release, a way out of life and its horrors,
we even get pushed to our breaking points and borders.
yet if we let those monsters win,
whats the point of living?
there will always be monsters,
but if we let them win, will we become a lost soul or a monster?

All the stars in the sky couldn't outdo your shine...
sorry, that's a cliche line
so should i compare thee to a summer's day instead?
no, sorry, that's plagiarism;
i guess i'm not as good at this as i want to be,
but it seems every time i try to tell you how i feel
the words just escape me.
There's nothing original in my head,
so i resort to using poetry
that's been recycled instead. You do that to me, you know,

you take all these impressive thoughts, long words
revised from dictionaries during high school essays where
i should have been focusing on the question
but found myself
more interested by the way words with more letters
could have so little meaning; words with less letters
could store enough emotion to fill a blank void with
billions of burning lights - you could create a universe for somebody with
just four letters, but you could
simply make a small dent within the air by using nine.
l o v e
r e d u n d a n t
nine meaningless letters for a pointless word - even
the word itself acknowledges its lack of necessity.

It was upon pondering these thoughts, just now
as i write this silly little poem that's
lost its flow, lots its rhythm and rhyme just as i seem to
lose myself when i'm around you,
that i stumbled upon a discovery

and though this discovery held no comparison
to the miracle i uncovered in
discovering your existence, and the way your eyes shine warmly like lanterns
whenever you're happy (something which consequently brightens my
dark and broody spirits, lifting them out ever so slightly from the hell they reside in),
i found it to be an important discovery all the same.

See, words and letters and literary features,
they're all so... simple, and how better to communicate with another soul
than doing so simply, in language even toddlers can understand?
If a four letter word can be more meaningful
than a word containing nine letters, then maybe less
really is more.

I'm coming to my conclusion now, just-
bear with me, here. It takes a guy like me a lot of courage to admit to what he feels.
See, i was going to write about the way your smile shines
bright and beautiful like the sun, but i realised that would mean that i'd never stand a chance
because if ever i drew close enough for a kiss

you would burn me.

So here it is. Plain and simple.

I love you.

a citrus *****, sveedish,
   citrus, absolut,
    straight,
      with ice...
       some might call it
a sewer lemon squinting
pinch, without a first
of a month...

        but it's certainly
a ***** *****,
   given that all the impurities
from the "apparently"
filtered frozen water
start to appear,
   like dissolved tofu flakes...

***** *****:
    ***** and ice...
     i agree: an ugly cocktail
but right on the mark...

because what on earth could
have possibly happened in
england when i was away from
it for two months,
in an asylum of my grandparent's
abode of:
      oh sure, sure...
   marry...
    hell knows no wrath,
  as a woman belittled...

      a long trip from a sleepy
town once tipped to be the next
metallurgy capital,
overgrown with weeds...
   busy Warsaw with a faint
tickling of German...
         more German than English:
and at that moment:
tourism seemed, refreshing...

     back in sleepy England?
even the most populated snippets
of Warsaw didn't seem that
appealing as, as *****,
as welcoming as:
the shadiest, scabbiest postcards
from the Eastern Avenue
   moving from the A406 into
the mini Raj of a certain
part of Essex...
    the part not allocated to
the Cockney migration...

        shady as ****...
but if you asked me to get out
of the car and walk these streets?
hell, i know a few Bulgarian
prostitutes not too far away
and... oddly enough...
half an hour... half an hour without
an *******...
    just to tattoo an invisible
mark of my fingertip on
her buttocks...
    
               at one point she collapsed
and said no more,
   so we just lay there,
while i kissed her eyelids...
        
           what did i leave reading?
the times magazine, 17.03.18,
main articles read the following:

   if you're not broody and you can
pay your own bills,
   why settle?
          is that all?
    back in Edinburgh i did that
for 3 years, and god, if that's
an achievement?
     hell... might as well move into
making pancakes territory...

because the other option is:
   and if you can't?
   why give a *******' worth
of jingle for these curtain-people?
    3 years isn't much,
but in those 3 years it wasn't
a hot topic...
      
             2 months away and what
do i return to?
   by neighbours think i'm dead...
my feet gave odours of french blue,
and the cat that made my room
her high tower was chased away
from the socks up...
   i took a shower...
          which also included
saving a moth who attempted
suicide...
    
         flew right into the shower
cubicle...
   stopped soaping myself
and picked the poor ****** up,
breathed on it,
   unrolled one of its wet
antennas hidden beneath its
wet wing using a cotton bud on
a plastic matchstick
   no technical name to
usurp this description)...

   and watched it vibrate its wings...
trill: RRRRRRRRR
     its wings dry...
              while puckering up
a mouth to my finger for balance
and retrospect...
  
    yes, cats, really are,
the gatekeepers of finding a tier
of affection in insects,
    butterflies are too shy,
   and never mistake a room lit
by a candle or lightbulb
     for the ******* day,
go figure...
        
     in the past two months though,
this is the sort of tabloid
dynamic of "news" missing in
these parts of the world,
because, to be honest,
if i didn't write this:
   **** all would have apparently
happened...

            but yes...
cats are gatekeepers to experiencing
affection from an
individuation *** ****
        (with man) -
                the mirror of man,
or how man escaped the collective
unconscious of humanity,
solomon took to the ant...
    
    i? the moth.
        bee too...
   i remember feeding a dying
bee honey,
  watching it pitifully extend
its tongue into a dollop
    of honey and die from
an overdose...
       but it was dying anyway...

somehow eating chicken
isn't so accommodating a concern
in all honesty...
  given that chickens live
like aristocracts before
the French revolution... chop chop...
what's the problem?

      and we are not industrialised
creatures to suddenly
lament the industrialised
;production of cockley-doodle-do?
     it's like attempting to
hear a grand historical laugh
worth an aeon,
   while instead merely listening
to a second's worth of
a constipated giggle: a snigger...
af if these current zeitgeisters
          are robbing us of a past...

becauase if Orwell is the current
curriculum in the west...
   and the east used to ban in...
   why is Orwell suddenly
   dogma in the west,
  when it was prohobited in the east?
ah... right... overshot the Huxley
bit... the, real nightmare
of aesthetic eugenics,
         or whatever compound you'd
want to use...

     so Orwell used to be forbidden
in East Germany...
    because?
   becauase it is now West German
dogma or rather:
  since capitalism is cannibalising
itself...
      it requires to project
     a jumping caterpillar
to jump over, with an antithesis?

  which is Huxley...
     but that has no ideological
frameworks,
      too bad Dolly...
  i'm sure Mr. Hyde can teach
his clone the debauchery once
upon reserved from the dynamic
orthodoxy of time
and a father, and a son...
   the rich are not evil...
     they are merely not
as oppurtunistic as the poor...
   so go figure...
  its hardly a deep receding
archetype waiting to bud
in my mind, which nonetheless,
perpetually slips into
the back of my tongue
boxed with the tonsil to shut up...

how does a moth dry its wings?
vibrates them, standing still,
but i still had to unfold
one of its sodden antennas
     from beneath its wet wings...
and see...
   cats as gatekeepers to
the metaphor of man in insect...
and the godlessness
       of man: without insects...

just the casual disinterest
          of concern for an insect
becomes 100x more than
a formal interest of discocern
for a man...

                  that's a quadratic
maxim:

     i will casually treat an
insect with more concern
            than i might a man...
because i am not obliged
to any collectivism,
       no hierarchy,
   no: formality...
                   trans-gender
is as the **** talking
mouth of the odd instance
of being transcendent within
the nonetheless unifyng
branches leading
to the stalk, and...
    ****... roots...
    ******* rubber:
extends on boths sides:

   8  ------- 1 ------- ∞

        1 = undeniable,
   given 0 = negatation
    (counter-thesis of Kantian
atoms, words,
   since letters already
consist of bigger than
atoms elements: Na: sodium)...

     even if there is a void,
i still fill that "void"
with the purpose of denying
it...
        atheism is bonkers, ergo...
oh the void of catholicism
i'd prefer to watch
magpies cackling over
which of them is going
to steal the silver spoon...

     ***** *****...
   saving a moth while taking
a shower...
        as much of england
in the past 4 hours as in
the 2 months i was away.

What A Shame ... What A SHAME ... !!!

You Like To Play Games ...
And CLEARLY Like To SNIFF ******* ... !!!
Why Let Your Brain Go Down The Drain ... ?!?
Why Be Like THAT Babe PLEASE Explain ... !!!

Try CHANGING Lanes ...
DEAL With ... " Your Pain " ... !!!

DON'T Shy Away ............... From The Light of Day ... !!!
Reality ... SWAYS In MANY Ways ...

Girls LOVING Girls Marriage For Gays ... !?!

Well Where I Lay PROVES How I SWAY ...
Women ALL DAY That's Just My Way ...

As Long As They're **** And Have A BRAIN ... !!!

The Female Touch Is What I LOVE ... !!!
As Long As Coc' Is NOT Her Drug ... !!!!!

Ladies Who Are ... " Elderly " ...
Are Those Who Get RESPECT From Me ... !!!!

Otherwise I VET ... Ladies I'd Like To Take To Bed ...
Because MOST Now Have Such MESSED UP Heads ... !!!

MOST Now Seem To Be ... BRAINDEAD ... !!!
And DON'T DESERVE To Hear NICE WORDS ... !!!

What A Shame ... What A Shame ... !!!

We're In A Maze ...
To The Point Where Some ...
Will Now ... " Speed Date " ... !?!

I'm SAYING ... !!!

Is This Now The Way ...
To Find Yourself ... Your TRUE Soulmate ... ?!?

FIVE Minutes ... HERE ...
FIVE Minutes ... THERE ...

A Soulmate FOUND For Fifty Pounds ... !?!
You May Just BUY Yourself A CLOWN ... !!!
Whose Mind You May FIND May NOT Be Sound ... !!!

Is This REALLY The Cure I'm Just NOT Sure ... ?!?
Aren't There BETTER Ways To Try And ALLURE ... ?!?

A Partner For ... LOVE ...
WITHOUT Having To Trust To THIS Sort of STUFF ... !?!

Of Course Sometimes It's Just ... Pure LUCK ...
But Dating This Way Has Now Run A Muck ... !!!

MEETING Up ... " Inside Chat Rooms " ... ?!?

DON'T Know About YOU But I ... REFUSE ... !!!
You DON'T Know Who You're Talking To ... !?!

That's Why Some Kids Are Being ... " GROOMED " ... !!!
By Those Who USE These Rooms To ABUSE ... !!!

Relationships Are HARD Right Now ...
When Women Play The Game ... SO FOUL ... !!!

Let's NOT Argue You KNOW It's TRUE ...
Men Do It TOO Don't Get It Confused ... !!!

I'm A Man Who LOVES Woman ... !!!

But ...
Am NOT AFRAID To Talk About Them ...
And ... All Their Scams ... !!!

As A Friend Said to me ...

" There's ONLY ONE LOVE ! " ...

From A Dad To HIS SON ...
Or A Daughter To HER MUM ...

UNCONDITIONAL Love YES That's THE ONE ... !!!!!!

NOT Love That Comes From ****** Hugs ... !!!
Let's Make It PLAIN That's NOT Enough ... !!!

SOME Girls Give Love Just To SCORE Drugs ...

That's LOVE To Them ...
Their Love Is ... DUD ...
So Let's ... TRY AGAIN ... !!!

SOME Women Give Love To ...
... "TRAP A MAN" ... !!!!!

"I'm pregnant ***' !"

"**** I've Been Stung !
Should of known when you saw I was getting some cash,
putting **** things on, and being so bad !
The *** we had, was all an act,
quick pregnancy, was the trap you planned !"

SEE ... That's The Stuff That Makes Things TOUGH ... !!!
Women Putting CONDITIONS On What They Call ... LOVE ... !!!

"If I get pregnant, I may not abort !"

"That's up to you, but remember, i'm poor !
Raising children now, is no fun for sure !"

But LATER On In Bed We're Having *** ... ?
And When She Starts To Get Wet From Head ...
She Offers To STOP To Put Stockings On Her Legs ... ?!?

Now CLEARLY THIS Is ONE That NEEDS Some Thought ... !!!
If I Wear A ****** She'll THINK Something's WRONG ... !?!

But I DON'T Want Kids So I'd BETTER Think QUICK ... !!!
Cos' I STIIL Wanna Spread Those JUICY LIPS ... !!!!!

"What About The Pill ?"

"Well i've had my fill !
Every time I do, and we've had an issue,
you say we're through, as soon as we argue !"

She's RIGHT That's TRUE ... !!!

Got To Make The RIGHT MOVE ...
And It NEEDS To Be ... " Shrewd " ... !!!

"A vasectomy, I do believe, will ease tension and give relief !"

"Why rush into that, I don't agree !"

WORDS Such As THESE Breed JEOPARDY ... !!!

Is She Feeling ... " Broody " ... ?
Does She Want A ... " Baby " ... ?
Am I Going ... " CRAZY " ... ?

She's Been EVER So NICE ...
... ESPECIALLY Lately ... !?!

SEE .....
These Are The GAMES Women LOVE To Play ...
Just To Get YES ... Their OWN WAY Nowadays ... !!!

It's NOT Just Them We're BOTH To Blame ... !!!

When CONDITIONAL Love is The ... " Name of The Game " ...
For MONEY Or DRUGS ... Or A Child With His Name ...
So That Mummy Can KEEP Daddy IN ... " The Frame " ...

What's Left To Say But ....

" What A Shame What A SHAME ! "

My heart is closed and latched
It's never broody neither dreamy
Some days I know it will never
smell the roses of lust and love
or bury under the feisty seas

When the sun sets and its rays rest
stinging the core of my starry eyes
the visions of yesterday just poison
settling in an abyss of volcanic ash
the smell of another is a lost rhyme

When the moon bestows it's crown
time passes as a burning mad mass
counting all the lost years, one by one
falling effortlessly in scars of betrayal
and echoes of the gone skylines

my man is down rod-ken-doll 26.08.18

saturday started like a germ
rodrigo and humour no maybe
hilarious was idea and fake *****
in fits with quote "allot of baby".
at this time on wall no writing
dan was to read a disciplinary
sam smith and white object was inviting
all jumping to conclusion with summary.
my man was to whisper careless
but up-most respect is the can
like a sword fight in chess
no gossip done by roxanne.
kirsty and a woman's intuition
explaining to rodrigo  to shut
a bit like nick and boxing edition
the WBA like stock exchange would cut.
now what is forbidden
rodrigo and natlie were detective clever
off his trolley will remain hidden
the true meaning discovered so luck for ever.
nature was broody
no need to beg
did nick deliberately try to bring out moody
suggesting cake and hardeep and the egg.
now a bit of my brother
originally not georges crown
sally misinterpreted cover
no wainwright or hardeep but natlie going to town.
the eggs had no ends
in kitchen still volatile
while boxing in garden between friends
dan and roxanne showed style.
hardeep went to soak
maybe thinking of comedy literature
natalie to to sally did stoke
highlighting all is like theatre.
three getting ready
all glam and glitter to see
natlie and a line now steady
your not on unless next to me.
gabby and chloe on love bubble
at present dignity in tact
no chance of rodrigo holding up trouble
not on tv a *** act.
natlie had the doom
hardeep offered hand
up and out the room
can not with viewers understand.
hardeep very humble
grateful to explain orwellian
gave me a great word to stumble
in love with machiavellian.
before end some hurt
gabby with love  not to handle
touching was  dan and tshirt
ending with rodrigo going blowing out my candle.

Saturday flies in like a witch on a broomstick, dark and broody, but
it's early and doesn't scare me, my reflection in the mirror can do that quite easily.

She still casts her spell on me
a shadowy figure
but I can see
her eyes.

About fish

Something made me think of fish
not those in tanks which life must be boring
swimming around and around
until tired and resting at the bottom
wondering how to get out of this watery trap

Do fishes think or is it all instinct?
Say, two codfish meeting each other on the coast
of Greenland: hi, their old mate hasn’t
seen you around for a while? No, I met an escaped
farm salmon, but it didn't work out

It got broody wanted to swim upstream
being a bachelor, I took my farewell and escaped.
Chased and being chased that’s life
a proper fish instead takes its chances rather than
living in a glass tank

Laugh or cry
it'll rain or remain dry,
****** weather
broody weather
not sure
whether I like it.

Forgive me. There are things beyond quantities, things
I feel in the flush of my face. A rhythm to my breath.
An arrest of senses traipsing here and there.
A ragbag of memories, superstitions
Behind lips and lids, other shutterings
And listen! — We are fragile with smaller things.
Pomegranates, plucked loose. Our seeds
Scattered with a tap. Existence, broody
Disrobed of its leathery skin,
We bleed through the impossible pulp to speak
Salvation: Brand new with tags.

You think that people are mirthless
But you, you are mostly worthless

I hate the way you run.
(Dun.)
I hate the way you hang.
(You are like a tang.)
I hate the way you love.
(You do it like a dove.)

You find that people are grateful
But you, you are mostly hateful

I hate the way you have no care,
Spreading your style everywhere.
(You're like a style fountain.
Enough "zazz" for a whole mountain.)

You think so many people are broody
But you, you are mostly moody

You're not the perfect person.
(You could be the worst one.)

You find so many people are Mirthless
But you, you are mostly Worthless

Worthless, hateful and Boring.
(Moody and Pessimistic too)
Are the qualities of you- (me)!

You find so many People are Grateful
But you, you are mostly hateful!