Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I.

Thou aged unreluctant earth who dost
with quivering continual thighs invite
the thrilling rain the slender paramour
to toy with thy extraordinary lust,
(the sinuous rain which rising from thy bed
steals to his wife the sky and hour by hour
wholly renews her pale flesh with delight)
—immortally whence are the high gods fled?

Speak elm eloquent pandar with thy nod
significant to the ecstatic earth
in token of his coming whom her soul
burns to embrace—and didst thou know the god
from but the imprint of whose cloven feet
the shrieking dryad sought her leafy goal,
at the mere echo of whose shining mirth
the furious hearts of mountains ceased to beat?

Wind beautifully who wanderest
over smooth pages of forgotten joy
proving the peaceful theorems of the flowers
—didst e’er depart upon more exquisite quest?
and did thy fortunate fingers sometime dwell
(within a greener shadow of secret bowers)
among the curves of that delicious boy
whose serious grace one goddess loved too well?

Chryselephantine Zeus Olympian
sceptred colossus of the Pheidian soul
whose eagle frights creation,in whose palm
Nike presents the crown sweetest to man,
whose lilied robe the sun’s white hands emboss,
betwixt whose absolute feet anoint with calm
of intent stars circling the acerb pole
poises,smiling,the diadumenos

in whose young chiseled eyes the people saw
their once again victorious Pantarkes
(whose grace the prince of artists made him bold
to imitate between the feet of awe),
thunderer whose omnipotent brow showers
its curls of unendured eternal gold
over the infinite breast in bright degrees,
whose pillow is the graces and the hours,

father of gods and men whose subtle throne
twain sphinxes bear each with a writhing youth
caught to her brazen *******,whose foot-stool tells
how fought the looser of the warlike zone
of her that brought forth tall Hippolytus,
lord on whose pedestal the deep expels
(over Selene’s car closing uncouth)
of Helios the sweet wheels tremulous—

are there no kings in Argos,that the song
is silent,of the steep unspeaking tower
within whose brightening strictness Danae
saw the night severed and the glowing throng
descend,felt on her flesh the amorous strain
of gradual hands and yielding to that fee
her eager body’s unimmortal flower
knew in the darkness a more burning rain?

                    2.

And still the mad magnificent herald Spring
assembles beauty from forgetfulness
with the wild trump of April:witchery
of sound and odour drives the wingless thing
man forth in the bright air,for now the red
leaps in the maple’s cheek,and suddenly
by shining hordes in sweet unserious dress
ascends the golden crocus from the dead.

On dappled dawn forth rides the pungent sun
with hooded day preening upon his hand
followed by gay untimid final flowers
(which dressed in various tremulous armor stun
the eyes of ragged earth who sees them pass)
while hunted from his kingdom winter cowers,
seeing green armies steadily expand
hearing the spear-song of the marching grass.

A silver sudden parody of snow
tickles the air to golden tears,and hark!
the flicker’s laughing yet,while on the hills
the pines deepen to whispers primeval and throw
backward their foreheads to the barbarous bright
sky,and suddenly from the valley thrills
the unimaginable upward lark
and drowns the earth and passes into light

(slowly in life’s serene perpetual round
a pale world gathers comfort to her soul,
hope richly scattered by the abundant sun
invades the new mosaic of the ground
—let but the incurious curtaining dusk be drawn
surpassing nets are sedulously spun
to snare the brutal dew,—the authentic scroll
of fairie hands and vanishing with the dawn).

Spring,that omits no mention of desire
in every curved and curling thing,yet holds
continuous *******—through skies and trees
the lilac’s smoke the poppy’s pompous fire
the *****’s purple patience and the grave
frailty of daises—by what rare unease
revealed of teasingly transparent folds—
with man’s poor soul superlatively brave.

Surely from robes of particoloured peace
with mouth flower-faint and undiscovered eyes
and dim slow perfect body amorous
(whiter than lilies which are born and cease
for being whiter than this world)exhales
the hovering high perfume curious
of that one month for whom the whole years dies,
risen at length from palpitating veils.

O still miraculous May!O shining girl
of time untarnished!O small intimate
gently primeval hands,frivolous feet
divine!O singular and breathless pearl!
O indefinable frail ultimate pose!
O visible beatitude sweet sweet
intolerable!silence immaculate
of god’s evasive audible great rose!

                    3.

Lover,lead forth thy love unto that bed
prepared by whitest hands of waiting years,
curtained with wordless worship absolute,
unto the certain altar at whose head
stands that clear candle whose expecting breath
exults upon the tongue of flame half-mute,
(haste ere some thrush with silver several tears
complete the perfumed paraphrase of death).

Now is the time when all occasional things
close into silence,only one tree,one
svelte translation of eternity
unto the pale meaning of heaven clings,
(whose million leaves in winsome indolence
simmer upon thinking twilight momently)
as down the oblivious west’s numerous dun
magnificence conquers magnificence.

In heaven’s intolerable athanor
inimitably tortured the base day
utters at length her soft intrinsic hour,
and from those tenuous fires which more and more
sink and are lost the divine alchemist,
the magus of creation,lifts a flower—
whence is the world’s insufferable clay
clothed with incognizable amethyst.

Lady at whose imperishable smile
the amazed doves flicker upon sunny wings
as if in terror of eternity,
(or seeming that they would mistrust a while
the moving of beauteous dead mouths throughout
that very proud transparent company
of quivering ghosts-of-love which scarcely sings
drifting in slow diaphanous faint rout),

queen in the inconceivable embrace
of whose tremendous hair that blossom stands
whereof is most desire,yet less than those
twain perfect roses whose ambrosial grace,
goddess,thy crippled thunder-forging groom
or the loud lord of skipping maenads knows,—
having Discordia’s apple in thy hands,
which the scared shepherd gave thee for his doom—

O thou within the chancel of whose charms
the tall boy god of everlasting war
received the shuddering sacrament of sleep,
betwixt whose cool incorrigible arms
impaled upon delicious mystery,
with gaunt limbs reeking of the whispered deep,
deliberate groping ocean fondled o’er
the warm long flower of unchastity,

imperial Cytherea,from frail foam
sprung with irrevocable nakedness
to strike the young world into smoking song—
as the first star perfects the sensual dome
of darkness,and the sweet strong final bird
transcends the sight,O thou to whom belong
th ehearts of lovers!—I beseech thee bless
thy suppliant singer and his wandering word.
1383

Long Years apart—can make no
Breach a second cannot fill—
The absence of the Witch does not
Invalidate the spell—

The embers of a Thousand Years
Uncovered by the Hand
That fondled them when they were Fire
Will stir and understand—
WS Warner Nov 2013
Part One
Nascent Craving

The insular heart unsealed; pearled eyes
Breach parapets of stone— periled shield,
The sweetest ****—
A threatening wonder and irrefragable synergy,
Nervous routes of cognition  
In this nascent, amorous craving.
Locked and abased,
Dissonance lends pathos — euphoric and onerous,
Disconsolate cries curb sublimation,
The regnant bleed diffusing — fervid lust
Fondled, tactile surfaces in throbbing anticipation.

Sullen, aft a veil of laughter,
Visceral aftermath, out of
The ardent ash,
Burns a thirst;
Insuperable numbness and ache.
Efflorescent intimacy,
Table for two
Enraptured in new alliance,
Élan vital (psyche);
Urgent dialect petitions
Equivocation, jocularity blending
Provocation with indecision,
Noted lilt of descending inhibition.

Adrift, the incessant Now;
As occasion inexorably diminished;
Resonant simpatico tending,
Numinous amity;
Heard conversant, cognitive idioms—
Lassitude, time-eaten pangs of the unhinged heart,
Wounds axiomatic,
In disquieting synergy,
Nibbling, the circumference—
Misery’s permeating truth;
None immune, all trundle incongruously past,
Facing intrepid savages.

Licitly felt, reverberations of Amor
Whence the heart behaves;
Measured cadence, pulse elevating—
Treasured lover, contemplative muse;
Undulating clasp, inflated bone of absence;
Incarnation — a woman,
Beyond prosaic;
Ineffable adoration pours in certitudes of verse,
Elenita, enclothed —virtue unvarnished;
Reservoir intrinsic, poised advocate of the innocent:
The crooked lines of insolence,
Brazen culture of neglected youth.
Perceptive blue stare, sensitized tears—
Plaintively, evincing her injustice ago.

Part Two
Tendered Senses

Siren silence, eruptive blush, ampler between phrases
In dulcet tones — stirring discourse;
Foments rebellion, the strife beneath— his ****,
Out of its vast reserve,
Penetrate the narrowed ambit, vaguely announced.
Groping hands, migrating the sensual member
Stern faces grimacing— mirror in abrasion,
Under the blind surf of consent;
Burrowing ambiguity, emerging torsion,
Plunge, enlisted and content in the sea;
Subsumed in the nonverbal cue,
Persuasion’s plea,
Quelled in the post cerebral assent.

Piercing eyes parallel crystalline waters of Lake Tahoe.

An untouched portion of his awareness remains aloof,
Palpable in the subsequential quiet,
Obsequious and febrile, they sinned on sofas;
Peregrine predilections quenched and viscid—
Serenely requited, the room breathes her presence,
Limp, figures *******, mantled in adolescent torpor.

Erudition in bloom, trust undoubted,
Illuminating, satiating; tempest calm—
Under canvas
Terrain soaked and sodden,
Postliminary — rains of invalidation.
Allowance and permission
Recalibrate, salivate, shortly only—
Initiate, obliged consecration, appraising
Curvatures of the spine,
Stuns him obeisant, her femenine pulchritude,
Propinquity inciting vigor,
Emergent allure, the updriven
Tower of wood sprung from the blanket.


Suffused in ether, purring streams of remembrance
Vaginal honeyed dew, sung into
Orchids, remnants of remember;
Drenched down the cynosure of devotion;
Succulent view, diaphanous pantied bottom;
Halcyon mist, saporous wine — compliance of the will,
Freed fires wander,
Pliable rind, twin plums dripping,
Abject confession, dispatching doubt
In tendered senses,
Pivotal tree, lavender Jacaranda holds the key,
Unfurled, cindered vulnerability.

Half-denuded skin invites confessional savor
Acutely bubbled rear, fleshly furnished denim;
Sultry visit, San Ramon Valley in the fall,
Strewed limbs splendid, flowing filmy;
Imagination yields—
Bursting silk congealed
Across deft thighs, ambrosial thong draping ankles,
Grazing ascension, the curvaceous trajectory
Nose inflamed with fragrance,
Inhaling, climb of acquiescence,
The ****** weal, amid the globed fruit,
Focal intention — ploughed lance thrusting,
Absconding, the ancillary perfume of essence.

Perceiving avid validation,
Swimmingly, amid the monstrous gaze.
  
Humid skies simper dank, set swell the incense of Eros,
Surge of poetry engorged
The flame levened shaft,
Nimble ******* flounce, spill the harboring mouth;
Moist hands merging, unfettered,
Weave in supplication,
Vicinity voicing, enmeshed diversion;
Supple and spherical behind
Posterior arch, milky-skin against the lip—
Ripeness jostling their complacency;
Lapped the mooring, ridden decisively;
Recapitulating— spumed forth, bellied over hips warmth.
Abandon the dirge of self-pity
Late under ego’s trance.
  
Part Three
Present Tenses

Tempting trespass across sacred gardens,
Flowering, scandal set luminous: attachment—
Consensual, their corresponsive fear;
Protean manifestations— evocative, perpetual
Unutterable contention in a fictive resolve,
Deliberating the merits of their widely disparate tastes in coffee,
Amorously touring wine, let’s drowse through the gnarled vine.
Sundry deficiencies pale, once contrasted;
The beatific vision—
Material substance unaccompanied,
Imperceptible, tear-streamed cheeks in synch,
Ventral kiss, peak of carnal perfection,
Reminiscence— flesh violent with Love.

Fiction knew to meander the innominate rift,
A tincture of irony soften misdeeds
Immense as the sea.
Insolvent beast stippled with sapience—
Unmasked, the fabric of delusion;
Dependence smothering the disciplined heart
Resentment put up for release.

Waste of residual years
Fate’s apportion, scars bleakly observed;
Chastened by heartache, engulfing fervor
Too faint to recapture.
Vague glimpses dry—
Hypervigilant his defenses,
Veritable suspensions, embers lit linger;
Slender walls of solidity, the horizoned self,
Faith and reason in concert — stone levels of elucidation.

Fractured bones of distance, emanate a rigid salience,
Another ponderous night of absence—
Lingering, cauldron of dearth as indifference ushers,
The quotidian coil of contrition.
Tearful pallor, sequestered —ciphering time and solitude;
The unkissed mouth, his restive brow;
Suspend in the approximate span.
                      
After Lucid alliterations are spoken
Devoid of her face, his lover’s nudge—
The man nurtures his hurt.

Anxious as seldom unscarred,  
Venus’s susurrations,
In present tenses,
Kissed by her serenades of integration—
Notwithstanding metaphysic intrusion,
No chain stays unbroken,
Postponed drifts of deferment left unspoken,
Reverberations of amor.

© 2013 W. S. Warner
To Eileen
vircapio gale Aug 2012
boasting of the god of love's attentions,
this magicweaver lures her prey--
conjures forth her whim
seeking quench of fickle thirst within
attempting avenues of guile
numerously failed, and baits another heart
to suit her object's mate,
whose favors hail from Shiva
unto dominion everywhere,
  except at forest hut where Rama--
with Sita --honeymoons in exile
having snapped the cosmic dancer's massive bow
to win her for his wife, yet bound
by family word to wilderness
  in elder-shade of mystic eagle
guarded by their builder,
brother Lakshmana, in whose absence Kamavalli comes
to woo the godlike archer for her own.

little bells on anklets ring--
from creeper snagged
as if in venery yearning,
urgent vines would find their way to rest on skin
and squeeze in verdant rooting underform
prancing by, playfully demure
to enter subdued greenery
of Panchvati's gated yard
to catch the stoic Rama's eye
in invitation flashing for his gaze:
a sculptured form of flawless grace
nubile teeth shining from the forest dark,
a smile unassuming of callipygean sway
beneath the flitting lashes of her iris' swell

baffled there he stirs to praise her openly
as perfect--
despite his inner-goddess-for-a-wife he keeps inside--
with tripping words
welcomes and blesses this new girl,
exalting her with blushing queries,
sylvan surging rush to know
interrogate her mystery,
rapt in wide-eyed wonder verging beatific breath--
but learning of her lineage...
begins to plot their deaths.

banter light,
flirtations with a hidden, cosmic weight to pun against,
his praise asserts its hold
pretending bachelorhood;
his kindly, transauthentic voice resists
and in a sympathetic, skillful tone, promulgates
a drama to entice her eager mind--
ironic fancies of domestic bliss
flow from Rama, subtle jests
become her plight obsessing
into darkness embered with her lust
to truly claim him as her love,
her grandiosity defused in simple
entertainment quipping of their castes
and then with sudden burst entranced in luminescent rays of stunning rustic glow
from cottage comes his wife to claim her presence known.

the blow is dealt: Manmatha lays Kamavalli's fate: to self-disintegrate

jealousy to deafen gods, in cave retreat
to nurse her spite, surrounded in a dance
of serpent flails to sate her woe,
and only feed in ouroboros knotslip pulse
a lump-filled throat of gulping incite forward zest salacious
pungent flare of earth identity of fang and blood
the cry to shudder down a wolfine howl
in blast of animal, from screaming womanhood
the swoon precipitate-- vast height, abysmal fall
on being spurned by one who led her on
into delusion wrapped in sham an alter self
she met in bed a thousand cravings razing sanity
into a hate for moon, for elements themselves,
railing at Manmatha's haze infernal globe within and out
projecting Rama's face transfixing her inept
in wracking convulse whine of every cell,
her being sweating out imagined arms,
palms of his to cup her, lift from hellish pit of stifled longing never known 'til volcanically regrown--
in new love's throws an innocence of honest
selfhood found in him, bizarrely enemied in Lila's
killing spree of ego-dolls of lotus costume tracing all
searching through his fresh phantasm for her quelling salve
his diamond ******* targets for her soul
his broadness engirthing her to moan until her last in ecstasy
unknown asura-brew untold invented only now forever lost,
the moment fondled vastly gone,
his chest but gossamer instead of flesh
the emerald shoulder glimmer fake
the boundless confidence exuded in his
tender skin's encapsulated sinew strength
merely thought on causing pelvic quake
repeating there an apparition for her nearly endless letting out
he comes for her a demon double of her making
demi-god creator-demon vision for her writhing,
abandoned to the ambrosia torment he provides
wailing at the cavern sky her prison boudoir den
enscaled with slither pile coat of snakes, masturbatory wake of swooning still again

through to dawn..
in which psychotic break decides:
Soorpanaka births herself anew--
possession of her goal, or suicide.
the dewy spectra shines reflection of the choice;
rave committal forms its mould--
exhaustion hatches colorspray of plots,
braving mutilation to abduct,
lies and bribes surmounting each before
in ****** propositions to her ever widened bed,
else demonic armies loosed,
infatuate Ravana's heart
with illusory snare of golden Sita's rumored wares
to get her man alone and hew derision
with her desperate charm, by cantrip or war
spawned from deeper lairs of a broken,
fallacious heart, toward matrimony
or destruction bent













.
Robert G Page Aug 2013
By
rgpage

The cool evening breeze filled with a scent of approaching rain.
Caught by playful window shears
as it passes through an open pane, to reach their  
length and breadth toward the waiting bed.

He was a lover of music and his woman,
a passionate man with a sensitive heart.
She was in love with the melodic way  
his gentle fingers moved with sensual touch
over her soft silk like skin of art.

He started gently around her ears softly prying
them open with the quiet richness of her melodies.
Each note of his gentle kisses leading her to a sensual abyss,
easing her down from the edge, controlling her descent, to her goal.
Down the swirling dark and light blends of the music rendered from her soul.

She was his instrument on which he placed
his soft loving fingers, moving them effortlessly,
caressing her most sensual delicate keys…Each body part
smoothly rubbed added richness to her sensual sound driven by lust
and loving trust.  

Her ******* he fondled, licking and kissing, squeezing and rubbing.
Silently giving thanks, to her creator for such an amazing instrument.
Both of her hands with long slender fingers tangled in the long dark locks
of his hair as she eases her maestro’s head up tighter against her soft
beautiful mounds.

The loving melody continues with his touch now joined with the sound
of raindrops splashing into uncovered metal buckets and cans. The drops
carried on the breeze through the playful dancing shears came through the other end as nothing more than refreshing cooling mist.

Her body was his loving piano, and as with the 88 keys of his magnificent
Baldwin, the sensual areas of her equally magnificent body, when properly stroked,  filled not  only the bedroom but the whole house with the most glorious ****** notes known to man.  

After a while the symphonic ****** builds as he masterfully impales her with his instrument of love coming into constant contact with the one special key of keys. Its special sound as his strokes came harder and faster brought the whole master piece to a beautiful melodic end as the two lovers bath in the rain’s gentle mist…
Debra A Baugh Feb 2013
fingers caress like
etched calligraphy
leaving teased
imprints

drenched...

in shameless seep
as lips sheathe its bud,
heatedly erupting

raging forth...

upon tongue; its fragrance
titillating senses, hands
travel length of curvaceousness
in hungered voracity,

trembled peaks rise
exploding

fondled...
won the Gold trophy in contest of Simply Sensual In Brevity in 40 words...
Y Rada Oct 2015
I buried him somewhere…
When I go to bed at night,
I checked the closet and he’s not there,
I tried under my bed and he’s not there.

Surely he’s dead for I buried him somewhere,
I am a woman now and not a frantic child,
It’s been a long while since I have not visited his grave,
Pray then, why must he appear now?

I tried hard to move on with life,
I persevered to love and accept myself,
I opened my heart to forgive my own,
My being is as wide as the skies.

I found solace in the plateau of my existence,
Why must he visit now?
Truly, I buried him somewhere,
And I swore he’ll never see me again.

He’s there trying to taunt and torture me,
He’s the one who mocks me,
He scoffs me when I search for happiness,
He laughs when I try beating myself.

Nightmares haunt me even at day,
He was the devil himself,
He, a vile and a disgusting man,
Who touched and fondled me in my innocent years.

He violated my freshness to rotten,
And it took me years to pick up the pieces,
Now that I’m almost whole I couldn’t understand,
Why must he resurrect in my dreams?

I am a woman and I still live,
Yet fear still envelopes my being,
I can never forgive and I will never forget,
But surely, I buried him somewhere…
Dedicated to the abused (sexually or other) females around the world
K Balachandran Dec 2016
"After mysteries am I, mysterious men too"
together when we slipped away from others
she told me with a grin, evidently hysterical,
it gripped me, for some unknown reason.

"More in to mysteries than anything else"
I gently notified to her  my intentions
"I've never been able to **** a male ****** ever"
She indicated the area of her present  curiosity
but isn't it strange,that she sounded wistful?

If I heard her right,she mentioned repeatedly
about,"The Third Brest,"as if she has a mystery
for me in store.When buried deep around my *******
her teeth transmitted a hunger, and I felt it:
what exactly a mother feels suckling her baby
her heart beat went out of control,I could see
the pangs of child that has never been fed
from her mother's breast, or fondled by her


And the mysterious part of the game
she saved for me was finally unveiled,
                                              my expectant eyes
saw a chest devoid of any kind of swell, except
the memories of the two full ones taken away
mercilessly by decease.I saw blood in her tears.
Blackenedfigs Dec 2020
Take me back to a different hotel every night and living out of a suitcase. Getting comfortable in our naked bodies around each other; comparing breast size and stretch marks—examining ourselves like the men who’ve carelessly fondled us before for our likes and dislikes. Sharing a bottle of lukewarm tequila in the world’s smallest bathtub and then I sing you to sleep. Highway cars buzzing past and there’s only one road to get lost on, but we manage it every single time. Your car becomes a dressing room at gas stations where people stare with disapproving glares and worry for the safety of their wallets; because we don’t belong here but we laugh—still drunk from the early morning hours and just trying to find the next check-in spot for the night. There never is a real destination but home always seems too close and we both hate that part. It doesn’t feel right when it ends or when I have to crawl back into my own bed without a time frame to be out by in the morning—before the housekeeping maid comes banging on our door,
yet again.
Temitope Popoola Oct 2013
It had been a good morning. I woke up feeling beautiful and full of life. I'd called my very good friend Fola for our usual morning chat and we had teased ourselves over the phone. She got drunk the night before at the club and some random guy had taken advantage of her drunkenness! He was about to start fondling her ***** when I came into the picture! She was giggly and flirty and that probably gave the guy the green light.

She was a bit embarrassed when I brought it up but Fola was a cool headed person so she laughed it off. I went through my daily routine like a zombie, it was the same old thing; dress up, go for lectures and then see what else we could do with the day. The week was usually like that. We take turns to sleep in each other's room, we were always together. She had a serious relationship! At least it looked that way at the time and I wasn't envious, I'd never been that kind of person. But I was just a free lady, men didn't appeal to me much but occasionally I get some that are my type but they always come with a price. In came this guy, I'd met him through her. The kind of guy that goes with anything and anyone. He speaks well and before I knew it, he became my addiction. She wasn't comfortable with it, but it was harmless! With her relationship she sure was heading for the alter so I discarded all the pointers I saw. She couldn't be in love with Scott, it would be farcical. Weeks later Raymond asked me out and I said no. I didn't want anything that'll get in the way of our friendship. And considering the fact that he was quite controversial, I didn't want to be his fancy woman either.

However, I found solace in him and discovered he really had ears for listening. He made me calm in the most ugly situation. He was my rock, I depended on him. We had it going for a while and one day he offered to take me out for dinner and I didn't hesitate. I unwittingly got into a situation I would have preferred on a normal day to be a nightmare.  He had a friend with him so there was no need to be nervous. We had a civilised conversation, nothing unnerving. I was starting to have the idea of me and him together, a happy ever after kind of story. I was wrong, I was in for it and sure took the bait. Time passed so quickly it was late! There was no cab for me to call and he said he couldn't drive me home! I wasn't sure, but the probing between my thighs wanted to explore. We got to his house and we settled.


Later things got really emotional and we started to kiss. I was on tenterhooks. My hands roamed his body softly, afraid I would tamper with something delicate. He explored my body with confidence, my ******* were taut when his hands found them at last. I made sounds in my throat and he giggled! When his mouth found my *******, I gasped! He ****** them as he spread my thigh and fondled with my honey spot. When he finally took me, it was ecstasy. He was mumbling reassuring words and I responded with passion. We were at it, somewhat changing positions, I was embarrassed and he laughed at me. When he came, he tried to stop himself from shouting by using my shoulder. He left me ******* bite marks. I nursed the shoulder for a few days and that was all.


When my friend called me, she was somewhat disappointed and insinuated I'd been used and it shouldn't have been me. I was dumbfounded, I shed hot tears and couldn't stop. Could Ray be the kind of guy who kiss and tell? I heard words I've said to him being replayed and aired by various audience. My relationship with Fola became estranged and there was nothing we could do about it. We stopped sharing thoughts while I hurt! Fola knew me better than anyone in the world, but this particular pain I wasn't willing to share. I felt foolish.

He'd made the bite marks the reference point and evidence. The incessant calls, texts and affection was just a coy. I was broken beyond repair. I didn't wanna get healed. I stopped trusting and couldn't see beyond the hurt. I lost the desire to live. There was nothing to say to those who knew about it, it was simply an emotional mire.
In the end, the possibility I created in my head- of us being together was nothing but a mirage!
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
These are couplets written by Donald Trump and limericks and other Donald Trump poems "care of" Michael R. Burch (please note that these are parodies) ...

Not-So-Heroic Couplets
by Donald Trump
care of Michael R. Burch

To outfox the pox:
off yourself first, with Clorox!

And since death is the goal,
mainline Lysol!

No vaccine?
Just chug Mr. Clean!

Is a cure out of reach?
Fumigate your lungs, with bleach!

To immunize your thorax,
destroy it with Borax!

To immunize your bride,
drown her in Opti-cide!

To end all future gridlocks,
gargle with Vaprox!

Now, quick, down the Drain-o
with old Insane-o NoBrain-o!

Keywords/Tags: Donald Trump, coronavirus, president, poet, poems, poetry, heroic couplets, humor, Clorox, disinfectants, light verse, parody, satire, mrbtrump, mrbcouplets



What REALLY Happened
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump lied and lied and lied.
Americans died and died and died.



Grime Wave
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Donald Trump is ******* crime ...
unless it's his own grime.



Trump Love
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump "love" is truly a curious thing ...
does he care for our kids half as much as his bling?



Tangled Webs
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Oh, what tangled webs they weave
when Trump and his toupée seek to deceive!



No Star
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump, you're no "star."
Putin made you an American Czar.

Now, if we continue down this dark path you've chosen,
pretty soon we'll all be wearing lederhosen.



Raw Spewage (I)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump
is a chump
who talks through his ****;
he's a political sump pump!



Green Eggs and Spam
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

I do not like your racist ways!
I do not like your hate for gays!

I do not like your gaseous ****!
I do not like you, Crotch-Grabber Trump!

I do not like you here or there!
I do not like you anywhere!

Your brain's been trapped in a lifelong slump
And I do not like you, Hate-Baiter Trump!



Apologies to España
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

the reign
in Trump’s brain
falls mainly as mansplain



Stumped and Stomped by Trump
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a candidate, Trump,
whose message rang clear at the stump:
"Vote for me, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!,
because I am ME,
and everyone else is a chump!"



Humpty Trumpty
by Michael R. Burch

Humpty Trumpty called for a wall.
Trumpty Dumpty had a great fall.
Now all the Grand Wizards
and Faux PR men
Can never put Trumpty together again.



The Hair Flap
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

The hair flap was truly a scare:
Trump’s bald as a billiard back there!
The whole nation laughed
At the state of his graft;
Now the man’s wigging out, so beware!



Roses are red,
Daffodils are yellow,
But not half as daffy
As that taffy-colored fellow!
―Michael R. Burch



Trump’s real goals are obvious
and yet millions of Americans remain oblivious.
—Michael R. Burch



Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch



The Ex-Prez Sez

The prez should be above the law, he sez,
even though he’s no longer prez.
—Michael R. Burch



Quite Con-trary
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trumpy, Trumpy,
fat, balding and lumpy,
how does your Rose Garden grow?
“With venom and spleen
and everything mean,
and my gasket about to blow!”

Trumpy, Trumpy,
obese and dumpy,
why are your polls so low?
“I claimed I was Cyrus
at war with a virus
but lost every time to the minuscule foe!”



Piecemeal, a Coronavirus poem
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

And so it begins—the ending.
The narrowing veins, the soft tissues rending.
Your final solution is pending.
(Soon a portly & pale Piggy-Wiggy
will discount your death as "no biggie.")



Viral Donald (I)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Donald Trump is coronaviral:
his brain's in a downward spiral.
That pale nimbus of hair
proves there's nothing up there
but an empty skull, fluff and denial.



Viral Donald (II)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Why didn't Herr Trump, the POTUS,
protect us from the Coronavirus?
That weird orange corona of hair's an alarm:
Trump is the Virus in Human Form!



Red State Reject
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

I once was a pessimist
but now I’m more optimistic,
ever since I discovered my fears
were unsupported by any statistic.



The Red State Reaction
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?

And how the hell can the bleep
Do so much, IN HIS SLEEP?



The Final Episode of Celebrity Apprentice President
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Ronald McDonald
said to The Donald,
"Just between us clowns, your polls are too low!"
So The Donald thought hard
then said to his pard,
"It's because I'm a martyr. The world must know!"
Thus Eric Trump jumped
from his obese Trump ****
to declare the virus a "hoax." (End of show.)



modern Midas
by michael r. burch

they say nothing human's alive
yet the Hermit survived:

the last of His kind,
clean out of His mind.

they say He relentlessly washes His fingers,
as dainty as ever, yet the smell of death lingers.

they say it sets off His corona of hair
when He blanches with fear in his Mansion Faire.

they say He still spritzes each strand into place
though there’s no one to see in that hellish place.

they say there’s a moral in what He’s become
as He fondles gold trinkets and cradles His john.



Mother of Cowards
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

So unlike the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land,
Spread-eagled, showering gold, a strumpet stands:
A much-used trollop with a torch, whose flame
Has long since been extinguished. And her name?
"Mother of Cowards!" From her enervate hand
Soft ash descends. Her furtive eyes demand
Allegiance to her ****'s repulsive game.

"Keep, ancient lands, your wretched poor!" cries she
With scarlet lips. "Give me your hale, your whole,
Your huddled tycoons, yearning to be pleased!
The wretched refuse of your toilet hole?
Oh, never send one unwashed child to me!
I await Trump's pleasure by the gilded bowl!"




Toupée or Not Toupée, That is the Question
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

There once was a brash billionaire
who couldn't afford decent hair.
Vexed voters agreed:
"We're a nation in need!"
But toupée the price, do we dare?



Toupée or Not Toupée, This is the Answer
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Oh crap, we elected Trump prez!
Now he's Simon: we must do what he sez!
For if anyone thinks
And says his "plan" stinks,
He'll wig out 'neath that weird orange fez!



White as a Sheet
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Donald Trump had a real Twitter Scare
then rushed off to fret, vent and share:
“How dare Bernie quote
what I just said and wrote?
Like Megyn he’s mean, cruel, unfair!”



Raw Spewage (II)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump
is a chump
who talks through his ****;
he's a garbage dump
in need of a sump pump!



we did not Dye in vain!
by Michael R. Burch

from “songs of the sea snails”

though i’m just a slimy crawler,
my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
(oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
might stand out in a crowd.

i salute you, fellow loyals,
who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
in bright imperial purple!

Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” It was greatly prized in antiquity, and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!



Twinkle Wrinkles
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Twinkle, twinkle, little "star" ...
Trump, how we wished you blazed                 afar!

Twinkle, twinkle, Groper-Cupid ...
How we've wished you weren't so stupid!

Twinkle, twinkle, Man-Baby "president" ...
In truth you're just the White House resident.



Americans have the opportunity
to greatly improve their community
with votes a-plenty
in 2020.
Dump
Trump!
—Michael R. Burch



Joe Biden, Joe Biden,
our future is ridin’
on you defeatin’
and hidin’
that cancerous lump
called Trump.
—Michael R. Burch



The Perfect Storm
by Michael R. Burch

Stormy Daniels
is Trump's worst nightmare—
a truthteller,
a woman without fear,
full of *****,
unimpressed by his junk,
that he can't debunk.



Aftermath
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Carmen Yulín Cruz is a hero.
Donald Trump is a zero.



15 Seconds
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Our president’s *** life—atrocious!
His "briefings"—bizarre hocus-pocus!
Politics—a shell game!
My brief moment of fame
flashed by before Oprah could notice!



March for Our Lives
by Michael R. Burch

It's not a moment,
it's a MOVEMENT
created to save
innocents from the grave.



Tweety and Pootie
sittin' in a tree
K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
First comes love,
second comes marriage,
third barechested weasels in a White House carriage!
—Michael R. Burch



Three Trump Valentine's Day Poems

1.

If you're tall, blonde and pretty,
I'll grab your kitty.
If you're dark-skinned and short,
It's time to deport!

2.

I'll secure your southern border tonight,
as long as you're wearing white!

3.

If you're not
as hot
as my daughter,
beware;
prepare
for the slaughter!



Why did Trump endorse Roy "Score" Moore when Nostradumbass claimed he "knew" the Sludge Judge couldn't win? ...

Predators of a feather
flock together.
—Michael R. Burch



Kneeling Verboten
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Colin Kaepernick took a stand by kneeling;
now Donald Trump is reeling
as the NFL owners he implored
lock hands with the players he deplored.



How the Fourth ***** Ramped Up
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump prepped his pale Deplorables:
"You're easy marks and scorables!
Now when I bray
click your heels, obey,
and I'll soon promote you to Horribles!"



Trump Trumps "We The People"
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump fired Comey
to appoint a *****:
some pawn in his Kamp
with a big rubber stamp.

Out the window flew freedom!
Rights? You don't need 'em!
Like Attilâ the ***,
Trump answers to no one!

Do you think you have worth?
Trump makes you his serf.
He's your Lord and your Master:
you elected DISASTER.



Pass the Hat for the Fat Cat
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

If you're a Fat Cat,
vote for an Autocrat;
otherwise, stick with a Democrat ...
or get ready to pass the hat
for yourself,
doomed by that strange little pixie-fingered orange elf.



****** Assaulter-in-Chief
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Ronald McDonald Trump Bozo
bopped Bill Clinton Clown on the nose: “Oh,
I’ll trump your cigar
with my groping, by far,
when I bounce interns on my Big Pogo!”



Trump's Donor Song
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

(lines written after it became apparent that Trump is not
"draining the swamp" but stocking it with his crocodilian
donors and political piranha)

christmas is coming, the Trumpster's purse is flat:
please put a Billion in the Fat Cat's hat!
if you haven't got a Billion, a Hundred Mil will do.
if you haven't got a Hundred Mil, the yoke's on you!



Alt-Right White Christmas
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump's dreaming of a White Christmas,
just like the ones he used to know
when black renters groveled
or lived in hovels
while he laughed and shouted **-**-**!



*******
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump
Is a chump,
He’s an
Orange Heffalump.
His hair?
Made of batter.
His brain?
***** matter.
His “plans”?
A disaster.
His “position”?
Your Master!



Fool's Gold
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

THE DONALD has won (so we're told).
If it's true, worthless swampland's been sold!
But who were the buyers?
Poor folks who trust liars
and pay through the nose for fool's gold.



Bunko
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Agent Orange is full of bunk:
Tiny-fingered, he claims a big "trunk."
And his "platform"? Oh my,
I think we'd all die!
And he can't even claim he was drunk!

NOTE: Donald Trump claims that he doesn't drink alcohol, except when he partakes of Holy Communion. However, Trump insulted the body and blood of Jesus Christ when he spoke dismissively of his "little *******" and "little wine." He claims to be a Christian, but also said that he never asks God for forgiveness! Is he punch drunk or just pulling our legs about being a Christian?



De-Bunko
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

There's something I'd like to debunk:
the GOP's not in a "funk."
The Donald, by choice,
is its unfiltered voice.
Vote for someone who's sane, or we're sunk!



Fooling Around
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Ronald McDonald Trump-Bozo
cried, “Clinton Clown cheats with his yo-yo!
He plays fast and loose!
It’s clearly abuse!
Whereas broads love to bounce on my pogo!”

BTW, it's amusing that Rudy Giuliani is now Trump's surrogate, defending him from accusations of ****** assault and other improprieties by scores of women, when in a 2000 "Mayor's Inner Circle" video, Giuliani in drag had his "*******" schmoozed by The Donald, after which Giuliani slapped his face and called him a "***** boy." Obviously, Giuliani was well aware of Trump's reputation for grabbing and groping women without bothering to ask for their permission! Trump's outrageous behavior was a running joke among alpha males in his circle. In 1993, fellow bad boy Howard Stern asked Trump directly: “So you treat women with respect?” Trump answered honestly: “No, I can’t say that either.” And hundreds of chauvinistic public statements and tweets by Trump confirm that he doesn't treat women with respect, or minorities, or anyone that he considers "weak" or "overweight" or "unattractive."



Trumping Tots
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Things that go bump in the night
fill Herr Trump with irrational fright;
his brain hits the skids;
he shrieks, "Ban dark kids!"
Where's his self-lauded "courage" and "might"?
Is cowardice Trump's kryptonite?



Trump Explains Why His Hair Looks Like ****: It's Been Bleached By Drool
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

"Although my hands are quite tiny,
I have an enormous hiney;
so I stick my head in,
predicting I’ll win,
while everyone kisses it shiny!"



The Name and Blame Game
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

If you have a slightly offbeat name,
you'll be de-planed, detained, restrained, defamed.
Supremacists know pure white names are best,
so be prepared to prove you're among the Blessed.
(Woe unto those who fail Trump's Litmus Test!)



Trump the Game Plan
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

There once was a huckster named Trump
who liked to be kissed on the ****.
He promised awed voters
if they'd be his promoters,
he'd magically fix up their dump.

Now the voters were dreaming of Ronald
and hoping they'd found him in Donald.
And so, lightly "thinking"
after much heavy drinking,
they put out, as if they'd been fondled.

But once he'd secured the election
Trump found his fans cause for dejection.
"I only love tens!"
he complained to his "friends,"
then deported them: black, white and Mexican.

Thus Donald fulfilled his sworn duties
by ridding the land of non-cuties.
Once the plain Janes were gone
he could smile on his throne
surrounded by imported beauties!



Egad,
what a cad;
the Orange Heffalump
scowls when he sees
a baby bump!
Like the Grinch who stole Christmas
(but every day of the year),
The Donald eyes happy
mothers with a leer!
―Michael R. Burch

NOTE: Donald Trump actually body-shamed Kim Kardashian for having a baby bump, saying that she was "large" and ought to watch the kind of clothes she wears in public!



Donald Trump Campaign Songs

Christmas is coming!
Tycoons are getting fat!
TRUMP says, "Take a ****
in some beggar's hat!
Beat him to a pulp
then run him out of town
if he dares object to
the MAN with the GOLDEN CROWN.
And if you're not a Christian,
nothing else will do!
But if you're just like TRUMP,
then may TRUMP bless you!
―Michael R. Burch



SANTA CLAWS is coming to town!
He sees Spics when they're sleeping
and Blacks when they're awake!
He knows that Whites are always good,
but dark skin is God's mistake.
So if you're some poor orphan
with slightly darker skin,
BIG BROTHER will be WATCHING
all blacks and Mexicans!
―Michael R. Burch



Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch



Dark Shroud, Silver Lining
by Michael R. Burch

Trump cares so little for the silly pests
who rise to swarm his rallies that he jests:
“The silver lining of this dark corona
is that I’m not obliged to touch the fauna!”



Zip It
by Michael R. Burch

Trump pulled a cute stunt,
wore his pants back-to-front,
and now he’s the **** of bald jokes:
“Is he coming, or going?”
“Eeek! His diaper is showing!”
But it’s all much ado, says Snopes.



Mini-Ode to a Quickly Shrinking American Icon
by Michael R. Burch

Rudy, Rudy,
strange and colludy,
how does your pardon grow?
“With demons like hell’s
and progress like snails’
and criminals all in a row!”



Christmas is Coming
alternate lyrics by Michael R. Burch

Christmas is coming; Trump’s goose is getting plucked.
Please put the Ukraine in his pocketbook.
If you haven’t got the Ukraine, some bartered Kurds will do.
But if you’re short on blackmail, well, the yoke’s on you!

Christmas is coming and Rudy can’t make bail.
Please send LARGE donations, or the Cause may fail.
If you haven’t got a billion, five hundred mil will do.
But if you’re short on cash, the LASH will fall on you!

Keywords/Tags: Trump, Donald Trump, poems, epigrams, quotes, quotations, Rudy Giuliani, Ted Cruz, Cancun, Christmas, evil, democracy, coup, treason, treasonous, coronavirus, president, poet, poems, poetry, heroic couplets, couplet, humor, humorous, Clorox, Lysol, disinfectants, light verse, parody, satire, America



In My House
by Michael R. Burch

I was once the only caucasian in the software company I founded and managed. I had two fine young black programmers working for me, and they both had keys to my house. This poem looks back to the dark days of slavery and the Civil War it produced.

When you were in my house
you were not free—
in chains bound.

"Manifest Destiny?"

I was wrong;
my plantation burned to the ground.
I was wrong.

This is my song,
this is my plea:
I was wrong.

When you are in my house,
now, I am not free.

I feel the song
hurling itself back at me.

We were wrong.
This is my history.

I feel my tongue
stilting accordingly.

We were wrong;
brother, forgive me.

Published by Black Medina

Keywords/Tags: Race, Racism, Black Lives Matter, Equality, Brotherhood, Fraternity, Sisterhood, Tolerance, Acceptance, Civil Rights



Instruction
by Michael R. Burch

Toss this poem aside
to the filigreed and the prettified tide
of sunset.

Strike my name,
and still it is all the same.
The onset

of night is in the despairing skies;
each hut shuts its bright bewildered eyes.
The wind sighs

and my heart sighs with her—
my only companion, O Lovely Drifter!
Still, men are not wise.

The moon appears; the arms of the wind lift her,
pooling the light of her silver portent,
while men, impatient,

are beings of hurried and harried despair.
Now willows entangle their fragrant hair.
Men sleep.

Cornsilk tassels the moonbright air.
Deep is the sea; the stars are fair.
I reap.

Originally published by Romantics Quarterly


Published as the collection "Not-So-Heroic Couplets"
palladia Dec 2013
i cannot face a day without acknowledging a loss.
i cannot fathom such a wilderness grew so close to my place,
my society-free, impositionless place
a tepid forest inhabited
by the requiems of the agnostically murdered
and the cogged wheels of the deceased's clocks.
sometimes they stick and the clockmaster unsticks them,
but they stop up again ever so quickly.
there is nobody who has the time or effort to continually watch the clocks.
and they return to ticking an eldritch song
which may cause pain.
it has not abolished mine, nor shall forth be disseminated to do so.
i am an ascetic mastermind, abiding in my messy pool
of thought, without my womb, without my brood, without my broom
to tidy the mishmash of unruly cobwebs and such.
the fumes cause me to wonder “where is my world,
which i’ve fondled so dearly?”
i detox and recycle memories, it’s to no worth of you
a venomous whisper on a silver lining of a dream tells you everything:
a fanatic’s agenda degrading urbane,
a plummeting depth to deep impact,
i drift away on a molten lava lilypad, and fantasize that...
i am god
but i haven’t found time to juggle your sect
reissuing lessons to mind the sheriff
and i cannot bear to lead me, to my own cultural death.
i cannot receive your moral disease, a signal on my knees
con e preghiere sbiancante. can’t you understand it?
my life is spent with hope placed
on each pair of snake eyes i roll
chance is the meter for everything.
dare i dare go back to my fantasizing,
i am god
ashamed by the lack of hope, and regret
disgraced by the hate and intolerance of man
and i see now their perfect world, is everything i detest.
and the tears produced
form new embryos of emotions
crystalline structures of psychological proportions
which develop into mature,
sentient, and emotion-proof organisms.
which become i.
and i respond vehemently yet come to my senses in a diplomatic tone,
because i am a diplomat.
and i have learned to nail my destiny to an altar each night,
an altar which can sacrifice my pensive motives
and my self-incriminating philosophy
that i should be able to write my destiny, and not
have it planned and read aloud,
read out loud, out in the air, outside.
i try myself.
i tempt myself.
and i return to supplicated suffering about my own mortality
and the atoms i will never see
and the universe i will never span
and the people i will never meet
and the times i will never live.
what if i rivered thirty silver-coins:
◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌
◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌
◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌
what if i
didn’t
?
i might be ****** for this: but i’ll still set fire to the catacombs.
i might be scourged for this: but i’ll still hold on,
hoping there’s skin on my bones.
ecclesia, – a common, a sanctuary, a vanguard from the darkness in the world.
i know what i should do but never ever get it done;
i know what i have been and what i will become.
not defined by a dimension nor reputed by a benchmark
but shaded by the passion and dissuaded by the lashes.
i’ll do anything you want me to,
if you **** the self-inflicted psalms i plead!
the ulcer grows
that sweet cologne
i ***** it into the unknown.
i won’t tax your soul, i won’t stick a price to it:
coins ◌◌◌◌◌ won’t fill the hole -in a business deal (assets corrode)
i won’t tax your soul (i won’t buy it with blood money ◌◌◌◌◌, no)
it’s yours alone (but in business deals,
deficit is prone)
and there’s an aspect {a static} of forever and the inescapable gap
between the conscious
and the desired.
i sit here, ever so comfy and lustrous,
and habitually wait the day
they merge.
my invitations stand clear.
if you cannot come, i’ll wait for you. hidden
in the grillework of my past. but if you cannot come,
i’ll be waiting. hidden in the warmth of our teepee haus,
i’ll wait for you.

if X Marx the spot then why Kant i Locke it up?
*could living hand-to-mouth so long make me so Jung?
There’s a complex relationship with the earth, Pleroma, God, and mortality. And none of it can be solved. We live in such a saddened state today.
Alone within my emotional wilderness

A reverie along memory lane when, this lviii sea sunned
row man (stills paddles in oarlocks and serenely quizzically,
lackadaisically, and harmoniously drifts) along the slip
stream of time. Awash on his figurative manual navigated
opportunistic prideful quintessential schooner reflects,
regales, and revisits ebbing lapsed instances (fast receding
into the past time, when psychological instability grounded
fragile my self esteem (generated venting, steaming, and
piping hot brickbats). As a newly minted harrumphing,
grubbing, and floundering dada enmeshment (analogous
to a fish caught in a net, hence quickly ricocheting, rabidly
splashing, and sloppily thrashing) predicated my foray
into das fatherhood. Aye experienced nearest approximation
Bing battered, rammed, and torpedoed from glomming
(par for the course riot ting heaps) necessarily imposed
adult responsibility. Such metaphorical motoring across
avast Battle Creek with no landfall in sight, this then nada
so Grand Turk (key in the straw) Otto man continually
snapped, cracked and popped. This human ping-pong
fitbit part player papa felt akin to subjection re: thralldom).
At this juncture in me cross currents of existence I can
harken back to those most exhausting, fatiguing, and
grueling endeavors. Hindsight offers this aging baby
boomer the luxury to cast astern. Retrospective leisurely
trawls along the shoals throes of fatherhood allow,
enable and provide and opportunity to scrutinize per
chance, where arises this on account of the empty nest
syndrome. Ordinarily the wife (i.e. missus to appear
more formal), would caw out my name nonstop….
”Matt”…”Matt”…”Matt”…, but she opted to organize
the cluster of assorted household items at the apart
ment (located in Crum Lynne – Ridley Township),
we hope to move within a fortnight. Thy spouse
volunteered her own mini reprieve by setting order
to the miscellaneous fixings gradually amassed,
appropriated, and gifted thru out the twenty plus
years of marriage, which hodgepodge of personal
possessions downsized whence circumstance dictates
evaluating goods having keepsake meaning versus
anomaly of belongings to be unloaded, repurposed
for someone else, or ordained as unworthy to schlep.
Alone asper like a very brief sabbatical from marriage
finds stillness amidst the white noise of the whirring
fan. Thus, I sit here ruminating how to dredge up
some idea for a poem,  (non) fiction or essay. This
husband became acclimated, conditioned, and em
bossed with a mate a tete for two plus decades,
whereby both thee dos delightful daughters on
Track 742 heading west. Honest to dog, I miss
the role of fatherhood when either off spring
(with an age difference of approximately twenty
five plus months) romped, scampered, and trotted
as toddlers, and upon childhood, thy little girls
found exultant excitement dashing higgledy-
piggledy, hither and yon, to and fro across the
playground as most glorious human indulgence.
Despite the plaintive wail vis a vis Juliet saying
goodnight to Romeo (…parting is such sweet
sorrow) haint pleasurable atoll. Hitherto un
known that during the most vexing, trying,
and quaking bouts when both kin of thy ****
fought like angry cats would there transpire
the occasion of sincere tearfulness ululating
vain warbling. Now a pang of nostalgia arises
when I drive past their happy go lucky stomp
ping turf, or reflect on answering the trumpet
call to chauffer one or thee other to amusement
park, play date, mall, favorite toy store such as
Fivebelow, birthday party, et cetera. Even
certain tunes recalled to mind and/or heard
being broadcast across the audio logical spec
trum a cause for moistened tear ducts. Wince
with sadness also mixed with sigh lent bundled
expostulations of joy. Both progeny metamorphosed
into able bodied, minded and spirited lasses,
whose attainment far exceeded any projections
internally forecast. Initial onset of parent role
found me all thumbs. Prior to begetting two
darling dames, this chap spent disproportionate
number of hours sequestered within some hide
away, which frequently happened to be the
designated bedroom at 324 Level Road, College
Ville, Pennsylvania, 19010. Never did thee major
rit tee days of mine life point to babysitting or
working with that chronological demographics
comprising the adoring blessed innocence,
murmuring newborn obliviousness, that bespoke
penultimate unsullied, utmost virtue necessitating
interaction with tender infants beckoning being
cradled, endearingly fondled, demonstrably easing
fondness gripping heartstrings issue jetblue kinks.
Aye felt pitched headlong into this foreign territory,
and initially experienced utmost awkwardness when
attending, pampering and pulling (albeit gently)
upsy daisy, the nascent hint of autonomy. Remembrance
and recollection of élan, joie de vivire, and yea those
ear splitting threshold of pain screaming tantrums
all boxed into tidy wholesome Zen announcing
nuggets of greater meaningfulness and absolute
value. The above long winded reverie intended and
meant tubby a semi biography, but leave hit up to
his hie n hiss, he went way overboard, and will give
a one line summarization to describe his i.e. yours truly
life sentence fate decreed. He (this Anglophile chipper
chap lived under duress of extreme anxiety, obsessive/
compulsive behavior, panic attacks and essentially
schizoid personality disorder for the greater part
of his life and hard times, which raw bits would
warrant fleshing out to extrapolate how these psychic
pitfalls represented critical factors at various and
sundry turning points in his life.
Mermaid Jul 2015
Give me just one innocent touch,

My lovely sister of compassion "

I just need your blushed cheeks

Like an apple in time of harvest

To caress them as the feather

Fondled by gentle wind,

Don’t step back, don’t go away!

Leave me just a little innocent kiss

My lovely sister of memories,

to refresh my blurred senses

to feel the warm sun of your heart.

Leave me just an innocent kiss

On your honey lips,

Kissed so many times by your lover

To melt in your sweet nectar

Endlessly longing for your look,

My lovely sister of childhood,

To hold you in an innocent hug

As I'm your bhai from land of sugar cane

Where the vast lakes merge with horizon...

I want only that from you,

Is my desire not innocent?



© n.nour
I wrote in November 2014
NeroameeAlucard Oct 2014
From birth my beauty condemned me, a sacrificial lamb for slaughter.
Beauty was a curse in my land, for each and every daughter.

The monster in the castle, Dracula would be his name.
Always hungry for ****** blood, and it was his right to claim.

Stealing a moment before I go, I took a bottle of sweet red wine.
Hoping that a drunken stupor
would help me with my time.

For days he kept his food alive, who wish that they would die.
I sat at the moonlit pond, and for my fate I did cry.
I come from a family, who's wholly dreaded
Because to the church we are indebted

I took up my family's sacred weapon
A holy whip, the vampire killer, after leaving home into Transylvania I treaded

I wandered aimlessly into a forest
Seeing Draculas castle on a hill,
My blood boiled and my family's voices were urging me to go pursue the ****

I stopped in a lonely clearing and Sat down with the whip at my side,
I looked up and saw a beautiful maiden carrying a very fine wine

As I walked the path, to the castle on the hill.
I saw the man upon a rock, my heart did calm and still.

He offered me some food, I shared with him my wine.
I stopped to sup with him, dragging out the time.

If I could love, this man I would choose.
Curse the fates and Dracula, because of them I lose.

I listened to his voice, shy to reveal my name.
I just want to stay here forever, safe and far from pain.

I whisper my name, after hearing his " Nero".
My lungs all but froze, and my heart rate went to zero.

A wonderful name
for a wonderful man.
My love was growing, but not part of the plan.

The time grew late,
I soon would have to go.
But I knew I was his,
I could feel it in my soul.

His story he did tell, the aim to destroy the beast.
The very same one, who on my blood would feast.

"Aurora" so simple yet supple, it rolled of the tongue
I knew that I loved her, I knew she was my only and one,

The problem was I was facing an impossible task,
Destroying the count, I wasn't sure if I would last

I said to her if tonight is my last on this earth
That I should enjoy it, like incense and myrrh

I could not let him go, without showing him my love.
I would give him my heart, before he is taken up above.

I untied my lace,and steeped out of my dress.
Watching his beautiful eyes, as they fell upon my breast.

I gave him my strength, my body,heart and soul.
All for the only man I will ever physically know.

His hands so tender,
it made my heart cry.
Holding him tightly,praying he would not die.

I stared at this beautiful woman, now naked in the moonlight,
I was aroused already by her appearance, but this was exemplified by the darkest night,

I laid her down on the forest floor and kissed her lovely face
Somehow my armor was stripped off of me and scattered all over the place

His kiss melted my heart, his loverall than made me whole.
Broken til I meet him, the partner of my soul.

I took him in deep, tho I was sure it would not fit.
But it easily slipped inside, with his fingers working my ****.

Gasping and moaning, he truly filled me up.
My joy and my pleasure, overflowing my womanly cup.

Scratching at his,back, and arcing up my hips.
My breath mingling with his, as his name escapes my lips.

My God this woman was like heaven on earth
She was so Beautiful, like the goddess of the hearth

She was so sweet and supple like a well cut gem I knew I loved this woman, and I proved it there and then

I fell apart in his arms, my ****** blew my mind.
This was the purest love, that would stand the test of time.

His loved filled me up, the moon he did give to me.
A caged bird no longer, for my beloved had set me free.

Far to soon our time did end, the fates stepping in once more.
But for a moment in time, we were connected and we soared.

It almost brought tears to my eyes, that our time together couldn't last
We made love so passionately, our bodies had stains of grass,

I gave her my mother's Morningstar, in case I didn't return
I loved this woman so much, it was a trinket she deserved

Tears flowing from my eyes, the Morningstar clasped to my breast.
I whispered my goodbyes, with a tightening in my chest.

Fully dressed with whip in hand, oh what a sight to behold.
But the truth of the situation, had my blood now running cold.

I sat upon his rock, and watched as he walked away.
Knowing until he returned, right here I was going to stay.

I walked up the path and opened the gate to that cursed abode
I trusted my love with the Morningstar because it was my heart I trusted her to hold

I fought my way through his castle defeating everything, zombies, demons even death
Like my ancestors before me I would fight on until my last breath

Finally atop the ancient staircase stood the evil count himself,
I didn't even bother sneaking in because i grew tired of stealth,

In a battle that raged many hours as the night went on,
I choked and beheaded him with the vampire killer, and after that he disappeared into the great beyond,

Triumphant I returned to my beloved and I noticed it began to rain
It felt like my ancestors we're celebrating and their tears were of joy instead of pain

Rain washed down my cheeks, chasing the tears that fell.
My beloved topped the crest, and he was hurt, I could tell.

I ran up to greet him, my aid I lovingly did give.
Many thanks I gave to god, for letting my heart to live.

I took him to my home, and took care of his every need.
Cleaning up his angry wounds and cooking rabbit for me to feed.

Sleep overtook him, the stew I stew I left to simmer.
Holding his I hand I to slept, as the day light began to dimmer.

I walked home with my beloved and fell into a deep slumber
While I was unconscious my every need and wound she treated as if a spell she was under.

I began to stir as I smelled food, rabbit stew if I had to guess
Having known my beloved's passion, I knew it was made with love, the best

The moon rose and than it fell, I watched my lover sleep.
I saw when he began to stir and with joy I did weep.

I changed his bandages, and feed him with every kiss.
He ate the whole bowl and my heart was full of bliss.

My love would live,
my curse was now broken.
All because of a kind hello and names that were softly spoken.

My wish came to true and love I did find.
Our two souls now made one, forever intertwined.

I looked at my love and saw the passion in her eyes, I pulled her close to me, I missed her so last night,

I kissed her with all the love I could muster I stared into those deep blue eyes
I made sure that because I had come back she would never have to cry

I kissed my love, my own, he was truly my handsome hero.
I could no longer hold it in," I love you Nero."

My heart swimming in my eyes, I put my hand upon his cheek.
The love that I could see, made my bones melt and my knees weak.

Finally I could live,
my heart now had a home.
This man that is before me, I can claim as my very own.

I smiled in my beloveds face, I kissed her again and said I'll always love you
I don't know how fortunate I had to have been
But ill make sure to keep you happy, more so than you have ever been

Forever happy I shall be, with you by my side.
No longer shall I feel pain, no more will I have hide.

Shunned by the village, as the one who was chosen.
But now from the darkest pit, the sun has finally rosen.

To you my love, I give my heart.
Forever together,
never shall we part

I smiled wryly and began to gently rub her soft curvy body
I didn't think it strange at all she began acting so oddly

As we laid together in the sunrise I whispered "darling, shall we make love again?"

I raise my head to meet his eyes and knew he wanted me to.
" Are you sure my love, it won't end up hurting you."

To hurt him now, I just could never forgive.
I shall never cause him pain, as long as we both shall live.

But oh how I wanted him, my body began to ache.
I pray he was well enough, so me he would be able to take.

I said no matter how much pain I'm in I'll always make time for you
Just be gentle with me beloved, I'm healing now thanks to you

I kissed him tenderly, giving my promise and my vow.
"I shall love you tenderly, no pain will I cause u now."

I kissed my way down his neck and licked down his chest.
I leaned just a little bit so his hairs could tease my breast.

Lower I did go, my mouth hungry for more. As I reached my goal, my heart began to soar.

I placed myself between his legs, and licked my luscious lips.
I put my mouth to his shaft and my hands upon his hips.

I took him inside and his taste danced on my tongue.
If I could but sing my joy I would have sung.

As I bathed him with silken warmth, I started to ride his leg.
The feel of him inside my mouth had my core starting to beg.

I felt almost ecstatic
Making love to Aurora again
After battling my way through hell and high water
I couldn't wait to be with her again
My toes curled up in excitement my muscles still somewhat sore,
I stared into those deep blue eyes, my eyes begging for more

I teased him just a little bit, my tongue licking up and down.
I had to taste his lovely ***** so cute and bouncy round.

I slide up his body and slowly slipped him inside.
I softly rocked my hips as I began my loving ride.

I moaned deep in my throat and he filled deep within.
If this was being wanton than I bask in glorious sin.

I laid back and watch this beautiful woman transform into a goddess of desire
I could see why the night we first met was ablaze with this passionate fire,

My spine shot up and down I quivered with ecstasy
I held on to my love tightly
So I could love every inch of her body

Quivering with such delight, I placed his hands on my breast.
I left my hands ontop of his, as he fondled and caressed.

I gave him my body, I will even give him my life.
My only one true desire now, was to become his loving wife.

I looked deep into his eyes, and drowned within his soul.
My body felt on fire and my flame did dance and glow.

Pleasure overtook me, I began to scream his name.
My sheath tightened around him and my essence began to rain.

I felt her sweet love juices
Spill onto me with such extremity
I'd been traveling around for quite some time so I knew the perfect remedy
"Beloved lay down beside me I want to try something new"
I winked at her because she had no idea what I planned to do

I kissed my beloved down her body caressing from place to place
My eyes were almost drunken from her intoxicating face

I arrived at her woman cup so soft wet and warm
I began to drink deeply, taking in all of her love juices like coffee at dawn

Griping the sheets within my hand, I bite into my lips.
The shock and surprise had u rising up my hips.

I gave a womanly growl, as my hands than griped his hair.
I was so enchanted with the sight, I could do aught but stare.

Him between my legs, his tongue licking at my ****.
I knew that he could taste me, for I was extremely slick.

My essence flowed freely, and I was lost to the pleasure.
He treated me like I was his own special treasure.

I ate her like I was starving, Like her orifice contained the gift of life
I ****** and licked upon her
Desiring nothing but to make my beloved nothing less than my wife.

I drank my beloved's essence like I was mad with desire,
I got back up on my knees, and asked for what my beloved desired

My joy knew no bounds, as I could not believe my ears.
My wish was granted, I shed some happy tears.

I rose up to meet him, now we were eye to eye. I kissed him so hard and let out a contented sigh.

"Yes my love I would not want any other, my heart is in ur hands.
Were you go I go anywhere throughout the lands."

I wraped my arms around him and kissed him with all my heart.
He is my everything, right from the very start.

I kissed her beautiful lips and I slid myself back inside her again
The bed creaked and groaned as both myself and my wife moaned and I released deep inside my beloved again

I kissed my wife's rosy cheeks and kissed her lovely lips
"I love you so much aurora" her name felt soft like a willow in the wisp

I awoke to a sound of tapping, the teacher purple in the face.
This felt like a weird time and an even stranger place.

Ignoring the words, I turned my head to look and see.
And there was my dream man staring straight back at me.

I smiled a knowing smile, for I think he knew me to.
We both lived in the past and our love was not through.
Its So fun Working With Natasha M L, Thanks for being aweosme luv!
Asphyxiophilia Jun 2013
It was 4:22 in the afternoon.
He had gotten out of work late
Because his boss decided to wait
Until the last minute to drop an atom
Bomb of files on his desk to be sorted.
His fingers burned from the cuts
Like residual radiation.
His coffee mug, emptied
Except for the last few, chilled
Drops, rested on his lap.
He hadn't been able to make
It to the public bus stop in time
So he jumped aboard the nearest
Subway train, found a seat in the
Middle of the next to last car,
And eyed his route on the
Map like a pinball in a machine.

For the first thirty minutes,
He stared intently at his mug,
Studying the smudges around the
Opening where his lips had been
Pressed into like a soft kiss.
It took him back to a time when
Kisses were like currency between
Him and his ex-lover, and each
Were more than generous.
Just as he began to imagine
The way her silk bra felt on his
Fingertips, a foul odor passed by the
Tip of his nose without saying excuse me.
His eyes searched the car until they
Fell upon the teenager sitting just six
Seats down, a white cylinder fitted between
Her fingers like a pencil tucked behind the ear.
"Excuse me, miss. You're not allowed
To smoke here."
His hand waved absently in front
Of his face in an attempt to
Dissipate the smell while her hand
Waved absently in his direction
In an attempt to dissipate his presence.
"I already know this."
His brow furrowed as he
Watched her take another hit,
Blowing the smoke out her nose.
"Then put it out, please."
She lifted her eyes from the novel
Clutched in her other hand
Before replying.
"I don't think I will."
If it had been any other day,
At any other time,
He would have
Dropped the
Subject.
But his mind was
Warped with toxic fumes,
And his vision was cloudy,
His legs were shaking.
He slid down the conjoined seats
Until he was only three spaces
Away from her annoyed posture.
"Now listen, dear. This is a subway,
A form of public transportation,
Not a coffee shop where you can
Just flick your ashes onto every
Available surface.
There are families aboard
This car, families who shouldn't
Be forced to inhale your second-hand smoke."
He took a deep breath, eyeing her expression.
She flipped a page and continued reading,
The cigarette hanging from her lips
Like a diver poised to jump.
"Excuse me, miss, but.."
Just as he had begun speaking,
She tossed her book on the empty
Seat beside her and leaned forward,
Resting her elbows on her knees
As she gazed intently at him.
"I don't imagine you're one of
Those self-righteous types who
Boss people around on principle,
So I'm going to explain this to you."
She held up her cigarette in front
Of her face, forcing him to look,
Despite his stunned expression.
She pointed to the padded,
White area where the
Imprint of her lips resided.
"You see this? I call this happiness.
This is every boy I ever kissed,
Every apology I didn't mean,
Every argument I won,
Every smile that ever
Stretched across my face."
She pointed to the dark,
Crumbled substance at the end.
"This is what I call misery.
This is every heart I ever broke,
Every dollar I ever stole,
Every cut I ever
Inflicted on
Myself."
She held
The cigarette
Loosely in her
Fingers as she spoke.
"If you notice, as I smoke it,
The misery goes up on smoke,
And the happiness remains."
She tossed it across the car.
"Some people have scrapbooks
Where they keep their memories
So they can refer to them as
Often as they please.
Some people go to therapy
To hash out every feeling they
Refuse to deal with. But I
Live with my memories,
And I carry them with
Me, but when the
Miserable ones
Seem to overtake
The happy ones. I simply
Smoke them away. So if you
Are so insistent on taking away
My cigarettes, then I suggest you
Burn every scrapbook and pencil
And pill bottle you can find,
Because this is my escape."
She leaned back in her
Seat, staring authoritatively.
His lips parted several times before
He reached into his pocket and removed
An orange bottle with a white cap.
He twisted the top off and
Poured a single pill
Into his empty hand.
"The yellow side is
Every girl I fell in love with
Every vacation I ever took
Every baseball game I
Ever watched.
The red side
Is every girl
Who broke my heart.
Every day I see my boss.
And every evening I
Sit alone in the dark."
He tucked the pill back
Into the bottle like he was
Putting a child to sleep.
She eyed him curiously,
Watching as he fondled
The bottle in his hand.
"This is my escape."
His eyes lifted,
Meeting hers.
"I'll trade you."
Pursed lips met
With indecision
Until she pulled
Her pack of cigarettes
From her leather purse
And tossed them on his lap.
"We're all dying slowly anyway."
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
A dream came true today
But was shattered just the same
And I can see it now
A room of pastels
A long line of stern faces
A delicate, submissive vase
Ma's in her curlers
Putting her head down
Pretending to sleep
Pa's reassuring quiet
His slippers tidy by the bedside
Putting on a mask of peace
A crease has grown in the mattress
Cause symmetry is strong and clean
I saw this image even clearer
When I set down my wreath
Even more so than when I
Was scrambling for words to speak
Twilight's glow of life
Was upon the snow that night
And never before have I
Fused so fully with such still silence
I watched my mute shadow
As I glided through the rooms
A vacuous face, but beaming heart
Guided me to a cerebral place
That suddenly paled in comparison
To any word, rhyme, or thought of mine
I lost my sense of touch
As I fondled the key and turned the lock
It was right where it's always been
Unused, dependable, like clockwork
Unlike me
I sat down in a firm chair that fit like a glove
But I wouldn't be its heir
Instead I went above to where
Sparks of light shoot and drift
Like a darting pen in the hands
Of a boy who's yet to learn to write
Here I can't be picked apart
While there, not a creature stirred
Not even my heart
Curt A Rivard Sr Nov 2012
Hold hands and march behind me, buckel up this is a new horror,
A living nightmare unlike anything you have ever seen
Looking at your hollowed out corpse over for the very first time
I saw parts Jeffery only wished while committing his crime.
I'm the piper tricking you along the way; I got you in my trap
And there’s now no escape from my funeral pallor.
Quincy, CSI Miami and even Dr. G,
Could have never prepared me with only what they show on TV.
Downed played and minimalized to the max,
Read my works I'll paint for you all the true facts.
First things first I need for you to stop staring at me
With eye caps and a quick squirt of glue I broke the trance
Good, now I can begin the process and start this slow dance.
Like always I shake their hand and tell them my name
This time was different I got my first squeeze back
For on your right forearm was stained in ink
The first two verses of Psalms one hundred and forty four
After I finished reading I had to get back on track
With an instant snip a stitch is then cut apart
Adding another three ***** to your collection
Pulling them apart I go in first reaching for the clear viscera bag
Holding it up I fondled it all around in the bright light
Looking for the brain I felt it and then saw it come into my sight
Laying out all the puzzle pieces I start with the center first.
So smooth and slick the inside walls of your cage
Everywhere else looked like a time bomb burst.
Feeling all about searching for your iliac artery
Once found you’re now connected to the vat
Using sufficient pressure filling your tissues to full capacity
Injecting first your lower extremities I now see the veins swell
After a six point fill you should look like you’re getting well.
From under the flap and at the root of your neck
I reached in your head and into the hollow space
Because it is now time to try and firm up your mortal face.
With a pair of clamps I kinked your spinal cords fountain flow
Massaging your headless face and then the head *****
All the fluid went right where it had to go
After the fill you looked like you had a new mothers glow.
Now the suction of the liquid residue that smelled fowl
Then came the pressing of a paper towel
Very pleasant smell of wintergreen candy in my nose cause the
Shaking of the can of Bex embalming powder was now to follow.
Pressing here, pressing there, trust it was becoming a pest
Trying to tuck the bag with all your innards back into your chest
Putting the sternum back on top proved it was a perfect cut.
Folding down the three ***** to the point of origin
Was like folding a piece of paper into a paper airplane.
Almost at the home stretch we took turns closing you
And with it a perfect baseball stich and with it a coat of sealer.
Trying hard to keep a secret from for your heads crown
There is no way to do it I can't play it down
Holding the pieces of your skull in my hands
Starring where it has to go back now and back together with no glands
Looking just like what is, "Sweeter than honey and stronger than a lion?"
Me and my youngest son solved Samson's riddle in the Bible,
A seven letter word now needs to be added into the book of Judges because
Together we saw the answer written from a vision in the deserts sand.
Pulling down your face and all the way down to your chin
I lost sight of your eyes I only can see their other side
I now see a notch and the groove where this piece has to go
Gluing it in place I gave back to you your forehead
Tucking and packing cotton towels is your makeshift brain now
With a round file I score four half-moons in the thin bone
So the skull clamps can hold it together and hold it in place forever.
Pulling and stretching your face it was sewed together and with no space.
Now that it's complete you’re ready for a military examination
After getting the green light it's time for the fitting of your uniform
in your aurora steel casket you played in there
looking like the sailor on a ******* jack box.
one last trick to go; have to pull fibers out from the bottom
so your weightless head will look and sink naturally into your pillow.
out the back of a coach with plates that say livery
and into the belly of a plane your shipping container was stamped
Special Delivery.....

(CARSr. 10-24-12)
Moe May 2013
the corner of my fetal
mind paste
what about the skin of demons
the shadow that turns away
a slow placid individual
hollow from everywhere the caution of snow-wheels
cling to manifest
the picture burning inside an apartment for rent
outside walls carried memory of days
eyes and bones demand face
what if nobody’s here
the idea  
myself as sunshine with so much to offer easier
what is the difference
the sentence that defines
unbelief the chain
breaks I wish
dilate the never-belief
wondering effect paste my ***** on your voice
an animal feel i cannot deal with your sense
an unborn skull
the wallowing feet under cypress
skies of fleece and miniature dogmas
slices of fragments red purple green crows sound
the deep drum beat i accept
where i fall
a flashing voice collapsing towards the inside
throwing punishment the idea that i am foliage
corresponding thought process that machines never
agree
pale doledrum insomnia my hands
the lines of another car
the breath of being manipulated
killing instant
the shoehorn a new salt visiting magnolia
a knee high minute falling upside
my carpe diem **** fist theory
and all day i plead for the corrosion to move within you
the system eating itself into oblivion
i announce it when ears are in rooted to the floor  
i had a dream of a jesus picture on a fanbelt  
curved ***** **** on the outside  
apocalypse on my lips
fumes down on the floor
a few hours’ days
gone
i am stripped
speechless walking home
for me
can this be your silence pregnant with strange
looseness in its belly
stars fragile your arms
pins forced into throat calming
touch faking the ***** sounds of avocado
thursday lust
driven into soiled ground
crumbling face in another room they lay your hands on
me
a fragrance of wings missing
an unexplained
dense and unchanged
kind of melting from you
i give in
the shoulder manufactures what is real to the sound
life is liveable
nothing accepted when offered
the thought process of engines
an angry naked shout
the underbelly of hanging
to what i show you
baking soda explosives
cake walk fixations on the vaginas of modern andromeda
i hope to never be lost with your sanctuary
dog sized emotions
a world punching out its timecard from the slot
a season for betrayals
the mantra of your dreams
dead enough to explain myself
a sunken cheek caring for the sun
a sweet lullaby placing of hand
the round syndrome between the
****** thighs
the strings attached are anything but labeled
upstairs is another passenger
first name last name
instead
mute all that is here
ashes
unnecessary you
the collective harm of all those images which if excluded contain
the replacement address of my kidney being
molested
or is it the usage of hiding
anything
dove’s postage junk mail
what you’ve seen before
the cost of being asked two days late
my fluorescent teeth the talk of spit blood
and ****
magnification of insects
the body moves
fondled colors blend
a ******
the ****** the cortex of beethoven
no answer yet  
on the verge of letting
go
wall of trees
a crowd of tongues the simple denial of light
my envelope seed
in cornucopia grinding
teeth machine a pullover switchblade
wake up from me
given the distant sun wrapped in
****** on clothes my miracle
tomorrow
  your fingers in me contemplating the ounces
of an inch thick sore
calmly anything in surrounding
distortion a weight of idle hands
needles
the acid belly
fortress within
your tourniquet
the victim of my believing in you
silent dead motionless
butterflies cradle the eyes
in the slit of dawn’s early malice
complacent and mind full
the choke hold is apparent in you
i wanted it
heart and throat convulsions the situation derives in itself
the wondering thought
your sickness dives among our ***** oiled mouths
spread like a homeless saint
save your self from the outside of me
as i look up you dissolve
the undeniable number of times
i spent inside you
it beats on
one short felt breath
my time is gone
everything’s alright
on my back
seeing unreal reasons for wanting
a crawling thought a
slip off the hand
grinding small animals the
door opens still life asphyxiation
the roundness of my echo
inside this explosion I ask for
blind allegiance to your *****
the simple duration of lust and gasping
acquaintances I have had
but all in tiny dreams that
eat away at my intestines
and rows or birds wait for their turn at me
for empty boxes cold whispers
and dead words
are what is left
Hinata May 2012
lovely bones scattered on the floor,
beautifully red and intersecting all over the door.
lovely bones ran clean with no scrapes from the knife,
the very knife that took their life.
lovely bones, so beautiful, so pretty.
more beautiful than their blood that tasted ever so sweet.
lovely bones decorated the floor so beautifully and gave it the beauty of death,
not caring that i took their owners breath.
my beautiful bones, my lovely bones,
smooth and heavy as beautiful stones.
my lovely bones, i stroke your skulls,
your blank inexpressive expression tells it all.
i love your beautiful ribs and spine,
knowing that they are now mine.
but my favorite of all time is the arm and leg bones,
i love that bone.
its beautiful and long with a unique characteristic.
its beauty is just so majestic!
my beautiful lovely bones, i adore you!
i laugh wickedly as i fondled you.
my lovely bones, so beautiful,
only getting you was a task i must fulfill.
come to me, my fantasy as beautiful as dazzling stones,
my angelic, lovely bones.
i thought i could capture the mind of a killer, so anyways, any thoughts?
maxime Nov 2016
Toy
Toy: a thing or matter of no value or importance
Doll, plaything, trinket
Handled, moved, manipulated;
Exploited, fondled, groped

These words should send a chill down every girl's spine
They should raise the hair on their arms,
Make them look over their shoulder one extra time when they go outside
Replace a few hours of sleep with nightmares of terror.

Because here, you are nothing more than a toy.
You are not human with hope, dreams, and aspirations.
You cannot conduct yourself with dignity, maturity, and respect.
You are nothing but a body, here to be a toy.

Remember that, as a woman, your safety is worth nothing.
Remember that a ******'s fear for his safety is more concerning that a 15 year old girl's.
Remember that your dignity, your self worth, your self respect, your entire identity
Isn't worth more than a couple months in county jail to a man.

A woman’s ability to create life is not even her own.
It is something that is debated between men a thousand miles away.
It is something that is controlled by the hand of a man.
The most basic right and role of a woman is stripped from them.

To a man you an object.
There is no difference between you and the doormat into a man's house.
You are thrown on the ground, covered in pine needles, and walked all over.
No difference.

A woman’s concerns can be dismissed because this is just “locker room banter”
You are used as a ploy to further a man’s political presence.
This is a part of our daily lives now.
Get used to it.

We will no longer teach our children to stay away from drugs and be safe around wild animals
We will teach our daughters to fear a beard instead of the click of a gun.
We will teach them to be afraid of their fathers and their brothers, simply for their own safety.

They will be forced to cover themselves.
Hide their joyful smiles. Cover graceful legs. Mask skillful hands.
Because otherwise, they will be blamed for their maltreatment, told that they asked for it.
They still might be, because, remember, a woman’s word means nothing.

Toy: a thing or matter of no value or importance.
Doll, plaything, trinket.
Handled, moved, manipulated.
Exploited, fondled, groped.

I am a woman. I am no more than a toy.
A spoken word poem I had to write for a class. I decided to share.
I fondled you with my hands
I didn't remember my eyes
I forgot my stories
When I felt you in my little heart
I don't know...
Maybe
The grain field was beautiful in my dreams
My ******* are be beautiful, too
When your lips become golden
I didn't want the sky...

با دست هایم
...تو را نوازش می کردم
چشم هایم یادم نبود
قصه هایم را فراموش می کردم
وقتی که تو را در قلب کوچکم احساس می کردم
...نمی دانم
شاید
در خواب هایم  گندم زار زیبا باشد
سینه هایم زیبا باشند
لب های تو طلایی باشد
...من که آسمان را نمی خواستم
Sethnicity May 2015
I am the black sludge poured into morning mouths
The thickening blood like mucus oozing from the nose,
the failed vandal on the doorstep wringing
I felt this ick coming before, like bricks in the bell tower… Grimacing
I am the shifting surface of your beach front property
The wax of mudslide and sleep of glacier drift wiped away
You once tried to save me…,
But you should have saved yourselfrightchoseless… Sickening
I am the quite traveler giving ride to whomever
Provider of spectacles no testicales can compare
Hope you are ready for the next one cause my revolution’s in the air
Get the Mayans and the Call Lenders Cause I’m the blender you’re the pear!


Your thoughts fickled mine things
My water of youth your cesspool for fuel
The conduit of my poles peeled for golden rings
Have the nerve to say I’m not self-sustaining
Uninhabitable!   I’ve been more than hospitable!
What a virus that makes it self service unsuitable
To favor ill behavior for the sake of a savior
Your heads may bow to the east
But your *** still ***** none the least
Time after time provide I with a bountiful feast
So you Land on my Lover to satisfy your lust
Hover her then leave her collecting trophies, Moon Dust!?
Even the God of War has been fondled by your touch
They whisper, Oh how they want to flee me
They satellite and bend the light
And fore tell of my death
Well, Be Gone! And leave your clothes behind!
That flesh, My skin of desert and shore sand given.
The enchanted threads for your living experience
Be Gone! And don’t bother with packing up and cleaning
There will be no interrogation no exile from Eden

I’ll burn this wicked garden to the ground
Arrange my poles, and swish waters to cool it down
They are white clouds in my blackened blue atmosphere
Casting shadows on the crusted earth of my flesh
I frown a deep sound like bass clef
Their tall tale torn apart
The last vault too big to fail now broken Bonaparte
My molten core resurrecting to the surface
I smoke out for every hemp plant chopped and burned in vain
I offer fruit for Gods and you look pone it with distain  
These Human parasites stuck to my feet!
One whim of solar wind should cure me of their feverous heat


Ignore the Calendar your end will be what I vendor
NO refunds or replays back to binary Control Alt Delete’
You say the past will repeat yet look in a mirror, tongue and cheek
What is it that you seek? Have you forgotten My rule?
What you sew into me is what you reap
I’ve soaked in seeds of blood and tears now its harvest thyme to weep
William A Poppen Oct 2013
with Mary.
I  was seduced
in Barnes & Noble,
lured to the  poetry section
next to coffee and pastries.

I touched her Blue Iris,
fondled  her Red  Bird
and recounted why
she wakes to watch
the early sunrise.

She looked better than I remembered
in a brown jacket
with a striking
emblem of a bear
on the front.

She took me to her tent
near Truro
and told me of turtles, toads,
hermit *****,
and her fear
of ridding her garden
a small harmless snake.

I spill my passion
on the ground — our bed for now — beside her.
Under her cover
she shares phrases,
moles, verbs,
and curves
of sweet new perceptions.

We are intimate beyond belief.
Her verbal kisses
bring sweat to my palms.
I’m high, hallucinating
on Mary
my drug of choice.

I’m having an affair
with Mary Oliver.
Sarina Mar 2013
Patchwork, these lightning strike scars
thundering and unkissed
as though in some sort of burlesque swing –
attractive enough to be fondled, still throbbing.
I do not have bandages,
I do have a gun, I do have a tongue
to slick each wound like an envelope I close
shipped cross-country and not to my postal code:
gave foreigners the tornado –
now, we have the flood. Their lungs must
be strong enough or I’ll need to patch them too.
The upland flocks grew starved and thinned:
  Their shepherds scarce could feed the lambs
Whose milkless mothers butted them,
  Or who were orphaned of their dams.
The lambs athirst for mother's milk
  Filled all the place with piteous sounds:
Their mothers' bones made white for miles
  The pastureless wet pasture grounds.

Day after day, night after night,
  From lamb to lamb the shepherds went,
With teapots for the bleating mouths
  Instead of nature's nourishment.
The little shivering gaping things
  Soon knew the step that brought them aid,
And fondled the protecting hand,
  And rubbed it with a woolly head.

Then, as the days waxed on to weeks,
  It was a pretty sight to see
These lambs with frisky heads and tails
  Skipping and leaping on the lea,
Bleating in tender, trustful tones,
  Resting on rocky crag or mound,
And following the beloved feet
  That once had sought for them and found.

These very shepherds of their flocks,
  These loving lambs so meek to please,
Are worthy of recording words
  And honor in their due degrees:
So I might live a hundred years,
  And roam from strand to foreign strand,
Yet not forget this flooded spring
  And scarce-saved lambs of Westmoreland.
As eager home-bound traveller to the goal,
  Or steadfast seeker on an unsearched main,
Or martyr panting for an aureole,
  My fellow-pilgrims pass me, and attain
That hidden mansion of perpetual peace,
  Where keen desire and hope dwell free from pain:
That gate stands open of perennial ease;
  I view the glory till I partly long,
Yet lack the fire of love which quickens these.
  O, passing Angel, speed me with a song,
A melody of heaven to reach my heart
  And rouse me to the race and make me strong;
Till in such music I take up my part,
  Swelling those Hallelujahs full of rest,
One, tenfold, hundred-fold, with heavenly art,
  Fulfilling north and south and east and west,
Thousand, ten-thousand-fold, innumerable,
  All blent in one yet each one manifest;
Each one distinguished and beloved as well
  As if no second voice in earth or heaven
Were lifted up the Love of God to tell.
  Ah, Love of God, which Thine Own Self hast given
To me most poor, and made me rich in love,
  Love that dost pass the tenfold seven times seven.
Draw Thou mine eyes, draw Thou my heart above,
  My treasure and my heart store Thou in Thee,
Brood over me with yearnings of a dove;
  Be Husband, Brother, closest Friend to me;
Love me as very mother loves her son,
  Her ******* firstborn fondled on her knee:
Yea, more than mother loves her little one;
  For, earthly, even a mother may forget
And feel no pity for its piteous moan;
  But Thou, O Love of God, remember yet,
Through the dry desert, through the waterflood
  (Life, death), until the Great White Throne is set.
If now I am sick in chewing the bitter cud
  Of sweet past sin, though solaced by Thy grace,
And ofttimes strengthened by Thy Flesh and Blood,
  How shall I then stand up before Thy face,
When from Thine eyes repentance shall be hid,
  And utmost Justice stand in Mercy's place:
When every sin I thought or spoke or did
  Shall meet me at the inexorable bar,
And there be no man standing in the mid
  To plead for me; while star fallen after star
With heaven and earth are like a ripened shock,
  And all time's mighty works and wonders are
Consumed as in a moment; when no rock
  Remains to fall on me, no tree to hide,
But I stand all creation's gazing-stock,
  Exposed and comfortless on every side,
Placed trembling in the final balances
  Whose poise this hour, this moment, must be tried?--
Ah, Love of God, if greater love than this
  Hath no man, that a man die for his friend,
And if such love of love Thine Own Love is,
  Plead with Thyself, with me, before the end;
Redeem me from the irrevocable past;
  Pitch Thou Thy Presence round me to defend;
Yea seek with pierced feet, yea hold me fast
  With pierced hands whose wounds were made by love;
Not what I am, remember what Thou wast
  When darkness hid from Thee Thy heavens above,
And sin Thy Father's Face, while Thou didst drink
  The bitter cup of death, didst taste thereof
For every man; while Thou wast nigh to sink
  Beneath the intense intolerable rod,
Grown sick of love; not what I am, but think
  Thy Life then ransomed mine, my God, my God.
Pagan Paul Jul 2018
.
And quiet, a cemetery of the ancients,
fondled by the coiling mist of morning,
snuggles deep in the heart of the forest,
its quintessential stillness undisturbed.

And the sun ignites the darkened glade,
with a light that transfixes time itself,
heralding the infernally ponderous day,
when life endures the basics of survival.

And the moon shines in silver shards,
slanting beams with mystical hues,
announcing the delicious dark night,
where once again lies endless sleep.

And the shades of ageless dead relatives,
gravely sit and tell old ghost stories,
silencing the cold stone walls of tombs
with historic wisdom of times long gone.



© Pagan Paul (2017/18)
.
Epic Monkey Jun 2013
The siren sat on the rock and sighed
The ocean had exhausted her lungs
She exhaled the pain she felt inside
A beautiful cry of weeping songs

The waves crash and drape the shore
Drawing the limits of her blue cage
Far beyond, is a dream to explore
A better chapter on a new page

As she sings a symphony of despair
Winds coming from beyond the sands
Refresh her lungs with tender scents
Gently caress her skin, dry her red hair

Echoes of her voice
Fascinated an elephant passing by
His heart made a choice
And searched for the origin of the cry
Never knew he could run
Never knew he could jump
He found her shining under the sun
Came closer to lift her with his trump

He carried her through fields and lakes of mud
On his back, her throne, the lap of God
Her sad songs turned into cheers
Her voice fondled his big ears
She lived and cherished each moment
She found a world without torment
Without her fears
Without her tears

Days and weeks raced to end
The elephant’s back started to ache
He forsake his new friend
And fated her heart to break
The mermaid broke down and cried
A waterfall of deceit and betrayal
Too many tears until her eyes dried
Like the dying scales on her tail

She crawled back to the sea
Like an injured soldier of war
No more beauty for her to see
But the waves, whipping the shore
Filling every time the holes
Between the particles of sand
But not the one in her soul
That she will never mend

The siren sat on the rock and sighed
She had nowhere to belong
She exhaled the pain she felt inside
Reviving another weeping song

The sweet dream withered
But forever, will be remembered
Like a mortal flower
And its immortal beauty
Intertwined with the thorns’ cruelty

Another siren was watching her
Shared with her the lost endeavor
She smiles, dives and flips her tail
Strives to create her own happy tale
In the depths of the woeful sea

~Epic Monkey
June 2013
http://epicmonkeyy.blogspot.com/2013/06/the-siren.html
Valsa George Nov 2016
Spring dawned after the biting chill,
Beams of sunlight filtered down,
Flakes of snow melted away,
The Earth bathed in brilliant glow

He came,

The dainty Darling of our dreams!
With promises full and hopes in store,
To fill the void,
within our souls.
To burst the silence,
with the clatter of sounds
To dispel the gloom,
that hovered on

He came,

High from Heaven,
like a cherubim sent,
with the glow of umpteen candles lit,

He came,

To gladden our doleful hearts,
To deliver us of our blighted state

He came,

Like the first rain on parched ground,
To drench the arid lands in profuse shower,
To ease the ***** of sweltering heat,
To put out the fire of growing drought

Marveling over the seizure of treasure,
long hidden within the crevices dark,
We stood, so pleasantly taken aback,
over the gift, ere vouched, but long delayed.

Like an eagle in its aerial route,
flew my spirits in ecstatic rounds
Like the Swallow, soaring high above,
my fancy took wings and set to fly.

He lay close to me, the bundle of joy!
His dark little eyes poised on my face,
full with words on silent lips,
and innocence on his glistening visage

I peered into that cute little face,
the face I had long fondled in my dreams,
I whirled in the feel of prime feed,
and swam in the current of maternal bliss!
It was after long 12 years of waiting and after intensive treatment for acute endometriosis, that our first son was born to us at a time when we had given up all hopes. Our joy knew no bounds. Now he is 26 and pursuing a successful career in Law! After three years, my second son also was born. I believe they are gifts from God and I thank Him to have made the impossible possible! For us, a true deliverance!
Elizabeth Kelly Aug 2014
There were some roses, once, a long time ago.

They grew out of nothing, out of a tiny seed that burst and ****** its contents out into the new and terrifying air, and even then they didn't exist but for the idea that one day they might.

There were some roses, once:

the product of a process that included water and light and the removal of weeds and the implementation sharp protection from predators: deer and birds and squirrels and the like.

There were some roses once:

great surges of crimson fruit that bloomed so fiercely in their rebellion against the surrounding thorns
dedicated to the protection of the home of the finely spun veined silk that blossomed almost overnight.

There were some roses once:

Never has such beauty been guarded so staunchly;

and with good reason, for the rose in its radiance has but one short season to stretch its arms and breathe its perfume to which all lovers beg and swoon.

There were some roses once:

They faded,
green
then red
then crimson
then purple and umber.

But in their slumber we see the bloom we once beheld on that summer day.

We fondled their petals, hastened their decay.

There were some roses once, a long time ago.

They had to die, as if on cue, as living things tend to do,
and oh, they dried so elegantly!
Plainly meant for royalty.

And even in their most brittle form, they're somehow warm
Somehow still new.

So you plant some more, you cut the weeds, you draw blood on their thorny guards,
knowing that it's not for you, but for the birds in their back porch churchyard.

And the moment the first rose peers around from inside the womb, well
there's your reward,

to forward the growth of something so fragile and sweet.

So ruthless if you aren't aware of its teeth.
K Balachandran Aug 2012
I fondly remember,
every libidinous mirror,
that fondled me
with sensuous  abandon.

the reflections I approved
were not strictly
my exactitude;
most erogenous,
that gave me sleepless nights-
of salacious cravings.

I made mirrors proud
by getting represented in them,
the way I loved me, myself
that made them glad.

I give the mirrors
more pleasure,
than the images that I love-
send me in to raptures.

I abhor ****** liaison with mirrors,
though I love the way they pamper.
I've no love left for others,
when a mirror catches me unawares,
in such lasciviousness-
that I love in myself,
it would send shivers through the mirrors,
yes,  I am not unaware,
but that secret is theirs.
S Bharat Apr 2019
The Sparrow

I desired to be loved
and flew down to them
They were so kind that
They just fondled and
Set me free to fly away.

S. Bharat
Dan Corjescu Jun 2012
Hmmm, let's see
I cradled the sun like a sick razor-blade
I found a warehouse of abandoned unborn hearts
I abruptly stopped a dead man to talk
I bottled up new souls for a long desert drive
I snuffed out every star with cathodic eyes
I fondled the carcass of eternal trouble
I found the hungry embalmed mouth of the first paid woman
I dug a hole; I tied rope; I burned cars; I cried dope
I shied away; I broke sway; I uttered “May-Day”
I danced! I sweated; I pigged out
I catapulted myself on fire
All this:
to see the harrowing sepulchered moons of tomorrow
like a strange weightless liquid
where I will appear and reappear
to the eventual astonishment of billions of years of shadowing sentience

Another universe gawks
Olivia Kent Jan 2014
Silhouetted shadows creep silently, through the mysterious half light mist of the wine fueled mayhem.

The party was in full swing.
Wind blew softly around their ears, gently rustling her soft tresses,
He gently stroked her cheek, smiling,to himself.
Feeling relaxed in her presence, she turned into his touch edging her body closer to his.
Never before had she felt so wanted.
He made her feel so special.
Their kisses were passionate, filled with potential for the creation of ecstasy, between two young people in love.
The silence of their first moment was shattered, as a new experience became so intense.
They both erupted into internal quivering,as they each provided ****** touches, experiences never experienced before.
Her touch was so tender, as his was so strong.
Both appearing to know what it was all about in the promotional anticipation of such uncertain pleasure.
He gently ushered her down,laying her near naked body onto the grass.
He fondled her breast, while she reached to his manhood, this was a new experience.
They were both overtaken by physical desire.
His rigid **** entered her slowly, gently, they moved in near perfect rhythm, building up momentum, waiting for warm waves and explosions internally in unison.
Their love was now sealed, the memory of purity extracted.
He held her tight and kissed her.
They walked hand in hand back into to the party.
Knowing something that no-one else would ever know...it was their own secret!
A first love sealed!
By ladylivvi1

© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
yāsha Jun 2023
i crave for loneliness to brush my hair,
mother me tenderly to sleep
as you did when i had carvings
on my left wrist at twelve years old
—a braille i fondled with every day,
                   i. don't want. to be. here.

somehow, my nightly hiccups
never drove me to my end.
i am still gentle because
you follow me wherever i go;
visiting me at the right moments
especially when i am accompanied
by my own ***** and the cold bathroom floor—
          and then you stay quiet the whole hour
          to give me some time to grieve.

i wear you like a protective charm now,
for you are the only love i've ever known.

— The End —