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Obadiah Grey Dec 2013
Sphincter factor nine approaches
food for the fish n roaches
methinks its time for me perhaps
to open up the rearward *****.


------------------------------------
AAChoo !!

Oh, liddle sister, Josephine,
you sure don't keep your
nose real clean.
got stalactites
o' pure pea green
my infectious sibling
snot machine.
----------------------------------------
I thought that I might shoot the breeze
with God or Mephistopheles
and ask them please to ease my wheeze
of my bad back and dodgy knees
---------------------------
Croak with the raven
bluff with the crow
the urchin
the field mouse
beneath the hedgerow
in a flurry they scurry
away away go.
Yelp with the *****
howl with the hound
and bay at the moon
till the sun comes around.
------------------------------------------
Gino's bar and grill.

Away, away afore Bacchus
doles out befuddlement
and Morpheus has his way,
lest I awake to find myself
in the company of
sodamistic bedfellows
with buggery in mind.
---------------------------------
Harry Potter has grown a beard
he lives alone and turned out weird.
Dumbledore, Albus, no more
turned his toes and 'ad a snore,
Voldemort, who's *** is taut
has no nose with which to snort.
====================

Ahem !!

Behind two Lilies- sits Rose,
then Daisies
for two and a bit rows.
with Poppy, and *****
Petunia, Primrose.
and Bryony - who gets up
- my nose.
----------------------------------------------
Amen.
God bless the Cows - for beef burgers.
God bless the Pig - for their bacon.
God bless the wife n her sharp knife
for the slice of their **** she's taken.

-------------------------------------------------
We can, no more fetter the sea to the shore
nor the clouds to the sky
or tether the glint
in a lovers eye,
As sure as the shore loves the sea
so shall I love thee, together,
together for eternity,

-----------------------------------

It bends for thee
sweet chevin,
the cane thats cleaved
by three,
wilt thou now
sweet chevin
yield, my friend ,
for me.
-------------------------------------------------
There's Marmalade then Marmite
and Jams thats jammed between
the buttered bread of bard-dom
a poets sweet cuisine.
---------------------------------------------
I took up campanology
and fired up my ****.
I rang that bell
to ******* hell
till the busies
came along.
--------------------------------------------
so, I've been whittling away
at a buoyant ****-
fashioned something approximating
a poo canoe-
in it, I intend to
surf the **** tsunami of old age
to-- death;
I have named it Public - Service - Pension.


----------------------------------------------

A surreptitious delightful tryst,
with my honey, my sebaceous cyst.
she's my pimple, my wart,
my gumboil consort.
she's the zip, in which
my *******, got caught.
--------------------------------------
Frayed at the bottoms
ripped at the knee.
baggy and saggy
big enough for three.
faded and jaded
and stained with ***
but I'm due for a new pair--
Yippeeeee!!

---------------------------------------

Ther­e's Cockerel in my ear
and he bills and coo's for you
whenever you are near
goes - **** a doodle doo !!!!!,,,,,,,,

---------------------------------------------

Oh,­ for the snap shut skin
in the blue twang of youth
and to un-crack the spine
on the book of love.
now the gulping years
have flown away
we take sips of the night
and are spoon fed the day.

-----------------------------

Zeus made the Moose to be somewhat obtuse,
a big deer- rather queer- I fear.
then God gave him the nod to look funny and odd
the spitting image of you - my dear !!!

---------------------------------------

Knobbly Nobby.

Nobby has a great big nose
a great big nose has he,
and nobby knows
that his big nose,
is big, as big can be,
nobby has two knobbly knees
two knobbly knees has he,
his knobbly knees,
are as knobely
as knobbly knees can be,
don’t pity dear old nobby
for soon it’s plain to see,
that nobby has a great big ****
as big, as big as three !
now nobbys **** is knobly,
as knobly as a **** can be,
so nose and knee and ****
make three,
and we - are ****- ely.

----------------------------------

The Woman that wouldn't eat meat,
had reeaally, reeaally big feet,
her **** was as big as an hermaphrodite brig
and her **** were as hard as concrete….


--------------------------------

Hearken the clarion call of the crows
afore the snow-
they caw,
hey, get your **** into gear lads-
we gotta feckin go !!!

-----------------------------

Gods pad

I took a peek within
your house
wherein on pew, I spied
a mouse,
and in his hand,
a Bible clasped,
and out his mouth,
a parable rasped,

---------------------

I'd say she had
a pigeon loft in
her eyes and
bluebells up
her nose.

But then again
I wear a flat cap

and stroll through meadows.

----------------------------

Would you care to buy our house?
It's minus Mouse n devoid o' Louse,!
Spiders, Roaches, Bugs or other,
have all been eaten by my brother,
snaffled up n swallowed down
then jus' crapped out a - yellowish brown.
so would you care to buy our house?
from an oddly pair -- devoid of nous

-------------------------

Though the Crows got her eyes
and the Worms got her gut.
comes as no surprise
death can't keep her mouth shut.

-------------------

Bevelled slick edges
and reeaal eeaasy slopes.
Chilli dip wedges
with fresh artichokes.
Wanton loose wenches
and swivel hipped ******
Daft dawgs and dentures
and granddad - who snores.

-------------------

Been whittling away at a buoyant ****
and fashioned something approximating a canoe,
in it, I intend to surf the **** tsunami of old age;
I named it, "Public service pension"

-------------------------------

.
Well,
     I could wax on the wings of a butterfly
but, I ain't that kind o' guy.
rather kick the nuts off ******* squirrels
pluck the wings off - blue assed fly.
I'm the stuff that flops off dog chops
when he's up for it and high.
an infection in your sphincter,
a well
that's jus' run dry.

----------------------------------------------

befeathered­ and bright scarlet
is my ladies bonnet,
jauntily askew and -
lilting on a paramours
grin.

"- Gladlaughffi -"

I'm reliably informed that dear ol' Muma
sported a goatee around his **** sphincter,
now, whilst this is merely educated speculation
from my esteemed friend his "groom of the stool" ! 
who was in fact required to wear a mask,
ear muffs and a blindfold whilst he went about his business,
He did possess reeaaally sensitive fingertips
somewhat akin to a blind man reading brail,,
and, swore blind that said "**** sphincter' spoke him in Arabic
and asked him for a quick trim, (short back and sides)
I myself being a practising proctologist of some repute
am inclined to believe my friend the "groom of the stool"
as I've come recognise -- Arsolian when I hear it !!!!!!!!
-------------------------------------

In a Belfast sink by the plughole
where hair and gum gunk meet
'erman the germ-man  and toe jam
bop the bacillus beat.

________

Doctor this I know as fact
that I have a blocked digestive tract,
I'm all bunged up and cannot go
my trump and pump is - somewhat slow.
I need unction jollop for junction wallop
some sorta lotion to give me motion.
If you could please just ease my wheeze
then I needn't grunt and push and squeeze.

-----------------------------

They are breaking out the thwacking sticks
and sparking Godly clogs
pulling tongues through narrowed lips
at the infidel yankee dogs.

------------------------------------

As a paid up member of the
lumpen bourgeoisie poetry appreciation society
I can confirm without fear of contradiction
that poetry is indeed baggy underwear
with ample ball room, voluminous in the extreme
and takes into account
the need for the free flow of flatulent gassiness
that is the want of a ****** up poet.

-----------------------------------------------

She's a rough hewn Trapezoidal gal
a gongoozler o' the ol' canal.
She's copper bottomed n fly boat Sal.

I'll have thee know that
that there hat
is a magic hat,
it renders me invisible
to the arty intelligentsia
and roots me firmly
in the lumpen proletariat .
-------------------------------------------------------
Said the sneaky Scotsman, Jim Blaik.
if the pension, you wish to partake,
bend over my son, lets get this thing done
and cop for this thick trouser snake !!

I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.


He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.

Fandango'd o'er the cornflakes
and the spillage in isle four

-----------------

I'm linier and analogue,
a ribbon microphone man
mired in the dust of the monochromatic,
the basement, the attic.

------------------------------

Simple simon met miss Tymon going to the fair,
said simple simon to miss Tymon - "pfhwarr what a luverly pair"
of silken thighs and big brown eyes and scrumptious wobbly bits,
Said simple Simon to miss Tymon---------- shame about you **** !!!

So sad sweet Shirl thought she'd give a whirl to clubbercise n pound

Squat, slightly,
tilt head 45°
and squint.
See the shimmering blurry
dot in the distance?
That, timorous ****,
is ME !
Fast twitching my
narrow white ****
to the pub.

There was a young lady named Sue.
whose ***** and **** was askew,
whilst taking a ****
she'd aim it and miss
and she lifted 'er hat when she blew.


Oh Mon Dieu !!

Obi.
Shawn H Reeder  Sep 2015
Brail
Shawn H Reeder Sep 2015
Peer deep within my eyes
and you'll see all I despise.
Inevitable pain between the highs.
Love is gone, said my last goodbyes.

All I ask is for some company please.
My soul is forever in a deep freeze.
From me, you took all but this disease.
All my dreams float away like a breeze.

Your face is forever printed in my mind
like brail that is provided for the blind.
Passion is everywhere, yet I still can't find
myself in this darkness, my soul unrefined.
t Jan 2015
I wondered if I was too soft, too pliable, to bendable, to breakable

I wondered if my sensitiveness would be better served on a censorship list

if it would be better to weather my own emotions until they eroded

a road not known to be so gentle

because when you're always spoken to like a mistake

it starts to be the only thing you can taste and you end up feeling less like great and more like pain

my mother swears that I am the air that she breathes

so when they diagnosed her, I hope the doctors didn't blame it on her environment

and when my friends would talk about that chick and wanna bone her

 bone would carry me back to the skeletons in my closet

while they were only concerned about getting in between that girls hips, when they ***** her

              I wanted to be that girls hips, the bones inside of her

                    because without me she couldn't move alone

                                   and without her heartbeat

                                           I'd just be bones

I can't tell you how many times my friend Maddy was battered up on   homeless plate

but we still dug out love

she was rocked quite often, but was one hell of a mountain climber

she payed a hefty price to wear his fists, and they were the most expensive eye makeup I've ever seen

when my friends would brag about how many lamp shades they would look under in their room, how many metaphorical lamps laid on the nightstand surrounding their bed

my mother always said if I let them shine in my mind, I wouldn't need not even one night stands

    I hold them high

                   spell a woman

                                a woman is a
                         man
                   on
            wo

and you can still be fly if you land on one

disrespect them, and we're kicking dirt on the land from which we all grow

while most guys are treating the inside like a candy store, I found that all the getting inside in the world don't matter until you feel like you've found your golden rapper

while most guys are wishing that girl is blind enough to see their ulterior motives

they've forgotten most women have super powers

all they see are invisible men, and I wanted to make her feel my words like brail to the unseen

I wanted to bring life to those frozen in time words once told to her

because those 'I love yous' and 'I miss yous' from her exes were paralyzed from the neck down

they were just trying to get ahead, and once alive, need oxygen to live

and sooner or later she was only living to breathe life into those words, and I wanted to breathe life back into her

my mother taught me things

she said, just because someone before you  

                             spent time in her boiler room
    
                                 doesn't mean they turned

                                              the heat on

she said, no matter who smashed you make sure you love that girl to pieces

a girl's past is like cremated ash, it's been lived already

my mother said, kisses are like stitches, they heal all wounds as long as they don't remain hidden in a bottom right corner of special occasion birthday cards

       because every kiss does not begin with k, they begin with lips

                                         and so does every life

                       It's time for us guys to start

                 respecting where

         we came

    from.
Styles  May 2014
Brail
Styles May 2014
Drawn blood,
From crossed lines.
It never fails,
The amount climbs.
The walls mark,
Targets; future sales,
Truth be told,
or it be written in brail.
The heart will always feel,
because tender, tend to fail.
Ousmane Iacavoni Jul 2016
I swear that I see god when I look you in the eyes
And when you smile at me a new universe is made from the Big Bang that is my heart beat
People say good things come in time but I think timing is irrelevant
because when you're in love time doesn't exists
Time is a child at two in the morning tiptoing around to try not to wake it's parents
But it doesn't matter because time could be a marching band walking over my body and I still wouldn't  notice it
Because my love will always be timeless  
If I could read your fingerprints like Brail, I would allow you to write a story on my body
And then I would read myself, from beginning to end learning to love every part of me the way you do
The same way I love you, relentlessly, uncontrollably and unapologetically
I don't believe in destiny but I **** sure believe in miracles
There are 7.12 billion people in the world and I got to meet you
You see when I'm with you I swear I could walk on water, and turn the water to wine as I pass
I know when we hug I've never been closer to God, and he speaks to me through your heartbeats
He tells me to remember to breath when I'm around you because I often forget
That's why there is no one in the world like you, people would drop dead while you take their breath away
And me? Well You can keep my breath, and every other part of me because now and forever I'm yours
Cyril Blythe Jun 2013
Grumble

Of pugs. Or old men. Correlates to the grouping
of wrinkles: smile lines (down) whiskers (up). Synonymous to a gaggle of geese. Or women.
A grumbleman steps on the Pug's tail
and a passing girl hears
a crack, yelp, ****. She turns to help
but the grumbleman is gone and the pug
with him. She wonders why her neighbor's car
is still at her Mom's house? Why her Mom
wants to be called Veronica not Mary. One night she dreamed Veronica dancing on their roof
in the rain holding tight to an old red picture whispering to a woman on the lawn dancing
dry in white. She tried to call out to Veronica
she saw her slipping, but when she touched her lips
She felt them sewn shut with coarse, wet thread. Veronica turned and flew to her, to the window, grabbing her hands forcing fingers to feel
the brail graven into her Mother's giggling teeth that read, Don't look, your father will be bleeding soon. She awoke and her window was bound
in greased black leather. The floor ashen. Her lips still sewn
shut.

Anne stood,
picked out her fathers bones
Veronica had sewn into her
pillowcase
and
she
danced.
saige Mar 2018
no count-downs for birthday parties
no arm wrestles, no jump shots
no go-cart donuts
not even a snowball

where did we go?

blond hair
up to my shoulders
surrounded by jewels
some empty-paned picture frame
couple sprouts beneath a pine
saying "monkeys" for Grammy's kodak
red clay on your feet
pink frosting in your teeth
me, sheathed in my favorite shirt
"I'm the big sister!"
with a butterfly depicting
what I've yet to become

how wrong have we gone?

well, I'll be twenty
once spring rolls around
and brother
you're not far behind
I can't tell time
to change its mind
but I promise you
it won't be changing mine
from the photographs, scrapbooks
I'll forever feel your laughter
just like goosebumps
the brail I'm reading into
let's gaze past glares
straight through white sunbeams
spiking your brown eyes
twice as deep as mine
the truest shades
on the face of the earth
to this very
foggy day
this mirror, this moment snagged
before shutters snap
and capture us, splatter us
on matte paper, or cell screens
with brown hair
up to your shoulders

way to go, little brother
but I'm still keeping that tee
because the only thing
I've always been proud to be
is your big sister
Em MacKenzie Jan 2019
I’m a written and published open book,
you just have to read past the first chapter.
You skimmed the pages and took a look
at the last line to see if there was a happily ever after.
But like most things it’s up to interpretation,
left open ended in way for a hopeful sequel,
‘cause like all things true it’s plagued with complication,
but our story has no end and it has no equal.

And you, you were my favourite memoir,
your depth lined the thesis of a never ending essay.
I became inspired so I held an impromptu seminar,
a whole panel to if your picture was sepia or artistically grey.
I memorized every single thing you said,
every cryptic metaphor, every perfect rhyme.
I’ve lost count of how often that I’ve fully read,
and I still don’t understand after all of this time.

You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
but you need a title; what should it be?
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright effortlessly.

You were my own personal thesaurus and dictionary,
providing different words to dress up each thought.
You’re a first and only edition; what a rarity,
laced with metaphors and satire that’s barely caught.
You’re what Shakespeare aspired to always write,
and you accomplished it simply by being born.
I’d translate you to brail so those without sight,
could hear about you and the beauty they now mourn.

You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
no need to proofread, no cause for editing.
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright, always illuminating.

I’m a prologue,
and we’re the conclusion.
My authors note; the words of a demagogue,
but the details still lack any illusion.

You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
I’ve memorized every word and dissected them cautiously.
I’ve been writing you so the whole world can see,
and once they skim the synopsis; they’ll never stop reading.
JJ Hutton Dec 2012
I'm a bald man now. Ever read the Book of Job? I like how he copes. The change is not purely aesthetic. That bothers me. When people cut their hair, tan their bodies, or lose weight for the sole purpose of hearing blinking friends and distant cousins say you've changed.

I'm sorry to hear about Tim's dad. I'm sure he'll get better. I'd say, I'm glad you two are getting back to normal, but I don't feel optimistic enough to lie. Tonight, I'm tending to a toothache. Covering one end of a cocktail stirrer, dipping it in scotch, and using it as a medicinal dropper. After typing that sentence, I realized the absurdity of this situation. Trading surgical for savage pulls from the bottle.

Heather came over on Halloween. I ran a bath for her. She nursed a fading cigarette while sitting on the edge of the sink and with a wet paper towel wiped off her stage makeup. She told me she had twelve piercings. Then she said people usually ask her where they're at. Some information reveals itself.

I could hear hummed melodies through the wall as she bathed, as I made my bed. Lit three candles. Sprayed some Febreze to cover the stench of my existence. She came in wearing my robe. Without makeup, she looked boyish. Lost, angry.

Her breathing didn't comfort me. She drifted to sleep quickly. As bizarre as it sounds, I could feel Karen in the room. She was the moving shadows. She was the branches scraping against the house. She was the light I left on in the closet. To spite her, I woke Heather up.

I traced her piercings like a holy diary pressed in brail. I sank teeth into hipbone. Sharpened. The *** was short. To be expected, I suppose. Three years of celibacy. She told me it surprised her that it took me this long to sleep with her.

Why did you let me? I asked.

Heather smiled a waving tightrope. Confident. Off-balance. She said I was warm. I was predictable. Like a country music song. I gave her my back. Turned on the television.

I haven't talked to her since. The thing about being born again is, sometimes when you've think you've died, you've only had a bad dream. A more final death lurks. Let's hope she killed me. Now, bald like an idiot babe, I'll try to start. No vanity. You were right. The adventure kicks off when I learn to love myself. Looking at the uneven bumps on my shaved head, I've already developed a crush. I'll apologize in my next letter.
Joseph Childress Sep 2010
The music
Somehow
Managed to be
Manifested
By the duo
A deaf girl
And a blind boy
Worked
To create this work
Of art
One reads
The notes allowed
While the other strokes
The keysIn synch
They play together

Brail fails
To satisfy the imagination
And the
The hand signs
Signal
Your handicapped
Incapabilities
In case instability
Isn’t enough
To remind her

Reminders forgotten
By forging talents
Forming
As a Shaper of souls

The
Lost and found
They create a presence
Presented
As a musical performance

The conformants
Go with the flow
And accept their fate
Society tells
This peculiar pair’s
Tale
Is unlike any other

Fate begs for a chance
To show her powers
While the duo denies
Kurt Carman Apr 2016
As the blue moon climbs over the Potomac River,
I lay my tired body down next to the planted field.
Momma tells me that I’ll turn 13 tomorrow; my birthday wish….to be free
Like brail, the scars on my back speak to the humility in my life.
My dog Jip lays beside me and with a warm tongue conveys everything will be fine.

It’s the early fall here at Georgetown University
My name is Cornelius, Cornelius Hawkins and I write these words so you know my plight.
Here with me are my father, mother and 2 yr old sister.
We toil the field from dawn to dusk…the salt herring and cornmeal give us strength.
And my hands are forever clinging to this rosary and I pray God will hear my prayers.

I can’t begin to tell how afraid I am each and every day.
I try not to dwell on our strife and struggles, but day dream of downright happiness.
My family and our ancestors before us have been confined to slavery for 200 years.
Momma always says “There is no slavery, just ignorance”.
I hold her words near and dear to my heart and I never give up hope for a better life.
Unfortunately, Cornelius Hawkins never got the life he prayed for. Cornelius was one of the 272 slaves at Georgetown University and all were sold off to keep the school running. I read a recent article in the NY Times about GU272 and felt compelled to try and convey some of Cornelius Hawkins thoughts. I labored over this for days. Spent a fair amount time researching as much information about GU272 that I could find. Although I know I'll never come close to knowing the entire story, what I do know is that Cornelius is in a better place today and I can't wait to meet him in the by and by. RIP Mr. Hawkins!
Nova Flames Apr 2013
sip on this game direct from the tree of knowledge
im trapping in the forest; nocturnal like that owl,
im that black panther, ninja on the prowl
highly melenated, ALL BLACK, no darth vader
highly medicated, NO SNACKs, or now and laters...
never chasing paper nor running for the mayor, haters looking for a savior
its clear they don't love their self
I'M riches in my health, stash crystals in my wealth
if your calcified then you don't feel me like felt
you buckle under pressure why purchase cheap belts?
call me Mr wizard as i place you beneath my spell
unlimited vigor feather light on the scale!
even if i were brail, still no one could touch me.
if life WERE a ***** i bet she'd bee UGLY
non the less that phrase stands uncorrect
13 LOVE 13 Raspect.....

— The End —