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city of flips Oct 2019
speckled cityscape compulsion

<>

it is 6:40am.
the ending credits roll on a Hannibal horror film
that I’ve seen many times.
but it’s just an old rerun, familiar deviltry,
slept through it thankfully

the kitchen window gives up a sunrise,
but it’s just an old rerun, familiar deviltry,
a streaking swath of burnt and bright,
so oft described, the color commentary
previously immortalized by better poets
than me, easy found elsewhere.

the speckled cityscape in this pre-awakened urbanity,
it is their moment, these red flashes, all about,
tall buildings chanting “stay away from me”
to you sleepy pilots, looking for a strip to safely land
in a tumbled jungled of obscene density.

still, they highlight against a river of deep, bright oranges,
burning surrounded by the most beauteous array of shades of blue,
compelled against my will to thankful write,
for gifts such as these cannot be so casually dismissed,
cannot be willfully ignored, to do so, denies our genetic commandments.

a hopeless, thankless task to ask of oneself.
the perhaps intrusive. Sunday, maybe the babies
will visit, macaroons, pre-halloween bags of candy bars,
at the ready, pre-opened by small, tall inner children for sensory testing.
Milk Duds, Heath Bars, Whopper malted *****, Hershey white chocolate,
checked by adults for safety and quality control.

all these I see, in realized eyes and whimsical musings,
in perfect silence, for the Sunday city morning
is worshiping the coming day in a church like silence,
where each patron fills in the empty sounds
with hymns of their own making...by moving their lips
in fervent unspokeness

the sky river reflects more modestly in the East River,
for a reflection is always a second best version.
30 minutes later the real and the apparition both,
disappeared, and a palest sheer blue, white streaked sky,
just an old rerun, familiar deviltry.

why is the sun rising
is so worshipped,
for there will never be a full day of
just sunrise colorations,
but the speckled reds still
a true color, still showing,
on perpetual guard duty,
bidding adieu to its
morning lovers,
until tomorrow,

in my city of lips.






sun. oct. 20 2019
Debra A Baugh Jun 2012
First time I looked into his eyes
my heart sighed, now that I
think back he made my soul
cry every time I felt him by my
side, especially when his hands
would glide gently upon my
thigh.

Opening my mind's chasm;
while he whispered how he'd
always love me through the
test of time, fore, he loves to
hear my sultry whine; as his
eyes wined and dined upon
each curved line.

And tingles ran up and down
my spine; those are the days
he blew my mind, purring like
a kitten; I knew from the first
time I looked into his eyes I'd
be smitten and those days I
wouldn't be forgetting.

His allure is so, sumptuously
fetching, my breath is still catching;
remembering his lascivious
twinkle and ***** smile; my body
reels back in time causing me to feel,
what he had in mind; I still crave
him like a connoisseur, the woman
he worshipped and adored.

Laying here in revelry thinking of
all the deviltry we partook in makes
me take a second look into my mind's
eye and long for his dreamy eyes to
feast all over again and I'd begin to
sigh, fore, as he slept those hands
would rest upon quivering thighs.

And I'd listen to his sleep laden sigh
dreaming of me his gentle rose; fore,
I'd stand in his eyes reflective pool and
pose; while he'd breathe in the scent
of my aromatic rose.
Alex McDaniel Nov 2013
I was going to write
But the words got caught in my throat on their way to paper,
I choked
And vomited them across the floor.
I tried to pick up the pieces,
As I did, words scrambled around each other,
What was meant to say evil
Turned Into love when I accidentally picked up an O , instead of an I.
Deviltry and liar  got lost in the mess and all I got out of both was alive.
I guess all I'm trying to say is, everyone is going to collapse.
When you do collapse, picking up the pieces is only half the battle.
Sometimes you have to pick up the right pieces.
Sometimes you have to leave your deviltries and the liars out of your life,
So you can finally love being alive.
Sometimes you have to choke on the wrong words,
In order to pick up the right letters.
Elena  Aug 2019
lesbian
Elena Aug 2019
lesbian is not a swear word
it's not ***** or absurd
but even now it's hard to say
and that makes me feel unheard.
society seems to think
perhaps it is some creepy man's kink
so I considered the sound an obscenity
the word itself deviltry
instead of an identity.
therefore I steadily
rejected my tendency
to find girls hard to resist
because it felt like weaponry,
when two girls kissed
instead of just a way people like me exist
‘There’s a crafty witch in Willow Vale
Putting spells on all the men,
She lures them out with a lurid tale
Of what they might miss, and then…
She chews them up and she spits them out
And they go home looking pale,
She just wants to prove to fretful wives
That she governs all things male.’

Pamela stood in the door and paused
And she looked direct at me,
‘If you should fall for her witches charms
You can go, I’ll set you free!
I’ll not take seconds from lovesick men
Who come when the witch is through,
You’ll not come in through my door again,
That’s right, I’m looking at you!’

So I threw my hands up in the air
And I said, ‘Why pick on me?
Have I so much looked at a scheming witch
When she’s up to her deviltry?’
‘That may be true but your time is due
You’re the last one in the Glen,
She’ll get to you when she sees you’re new
For a perfect score of ten.’

‘I promise Pamela, I’ll be true,’
But she said to call it quits,
‘An easy promise that you can’t keep
Is a lie upon your lips.’
Then I got mad and I said I’d had
Being judged up front, was lame,
I said I’d travel to Willow Vale
Play the witch at her own game.

‘Well just remember that if you do
A touch is all it will take,
A simple kiss that will bring you bliss
That would be your first mistake.
Don’t think you might get away with it
For I have my little spies,
I even know how the spell will grow
If you look deep into her eyes.’

So I set off for the witch’s haunt
In a cottage, in the vale,
And hearing Pamela’s final taunt
‘You won’t live to tell the tale!’
I pursed my lips, and gritted my teeth
As I knocked on the witch’s door,
It swung out wide, to show her sat
By a cauldron on the floor.

She didn’t even look up at me
She was sorcering a spell,
Dropping roots in the cauldron there
And muttering as they fell,
Her hair fell over her shoulders and
Her face was in the shade,
And then she stopped and she looked at me
‘Did you come here to get laid?’

I blushed and stammered and caught my breath,
This wasn’t going well,
My blood was running as cold as death
As I fell beneath her spell.
She’d painted her lips and eyelids black
And her fingernails like claws,
She said, ‘I’m ready to claw your back
You need only say, ‘I’m yours!’’

Her dress she slid up above her knees
To reveal her silken thighs,
Her bodice open, she leaned right back
And I had to shut my eyes.
‘I came to tell you you’re not for me,
That you weave your spells in vain,
I have a love that is true, you see
I don’t need to play your game.’

She bounded up to her feet and cried
‘A kiss for a lonely witch!
I’m only asking a single kiss,
What could be wrong with this?’
I shook my head and I turned to go,
And I reached for the cottage door,
Then the wig came off and I heard her laugh,
And there lay Pam, on the floor!

David Lewis Paget
dean evans Jan 2015
I may have drifted off that night, but it was only for awhile
Perhaps it was some fleeting dream, that came to comfort and beguile
But there I caught a glimpse of you, then I…
admiring your style
Awoke to sad uncertainty, and nothing there remained worthwhile
My room became a place to just lament my broken, shattered dreams
Where thoughts come much too rapidly, and desperation reigns supreme
I exist within the iron gates of sorrows deviltry regime
With no escape from hopelessness,
at least for now that's how it seems

I cannot comprehend these things within my mind, that are
I cannot help but feel that it is good and evil, still at war
The meaning for my every thought is lost and trapped, in the obscure
Time passes as the ages, and leaves me here no hope of more
The clock continues spinning on it’s violent descent
Down to the day my dreams are gone, and all desire has so been spent
The moment actually may provide me peace…at least
to some extent
I only hope the memories of you and I, will not relent

To leave my mind unable to recall those thoughts of you
The times now past, that my poor heart continues to pursue
To never see those moments shown,
in memorial review
Too many tears.. too many years... my heart cannot see through
And so I hope to drift to sleep, if only for a while
To sit and watch you come to me, admiring your style
Although I know these dreams of mine will end with dawns revile
And only those split seconds will remain...
And to Beguile.

Dean Evans
12-08-14
‘I’m coming to get you now,’ he said,
‘I’m coming to get you tonight!’
Derek sat with his headset on,
His face was white with fright.
‘I think you have the wrong guy,’ he said,
‘It couldn’t be me you mean!’
‘Oh yes, I’m coming to get you now,
I know you, Derek McLean.’

He sat there silent as eerie chills
Spread up and along his spine,
A face came on his computer screen
That rang some bell in his mind.
‘This better not be a joke,’ he said,
‘You’d better not mess with me!’
The voice in the headset chuckled low
In some evil deviltry.

‘It’s taken a while to track you down,
But track you down I did,
You should have stayed off the Internet,
Covered your head, and hid.’
‘I’ve nothing to hide from,’ Derek said,
But his voice broke high in alarm,
‘You’ll never be able to block it out,
That day on Emerson’s Farm.’

At the very mention of Emerson’s Farm
The listener held his breath,
For years he’d struggled to block it out,
The site of that childhood death.
They’d played together in sodden fields
And had ventured into the marsh,
Thinking to pick the bluebells there
But the end of that was harsh.

‘I’d like to know who you are,’ he said,
But his words came out in a whine,
‘You know full well, do I have to tell,
I’m here for the second time.
You left me there and you ran on home
As I sank in there to my neck,
You had no care for my tiny life
But tonight, I’ll teach you respect.’

Derek shuddered and hit the switch
To turn the computer off,
But nothing flickered, the screen stayed on
And Derek began to cough.
‘Have you any idea what it’s like to drown
In a sludge of grass and mud?
It isn’t pleasant, I’ll tell you that
You should try it once, you should!’

Derek coughed and began to choke
In a fit of remorse, and fear,
He’d tried to forget the little bloke
Who had haunted him, year by year.
The doctor, when he examined him
Said, ‘Heart attack, and he choked.
His eyes are staring, as if in fear
But there’s mud in the back of his throat!’

David Lewis Paget
Latroy Robinson Mar 2014
[In response to Hannah Srajer's poem: Trial of Eve]

Woman, I've hated you for so long.
I've spoke ill of you.
Thought you were all breast, thighs, and stupid.
I wished you were something He could be proud of
but you brought us damnedness
the kind that boots people from their gardens,
that bars us from Him,
that leaves me with you.
As of late, I've wondered why you let us all fall.
What could have been so sweet in that snake
that you would take from the cursed tree?
bark up the wrong trunk?
I know He made you better than this.
He cut your from me and there is no way I would have condemned us.
So I came to the conclusion, you did not do this on your own will.

The other day, I trekked to tree,
greeted by a smooth slither of a smile
He trailed from the limb, broad scaled and couth
told me he knew I'd come.    

What devil silk did you spit at her to make her eat from you?
Nothing. There wasn't any black in the words I sold her.
She did this on her own will.
She understood sacrifice.
You must of use your tongue to whip her with that sweet tempt.
She was my wife, my sister, every idea of a woman.
No way she'd turn south and let us all plummet.
I will tell you what you are too blind to see.
Why she realized this was all necessary.
Growth occurs after tasting wrong.

I made a mistake somewhere.
Like seeing your own nakedness for the first time
It burns that to know you were so oblivious.
All this time, I swore Eve was rotten to the heart,
That she was born into deviltry and only wanted
to smite what He broke backwards give rise to.
But maybe we were too quick to judge.
She did something He and I never could do.
There wasn't every any tempt, no slick words
just understanding.
She was the only one brave enough to take a risk
and have faith in something she didn’t know.
She realized that humanity will never know
light unless they crawl through fire.

Eve, I have been too near sided to see what you do
but now I no longer blame you for taking the fruit.
I apologize on behalf of all my sons who will sin
your daughters and blame you for it.
I will stand next you to you in the dark.
Shoulder to shoulder like men.
We will face Him together.
I will be with you when your trial comes.
Sequestered May 2016
Swallowed up in the shadow of shallow stream,
Trails of twilight touted and taunted ignorance
To gulp elusive sanity, as he sinks and drowns
Beneath the crypt of folly; whence ere entwined
That twain kinfolks of obsession and deviltry.

In time, their crude creases passion eased away,
Breathing into existence flames of frenzy fervors;
As refining fire fueled by fervency and urgency,
Consuming needs beyond the bounds of mere wants;
Whence envy desires to covet all unto parsimony.

And then came that era when wisdom crept in,
Streaming crystal rays at the dawn of realization,
To redeem those unruly nights of ignorance and passion
With that sunrise of contentment once craves for;
As sanity walked hand in hand with piety as purity...

And now, in the trying pathway of this earthly sojourn;
I've drank from that overflowing cups of ignorance,
'Been set aflame in the burning lake of irresistible passion,
And soothed by this tranquil zephyr of divine purity...
Yet in all these, life'e invisible hands is still weaving me...
Inspired by the quote:
"Purity engenders Wisdom, Passion avarice, and Ignorance folly, infatuation and darkness."
~ Cyril Connolly
**** of innocent squaw king “noble savage

as coined by Jean Jacques Rousseau. –

     men of yore abusive, deceptive, heave, murderous scamps, thus no different than modern roman font size twelve times.
     i ponder what this tract of heavily commercialized former farmland looked like before European settlers bull dozed their might (against indefensible right) eventually liquidated every last native inhabitants, and paying tacit homage by hash-tagging those who bore a greater birthright to remain, boot the primitive means of self defense out gunned by aggressive intruders, and now the ghosts of wantonly slain innocent kindred folk, who endowed sanctity to this tortured planet prompts me wonder at the lost innocence (childlike) respect toward aged elderly, whose oral knowledge encompassed the know how regarding survival skills now lost.
*******************­
a column of el nina fury swept ashore
with santa maria frenzy like a beastly bus
gone wild as teenagers during spring break
hedonistically frolic and cuss
oblivious of the native tribes,
who once blissfully n’er dealt with a fuss
of bacchanalian, leviathan,
saturnalian proportions spreading ****
when ill animalistic germs disguised then
triangulated within narrowing pen
contaminated, decimated, eradicated “red” men
once a collection of indomitable
indigenous separate “nations”
plucked by nemesis of free-wheeling
invaders, who usurped america as their den
releasing poison couched as religion into the air
which indignities true colors became readily clear
when europeans “discoverers”
deliberately fomented war-fare
to those whose instincts
found themselves in deadly cross hair
as every square inch of “new world”
grimly rustled peace in every lair

with deadly piping hot metallic bullets with near
e chance for aboriginal peoples that seemed queer
with unfamiliar customs on par with a satyr
without the means to escape any direction they did veer
cohesion of unity did completely annihilate without a trace
forced to endure countless cruelties
i.e. a holocaust usurping space
that belonged to those, who stood apart as
utopian temperate separate race
paraded as “exotic specimens” in some faraway place
bandied about as if they happen
to be some rare refinery like silken lace
cheated, finagled, inveigled,
lured, oppressed, root from entire face
of their rightful home by
chicanery, frippery, illusory and base
though with hawk like vision totally blind
to banality, deviltry, effrontery,
gimcrackery, hostility though dined
with fool-hardy, mockery,
travesty from Europeans whose dreams lined
against so called “brutish
and nasty” original occupants who maligned
innocent amazingly gracefully
lean peoples who did pine
for lovely bones where ancestors
warriors descendants withered on vine
against vanquished population
resembling Asian creed
whence soldiers commemorated
for revenge as worshipful deed

shackled, ***** only in death freed
yet in lethality our forebears flush with greed
which cruelty, debauchery, enmity,
ferocity – essentially genocide knew no heed
feigning sincerity, yet holding
murderous rapacity to slay every hide despite plead
and exchanging peace pipe made of reed!
FROM WHITE HOUSE

I ham aghast at increasing banality, deviltry, ferocity,

   imbecility, liability, obscenity, rapacity, ugly

   offal popularity witnessed by Donald trump

hence aye aerate thoughts,

   how *** a nine his banal, demoniacal,

   egomaniacal, fanatical, guttural, and hurtful


   culling frightening insight, where portentous more deadly than

   sport ugh guise Man 'o War debacle

   doth crowdsource, flickr, and indeed long foster

   my plenti full over active imagination


   to induce writhing expressions of fearfulness

   proportionate burst of haughtiness) while he doth stump

would animate mine rear i.e. rather noxious flatulence

   expelled from outward doppelganger of ****

pull stilts skin cuz this chap haint Noah fan, but wood vouchsafe

   tub be a jimmy neutron n sponge bob squarepants


   Ark n saw wing enemy against da dull don dat pumps

swaggering bravado with fist swelling ego

  analogous to his body infected with severe case of mumps

that brazen denizen hurling and spewing volcanic fiery spittle


   with incense against others – to him mere lumps

of protoplasm heckled as inferior to himself

  boasts as proof of favoritism, that enervating, fawning,

   gabbling feverish arrogant mania for him jumps

higher than expected,


   while he commits faux paws which bumps

his ratings higher, he gleefully endorses

  pandemonium toward gloating gump

  shun from the uproarious. querulous

  and populous madding crowd!


throughout launch of his campaign,

  banally, devilishly, and fiendishly

   character assassinating those opposed to his views -

inducing me to harrumph and dump faith

   in humanity, wondering what ruse

smart democratic pol mongers can conjure up


  while pacing in soft shoes  

woeful sentiments sans his attempt did render

  competitors to drop out in ones n twos

whom he purportedly considers apostates,

   and heathens cons heed Make America Great use

all manner of bullying (determination whose occipital pupils

coalescing into searing grape nut size wrath poisonous daggers)

   forcibly silencing any jeers

when necessary plagiarizing neo **** play book with a "who cares"


attitude closing in on pinteresting

  for United Stated chess board foursquare,

which deliberate intent to foment n wrought prostrate -

music to those hoteliers billion dollar ears


   sans defeated apprenticing contestants hearing sobbing tears

with vitriolic violent bilious inducing jabs of his a will full spears

   reputations of personalities (men and women politicians

  his especial flavor of scathing, scandalous, scabrous sordidness


   spewed squeamishly to grab by the figurative crotch

   the hello kitty 2016 presidential election),

   whether liberal, conservative, heterosexual or queers

thus this middle-aged mwm abject psychic fractal shears!


the following poetic addendum composed way buff fore

(in my mind) atrocious, cretaceous, enormous, ferocious,

garrulous, hellacious, indecorous, malicious nemesis,

pernicious, querulous, rapacious, specious, tedious,

unrighteous, vicious, dangerous demon

must BE STOPPED IN HIS TRACKS ASAP!


DONALD TRUMP – RE: DUCKS --

this portion dashed off (while dry ving an open white hearse slay

so many months back before sale him slotted the most coveted

Casino biggest win - before the political imbroglio

   much more upsetting than today


Axe the old don

A trump peter n piper of incredulous hellish crud - be gone

With the ha air brushed pompous ****

  so Macy jackal hound doth run

After public outcry yelps for his hide and proletarian discord won!


Donald Duck Trump ™$ - a pompous ***

makes war with his big brass

knuckles and bucket of crass

maligns vis a vis character assassination with bro kin glass

inciting banal deathly hallowed expletives toward lass

sees – especially Fox Television

   news anchor woman Megyn Kelly


   inducing said personality to bear grizzly brunt of brutish mass

of vitriolic n vile insults from incriminating verbal pass  

   so…ex post facto viz mine NO VOTE from me

   thus this digital screed to disallow him

   to accept the oath of office, cuz he will hurrahs  

   from such a snooty arrogant simian with sass!


I van a try to describe while sitting on me ****

How he oh bomb in lee rages with gnashing teeth

  while back a slump

Blasting Democratic nomination as a sham –

  From special interest bro and sis turn pump


He, the epitomy of crass bloviation, a malignant lump

Whose rants sans presidential sham rocked outcome

   lets him trounce, pounce, denounce

   liberal Democratic stalwart efforts bolstering middle class

   to blitz total mortal kombat like a rabid red bull

   in a China shop with his millions beds this,


  That and another woman to ******* jump

Disseminating gene pool – Obama null lee birthing

   more quackery and additionally doth ****

The mass media as some foolhardy charade


   characterizes abominable (MORE FRIGHTFUL THAN YETI):

   culpable, deplorable, execrable,

   et cetera of a frazzled grump, This arboreal clothed ape

   Erecting Taj Mahal ******* symbol where players dump

And gamble away hard earn cash


   For his hello kitty, as if cachet to grind and bump

Lambasting with that maniacal leering pout

   while hair *** runs rampant with red bulls

   In a China shop atop his bulbous

   aerosol sprayed heady measly shaped


  ulterior motive aimed his sights to become Pastor of Muppets

  Dis eased cranial hologram

   Of cretaceous, facetious and insidious mump!


By: Baron von Ivan Mal N. Ya.

— The End —