I Can't wait for the buds to return to the trees snowdrops and daffodils and the warmth of the
Birds returning back here from Africa to sing their morning wake up
call to build their nests to raise
feed their young oh how I long for the returning summer to put away the winter clothes
For now, I'll sleep away the
winter days to wake again
on that beautiful first spring morning
Awaiting the buds to reappear the trees snow drops daffodils
the first day of spring birds singing their wake up call
Faithful buds you poke your heads out green
Leaves unfold round petals’ silky sheen
Sunlight draws you from your cellar rest
Dry-dirt roots seek water to ingest
Gift of romance, jewel of child’s crown
Found and owned, your beauty not your own
Perfect picture, ruined out of love
Plucked from home you flourish long for none
My mouth drooling;
I am feigning for her deliciousness;
her fleshy fruit -- blooming in my mouth,
spewing her milky nectar -- all over my tongue.
I kneel before lapping at her hole;
thin pink lips
parted by my fingers,
praying on her weakness.
feeding my desire;
as her body quivers beneath me
her swells flooded with satisfaction
do you think
cloaks of normalcy
wash away reality -
that screens pulled close
pious veils drawn
means all is well -
that children next door
from 'respectable' homes
aren't used like so much spoil
displayed with polish
to the highest bidder -
what tales do you keep
to sleep at night
in perfumed air -
'it's far away
some hapless child
not where I drive
with tinted glass
they're lower class
don't know the Lord
mere runts down town
where father drinks
can't pay their rent
make decent wage
so sell the kid
for sordid nights -
- n - o -
to tender buds
and poorer shacks
and every age
from dot to
they stay unseen
stare at their
are ***** this night
sob off to
as mother too
walks right on
deaf to the screams
he wants his
so he will take
'now be a man'
says worm to
he lies to all
most to his
and no one sees
and no one
the silent screams
with veil drawn
they look askance
and walk on
I welcome responses to this poem which is aimed at revealing the culture of silence in 'polite society' - this outpouring of outrage at abuse has been boiling for some time but this poem was sparked off in response to PaganPaul's important and raw poems on this topic https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1923972/the-judderwitch/
Do you think it hurts,
When fresh buds burst from dark earth?
What beautiful pain.
The Pain of New Life - part one
In life you are a total nobody if you aren't:
A "socialite superstar" who sacrifices moral for popularity
A tech freak
A married man or woman (opposite *** only!)
An insensitive "cowboy"
A confederate flag sympathizer (incomparable to ******, I guess)
A religious fanatic
Someone who is so open minded they are open to bad or EVIL
Rich as hell
Extremely violent or purposefully "unaware of bullies"
Anyone who graduated with honors (3.5 or higher, please!)
Certain everyone should work and/or drive
Covered by expensive life insurance
Popular with dozens of "honest friends"
A gun owner who doesn't believe in the need for regulation
A cigarette smoker (but *** is a "bigger devil!")
Hating cross dressers
A nudist hater
Built with a six pack
Absolutely certain that every hippy is "the devil"
A nature hater
Willing to **** anything that moves (they are the pests)
Giving away all natural love for money
One who loves to go to war, a.k.a. "gung-**"
Gifted with perfected teeth
One to ignore the "little lower people" at work/school
A "brown noser," trying to even out-do your mentors
A cheeky person obsessed with being manager (I'm #1!)
Poised to kick someone out on a moments notice (no hustlers here!)
Always on "mommy" and "daddies" side, even if they went too far
The list goes on and on, but you need to be most of these to succeed!
It's a long list! So many sharks! So little care about them...
Your shy smile, in the buds
blooming late by mellow winds;
distant in the leaves turned golden
your fiery hair;
the city below, still asleep,
stuttering in the lanes, your voice,
in the coffee morning shop.
my heart, all the butterflies.
Your dreamy smile, in
the toast maker lady at the kiosk.
You said I should go to Primrose Hill
So I went to Primrose Hill.
and I found you everywhere.
Someone sent me to Primrose Hill. Someone I lost and may never find again. Except in these memories. This is neo-cubist in the sense of Pierre Reverdy.