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Khoi-San Jul 2019
The
whites
of their eyes
remain at a tilt
on the conscience of a child.
The catcher in the web
retain the illusion on the net
the mask of evil is hugely evident
and money in the spank
makes this poem highly irrelevant.
Internet ******* modern day prostitution Addictive explicit a plague of human dignity
the worlds oldest profession freely available
what about the mind of the innocent child.
vinci Apr 2019
...

It's very hard
Trying to make a change in this life
Please fill wisdom in my heart
So that the end of this system, I'll survive
Written sometime in September 2016. Love His people so much
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
...ARGH!  Hence the title...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXV)


Spent, ere the fragile chance to what? avail,
Look how blue skies warm in dawn's welcome, whence
Don't roll a single word for aught intents
Across my tongue, jist see, and wonder, pale
As howling oer grey heavns' sheer lack, nor scale
Lo, any bit of this or that cuz sense
Drowned late on Monday night where visions dense
With oh, Victorian airs stole off wee bail.
Yes, when I've but a minute to bestir
My pencil for ah, which detail passed through?
I'm swooning sans a voice yet over her--
That girl whom lit'rature FORGOT, cuz ooh!
She was his mistress; won the world as twere
Because of that keen secret:  I've naught cue.

12Mar19a
Yep, immersing me in all I could read on LEL aka Letitia Elizabeth Landon took my soul in a whirl back to that era and familiar visions, so much so that even after a "good night's" sleep, when I found a chance to scribble, that waltzed before me in lieu of aught else.
Igor Goldkind Feb 2019
Existence is a limitless screen of emptiness
Vibrant with jubilant celebrations
And gratitude for the joy in rolling a boulder blissfully up this steep hill.
Tripping over our own thoughts like loosened cobblestones,

We  no longer see the reality directly in front of us

The truth is a truce we struck with certainty ages ago.
After losing the desperate struggle...
To cling to some kind of hope buried deep beneath the root of ourselves.
I am fearful of fully failing myself and yet
I love myself best when I am alone with eternity.
Elizabeth Zenk Feb 2019
If immortality is granted
that shall be the day I die.

For if living has no finish line,
why must I run at all?
Emmiasky Ojex Nov 2018
Look at our daughters
They now show no ill in laying with men old as their fathers
Look at our sons
Nothing is holding them back from scamming the green people with their bad brain and laptops

Look at our mothers, fathers, the young men and alike; women,
They now have no time for their own children,
Everyone is too busy searching for just one thing,
And that is known as MONEY!

Why will a lady lay with a dog?
Or why’ll she prefer to be known in the environ as a hog?
Is it not just for one thing?
They choose to sell their body?

Why will a schooler choose to become a drop-out with no good passion?
But he’s trying to boycott hardships and hardwork
He’ll just join the bad gang
And will receive money off stealing from the innocent man

He’ll swerve off money from the fleeceable parents
And to all their good, he’ll put an end
He’s not *******
He just wants the wealth; in anyway it comes and at whatsoever cost, he cares less!

Blame it on the money,
What is ours is now owning us,
And we still show no remorse,
As even today, some of your sons and daughters are still singing this MONEY SONG!

©Emmiasky Ojex
This poem talks on how money has thwarted humanity in the world
Jade Sep 2018
The countenance of her throne
epitomizes the state of her soul,
and this countenance I shall describe
but only to who may tolerate the details
of its most uncanny existence.

A clique of stallions
gallop about in a nauseating blur,
their red eyes glowering under
the amber light descending from
an ominous sliver of moon,
its mere presence prompting on
the inversion of the stars
and the curled screeches of
the morbid beasts
whose fur hangs darker than
the trembling eye of Hell.

Atop one lacerated saddle
rides Her Majesty--
The Queen of the Circus,
deranged like the specimen
she keeps in her company.
And,
with every cacophonic rise
of the carousel,
she howls,
her ******* cries as primal as
the stallions' untamed whinnies.

She bites her lip until
she can taste blood
(and ***),
throws her hands to her temples
in ****** wistfulness--
pale limbs encompass teased hair
where decomposing acorns
(rotten kisses)
and bouquets of Nightshade
reside amongst the tangle
of Medusa-Esque curls,
amongst large, brown eyes
that sparkle gold under
the cursed heavens
which have been simultaneously
pleasured and scandalized
by the sight of her bare *******
clinging to sheer leotard,
by the sight of her body swaying
round the rusted poles that
have sunk themselves into the horses' skulls
like a ring sinks round
a glass bottle
or a lover's finger.  

Of course, Her Royal Darkness
is more than just a Circus Queen.
She, indeed, entertains
a grand variety of morbid hobbies;

She is a Fire Eater
{spitters are quitters};

Grave Digger
{she dances the Charleston atop
treasure chests of bones and
bones with carnival mobsters};

Crystal Ball Prodigy
{reading palm | l|i|n|e|s | like
p
o
e
t
r
y};

Ring Mistress
{**** or ****,
purr or bite--
what shall it be?};

Acrobat
{knees perched above shoulders,
a man's mouth between her legs};

Ventriloquist
{"I'll steal your breath away, darling."}


Why yes!

She is a Jaqueline of all trades.

"Pick a card! Any Card! ..."

"Is this your card? ..."

A heart is drawn,
cleaved between her teeth,
each pulse of vein
a magnificent drum beat
against her tongue.
With the blood of her prey--
juices as thickly sweet
as candy floss--
she marks her territory,
parades her ****--
a pink handprint
smeared across the hide
of each stallion.

"What dizzying artistry...
how lovely--
how...insane,"
she laughs,
each high pitched giggle
a homage to the maddening  musings
of her soul
(and her throne.)
Priyendra Singh Aug 2018
Placing my life on a bet
I lay on a motel bed
With heart pounding
And long loud emotional howling
That screams at the ****** inside me.
All throughout the act
I remain ‘inert’
While that pervert!
Gags and squirt.

Forcibly moaning
So as to earn a loaf of bread
for a family whose chieftain is dead.
This is the reason why I lay on bed.

Despite all this they make me culpable
Knowing very well with this I am feeding incapable.
If this is the law then answer me whether in true sense it is justifiable?

My only cry is my body has been taken for far too long
Does anybody want to take my heart along?
This poem is about *** worker who is currently undergoing court trial for engaging in an immoral act and obscene act. This poem tries to convey message of that *** worker.
Flo Jun 2018
Some men make me worry
Degrading treatment towards women seems to be ok
On their behalf I would like to say sorry
This kind of bahaviour needs to stop today

As a guy it sickens me
The sheer amount of disrespect
Rating women, calling them a lousy three
Something in your head must be defect

The other day I heard a colleague say
Don't worry about their names
I'm saving them by the codes
Each letter leading me on different roads

"S" means hot, "X" is for a one time use
I was aghast, no I was shocked
In my opinion this is resembling abuse
After that further chat had to be blocked

A dark day for a believer of human dignity
No human should be reduced to an object
Fellow men, stand up when facing this immorality
This is a wrong we need to correct
I wrote this poem about half a year ago after being confronted with the above mentioned situation. I was debating whether I should publish this poem at all, as there are a lot of poems popping up especially in regard to the "me too" and "time is up" movement and I did no want to "jump on the train" so the say. However, I think it is important to stick up when facing wrongs like these no matter if this relates to women or men alike.

Cheers to the believers of human dignity!
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