Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Once I was a teen,
That's when Mum got mean,
Dragged us off on long drives,
Her whinging did give me hives,
Maybe she could not hack us growing,
Autonomy we wanted knowing,
We tried not to be like our mother,
Turned each into totally another,
Nag, nag, nag and moan,
Not again,  I'd  sit at home,
With music and a fur pal,
A book, a pen, a suburban gal......
So, in half a century,
Not much changed for me,
I sit and scribble, solo,
But never alone, my muse, lo!
Feedback welcome.
he wrote poems inside of me
he carefully inscribed each letter
allowed my moans to fill the blank pages
and ended the story with one last rhythmic line
leaving me begging for more
What she once wore
now lays forgotten on the floor.
Behind lock doors
we can let our lust pour.

Creature of delight
comes alive at night.

Make them scream and moan
but never call one of them home.
Paseal Joe Mar 7
It's so glaring,
yet we've been ignoring,
the cries and screams
from the floor above,
while claiming to mind our business,
we've ignored the sounds of things shattering,
and the painful groans and moans next door.

The signs are obvious,
while we pretend, we're oblivious,
if only we'd stretch a hand,
we'd save the little girl upstairs
from being molested repeatedly
or the boy next door from more trauma.

Oh, lives are being shattered,
how could we go about our day's work, ignoring?
hopes are being destroyed
yet we ignore daily
following up busy schedules,
forgetting the world around us.

Who would play the savior?
who would lend a hand?
who would raise a voice?
who would show some love?
who would protect them from so much fear?
who would say: "all hope's not lost"
We are the ones who keep quiet and claim to mind our businesses when these things happen, we've forgotten that our kids/ siblings could be victims too if these abused victims, turn out to be abusers too because, about 50% of the abused turn out to be abusers. Let's not judge, let's say 'NO'
Badshah Khan Feb 9
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 33

BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem

Chanting and dancing divinely in your eternal love,
Oh my Divine Creator, what you did exactly to me?

In Your eternal love nor any query, nor any moan,
You naturally made me vanish in Your Eternal Love!

Allah Khair….. Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem

Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust)
Dani Nov 2018
I crave
A touch
Not soft or gentle

I crave
A lust
So instrumental

I beg
For you
To grab me roughly

I beg
For you
To touch me toughly

I thirst
In need
For someone pressed against me

I thirst
In need
For Someone to hold me

I desire
To moan
Loudly with pleasure

I desire
To moan
Loudly - uncensored

I crave, I beg, I thirst, I desire a touch, a lust-loan.
You see, I am in dire need to moan.
A never ending thirst, a never fulfilled desire. A never ending craving for more.
Wyatt Aug 2018
Hands joined together,
hearts on the same beat.
Breaths we share
trace our skin with grace.
Arms hugging tighter,
lips digging deeper.
Only we exist here
in this moment tonight.
Kisses turn passionate,
buried under sheets
as we become intimate.
Reaching lower,
you’re taking hold.
We’re smoke in the cold.
Muffled sounds escape,
moans surface as we savor
exploring from thighs to nape.

I’m playing with thoughts
of staying like this forever,
locking all the doors
and never going back.
Your fingers run free
through my hair,
my hands overlap
your lower back.
Caught in your gaze,
I see infinity in a moment.
With bliss like this I know
we can’t wait any longer.
You’ve got what I need.
Slowly we melt, merge into one.
You’ve stripped my soul naked
and now I reach to unhook.
nish Aug 2018
i like the way you moan

try hold it in, bite your lip

breathing ragged with just the tip?

its sensual, so attractive

i slide it in

make you gasp

clutch the sheets

lips open up

let it go

that's right baby

nice and slow

say my name

i’ll go again

she snapped
Like a clockwork's rhyme
they grow on him,
the soft moan of her heels.
Here she comes, they tell him
as they gently pry loose
of her tender feet.

A quiver is set into motion
like strings of a cello
consumed by touch
every time her voice breaks free
like a fugitive
from its own abode.

The visiting breeze crosses by
the slow hum
of her breathing,
and carries the gasps
in hurried echoes
to remind him she's checked in.

A mischief rolled into smile
escapes her lips
to touch a heart so shy,
only to leave it
and **** with pain
while making it a willing alibi.
Is there a sound to love? Does love come with jingles in the background. Or, do you find it in chores when love shores up within and thy love is without...
Next page