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Ryan Unger Jun 2015
O Toro, my Toro!
You bring me no sorrow!
Just you on a plate,
O my taste buds can’t wait!

Atop a small mound of rice is where you beautifully sit perched,
I know that my whole life it was for you that I’ve searched!
The light dances off of your gentle pink hue like a star,
A phosphorescent culinary delight is what you are.

I embrace you with chopsticks, eyes closed, and place you on my tongue;
And your flavor love-making that proceeds keeps me feeling young.

You’re creamy and buttery in all the right places!
You ended up here with me only by God’s good graces.
Onto my tongue melts your morsels of fat,
Rich decadence coats my mouth and my inhibitions go flat.

I can’t ever get enough; I want more, I need more!
Your soft savory texture hugs my mouth and warms my core.
I swallow you wearing a smile unlike any I’ve worn before,
Your gentle ocean tuna taste lingers and leaves me wanting more

O Toro, my Toro;
You leave me and my appetite so Zen,
And I’ll be dwelling in our memories until we meet again.
Glottonous Jun 2015
An irrational animal gets high
From the ravenous pump of its own tongue,
Nursing wounds of a disease untreated.

His fat meat skulks through marbled corridors
Around eyes that assign value to worth,
Fixated on transactions to be paid.

The ring and flash of victory courses
Through his silken veins and opens his mouth
To swallow the pride of the defeated

Reflection in a puddle of his own
Drool, clinging shakily from toothless dogs,
Addicted to the peak and crash of trade.
Nikita Jun 2015
They say we can be whatever we want
As long as your rich, above the law, highly intelligent and have no responsiblitys
Àŧùl May 2015
Our love is a living legend,
Of our story there is no end,
We together will make a life.

I'll sure be a good husband,
And the most loyal partner,
She'll make the best wife..

As it started centuries ago,
Ah, the yolk is mature now,
The egg of our relationship...

Not hollow - it's just sturdy,
Of its sweets we're worthy,
It's the Easter of our love..

We both relish its flavour,
We've that rich exclusivity,
Our world of love we live in.
My HP Poem #867
©Atul Kaushal
H W Erellson May 2015
** hum. Days work I suppose.
They come and go.
Riches they want.
Power they says.
Fame they wants.
Corrupting things these pale sweaty men yearn for poison.
Ah well, they pass bread over to my thin fingers, they can have it all.

But why doesn't anyone every wish for
the lasting sight of rolling hills cut under a deep and dark sunset?
Or to feel soft hands
worked and worn hands
child's hands
loving hands
****** and resting in their finite palms?
Why don't they wish for the pen to touch the paper,
so that when they read it back
they can't help but burst sealed lips whispering

'beautiful'

for themselves but so that themselves can beam at everyone else...?
Gone are the days when simple people wished for truer things;
these are the days of calculated idiocy, of boring invincibility...

It may be spring, but tucked away in my tent on the side of the road,
undying, starving, bored,
I shiver a little as vehicles eternally roar by
following the road into a dull and predictable oblivion.
Valo Salo Aug 2014
Worked for thousands of years
For some rich men I still serve

Still dreaming through all of the years
Dreams of all the rich men’s pleasures

Out there among the millions of stars
Time travel faster than I could ever imagine

So many money and ***** tricks to be spend
Fly me up on rockets to the never lasting end

Work for some rich men who got all powers
Burn me up dying for some real bad ideas

Take a last breath and get in the grave
A life with no questions and no answers

Don’t get too excited and claim your rights
Find a man to marry get daughters and sons

Shipping companies transporting goods
Now you’ll work for thousands of years.
Rhianecdote Apr 2015
And now we're losing interest

Cause we took on things at our own expense

Watch the Dollars burn or go to Bankers

As we all lose our ****** Sense!
yep, I still don't understand why we  compensate incompetent and to be honest ******* wreckless wankers!
Bankers bonuses my ****!
The apathy is strong man
JM McCann Mar 2015
How can you put the idea of luck into words?
It’s like the sun rising and falling at just the right times,
like having a parent who gets you a sweet
jacket that you really didn’t want
but now wear it constantly because it’s a pretty nice jacket.

Luck and air equal in appearance.
It was there for me when I was born, when my parents understood me,
when Sandy hits all of New York but my neighborhood, when
my parents got me my first bike, when
the car managed to not hit me, when I outrun
the fitness coach who was rather angry after I spat at him
when I stumbled across this guy on youtube, who encourages
vegan eating. It feels like immortality, like death really
does not want me, maybe life is stronger and luckier
then death.
It feels like I have a silent guard or guardian always
tipping a domino that leads to me still breathing.
No! Really it encourages the most aggressive dare devil
moves like not touching the ground once in Manhattan
red lights just becoming meaningless colors.    
Perhaps luck is the devil building me up to be
more skilled and better just to shatter the thin air.

In every way luck has been there.
Sure I’ve had ****** moments but they always manage to
feel like a set up for something else.

There is a level of pain between death and making you stronger
that simply hurts, a deep soul wound that never kills.
I’ve always been a “victim” of a pain that makes stronger muscles.

Sure things have came very close.
When I was three or so I was bored and cleaned the house
with chemicals and was blinded for three months,
a neuron or whatever sciency very small unit away from
being blind in my left eye.
but then luck came and I can see fine.

How many times can you get lucky, and no not
in the daft punk way, without feeling
something grander is saving you for something insane
something pure and brilliant like creating a chain reaction
that reaches space?

Or perhaps this is how prophecies get fulfilled?
A mortal gets a gods luck and when the mortal
mistakes them self for a god is when they learn
too late of their mortality?
Any feedback is more than welcome!
Brian Payamps Mar 2015
You claim you fight for peace.
You claim you are the reason I live free.
As you stand with pride on both your feet.
Whose helping out your brother who's begging on 42nd street.
He lost both his feet.
You don't fight for me
But for the 1 percent that can afford to put their kids through ivy league.
You think I'm free
within these parameters inposed on me.
where I can't even speak.
You lost your brother, well so did I.
He stepped on a C4,
mine got gun down by the police force.
You fight for peace?
had *** three times last night and I'm still trying to lose my virginity.
You think I'm free
I'm more of a slave now than kutakente was back in eighteen thirty-three.
You think I want you to risk your life for me?
I guess if somebody must die better you than me.
Fighting for peace ****.. take it how you want. Poems are suppose to hit a nerve. Just my thoughts
Xavier Mar 2015
I never saved for anything in my life,
Sold my soul to protect me from the cold.
Pocket change, trying to rearrange my path.
I lay down deep and hold my breath in the tub, I can't even afford death.
I walk along side buses and trains to get where I should of been in my brain an hour ago.
This is no roller coaster, but a steady decent below.

If I had a nickel for every time life kicked me in the ribs while I was down, I tell you man I'd be rich, rich, rich. Rich enough to keep my soul, light my path and let you know life is free.
It's not easy, It's not free.
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