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Spring girl eyes around,
To the winter *****’s chagrin;
Each turn brings heartburn!
K Balachandran Dec 2018
Winter wrench snuggles,
Moving fingers stoke fire;
****** vigil.
PiledByTheGate Aug 2017
For the girl who makes me wish I had a sister like her,
don't let them break you or stand in your way.
They need you and love you,
no matter what your stepmom might say.
I know my opinion is not desired,
but I know better than anyone,
those little ones need you.
So **** what she says and don't back down.
You're strong and brave,
a fighter, a lover,
a hero,
a sister.
And that's worth fighting for.
We may have our differences and our battles but I would never wish you to be apart from your little brother and sister. They need you and you need them. Good luck. If you need anything, I got you.
Gemineyed Gypsy Jun 2015
When I was a child, Pan was my friend,
With others I refused to play,
Except for those reminding me,
Of that long, lost, youthful boy.
Playing along and following the pond-
To the stream that led out to the bay,
Just a ahead in the woods was where I called home,
A land of adventure and joy.

As time went along,
I was forced to grow strong,
Veering from my childish ways,
My life steered off course, by that Pirate, of course,
Swabbing decks, cleaning bilges,
Slaving through days.

Nine years hence,
Spending many a *****,
Its back in the woods I reside.
Be it a curse, that might sound right in verse,
My heart yearns to be back, living life by the tides.
© 2015 Ashley Jean.
All rights reserved.
Intellectual property of the author.
Julia Elise Jun 2015
Jealously rises like smoke.
Obvious hoax.
How could she?
But I know his loyalty.
She can't take what's mine.
He's beautifully divine.
But maybe she already has.
Looks like midnight talks like jazz.
No... He'll return.
Right before she burns.
To what he knows is true.
He was just confused.
Aha.
Wait for his common sense.
Get away from the evil *****.
Her lips curling.
Potion mist swirling.
Rotten, stale or dead.
She's inside his head.
Her breath intermixed.
Almost with his kiss.
Dark hair.
Lingering glare.
I feel her hate.
But she'll take my bait.
Her smirk won't fool me.
He wants me solely.
One choice for him to make.
Love and happiness or wretched snake
Phoebe Seraphine Jan 2015
Let me in breathe deeply for the tale I’m about to tell,
sweeping sails ease into the sea, flourished in the swell.

You can hear the women crying by the pier, ill at-ease
while their husbands sail off to lands, carried by the breeze.

Now what do the women do left behind the boat?
As stranger ships sail to the port, Mother takes in her petticoat.

I know how hard looks can be taken at just a glance,
regardless of the scurvy face, Mother will unbutton their pants.

Her name is nameless, speaking with a salacious tongue,
her fiery mouth spits filth to sailors, barely young.

Only when the moon is ripe does Mother come out to shine,
needing to begin her descent to a place where she will need a spine.

She creeps out the door after she laid her last babe asleep,
and waits at the harbor as the midnight fog hovers over the deep.

At long last the hungry boat appears in a stench of wettend want,
Mother hikes up her dress, traveling to the ship where sailors eye her taunt.

Marauding, boorish mariners await their nocturne from the best,
Mother stands on a platform; heated, bruised but offers up her chest.

Gentlemen callers and kith alike are ravenous for their time,
salt and ****** sift through her hair, carrying the crime.

All the Captain’s minions violently pinion Mother to the deck,
her coat thrown off and broach tucked away as the Captain smothers her neck.

Imprints of his lewd fingers trail down her waist,
cheers roar back and forth as greedy eyes are fervent to taste.

But Captain has other plans for Mother, the well-positioned *****,
and he picks her up, takes her back to the cabin as her jaw begins to clench.

Sea salt flourish his seedy beard and tinged by reddish hue,
his uncouth presence disturbed her as she stares his foul view.

She bobs her head toward his *****, knowing she has to please,
familiar with this gambit, she dulls his excitement as she adjusts her knees.

Mother takes his britches beckoning what lowly clings,
he is sighing ever farther- by god she is a martyr, how her belly stings!

Her mouth is tainted with taste of vermin, who is posed to death,
and reminds her that she’s the ***** who has stolen his breath.

His scrupulous moans echo throughout the vessel and go on until he is satisfied,
prostrate, he finishes as she and soiled floorboards collide.

What could have been debonair if he had helped her to her feet;
he pushes her out the cabin, to the deck where more sailors ache for someone sweet.

One by one, down she goes until she feels that it's her end,
she breathes relief, slathering funds into her pocket’s mend.

Now she’s done and knows she’s won another day of feeding her kin,
barely *****, she slides on her coat, covering her skin.

She leaves the men wanting more before another ascend to sea,
clawing at their grave, she bid them well and off the ship did she flee.

At home, she tended her fingers, crooked with splinters, where I saw her rise,
she looked at me that fateful night with weary, hazel eyes.

Her raspy voice did not regale her deed, but calmly put me back to sleep,
everyone knows a mother always has salty secrets she needs to keep.

So when you lay there, in your bed, trying to reach a doze,
think about where your mother gets the money to buy you warm clothes.

There may be a reason for her sleeping patterns at the top of noon,
and before you bid her goodnight, try to mind the moon.

Maybe there is a reason for all her harrowing tones,
but no one but the sailors know of the ways to make her groan.

So let me speak from knowledge from a mother that I hold dear,
do not fight with her when all she wants is to keep you near.

Eat your cooked cabbage and swallow your biscuit bread,
The life she is living may not be one of class, but it keeps a roof over your head.
The first cohesive poem I wrote after I understood how dangerous abstractions are, around 2008. I do not particularly care for this piece, but all the same it won some silly award and I enjoy looking back at it to compare how far I've come creatively.
Martin Narrod May 2014
The likes of you I can't describe,
Yet I love to eat between your thighs.
The melody you spake to me
Unfolds my greatest sovereignty.
I crave to quaff all of your spit,
And swallow every drop of it.
Don't cheat me of your tasty flesh,
Those bare and supple ****** *******,
Your eyes that follow my firm gaze,
While we kiss and lick and misbehave.
I need to feel each piece of skin,
Smashing girl and boy parts over and over again.
It's such a treat to eat you whole;
I'm obsessed with eating 19-year-olds.
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