"aah" poems
Aah! it was you who did not discover:
Still love for you I have like a lover.
I kept on peering you like i always peered
And continued to do so till u disappeared.
But you did not turn around to see me
Just like the one who leaves
And i kept on believing , that you'll see,
Like the one who believes
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 4:21 AM UTC
Chamakte -damkate chehro main bhi
Uski thi pahchan mujhe
"Ek sanwali ladki se tha pyar mujhe
Wo pagal thi meri hokar'
Wo roti thi mujhse lad-kar'
Jaan waan toh baate thi""
Wo kehti thi ( humsath) mujhe '
Ek sanwli ladki se tha pyar mujhe
Wo ladti' kuch kuch kahti thi mujhe
Par aah karu Jo toh samjh leti thi mujhe..
Uske pyar ka ikraar tha mujhe ...
Ek sanwali ladki se tha pyar mujhe
karu Jo khata toh tok deti thi mujhe
Par jaane se pahle ROK leti thi mujhe ..
Main hasta tha""uske dil main kahi toh basta tha
Ye ahsas tha mujhe ...
Ek sanwali ladki se tha pyar mujhe ...
Par
Kab duri badhi,kab wo badle
Kab hum aade or wo lade
KUCH abhaas nahi mujhe ..
Chalo phir bhi ...
Uske dil pe dastak di
Kae baar minnat ki ke geenti tak na yaad mujhe ...
Ek sanwli ladki se tha pyar mujhe ...
Waqt ne kuch or karwat li
Sari kasme todi ***
Meri yaado ko bhulaya"
Pyar,waade,wafa ko jalaya"
Uske hatho se mili bas raakh mujhe
Ek sanwali ladki se tha pyar mujhe
U toh uska ab kuch pata nahi ""
Beete kai saal toh rahi na kuch baate yaad mujhe ..
Par
ek dhadkan, ek saans, or uski aakhiri baat hain yaad mujhe ...
Ek sanwali ladki se tha pyar mujhe ..
Naaraj hua Jo ladta khudse ..
Tum kyu ** ab bhi yaad mujhe..
Kyu usse tha or abhi bhi hain ye anchaha sa pyaar mujhe ......
Ek sanwali ladki se (hain) pyar mujhe
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC
Dil ke ehsaas hote hain bhut khaas,
Shayad tabhi umadte hai bhut sawaal iske paas.
Tuta dil or tuta darpan hai ek samaan,
Jodne ki koshish karenge tou hoga kudh ko hi dard jiska nahi hai koi bakhaan.
Dil, Dil se milte hai tou pyar hota hai,
Dil, Dil ke liye hi beqarar hota hai,
Ye lafzon ki bhasha nahi samjhta saab,
Ye tou us nayno ke andaaz ko hi smjh leta hai
Yaaron dil kabhi kisi ka dukhana nahi,
Beshak tutne ki awaaz aati nahi.
Par khuda kasam dard bhut hai hota,
Jab ye nanha dil hai rota.
Jab kabhi hum khud se hi ruth jatey hai,
Dil rota hai aur aankhon se ashq tapak jaatey hai,
Ye bahut nadaan hota hai,
Bin soche hi pyar kr leta hai
Bin ankhiyon ke dekh leta hai bahut kuch,
Bin kaano ke sun leta hai har raag sach much.
Haal apne dil ka suna nahi sakte
Ujad gayi hai duniya jo thi khubsurat isme baste
Sab kuchh es chhote dil me chhipa ke bhi chup rahta hai,
Puri duniya ka dard bhi dedo tou aah tak nahi bharta hai,
Kabhi khush hokar muskura deta hai,
Tou kabhi taklifon ko dekhkar tut bhi jata hai.
Collaboration by Manish Shrivastva and Sonia Paruthi
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
Desember bersambut hujan, menderas berlukiskan mendung. Sejuk menusuk tulang, yah hujan desember memang tak main
- main dan tak tanggung - tanggung, serius. Memelukmu dingin bertubi - tubi.
Belajar dari 'hujan desember'
Pengorbanan seperti apa yang akan kau ukir untuk membuka pintu kemenangan dakwah ?
Setergenang jalan setapak kah, dengan guyuran hujan ?
Atau, sesemangat hujan desember kah ? Dengan turunnya susul menyusul melembabkan tanah tahun depan, menyusun rencana agar tanah tak mengering dan gugurlah dedaunan karena cuaca tak menentu ..
Segemuruh deras hujan kah ? Berirama dan memberi isyarat bahwa lagi - lagi akan menggenang walau ada saja suara sumbang "aah, hujan turun lagi, sampai kapan "
Dan entah akan kembali kah ia, dengan desember yang sama atau justru tertelan waktu dan mati ..
Maka, prestasi apa yang telah terukir setahun ini dan rencana - rencana apa yang telah tersusun rapi untuk mendobrak peradaban kelam ini ?
Mengembalikan peradaban gemilang "KHILAFAH ISLAMIYAH" ..
Mengubur Demokrasi Kapitalisme Sekularisme dan tak bergairah lagi untuk bangkit ..
Jangan sampai waktu tak menggenapkan umur .
Jangan sampai terlanjur gigit jari, menyesal.
Dan, jangan pernah bosan untuk tetap menyeru walau terus dihujat . Demi terterapkannya syari'at islam dan hidup sejahtera dalam naungannya ..
Maka, jangan lupa sedekapkan kedua tangan dan berdoalah akan kemenangan islam dipercepat ..
Karena hidup adalah IBADAH, AMANAH, dan MUHASABAH ..
Allahumma Shayyiban Naafi'an ..
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 4:51 AM UTC
My nandos bone
my sweet chocolate,
when I think of you
my heart goes jigijigi like a rail way line,
my slavit, you always put a smile on my face,
my fishy bone,
my sourish munch munch chocolate,
you make me whole each time I look at you,
and aah my deep voice will go singing,
'cause this undying kush kush love
is now not fading,
My sweet honey bee,
you buzz without being stingy,
oh my kush kush babe,
'ME LA VIEW' so well,
from the botox of my heart,
oh my KFC bone,
you are tasty by smile,
I love you so quickly.
My dove,
oh my sweety sour smoothies
I love you so tree much,
that my breathe gets taken away,
but my heart await your touch.
My kush kush babe,
Me la view till death comes.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
Wicked nether-land. Nether world, white, askance. Capitulating mangroves, verdant trees spliced with hyperbole, onomatopoeia, and manilla envelopes; her world is stuffed with secrets, she listens to gorillas cracking mussels a kilometer away, near a rill. Never she thought. Nothing that could provide....providence. Mangled heliographs sprayed all over the everywhereworld.
"Don't be S.A.F.E.," she whispered. A bouquet of gorse, cistus, and pimpernels squished in her small fingers. She climbed her way through the pedimented stairway, then collapsing on the porch. Legs spent, and spread out upon the desiccate grayed four by four planks of the portico.
And as time elapses, the shuttering shake of the hemlock, which writhes through her skinny nimble dactyls, upwards straining the heart as its toxic bends appendages- crisp cerise lumens bend on the Titanium White walls, where only shadows bend time. The hour, still nine. Every adornment, furnished with red and its hues. Not purple, periwinkle, or any masked enhancement.
These are the symbols that reticulate splines, that curve temperatures, perverse hemispheres and debunk worlds. Upped antes, verbs that terns flirt worth, birth words. Ooh. Aah. Camera. The forest wraps her in its verdant pasture, where at last the moribund tamarisks disperse.
While at the plateau she is quiet and longing. Arms astride, dangling. Vaunt with highs and bliss- a kiss of withstanding pleasure serves her the cure for a lifetime of whining. This, yesterday where her body rattled through crooked vines. Square ships toasting her vocal melancholy in the sweet-waters of Time. So that all of her ripened limbs could grow, no more sheepishly than the magic she knew as a child. Stress free. First among the Earth-words, verbed-up and made jealous by pronouns that encompassed her joy-brimming hide. Closing down her voice and hugging her from behind.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
Save My Soul, (But First), Rub My Feet
thus a poem auditorialy conceived,
but!
the sexuality of the deceiving dualities,
irritates erogenous, exogenous perceptiveties,
plethora of intensifying variables, a not-serious,
harmless remark yet bring us to myriad of
marauding reversals, add-venturing into harm’s way…
much to discuss, but this
topic bettered by much
trading of traditional bantering
brevity bettering our wordless battering
insinuating, sensational signals bring
us backwards & forwards
to an exploratorium of wide boulevards
back to new unfamiliar venues,
narrowing alleyways & places we were before,
places before we were before where,
no unnecessary commas to separate,
distingué, distinct
tween the instinct of old and new,
an uncommon commonality experiential revisionism
now I understand what you said to me,
a tenderizing of
the sole synapses directing
the brain, the old ooh ‘s, aah’s
reigniting what what lay dormant,
at long last,
by opening doors to alternations,
ven diagram of digressing yet intersecting
old & new pathways,
from the souls of her feet,
to, too, two,
we become diamond
on souls of our heat
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 4:50 PM UTC
*one reason why you're not read with a volume you
expected, jedi-know-how, you'll be easily plagiarised.*
**when i first came to england i fell in love
with manchester united...
the 4 - 4 - 2 line-up**
peter schmeichel (dane goalkeeper),
then ooh aah cantona (eric cantona baseball cap),
original wembley white towers...
(white towers, charity shield
newcastle united)
so meh for the arch....
irwin... steve bruce... lee sharpe...
gary pallister... (7) eric cantona.... george best....
mcclair, ryan giggs,
cotton tomilisom, then roy keane...
then davies cole ****
the neville brothers...
scholes and david beckham...
**** stuck to azkazam fudge, it's still perfectly refrigerated
in kazakhstan:
steve mcmanaman will tell you;
it's a random barricade question worth a shot
in the rubric of a sudden challenge.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
By a dank , stinky waterway
Blowing off all my care
Swarms of tiny black insects
Biting me everywhere
Around the bend so listless
Hovers a barge's spotlight
Now I was feeling cold as a stone
So I knew that it was time for me to go
I roared down the highway
To that trucks diesel smell
Seeking shelter in the middle of the night
Somewhere , where they treat you well
A red light dangles from a window
Lady Nightly is leaning against the door
She says, "Won't you come on in and I'll
be your ***** ."
Oh , welcome to the Hotel , Alabama
Such a secluded place , "such a secluded place"
Such a must see place
Book a room at the Hotel , Alabama
Put away your fears , "put away your fears"
She'll be waiting there
She'll twist your time so swiftly
Make you taste all of her amends
She knows all the right moves
If not she'll call in her friends
The moon ago was arising
She covers all of your bets
Pure pale skin in the moonlight
A taste I can't forget
I call up the dispatcher
"I won't be in on time"
Lamenting he said ,"Where are you this time?"
But his voice just got more distant
As I turned away
Forgot all about him as I dove back in bed
(Then she turned over to say)
"Welcome back to the Hotel , Alabama
Such a lovey place, "such a lovely place"
Always has a place
"Welcome to the Hotel , Alabama"
What a pleasant rise , "what a pleasant rise"
No need for disguise
My senses now reeling
Gin and tonic would have to suffice
She said , "Once , twice , now let's make it thrice"
There in the muggy bedroom
We were joined like a beast
We slapped our steely bodies
But couldn't satisfy it in the least
The rising sun glared at me in the face
She was standing by the door
"Y'all have to stop by on your way back
And I'll give you more"
"Oooh , aah ouch !" said I to the lady of my night , "It's more than I perceived .
You got a facebook page , one that I could like ?"
(And all she said was),"It's time for you to leave"
So welcome back to the Hotel , Alabama
Such a distant place , "such a distant place"
Such a must see place
Welcome back to the Hotel , Alabama
What a pleasant rise , "no need for disguise"
You can always book a room at the Hotel , Alabama
Such a lovely place , "such a lonely place"
Such a distant place . . . . . .
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
I have a vision
Of a future
Bright, joyous,
And the contrast of sorrow
Children skipping, giggling
Darkness and light
Musical notes drifting through
Dramatized passion, hilarity
Nature surrounding
Encapsulated in cobweb of love and support
Unfortuna-mentally
I am at once terrified of settling
- being tied down
Losing independence, individuality
Missing dreams
- at once terrified
And at once yearning
With all of me
For a family
For a dream of forever
To settle and begin such a masterpiece
To commit to
And be certain of
The depth there in
Something more important than me or mine
To dedicate self
Surrender
Sacrifice for
And again such a venture requires a partner
Who shares the dream
Enriches the dream
Supports the dream.
Contradictions, aren't we all?
Or am I just yearning for the erasure of self
Through divine love?
Aah~ maternal instincts!
Life of mine,
Live out the step you're in
Young one
Before you yearn and plan for the next!
So fresh and yet to begin
- Society's great work machine awaits
And the experience of other lands!
Life of mine,
Live the experience of now
Fully
Grow all the more for it
Feel each pain and joy
Clarify mind
Build strength of self
Claim a sense of identity
See where it takes you...
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
from dusk to dawn,
I wish I'd catch a wink of sleep
it certainly isn't pleasant to be going to sleep
when the rest of the household starts to rouse themselves
but such is the life of a closet insomniac
such is the life of one who lives in paranoia
such is, after all, the life of one who only ever comes alive
with the Night City, my Night City,
identified by the purplish-black clouds that blanket the city
and it's neon lights, for once again letting
us insomniacs become ourselves,
the ones who laugh and dance
and live and breathe when the world sleeps
the ones that return to existing as mere
shadows with the dawn of the sun
for us though, the awakening of the world is
with the appearance of starlight
with the quietening of most of
the sounds that plague daylight
random fires on streets are put out and we are left
to delight in the firey-orange neon lights.
aah. but what a sad time for us
when we become shadows
unable to do anything, with heavy weighted limbs
that refuse to obey any command,
with woolly heads and sleep deprivation,
almost-vampires for we don't sparkle
bruises under our eyes are barely noticed
for they are always there
during the day, shadows we become.
brushed aside and barely noticed, yet
in silence we choose to remain,
reveling in the knowledge that
night will return again.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 3:02 AM UTC
*We live another complication everyday,
Adding another thread to bind us.*
It's been so long...
Can't move my wings, my limbs--
How did I get stuck?
Did I do this to myself?
The puppeteer is pulling too hard!
I want to move,
But I can't
I'm twisted up,
The thread is too tight;
I can feel the dread of suffocation on the horizon.
I'm trying, I'm *fighting,
I want to be free!*
But I can't move anymore...
The thread won't let me,
The strings are being pulled too tight--
*My prison, it cuts into my skin,*
I can barely breathe enough to live on...
I want this suffering to end!
Aah! Yes...
I remember now,
I took the thread of my own free will!
It started that day...
When I heard them speak,
*I did as they asked,
And the thread wound around me.*
I didn't ask for answers and didn't speak of my questions;
I kept on going where their path lead,
And I ended up here:
*Suffocated, stranded, in naïve ignorance.*
*Even though the puppeteer wants me to move,
Even though I can feel his anxiety to help;
He can't do a thing.*
The thread has been wound too tight,
***If the thread won't snap soon,
I will.***
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
Blood Orange Marmalade and Wild Blossom Honey
(a love song)
summer treats, sure,
but not of what we come to sing
no,
this a love story sung,
all about
a Sunday afternoon BBQ...
she knows I don't sleep,
cause I'm never there
when she awakens,
her worry~not~words don't soothe, sorry,
when ears are clogged
by fright and worry
so she does what
a woman does,
cooks me a meal
to soothe the
intemperate noises buried in the soil,
haunting this old soul
now on the downlo downward curve,
who wonders how
he got himself
into another
Laurel and Hardy^
fine mess...
so she will slide me into happy,
BBQ sliders will stop
the blood flow to a brain
that has not rested once all year,
she shops old fashion style,
wild blossom honey from Germany,
blood orange marmalade from where
I don't know,
to sweeten the barbie sauce,
her living loving way
(I add my salt tears right about here)
if this is not a love song,
then what is?
my ooh's exceeded by only my aah's,
music for her hearing,
far better than my poetry forlorn,
demonstrate my pleasure
bite by bite, giving her,
my love's loves delights
for she cooks love
and I write love poems
that won't be sung,
but nonetheless,
will be our shared repast
and banish temporarily all the
subterfuge gloom on a
blue green summer Sunday afternoon
if this is not a love song,
then what is?
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
I.
My parents don't drink.
They have their masters.
They both have jobs so that I don't have to.
They raised me the Christian way.
We eat as a family every night.
We live in a neighborhood where violence is ostracized.
To my friends, my house is the place for comfort.
They tell me not to take it for granted
just because I'm used to it.
So I took a walk through my house,
making sure not to take my life for granted.
Through the kitchen,
I remember the unrelenting fist curled around my wrist,
the ice blue eyes that I used to see as gray,
the tight lips and the seething words.
I shake my hand as I remember the bloodlessness,
the purple swelling as eyes welled with tears,
the way I raced out only to find that I could not open the door to escape,
with one hand broken and the other unable to curl around the ****
Down the hallway,
I reach up to massage my neck,
for the memory of choked tears
never leaves;
the sudden unforgiving fist
the strength with which a five-year-old could not compete.
My body swings from the neck down,
and the fist released as the arm powered me onto the floor of my room.
II.
I catch my foot on the dining room chair I used to hold in front of myself,
growing up a fighter.
When I learned to defend myself with the strength of age and experience,
the strangling fist became biting words.
When I gave up the religion under which I was raised,
I was told that I must not love that fist or those words,
that I took my life for granted.
I was told that I was the key to our family's unity.
I was told to grow up.
I don't drink.
I get good grades.
I find money for college so they don't have to.
I believe in loving everyone like Jesus did.
I make dinner when they don't have time.
I never bring home fighting friends.
To my friends, I make my parents proud.
They ask me how we have such a good relationship,
they ooh and aah at our affection.
But you don't love me.
I am your failure.
I am your tax break.
I grew up a fighter,
and you gave up.
III.
I used to fight for you,
but they say indifference is worse than anger for a reason.
My mother used to wonder,
where did these bruises come from?
I always shrugged,
telling myself,
I'll deal with this alone.
I'll get a reaction somewhere else.
And that fist, those words,
became teenage promiscuity.
The sweet, unmerciful clutch,
the never ending cycle of discontent,
miscommunication and misunderstanding
and the familiar feeling of not being able to escape.
And every time,
as feelings of decreased personal value were overwhelmed by temporary pleasure,
I sunk deeper into that comfort.
You don't love me.
And I don't want you to.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 5:53 PM UTC
The walls here are white.
White?
Quite.
The walls here are quite white.
And so soft, inviting --
little whispers
laughing -- ha ha --
could I but once
see them and not desire to
fly through them --
ha -- but my hands --
bound to these hips --
a waist.
Waste.
Mine?
Do let's try to be careful.
Careful,
careful.
Circles --
aah -- circles.
White?
Quite.
Nice clean labcoats --
let's try another example --
Maybe this time we can --
Quite?
-- understand.
The walls
white
are here
Quite
to understand...
-- Ha ha ha --
Circles.
If you are not
already,
I am quite --
Quite --
white --
sure --
I can bring you
D
O
W
N
and you can run
circles
Drown
ha ha ha
around this
quite
white
table --
bed --
go insane.
Do let's try to be careful
with this one.
And see?
Yo soy
feliz
estoy muy contenta
aquí.
No quiero estar --
estar --
ser en cualquier
otro lugar.
¿Miras?
¿Sí?
Ay, circles, circles,
y el oscuridad --
closes in
around
me
me
¿Blanca?
Quite.
Estoy aquí
with you.
Los ojos --
sí, y el alma --
ay --
me duele.
Señor -- good, good sir --
put me down --
ayúdame a dormir
porque these circles --
White?
Quite.
-- so tiresome.
walls surround
me?
me?
What could you want
with me?
Me?
Escaping --
turmoil.
You must leave --
this chair --
mine.
Not thine own.
This booke is mine to
be writ.
Ha ha --
ha--
This mind travles
c i r c l e s
As if I were ever so good
a writer --
speaker --
repeat me
repeat me
repítame
Me me me
duele.
Ay, señor --
mátame,
por favor.
Yo no quiero vivir en este lugar.
Quiero --
dormir.
Forevermore.
White?
Quite.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 4:03 PM UTC
I sit in a restaurant, quietly drinking my wine...
I notice our waiter in his black & white clothes, His shoes were old and raggedy.
I think of him struggling to earn a living,
Surviving off the tips customers give him after serving their food and drinks...
And yet he is smiling.
I watch a 65 year old couple playful arguing about what to eat.
Surely They've been doing this for years cause the waiters greet them by name.
Aah, Love never grows old. *(Mr & Mrs Koekemoer)
I see a business man suited and booted. His always on the phone and always in a hurry. He spills some coffee on his white shirt.
Ag! He seems to be annoyed with himself...
Now I'm looking at this Girl in front of me. A cute yellow-bone with a mini-afro.
She has brown eyes and her lips are shining with cherry lip-gloss. Her smile can sink a thousand ships.
Wow, I'm happy around her.
But...
I notice the missing finger she tries to hide with her other hand. No poetry can describe thy brutality.
But still, she is WORTH it...
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC
Aah, I love the cold
Almost harsh, or really harsh
Winter months
I love walking then
Walking alone
For miles and miles
Minutes and hours
I could keep walking
If there weren't parents
To reassure, a family,
A warm home to go back to
A dragging commitment
That is binding in every
Single link I've ever made
I could keep walking otherwise
Just a light jacket, hardly appropriate
For the weather, the temperature
Numbed by the chill
The soles of my feet sting
My feet wrinkled, grated against
My sandals, hardly sufficient
Completely dry skin, also cold
Almost too numb, maybe too corpse-like
No socks, no scarves, no gloves
No caps, no protection
*Because protection is only needed
When there is an enemy*
I could stay like this forever
A thought strikes me while I walk
That maybe this hopeless love
Exists solely because I am the closest
The closest I can be to being me
As I walk, and hide, and revel
Maybe even reveal Me
I silently lose myself in contemplation
Because the days are shorter
There is more space, more time to hide myself
Under warm blankets, comfortable clothes,
A cup of hot chocolate, in the cold starry nights
The sting on my cheek
That I lightly touch, can be disguised
Explained away as the caress of the cold wind
This loneliness that grows inside me
It is already so tired
Of seeing people walk away
That it is too tired, too weary
To talk to anyone, so it hides
Underneath the surface,
Appearing so much more closer
Than it ever has in these few months
I am raw, almost bleeding,
Waiting for the stars to come out
Just so they can shine on me
Over my head, down on me
With me, maybe even communicate with me
I'll pick up my drink
Acknowledge their presence
And drink to them and their beauty
Their unimaginable beauty that Always,
Without Fail, takes my breath away
My self rubs against my facade
So raw but it doesn't even matter
It is the closest to the surface
As I raise my drink and almost imagine
Myself in this lonely cold urbanscape
With all the scars, every **** thing
Not a thing out of place,
I almost imagine myself beautiful
Revitalised but then this self withdraws
Back insideinsideinside
My facade still rubbed raw
Ah, but what a beautiful time
The cold times on the terrace
The chilling walks down nostalgia lane
No more brown leaves
Just a mere peak here and there
Like a little troublemaker
Waiting for me to go away again
Winter is... truly one of my favourite seasons
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
the Internet sets
higher aspirations
a teaching guide,
on how to
go beyond and deep into
the fast lane's curved and wide,
stretching
the straight and narrow
longer than lasting,
lasting no longer than
memory feelings
blurred overlapping burnt edged video recordings
pores pour oil and noise,
differentiating little between
beginning ending continuous
in the mind, from the walls,
Santana Rob sings "Smooth,"
but it is
the guitar wailing controlled penetrations.
a national anthem
of driven perpetual needy fomenting
outspoken physical truths
you don't care how you
got there,
where you are,
anybody's name,
high octane high performance
*** today,
is not for
the shy and the retiring, sissies,
we all got the necessary expertise,
with violin accompanist of pharma teaching aids
recalling first time tumblings,
exhaling
deep down throated rumblings,
rushing
fumbling ********* an ****** innocence
rushes of surprise and discovery,
success of feeling successful,
the shame of miscommunications
think I'm gonna watch me
a romantic comedy,
write her a love poem,
come up from behind,
caress her *******
kidding kissing her ear lobes,
then entering her entry point,
her neck
even when she is
armed
but forgiving,
busy chopping dinner's vegetables,
make them make them
give up the hidden
soft atonal squealing
like a
piccolo on steroids,
high pitch teasing,
pinched by air ****** intaking
I'll play the bass,
hitting those low notes,
********* my own strings,
deep ooh's and aah's
diode emitting,
the drug employed
is unadulterated
wanton but wanted
desire
this won't be the poem of the day,
no mind,
it already is was and
will be...
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
neck·ing/ˈnekiNG/
Noun: The action of two people kissing and caressing each other amorously.
Both thumbs hanging on the back pockets of your jeans
while leaning against the wall and biting your bottom lip
enticing the oasis of your tongue, your breath dying of thirst.
Your flirtatious smile already knows that it’s entitled
to the mwah’s, ooh’s and aah’s coming the way of your pout
little did you know of the kisses you could fit in that mouth.
it’s the mathematical sum of everything that’s round
it’s dancing in the rain under an infinite fall of X’s and O’s
it’s nibbling on a bottle of Hennessy before taking a shot.
While I hold your face with both hands,
my eyes never wavering from yours,
I caress your cheeks, undress your thoughts,
feverishly going in, taking all the time in the world
to taste every bit of you and savor the moment so to speak
with our senses fogged, tied up in a tangled rope, in a kiss.
Then I pull some back to slowly feel your breathing into me
your clouded lips in my fingertips are a miracle of humidity
the stripped walls of oblivion is the last frontier with will see.
Before submerging deep into the point of no return
before your ripe apple meets the delicacy of my touch
before leaving in me, flower of skin, every last drop of you.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
Adéifé, I can't wait to kiss your lips, suckle on your **** tease them till you ease, as I undress your hips down to your feet, slightly stroking your thighs as it heats, holding you from behind so your sweetbutt hardens me up more, squeezing your ******* as I swing you around and planting kisses on them as I lay you down afar a feet... Gush! You are sweet! Spreading your legs, my fingers alova your heated body that pleases, I'm not at ease... I can't wait to slowly **** you, till your body vibrates and you can't breath, yet I won't stop till you beg me please... Mo ti lala awa ri; deadly & sweet...
Giving you multiple pleasures, ******** tensions is one thing I promise... Last images of your ******* your waist, your hips and your twists turns me on right now, thoughts of me holding you in my hands boils me up... Fowo kan mii, Touch me
That moment when I slightly slowly hungrily and desirably enter you is a moment my body longs for... Kpe oruko mii, Call my name
I want to hold your waist from behind from dusk to dawn, turn you around and around as we passionately devour our cravings... In arms tight, breast to Chest, bodies kissing, intimate moaning, lips gaping, our shapes sardined, oiled with tensed sweats & breaths... Gush! Your ******* Jeka sere... Lets play.... Your eyes staring down at me as we echo, mime, duet and pitch our hearts' music and song in climaxes never felt... Till that awesome moment of nothing else existing but we and what we feel...
Aah Gush!
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
Hmmm....
Lagi ingin berkata tanpa nada puitis
ingin bercerita tentang dia
si anjing jalanan.
Kabarnya, dia masih di ambang temaram
merindu tentram.
Sedengarku, dia mengejar
tanpa berlari
lalu terjatuh.
Pantang menyerah seyakinku,
namun rapuh sejadinya.
Aku tidak pernah melihatnya
bersama anjing lainnya.
Mungkin, dia ingin sendiri.
Atau dia bisa sendiri.
Atau terbiasa sendiri?
Aah, aku hanya menunggu waktu menjawabnya
...
Seperti biasa.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 10:40 AM UTC
A pity Edward Scissorhands was hired,
To clip the Phoenix's wings
Everyone applauded, Ooh-ed and Aah-ed at it
While Edward sat behind the curtain
Over a rusted sink he'd slit his wrists in.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
{ “Awareness : He began to decipher the instant that he was living, deciphering as he lived it, prophesying himself in the act of deciphering the last page of the parchments, as if he were looking into a speaking mirror.” -
Gabriel Garcia Marques }
_________________
Mirrors of Mercury
Who is Shams and who Rumi
is like asking who is fork and who
knife when apart they sing not
a single song to nourish blood
with versal love
mercurial reflect
Who is mirror and who reflection
Is that me ? I ask you
watching your slender bones
move in soiled leather boots
wild slow eyes reflecting YES !
when maiden across the room
gives wicked laughs of NO !
mercurial translate
Who is this dissident beret
alongside the chair ?
Is it self ahead on a future road .....
will someone stroke my back
give ear, lip or cheek
urging body to be young in
takkies and snazzy jacket ?
mercurial question goals
Aah ! Poetic Mirrors !
inking reciting assessing
give respite from a million
images of Self as I circle an
unveiled Flow of Fate
fully awake to naked
poet
mercurial observe
catalytic soul
Copyright © Ghairo Daniels | 2017
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 4:59 AM UTC
My goat has a speech impediment
when the doctor checked her throat
she could only say "AAAAAAAAAAAhhh"
not "ahhhhhhhhh"
The doctor broke the news to me one day
'your goat....has an impediment' he bleated quietly
I dashed out of his AAhffice
AAhway from his AAhccusatory statements
AAhnd rushed into the legs of my goat
'Goat...what are your legs doing there?'
i asked
and I looked up
and saw the goat dAAhngling above my head
'what in the world?!' I AAhxclaimed
'dearest Goat-etha, I had no AAhdea you could fly'
"every since AAh shAAhared mAAh secret, AAh felt so free, AAh could fly"
(she didn't sound like she had an impediment to me)
'but Goat-etha, you know you can't fly'
and she crashed to the ground
crushed by the knowledge
that not everything is possible
'dear Goath-etha, I still love you, you know'
and she stood back up
and ironed her previously-crushed legs
and walked to the doctor's office
and gave that man a kick in the bAAhlls
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 10:13 PM UTC