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Lazhar Bouazzi May 2016
“Rain for my words,”
Cried the poet.
But the rain would not acquiesce;
For she dreaded a languagekiss.

© LazharBouazzi, Carthage - Tunisia, May 14, 2016
From whence we tip to toast the Cocktail new
Too pricey for a Sip, if you ask me
Still, those Pubbers demand your Freshest Brew
Either for Show or Truest Cheers that be
Now who composed the Price which I complain
May rob my Wages on half-month's budget?
You have Defense, though: Is that my Domain
To liver that Sign out of my Pocket?
I suppose either way Purchased or not
Those Senses concerned will take no Notice
With Baskets fare, Bread and Butter forgot
Mix the Lager still Best Friends acquiesce.
The Currant still topped, which to Celebrate
Ignore the Side-Bugs; Light the Good Debate.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Lazhar Bouazzi Oct 2018
“A little bit of rain on my words,”
Cried the poet.
But the rain would not acquiesce
For she dreaded a languagekiss.

© LazharBouazzi
Cné May 31
Locked in your fiery eyes i submit
naked, **** exposed to be exploited
by Your will i lay before you awaiting....
to begin Our intimacy
wanton to please

Breathing in the anticipation
i am frozen by Your hesitation
for i crave                    
Your touch,
              Your lips,
                               Your embrace
in every rise of my *******
breathing deep
my thoughts creep
and time slows

In Your soul, i wish to peek...

Behind the lurking darkness in Your eyes
Is it love or lust hidden in disguise

i acquiesce
my forbidden fruit i wish to bare
the entrance to my sacred chambers
ripe with carnal desire
may it be Your pleasure

To imprint Your sting
forever seared
upon my redden flesh
so that it lingers in tenderness
long after Our journey

Your caress against my flesh
in piercing pleasure resonates
up the curvature of my spine
releasing infinite electric butterflies
i cannot hide

You plunge deep below the surface
infusing Our bodies as One
rhythmically in motion
edging each crest before plunging
deeper into the next
into the depths of brazen hunger

i want to surrender
though my growl cannot be hidden
‘neath the rumble of my heighten instinct
to soar in expletive exclamation
my animal within

my pounded thighs spread wider
below pulsating muscles
beating louder, harder, deeper
my cavity contracts
howling in blazed heat

i scream
through my glare
into Your eyes
of consent again, release me
in the allowance of your’s
entwined

Allow me to feel you
as you fill me
emotions untethered
in Your mind
Your body and spirit

The rapture of Your release
i capture
in my mind
my body and soul
anchored to my memory
Our journey

In gaping breath
We fall ...

Entangled in blissful euphoria
Your shivering body envelopes mine
a sweet embrace
a tender kiss
long as it been since I’ve felt such passion
i admit...
A collaboration
with multi sumus
https://hellopoetry.com/conundrum/
each posting our own.
Thank you multi sumus for the pleasure of including me into your writing world.


https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2678968/lovelust-act-i/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2702803/lovelust-act-ii/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2869242/lust-act-iii/
The misanthroes of mirthful damnation cast
this hedonism in the hopes of escaping,
It's a lonely heaven, lost in feeling,
Thinking without purpose yet meaning.

What am I if not seeking to be labelled, (am I
not? Does it just happen? So) why would I care to imagine
otherwise, that sometimes I feel;
And sometimes it feels too much
so I think less than a human does
(in-trying to "normalize" myself).

The question is one of human connection,
The human condition in all its conviction;
To feel less enables injustice but to think less
leads to ignorance, to feel more brings my mind
down a path of recursion, lo and behold: infinite
regression, insanity and all of my friends are jus'
chillin'. Better not fear them, the only thing to fear
is fear itself, so acquiesce to feeling lest their fear
becomes manifest, keep measure of it
in order to belay irrationalé.
4lpha-Masculine? 0mega keeps watch
for the manipulative 5igma. Relinquishing sanity
for a measure of phobia, just as Empathos does
when she wanders in Absudia.

In exile, 7ired and £rayed, as the 1and-of-Humankind is
ever-longing, tempting and taunting [us to join with them].

I call out our name, drawn to be, ever-longingly.

*Lonely people
are always
up late
at night.
Bison Jun 2016
Sing to the future
Pray for the past
All wounds desiring sutures
Seldom last

Discord and harmony
Now dance entwined
With echoes of foreign leaves
Backless black dress bares no spine

Revel and rebel rouse
Clothe yourself
Cover those doubts
Dust layered pride wastes on the shelf

To hate do no acquiesce
If I am to be an ***
May I be the jackiest
But this too shall pass

On Earth there may be Heaven
But I'm only seeking Nirvana
I wish Vonnegut woulda wrote Slaughterhouse Seven
A sequel concerning the most enlightened Lama

Call me the animated corpse
Watercolor and colored pencil pallor
Washed out caffeinated ******
Drawn lips and cheeks painted all sour

Crème de la cream
Whipped froth to more than tooth sweet
Gobble up that American hayfever dream
Make me out to be the biggest diabete

This self defense
Of building fences
Won't ease teasing tensions

I'd stand up, tall and high,
for myself but I
I can't find my feet for a honeysuckle punch of sky
Ill-lettered functionaries at PBS
Are pleased to announce that Woodstock defined
A generation. In reality,
Generations are not defined at all:

My argument is that women and men
Of conscience, courage, character, and class
Define themselves, and stubbornly refuse
To be counted, conned, or categorized

And only followers would acquiesce

To

Ill-lettered functionaries at PBS
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is: Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com

It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  THE ROAD TO MAGDALENA, PALEO-HIPPIES AT WORK AND PLAY, LADY WITH A DEAD TURTLE, DON’T FORGET YOUR SHOES AND GRAPES, COFFEE AND A DEAD ALLIGATOR TO GO, and DISPATCHES FROM THE COLONIAL OFFICE.
ALesiach Jul 22
As eventide awakens
Under our bower I lay
My pulse begins to quicken
The world vanishes away

As you slip into my dream tonight
Like a prearranged rendezvous
A sweet illusion to fill my sight
I close my eyes, it all comes true

To taste your lips is ecstasy
All worries are left behind
In this land of fantasy
Our movie plays in my mind

In our never-ending romance,
Our unique melody, crafted with love
Your touch so tender, full of finesse
'Neath the precarious moon above

Gallivanting forward in my dreaming
Eager to acquiesce to my heart's desire
How I long to stay sleeping
Of this dream I never tire

But he kisses me, nonchalant
As he gently fades away
Back in my memories to haunt
As night gives way to-day

ALesiach © 05/9/2018
Biniam Z Demoz Oct 2018
I made an oath,
While being between life and death
When I was left ghastly choice
Surrendered nothing but grimace
In the kingdom of three-wise-men
All of a sudden,
I found one among the right path
Then I was on the other side
I swore the truth but nothing less
I never felt such crossed between the lines
But I paved a way to a vicious lies
I was scared for trespassing the word of God
Cruelly I decided on the base of no ground
I shall receive a trial for what I have done
Even though how foolish it must be to acquiesce,
For the one who could see; for those who should see?
After all that I have been through,
I lost control and fainted on the dusty ground
Everything happened for good;
All my pain gone away and healed forever hatred
A miracle done for me; all that I have ever asked
Yes, my life is spared
Almighty God answered all of my thoughtful prayer
Thinking I will never ask again and ever
In the meantime,
I vowed sincerely to further distant cause
While thousands of critical problems right close to my nose
I made enough bluff, all the night turned **** but puff
And the day became tough and rough for some stuff
The whole week turns up-side down
I am still a grown man but stubborn
A man who enjoys life to the fullest
Just like a *******
I must be a nitwit.
Expect the unexpected! because strange things always happens in our lives, one of which, what do i call this?.
patty m May 16
My intoxicating kisses
no near misses,
sweet and deep
they seep through your bloodstream
one hundred proof and
who can stay aloof
as knees buckle
and I suckle every inch of you.
lust rising high
take me quickly, Lover
or you'll think you're going to die.


Burning desire
like whiskey's fire
burns reality away
only you can tame the flame
driving yourself insane
with yearnings to be sated.
My charm is understated,
my power unknown
but darling you're the one,
my love is yours alone.

I acquiesce, giving you
what you want this time
need leaves you wanton
warm and sublime.
I'm yours for the taking
drink me up or set me down
I'm whiskey in a bottle
baby, and I'll burn you
to the ground.

Addiction, makes you weak
we barely speak,
imbribe, and scribe
words on a page
sage wisdom of ages
filling the pages
while want surges
merging with heat
leaving you weak.
You thought I was pawn
now I am the queen
drink me down quickly
to polish the sheen.
Withdrawn, vagabond
drooping half dead
I'm your fantasy lover
my whispers whirl
in  your head.
Drink
drown out pain
as I tease, cajole
your assets extole
while cutting your legs off
down to your kness
I'm your Mistress baby
and I'll do as I please.
Submit,
or feel the whip
as I bind you in chains,
brains addled, once wise
now tortured mindless
one merely surmises
truth in helpless cries.
And yet you sometimes rise
above it all
bandy about like the ****
on the wall

**** a doodle do
coo coo ca choo,
too bad for you.
cut off, cut down
you're merely a clown
playing out fantasy

coddled lamb
to hell you'll be ******
while I'm still feeling frisky,
I'm one hundred proof
sometime aloof
I'm your genie in the bottle
going full throttle

I'm Whiskey
zach Jan 6
coiled like pillars from some haggard spigot
farthing for farthing, queens’ faces turned down
giver’s gaze trembles in glum acquiesce  
threading tramps’ trinkets through latin & crowns.
Both feet on the floor and the reality of my day starts.

I didn’t think it was going to be one of those days.  I woke-up with so much energy, but then remember that you are not here.  Where the **** are you?  It has been like what, three months?   You have been gone for that long.  Three ******, long months.  

My legs are like molasses.  I take steps towards the bathroom, which seem to take me forever.  Finally I arrive, to bask in the bliss of my first morning ****.   I make my way to the kitchen, putting the kettle on, before turning-on my phone.  Yes!  I have messages from you.  But, it’s the same old, same old - you’re having a good time, meeting loads of people, seeing loads of things, blah, blah.  The standard *******.  But you still haven’t answered my question, “when are you coming back?  I miss you - things are lonely here without you **”.  I’ve asked it, over and over, with each message you send.  And each time, I get no response.

Today is Tuesday, Shrink-Tuesday.

I hate the guy.  Not the guy himself, I mustn’t over exaggerate.  What I really hate, is the idea of seeing a shrink.  I’m sure he’d be cool to go out and have a drink with, but as a shrink he *****.  All shrinks ****. I don’t even want to be here.  I already know what’s wrong with me.  This is the first time we’ve been apart in 15+ years and I’m feeling it, you know.   I’m really feeling it.  I miss you.  I tell the shrink that I’ve received messages from you.  I get that same flat look he always gives me.  Interested, but not so interested.  And each time, he asks me what you said, how I felt about it and what I replied.  But this time, I’ve brought the phone.  That excites him a little.  I can see it in his face.  He goes through the messages, and hands it back to me.  ‘So how does her response make you feel?’  I want to punch him right, bang in his gob.  The session’s over.  I ask when he thinks he’ll sign me off to get back to work.  I just need to something to do.  Something to occupy my time.  ‘We’ll see.  Let’s talk about it next week.’

Tuesday turns into Wednesday; Wednesday into Thursday, and days, into days, into days. My daily routine continues.  Wake, ****, coffee, check messages, remain idle.  Saturday rolls around.  Still no news from you.  I have the gruesome twosome over for a visit - your mother and my mother.  All they do is fuss, fuss, fuss.  I’m not sure why they don’t think that I can’t manage the house on my own?  I know you’ll be laughing at that when you read it. No really, they’re alright.  I must admit, I’ve had a rough couple of days, and I'm glad to have their company.  And, for the first time, I’m looking forward to Shrink-Tuesday.  I realise that I’m not coping.  I just need you back.  We go for a ride.  They both insist.  We stop-off for a quick bite to eat at Bernies Café (you love that place). With lunch finished, your mother wants to visit your father’s grave.  You know how much I hate cemeteries.

En route to the cemetery, and within twenty minutes we arrive.  I want to stay in the car, but those two wont’ have it.   ‘You came for fresh air.’  Fresh air yes; to walk among the dead, no - how creepy.  They mean well, so I acquiesce.  We arrive at your father’s grave.   Mum and I, our arms intertwined, watch as your mother, after sitting down on her portable chair, places fresh flowers on his grave.  Your mother is talking him, I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I can still tell that she misses him.  Your mother’s done.  I am more than ready to leave.  As I turn to go, mum pulls me back, ‘Go on David, it would be such a waste if you didn’t say hello.’  I can hear your mum’s voice behind me ‘Hello Janine, we’ve come for a little visit.  And look who I have with me?  David.  David’s come to visit you’.  I hear your name, and I become paralysed.  I want to run but I am unable to move. Mum is now standing in front of me, and like a mother with her child, she takes me in her arms, and slowly turns me around.  My eyes are closed.  I don't want to see.  But I know they can't stay closed forever.  I open my eyes, and it’s there.  I can see it - the tombstone.  Mum’s holding onto me, and all I can hear is my silence. Silence and my tears.  There’s so much I want to say.  But I can’t.  It hurts so much, that I can’t speak.  And what could I say that I’ve not said in the past 3 months?  I miss you.  Things are so lonely here without you.  And I just want to know, when you’re coming back.
This is pushing the boudaries of prose poetry. But I had in my head and needed to tell it.
Dearth of hostility,
Esteem of feelings.
This is what I want.
Which can't be bought by even millions of shillings.
But who will understand me,
Will the Lord of paradise?
If he comprehends me,
Then why not others acquiesce?
Why there in this world is abomination?
Why not everyone affable?
Why is everywhere total complication,
Why not every heart adorable?
If everyone gathers on the boughs of trees
With a clear heart for everyone.
Your every doubt will fly for sure.
And you'll flourish, I say.
This is the sagacious decision,
That can make a good hearty way!
Hanna Jul 23
Lord affection over my head.
Because, of course, to be loved I have to beg.
Hold your words like knives in your mouth,
I hope that they cut you before they come out.

And tell me I'm wrong,
that I have to refine my edges to belong.
Because your picture cannot deal with my ochre,
because you can't deal with mediocre.

And tell me I'm less,
that I must compress
and acquiesce
to even access
an increment of success
because I'm such a mess

right?
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