"assaulting" poems
Unexpectedly, like a thief in the night
Depression will come
Anxiety
Anger
Despair will introduce itself
threaten existence,
testing
Faith,
Assaulting the most precious possessions
Leaving behind bitterness
footprints
in the coldest nights
But none define whose you are
Don’t fight alone.....
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 3:35 AM UTC
#
Each body part
sizzled in pure pleasure
in the blissed wake
of your oral efforts
brought forth the waves
of rapturous delight...
Spurs poetic inspiration
in equal liberation
of desires to please.
Bodies transpose
in fluid motion
as brazen eyes meet.
Savor the voluptuous image before you.
Indulge your eyes in my carnal halo
before they roll to the back of your head.
On all fours
knees between your thighs
tips of swollen breast
caress your chest
tasting fresh honey
upon lips in a kiss.
Ripples of ardor
hover
by wet trails
of sensual kisses
suckling towards
the apex.
Breathe in
the slow motion pace
that pulsates eagerness
to the fore tumescing bulge
leaking with anticipation
of viscous lava.
Tickles of silken hair
against flesh edges closer.
Emerging subtle grumbles
in deep resonance
betray your impatience .
Hands tightly twine
in tangled hair
to maneuver
the treasure hunt.
Licked lips pause
at the sight of fire
burning in
glazed gazes
before engulfing
the throbbing member.
Plump ruby lips
greet velvety texture
in a slow deep dive.
Tongue curls around
the flavor
in a dulcet embrace.
Moans release
as grip tightens
in my hair
settles the
rhythmic pace
to taste in an
oscillating dance.
The masculine aroma of heady musk
lingering there, arouses my appetite.
With my enthusiasm
attuned to
your preferred rhythm
suckling, slurping
surface and dive
in measured unison.
Break of breath
allows tongue
freedom to roam below,
licking, soft kissing
the tender hammock
of testicles.
Tongue and lips escalate higher
to mount another assaulting dive
deeper in the depths
of the cusp in cavity.
Wetted fingers
probe even lower
circling superficially
as gasp escapes
your heavy breath;
flaming eyes lock.
Finger dips in
with expert finesse
gorging hardened growth
within a wrapped hand.
Thighs tighten
with rocking grip.
Head thrusts onward,
drilling forward
in each dive.
Salvia slips
fingers grip
lips dip
Engorged swell, flesh tightens in an intensity
of volcanic eruption ...
HALTS
assault
Pace retracts.
Loosened lips kiss tip.
*“Soon sweetheart, your time will ***
inside me as we surrender to synergy."*
#
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
Sexually assaulting a woman at a burger king who moves like a crack addict, only in a subtle way. Leading me to believe she's a ********** I press my ***** against her hand on the register counter. She alerts the people here. They call the cops. Everybody I know finds out. *** deprivation... **** culture...
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:34 AM UTC
To tell her she is oppressed,
They try assaulting her for the way she is dressed
To command being served,
They try ****** her for the way she was curved
They're the classless that spit upon her key, her name,
For not inviting them freely into her house. What a shame.
Their violation forced humanity to live early life in a tomb,
Unaffected, she carries on, as she carries the world in her womb
Jan 25, 2022
Jan 25, 2022 at 4:30 PM UTC
Features, my reflection—
subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply,
their evidence a betrayal of age.
A wrinkle looking deeper,
mane of face, of head—hairs
fresh lacking pigment.
Vain attempts made to mend heart,
to sooth soul's dread.
Testimony of experience
of wisdom, persistence, perception,
an impotent contraceptive, the argument
aberrant.
Regret to cloud memory, my youth
seeming a flesh and blood cliche.
Tiny footnotes heavy with prose,
words in bold
to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention.
Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight
of love and heartache
of passion's attempt failing,
to try again, sinking before succeeding.
An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent
unpredictable—without cause changing.
Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future,
the venom of defeat an insidious invasion.
This new age creeping toward night
in this stage my life's sun less bright.
Maturity's introduced responsibility,
some enjoyable while others to own hostility.
A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure.
Spurring combat for what remains of youth,
fingers wrapping air in futile seizure.
The inevitable to command subservience,
presuming ownership of life, though the mature
demonstrate the defiance of the immature.
Objects, activities, music assaulting ear,
their manner,
symbols of strict adherence to who once was—
a spiteful surrender refusal.
A piece of me defining me until no more,
years holding power—threatening
to change who I am at very core.
Canvas construction the colour of murre,
rubber toe caps the shade of pure.
Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected;
a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection,
a Converse rebellion.
In torment of age's scars,
I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
footsteps wiped clean from the shore
by the tsunami
where birds used to sing and children felt loved
the tsunami
the tsunami of deceit
the tsunami
we know
it was we who done it!
WE!
the tsunami of self conceit
that hit the shore where birds and children
died hopelessly loveless
the tsunami!!
you know
yes THAT tsunami
yes
this the very one
this very tsunami
of blame
of assaulting the numb working class people
by corporate powers
so powerful it is incomprehensible to us
so we let the birds and the children die
rather than face the shame
of being numb and dumb and guilty
of letting birds and children die
without our love
our hopeless love
Mar 11, 2011
Mar 11, 2011 at 12:35 PM UTC
Sunsets.
Growing up I never liked the nights, As a child it signified the end of play with the rule that you had to be indoors at dawn.
I remember the evil ticking sound of the tremulous hands of time as we were separated from our friends,
with the sun wrapping up in the fragrant petals of the freezing cold nights.
A spirit locked inside a world of silence and pure nothingness.
The hot fire sparks assaulting my fragile skin of the hands over the fire at the compulsory fireplace,It's streaks of sorrow still trace their way into my soul.
Until the day [God knows when] I saw the beauty of colors blending together, forming a magical hue through (You guessed it.)
a cheap camera lens.
Sunset is twice as beautiful through a camera lens.
Now more than ever I go sit at my betch, snap the beautiful sunsets, and caption them with a nervous pulse knowing it’ll soon end. Only fair since nothing lasts forever.
Darkness closes in, the fun begins. I reach for your hand.
"Come with me into darkness."
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 4:36 AM UTC
1338
What tenements of clover
Are fitting for the bee,
What edifices azure
For butterflies and me—
What residences nimble
Arise and evanesce
Without a rhythmic rumor
Or an assaulting guess.
4.1k
My eyes were hooked on to the West
Feasting on the riot of colors the sun had cast
I stood dazed at an experience blest
That any poet would treasure with zest
By chance I glanced at the river below
It moved like an overloaded carriage slow
With floating weeds and ***** *******
Reminding one of an ugly heap of trash
I saw partially submerged bottles bobbing on the surface
Gradually filling with ***** water perforce
And slowly sinking down to rest in peace
With their sunken brethren at the river base
Spill of oil glistened iridescent
On the face of the river florescent
Its water was far from clean
But had turned murky green
On the still surface was a layer of ****
Like rancid butter annoying anyone’s calm
Reeking smell of rotten fish and mulch
Entered my nostrils with an obnoxious stench
I closed my eyes and turned my head
And looked away from the river bed
I thought of man’s callous audacity
In assaulting Nature’s pristine vitality
I heard the river’s rising lament
And me it did acutely torment
Any sensitive soul would be left grieving
Seeing the river in such agony heaving
In the far horizon, the sky had grown into flames
I wondered if Nature was mad at man’s tall claims
Suddenly I saw with the eyes of a seer
That Dooms day is drawing near!
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 8:58 AM UTC
I stand alone in the dark Fulton Street subway station,
Breathing in the urine-scented air,
Breathing out clouds of steam,
A subway train rushes along,
Not stopping,
Biting at my eardrums,
With the painful percussion,
Of thousands of people,
Silently screaming,
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
The air fanned by each subway car,
Rushes against me,
Pushes the ozone and the smell of burnt brake linings,
Into my nostrils,
Along with the air,
****** through the iron gratings,
Along miles of Brooklyn sidewalks,
Carrying the odor of a prostitute’s festering sores,
And the cries of a hungry, fatherless child in ***** diapers,
And the hoarse moaning of a city councilman mentoring a young intern,
And the cheap perfume of a fourteen year-old runaway,
Turning $20 tricks in an alley,
Smelling of stale Chinese food and wet dogs,
And . . .
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
. . . the smell of spoiled cabbage soup,
And the rancid remains of a hotdog buried in sauerkraut,
And putrid lilies lying in a gutter,
All assaulting me, forcing me backwards,
Until my back presses against,
The grimy once-white tiles,
That coldly burn their graffiti on my spine:
God is dead,
Bake a ****
Whitey *****
**** the *******
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
The train finally passes,
Its red eyes receding into the dank,
Dark tunnel beyond the platform,
The screeches and screams slowly die out,
Their echoes ******* behind them,
The smell,
Of my,
Warm
*****
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
The crowd will think it grace
But I can hear the wind assaulting my ears
I can feel the strain in my fingers
The skin is worn from holding on
My body twists and tucks
The crowd will think it a feat
I'm just surviving the threat
Of constant gravity
Just routine
I barely notice the effort anymore
They will label my instincts majesty
I'm just trying to stay up
Having felt the bottom
I no longer believe in the net
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
..And I probably shouldn't
have used my real name
But that's the fool inside of me
I walk home at three in the morning
In a white fedora, black suit, and winged tipped shoes with a pointed toe
Accompanied by a lone trumpet
Shrieking a wailing lonesome tune
As I walk slyly, cigarette in hand
In a strange off beat step
Through dark alleys, side streets,
And ***** parks
I give a *** a fifty dollar bill
And wait,
Stop there!
A scumbag is assaulting a woman
And I of course save the day
Suddenly
I come to, crawling to my toilet
A horrifying sting of mace
I dreadfully check my messages
And in ***** covered disgrace..
I despise,
My big dumb tequila poisoned face
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 3:00 AM UTC
Gazing down from my hotel balcony, a beautiful breath taking view, acres of landscaped gardens, flowers, trees of every colour and hue
My eyes travel over an azure blue bay. To a thousand coloured sunshades assaulting my mind
An ants nest of seething half naked humanity, burnt red and covered in oil. Surrounded by discarded bottles and cans and wrappers of ice cream stained foil
For a week they're going to lie there, bodies burned raw by the sun. Their idea of enjoyment, their idea of holiday fun
I have walked the length of those bright golden sands, smelt the stench of the stale cooking oil. It gives me no pleasure to linger here while I have the real Malta to enjoy
Beyond the human pollution the sand dwellers love a burnt barren ridge gainst the sky. And yet from this red brown earth an existence bis clawed by the strength of a strong Maltese hand
My gaze travels left to the beautiful church and the cream coloured town just beyond. The old and the new joined hand in hand where concrete marries natural stone
How many of the sand dwellers have enjoyed what this beautiful land can provide? Have they truly experienced this island, seen life on the other side?
In a few days they'll be up there flying back to the place they call home, but from what they experienced of Malta they might just have well been to the moon
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
‘You’re going to be
the prettiest girl at the
funeral,’
he wanted to tell her
as he watched
that dark outfit that
resembled a maid for sorts
but it wouldn’t be
an appropriate thing to say
when the funeral was
for her father
Not that she displayed a lot of grief
either. She was more concerned
with the goth maid outfit
and how it would look on her
“My daddy would love to see
me in this,” she said
And then
her boyfriend said, “Who
wouldn’t?”
She eyed him from
across the room
and said, “My mom... Eh, but to
hell with her. If I’d listened
to her, I’d be a nun
now. In fact, if I weren’t an
adult able to make decisions
for myself right now, I’m sure
she would’ve arranged for me to
go to some monastery or something
like that, wherever nuns go.
And she dares wonder why I
reserved all my love for daddy and
gave her nothing. Every time
we’d get close
she’d get in the way. If I didn’t know
better I’d say she’s the
entity behind his death, really.
My daddy was a loving
man, this I know for sure. He was
all good and I... I miss
him so much already. I just wish
I could... Wait!”
“What?”
“I got an idea.”
He didn’t like the tone
with which she said
that, nor the grin
on her face
as she reached into her *****
and pulled out her phone
He had many questions
for her
but there was no time
to ask. She moved in and grabbed
his hand and dragged him
along,
out of the room and long
the corridor
all the way to the room where
her father sat in the
casket awaiting to be
taken to the grave
“Here, hold this,” she said
as she handed him her phone
Wordlessly
she climbed onto the casket
and stretched herself
along her father’s body
“C’mon,” she said, “take a few
pictures.”
Her boyfriend did. When you have
too many questions assaulting
you at once, you
give voice to none, just
play along
The funeral that followed
was a short one, with
few mourners
The loudest cry came from
the wife of the departed
after some unknown number sent
the pictures to her
phone
Jan 27, 2022
Jan 27, 2022 at 10:18 AM UTC
He is my least favorite vegetable.
No amount or level of preparation makes him taste better:
Boiling-
brings out his bulbous, insipid ego
the texture of his flamboyant ignorance.
when I timorously sip him in soups or broths,
his oozing insidious misogyny
contaminates my blissful dining, contorts any ingredients still pure.
I fry him, striving to remove the
excess of impertinence which
permeates the oxygen I feebly inhale.
but he evades my maneuvers:
usurps bliss and violates all semblance of tranquility
I cannot prevail
against the throb of his assaulting narcissism
I must instead attempt
to comment
(arduously, fraudulently)
on the delicate iridescence of his silkily mucoused membranes
and admire deftly
his indefatigable ventures to pervade my
every.
serenity.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
O Madiba! Madiba your ship has finally come to rest
Rest now, now rest, for peace was your bequest.
Humiliated, disgraced, yet in captivity you chose
By embracing your enemy, you learnt and rose.
Insulted, assaulted, assaulting, at fault,
Lover, Soldier, for Justice, for God’s sake!
Stop work, break bread, water and salt
And follow in his wake.
O Madiba! Tata Madiba you who have overcome
A true mandala spun, a Nelson who has won
Overcoming loneliness, cowardice and fear.
Bravery but a blindness brought on by all held dear.
Shame, defeated, blame, defeated, fame -
Let all come, let all shake,
Same blood, same, all the same,
And follow in his wake.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 12:07 PM UTC
In a word? Pretentious. Your presence stains the air.
Petty criticisms, as if anybody cared.
You think yourself an icon, and darling, ain't that darling.
To be completely honest though? I couldn't give a farthing.
Your lack of self-awareness paints your harlequin visage.
Your over-swollen ego? Nothing more than a mirage.
Your tacky two-cent romance leaves one little more than bored.
Precisely why is it that you think you should be adored?
Furthermore, diplomacy seems alien to you.
Assaulting inquisitions, implications, most untrue.
It does turn rather humorous, though, given your dull wit,
As oftentimes, you miss the point, for chomping at the bit.
Your eagerness to take offense makes conversation dreadful,
And seems to strip away any desire to be respectful.
Alas, I too indulge in pettiness from time to time,
So please, enjoy my grievance set facetiously to rhyme.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
oh ****
i just had
another thought.
when kaepernick
kneels
to express
distress at his
country's
injustices
against
minorities,
(and for christ's sake
if you believe
there is no injustice
then i don't know
what to say to you)
in a quiet,
legal,
non-violent
expression,
a demand
for unity,
equality,
he is booed.
made fun of.
called
a traitor.
entitled.
disrespectful.
unpatriotic.
everyone loses
their godforsaken
minds
because a black
man
with money
kneeled.
for fuck's sake, people
wake the
**** up.
you know
what's disrespectful?
violence.
inciting violence.
you know
what's unpatriotic?
denigrating
entire groups
of human
beings.
entitled?
if equality is
special treatment
then i guess so.
i'm bout ready
to take the
******* knee
myself,
seeing the
rampant,
jovial
racism,
sexism,
classism.
the absolute
pride
people in
my country
are taking
in marginalizing,
dehumanizing,
belittling,
assaulting.
it's disgusting.
without a doubt
i will take
the *******
knee.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
Allow me to project my insides
Beside your ear.
Certainly you can
Determine how the
Emptiness within my body
Forgoes the exuberance
Gathered on the surface.
Haphazardly phrased fragments
I speak
Just to be heard, even faintly.
Knowing my words
Level worlds,
Monopolize hearts,
Negate negativity,
Omitted from the explicit.
Perfectly formed fractures
Qualm me as they
Reverberate through my body
Slithering their way
Through Timothy's
Universe.
Viciously assaulting
Where they fit best.
Xenobiotic and almost parasitic
Yarns about a
Zealous life not yet lived
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 6:43 PM UTC
∅⚢☢⚧☯✰⚩✿⚥∅☢⚧☯✰⚢✿⚥☠⚩☯⚧✰
We paint your breeding world as queer
and every man a closet queen.
Your days like Noah’s now appear…
our King arrives to crown the scene.
Oh Father of progressive souls
whose neo-pagan mercy reigns,
bring union to fragmented wholes
as lovers rattle rainbow-chains.
We’re clubbing with the scribes of ***
(our fairy-dusted lying press)
who pay out cash for background checks
while prying more and praying less.
The starry heavens twinkle gay
and rainbows end in gold, you know).
To see it any other way
would harsh our high and end the show…
Your family paradigm descends
upon the Roman road to hell
where reproductive reason ends
in demographic show-and-tell.
God’s wisdom pleads in vain. What’s life
when mobs are primed for anarchy –
assaulting yet again Lot’s wife
in Sodom’s dead democracy.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
Last night, I fell apart.
I woke up blanketed in sodden ash,
Tears saturated into the eruption's fallout
The proximity of crackling fire assaulting my senses,
I was still angry.
I felt intoxicated, drunk on words never said
But the ones that were spoken lay spiked into my head
Partners apart, but strangers together
The hawks are gone in my life, but you can still find the feathers
Questions slicing through my mind
I run away from stormy brine
These tears that fall, I think you know
Have haunted me since long ago
Buried in formaldehyde
These skeletons reflect our inside
The secrets that we made to keep
Take me before I fall asleep
Though you're my fixer and my mess
The walls echo with you less and less
I fear it's not you running from me
I'm forgetting what we used to be
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 11:52 AM UTC
To look carefully.
It begins with a reminder to myself to look oh so carefully
Because this isn't just any time of day,
But the end of day time when the light fades away.
To think, that this happens before every eve and after every noon
Night pulls at the Sun so gently.
From behind the mountains
The anchor of time begins its distortion
Upon the Sun, its stress seems to bless the sky
In those blending hues
And spins clouds into colorful sweetness
As it demands an encore for a set too soon.
The mountains become flat nibbles into space,
Eating at the canvas
Where sky's light knows nothing of us.
It too, flattens buildings at the foothills;
A pasting of pastel flavor, drawn
By the distant gray air of sand and sea.
The glorified glass edifices at my shore watching,
Bleeding, in mocking colors of a time that burns into another
A time that ends in blazing defiant oranges assaulting the falling sky
In quarrelsome pinks and purples
I remember the tender
I must see this so softly
At the sinking light
As the mountains swallow burning sky
One ring at a time,
Lighter than velvet.
Heavier than vivid.
Humility rose, with this setting,
To stand against so many gradients
And recall the faux pas of permanence.
Not until it was gone
With its whims toward time.
Could I see, tenderly.
The width and warmth
Of their embellished embrace
Between day, and night-
Pouring that fragility-
From the last light.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
She's like an ecstasy trip
Rolling in silk
The cloth from her hips
Tangles around my feet
She beckons me...
Assaulting my senses
Weakened defenses
Collapse at one touch
Her fingertips brush my skin
Pull me within...
Candy red smile
unearthly light glow
To be showered in sunsetting kisses
So blessed and mystic
She's like an ocean of sin
Swirling around the prow of my ship
I'm sinking into her seas
Waves swallow me...
The blush of her skin
Blood rushing within
Only she can begin
The freedom that my soul seeks
Liberate me!
Candy red smile
Unearthly light glow
To be showered in sunsetting kisses
So blessed and mystic
Dimming sky lights
Changing all I know
We're treading so close yet so distant
So blessed and mystic
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 3:52 PM UTC
Stop looking at me
as if I’m some
- thing
to swallow up
or spit out.
A berry, black, swollen
ready to be chosen for your
consumption. I sour on your
tongue, assaulting your
taste buds because you
thought the only
- thing
that mattered was the purplish black,
the juice that produced for your
pleasure, my ripe, plump bumps,
my green hands
outstretched ready and there, for you?
Still you pluck and **** and stare
and **** me up with your
barren compliments stripping
my sweet substance
one by one
by one, you
extract it out
of me
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 4:29 PM UTC