"backside" poems
My ****
follows me everywhere!
Wiggle wiggle, poke poke, jiggle jiggle.
At the fridge in night I've a friend by my side.
By my backside.
On,
my backside.
Stuck with humidity to the toilet seat on a rainy day,
that's right!
The bathroom exists, and on a toilet do I sit.
At least four or five times daily.
Stuck to chair, playing with hair with one hand
and a controller in the other.
Pumping up and down and in circles as I
jump squat.
Jump squat!
To share if you dare put your palm down there to squeeze.
Grab slap, wibble wibble.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC
Every week we bypass each other
As if neither of our existences
Matter much to one another
From across the room
We gaze at each other
Time further elapsing
How my mouth just waters
By the way you sway your hips
As you perform your **** walk
**** Would I ever love
To softly smack that backside
The way you flaunt drives me wild
And then you turn to flash
That lovely trademark smile
Seducing me over the edge
Purring like a naughty kitten I say:
'I want you...'
'I need you...'
'Come play with me I don't bite.'
Upon my lap she jumped
In her sexiest tone she whispered
'Let our bodies take the shape of lust.'
© 2011 (All rights reserved)
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 1:16 AM UTC
I don't know how to ride a bicycle
So you grabbed the bike and showed me how
But I didn't quite understand how you did it
So you let me ride it while holding the backside
I pedalled slowly at first, then gradually faster
Until the breeze hits my face and I've got smile on my lips
At last, I thought, I learned how to ride it
Then I looked behind and saw the view
You're not holding it anymore, you're faraway from me
I'm far from you, and you waved goodbye
So, I turned towards north and pedalled some more
At last, I thought, I learned how to ride the bicycle.
I didn't know how to ride a bicycle
But you taught me how, so I turned towards north, and pedalled some more.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
I knocked the black
door knocker
on Janice's nan's door
and her nan answered
and said
o hello Benedict
Janice can't come out
she let the canary out
and we had
a hell of a job
getting it back
in the cage again
so I'm keeping her in
I was going
to tan her backside
but I thought
keeping her in
was more
of a punishment
on a day like this
o right
I said
looking at Nan's eyes
and her greying hair
and unsmiling face
but you can come in
and see her
for a few minutes
shame that you
have to be
without her though
so she walked
back up the passage
and into the sitting room
where Janice
was sitting on a settee
looking disgruntled
it's Benedict
come to see you
he is only staying
for a few minutes
so don't think
you can go out
because you can't
Janice nodded
and looked tearful
and her nan walked off
into the kitchen
I didn't mean
to let the bird out
I just opened
the cage door
to get it to stand
on my finger
but it flew out
and it to ages
to catch it again
and Nan was so angry
that she was
on the border
of giving a smacking
but then she thought
keeping me in
was more
of a punishment
so here I am
on a lovely warm day
sorry about that
I said
where are you going?
she asked
I was going to Jail Park
on the swings and slide
I said
I see
she said
looking at me sadly
what have you got
in the bag?
I opened the bag
it's that Robin Hood book
I bought it
in that junk shop
on the New Kent Road
she held it
and opened it up
and looked
at the words
and pictures
maybe next time
I can be
your Maid Marian
to your Robin Hood
she said
yes
I said
looking
at the canary
in its cage
that'd be good.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
Tied with your wrists attached to your ankles, pretty in pink.
Your mind goes numb, as you lay helpless trying to think
Think of what is to become, as your sir hovers ever so near
Holds your head in my hands, looks in your eyes a silent stare
My lips touch your soft lips engaged in a passionate kiss
I move away you reach wanting more, my lips you do miss
Open your mouth wide, the gag is placed inside, now mute
Straddling your head I stare in to your eyes, love is absolute
Between your legs I slide, my tongue in to my wet slit
My mouth ******* and licking your nice engorged ****
Your backside is invaded with a nice cold steel plug
You wiggle in bliss, your heart races as if on a new drug
My soft subtle ***** drips your love on to the ground
My *** I hold in my hands so very nice and round
My tongue deeper in to you, as you convulse and ***
I release your ******* your heart is beating like a drum
You turn over and get on all fours, you are such a good pet
I come behind you and mount you, waiting anxious no fret
Enter you deep, enter you hard, your release a loud moan
My **** invading you ever so deep never again shall we be alone
My **** ready to explode, as I smack my *** with a bare hand
You *** again as I fill you deep, my seed mixing as we planned
Remove your gag hear your words, the words of love I need to hear
Collapse together rest for a moment, eye to eye stuck in a stare
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
Long days seem so much longer.
Distance does not make the heart grow fonder.
You’ve conquered the empire of my subconscious.
Your crusade so short,
Yet I hope your reign continues for eons.
We’re far past passive flatteries,
Instead, we fill each other’s hearts with vows.
You mean them now,
But what about a few months?
What if you decide I’m not what you want?
The torment I am slowly approaching,
Consumes my distant soul.
I can hear the sounds of futuristic loathing,
From when you decide this love has taken it’s toll.
So tell me.
How can I pay this inevitable toll?
How can I save us from Cupid’s malicious tyranny?
His arrow is too far lodged within me,
I cannot remove it.
I can only push it farther and farther
Into my heart until it falls out of my back.
But this arrow, trenchant.
Cupid, the sharpest of marksmen.
Yet colorblind, he is.
He sees not what colors his targets represent.
He draws his bow for the pure love of marksmanship.
Sometimes, yet not often,
He will hit the intended target.
But the odds are scarce.
His subjects are often punctured,
And connected to one whom reciprocated Fate’s desire.
Yet this time…
This time…
Cupid must have hit a target of Fate’s approval.
For thrice he has missed.
This time He and Fate are in sync.
This wound may stretch over time,
But the arrow shall remain firmly lodged within my *****
***** and immovable.
Until you kick it through my backside.
But until then,
I can only endure.
I can only be woo wounded.
I can only survive,
Another ambush of the militant called Cupid.
But I will do it for you,
For by you,
I’ve been so divinely seduced.
Wooed by your lips.
Not by your kiss,
But by the music,
Which your mandibles so express.
I desire not to seal this wound,
But to evade its’ repercussions.
For I have endured a similar wound thrice.
He is winged as if an angel,
Yet Was Lucifer not once an angel as well?
Cupid is an impostor.
A spy of Agony, himself.
He prays on the young, the old, the strong, and the weak.
He cares not who he obliterates in his crusades.
He is a bloodthirsty heathen.
He makes scoundrels of Saints,
And Harlots of Housewives.
Saint Valentine is no Saint.
He is Satan’s nightmare.
At first, his arrows are ecstasy,
But like a cancer,
His poison-saturated arrows
Seep deep within every crevice of your body.
They consume you as if enriched with ******
And eventually rot within your *****
Until it is nothing but dust and a memory.
One day I will assassinate Fate’s Malicious militant,
The one we call Cupid.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC
An empty park picnic table
cooled by the light,
whispering breeze,
spotted by the burning
life-giving sun.
I see us there.
chatting,
laughing,
enjoying each others company
in this never-ending summer.
I see myself
dressing up as the wife,
laying out a picnic basket
and table cloth.
Pouring iced tea
into a chilled glass,
Watching the condensation
slide down your fingertips
as your throat
gulps in the refreshment.
I lay a blanket
on the grass,
inviting you to come sit.
We lay.
And that chuckling breeze
picks up
and lifts the whole of
my 1950s homemaker dress.
You smooth it back down,
lowering your hand on my hip.
The wind has stopped,
but you keep smoothing away…
down my thighs,
across my backside,
up my back,
until my head is
cupped in your hands
nearing closer to your face.
I would not call it a kiss,
because a “kiss” is too
short a word, too precise
and too emotionless
to fit this phenomenon.
You embrace me fully
leaving no passion unaccounted for,
no ounce of me left untouched.
I succumb to your embrace
and we start to make love when…
A car horn beeps.
I blink.
Look around, and remember
that I’m sitting in a
library parking lot
looking at an empty picnic table.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 7:47 AM UTC
Murva fashion collection introduced at Eco Fashion Week has been a life long process for Ivana Knezovic, Creative Director / Designer. This was not only the 29 year old Croatian designer's first collection, but also her first international performance.
She debuted her eco-friendly collection titled Rust & Flow on the runway at Eco Fashion Week in Vancouver, Canada. Her pieces are all made from eco-friendly wool flannel.
Ivana Knezovic made interesting use of symmetrical lines, and I admired the draping from the shoulders framing a dress low-cut in back. One dress had several parallel vertical cut lines on the backside.
Many of her tops had capes, hang from one shoulder or both, paired with slim pants or a skirt. A nice touch of dramatic flare as the models moved down the runaway.
“Fashion design was always in me,” say Ivana Knezovic. Having resided in New York, Toronto, and Switzerland, designing was something she always wanted to do. "Murva is the name of a tree in my village. My company represents a return to my roots, to who I am at my core."
"I like structure. I like hiding the body behind some kind of a structure," said the designer who makes all her own clothes and cosmetics. "Eco is a product of maturity and of wholeness that you can only achieve when you really and truly grow up."
As a designer, she told me that she strives for “pure minimalism,” yet her eco-fashion designs are made for a sophisticated, minimalistic, and determined woman.
Exactly what the eco-fashion movement needs.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
It's like this, and then there was total recall. Fast like a safety plan made wrong and then bouncing in and out all the way down the hall. Up through cable cars, Korean fast food market, wet fish, soupy street, concrete cracks filled with crab meat and **** heads. Just a square, a five block, two street, sideways quadrangle, beat of the Tenderloin, hour of the dove. Every one's dead on these loose ends. Hills of the back of her backside, skin of the back of her neck. Rapture is the grave of the sunset, memory is that thing that I said.
No one cans in carnivores, no one runs moves like a shepherd. Sunday, daft as candy, luck in the ways of the prophet. Canon of the blaze of every woman that died today. The sleep setting, the motorcycle bending the hollow, the ravines noisy interlude, up through the rough and the tangles, huddles in a six pack, three or four walking up the block to meet the rest of them.
The skin doesn't fit right, it wears wrong, the shoulders stiff, the masseuse excuses himself. Buckets of flowers hang from the ceiling like stripped cat christmas decorations in suburban mastermind serial killer resort town. Everyone is quiet because they gotta. They move their feet like they were hurrying death into a red volcano, like they were the errand of red from the top bell to the bottom of the town.
I sit on a roof top, baking in the noon day sun. Stripping sticks and stems off the side to sideways, just roasting away, laying, low in the afternoon light. I see a girl with her hands on her skirt, wobbling, scooting a priest card on a periwinkle terra-cotta. I move my head, turn it upside round to take a better look. No one counts to ten when they see me. The gangster that woke up isn't the gangster that went to sleep last night. My wickedness ended my words mean your bright decay. So I ride the pavement exhausted, burying my coughs in an L-shaped arm
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
the mime made to put it in my mouth.
but the wind picked up.
it was three blocks suspended before the backside
of a fan
pulled it from the street
and into
a pawn shop.
it dropped to the floor.
all very
dramatic
said some clown
to another. said the other
to his white hand
always putting
it on.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 11:41 AM UTC
And so it begins
I can taste your release on his lips
Like it was my own tongue
That had gotten you to moan
So sweetly
So innocently
Innocent -
As if you weren’t the bi girl
Sandwiched between the sexually confused
And the dominating alpha
My turn now
To be innocent with your mouth
And to be guilty
With a man pressed against my backside
A verdict
That we agreed on unanimously
Because nothing is more thrilling
Than being wrong
With two people who are so right
One more time
Let’s make a chain with our bodies
He’ll stand
You’ll kneel
I’ll lay under you
Until we morph into one
Connected by the wetness between our legs
And against ours lips
Again
And again
Changing the three of us
Into familiar strangers
Intertwined in seductive affairs
Because baby
Two is comfort
But three is company.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC
The Lost Bird In The Sky
The Lost Bird In The Sky
Somewhere there sits a lone man
at a bar filled with lowlifes
lost in his thoughts
mad at the world
and at her
it's eight in the morning
and dawn is long past
and its eve's seat he'll now nurse
across the bar room
through the blinds, some sun peeks in
over the seedy rug
the sun drying the last cleansing
of a patron's puke
the musky smell the last of his worries
his eyes take in the bar
he intimates a hand gesture to other patrons
and a meaningless nod
indifferent to being friendly
matching the terrain
of the other lowlifes at the bar
all on crutches, it seems
on the wall
hangs pictures of storm clouds
black and ominous as his life
the first of his worries
him and his head always drooping
or were those pictures in his imagination
the music box plays a sad song
smoke gets in your eye
followed by lies
another sad song
stories of his life
accentuated
grabbing at him
his worries
her effect
how poetic, he smiles
him in effigy
through the smoke in his eyes
and more beer
he can clearly see her
with a voodoo doll in hand
sticking needles in him
maybe deservingly
if only he could tell her a story
he thinks better of his thoughts
and a pending epilogue
thirsting for sunshine instead
his eyes glance up at the women bartender
plain, plump, playful, pierced
sunshine for the moment
his lips, and tongue curl
his feet touch earth, seeing if it's still there
as she lumbers back and forth serving drinks
her backside sticking up like a beehive
and for a moment he wants to be a bee
he plays with his beer bottle
running his hands past it's neck
caressing, taking a sip
thinking of his past love
the softness of her neck
*****
her essence
of how pleasing it would be to touch her
her nest
if only he could be a bird for a moment
fly and be in flight with her
together in the sky
making baby birds
their innocence and first tweets
that would have been nice
now ... landed at a hole in a wall
his eyes and thoughts keep soring
he grabs more beer
more beer
pausing to grab some honey with his eyes
he keeps playing with his loose change
spinning a quarter
like watching her pirouette
again and again
she had that effect on him
Logan Robertson
11/15/17
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
Slotting into geological time
"As a man thinks, so is he", ferillergood ye may
as well add as subtract.
Am i right or am I wrong?
Dexter, yeh, that'n
or Sinister.
Being left or right,
That's jest sided-ness, a sort,
a me-trick-able stackable thing,
with an in
side and an out
side and a top outside and a bottom outside
and a front inside and a front backside
and a back frontside with its own inside.
Like you.
Value pends 'pon sorts of things
into similarities of singularities,
if I got that message un occluded or
unveiled of sacred meanings.
There seemed to be no code
"if a man (voice) says a thing that is true, but
I did not say it: does that make it untrue?"
I answered, "Lord, you are truth."
Wow. Look what I said. truth you are lord.
Punctuated equilibrium humm white noise of wonder
can it be?
'Think so.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 3:17 AM UTC
I stood in line
to be weighed
in the bathroom
of the nursing home
Anne crutched herself
behind me
you haven't
got a chance in hell
of winning
that chocolate bar Kid
she said
I've seen more meat
on a butcher's pencil
stuck behind his ear
might win
I said
might fly
she said
the kid in front of me
got on
the green metal scales
and the nun
moved the weight
along the top
not you Malcolm
she said
the kid got off sulkily
I got on the scales
and the nun
moved the weight
I looked at her
black and white
headdress
her pinched features
not you Benny
she said
I got off
and walked away
Anne awkwardly
got on the scales
holding herself
on her one leg
the stump
of the other
hanging there
best so far Anne
the nun said
told you Kid
you didn't
have a chance
guess not
I said
as she crutched herself
along side of me
not to worry
if I get the choco bar
I’ll give you
a quarter for being
a good friend
no other
in this **** hole
gets a look in
we went along
to our rooms
come in Kid
she said
I hesitated
come in
I want to
ask you something
I stood swaying
uncertain
what if
one of the nuns
comes along?
what if I don't give you
quarter of the choc bar?
she said
I followed her in
to the girls dorm
no one else
was there
just she and me
she closed the door
with her backside
right Kid
I want you
to do me
a favour
favour?
I said
sensing uncertainty
hit my gut
yes I want you
to sneak along
to the kitchen tonight
and liberate
some biscuits
liberate?
I said
biscuits?
yes you know
what biscuits are
don't you
those hard things
with cream in the middle
or chocolate
on one side
I know what biscuits are
I said
but what do you mean
liberate?
take some
from the big tin
they have
on the shelf
in larder
take?
I said
you mean steal?
steal
take
liberate
whatever word
you want
to use Kid
what if I get caught?
don't get caught
but what if I do?
Anne sighed
sat on the edge
of her bed
I thought you
were someone
I could rely on Kid
not some cowardly custard
yellow belly
I looked
at her leg stump
sticking out
the other leg
reached to the floor
if you're really good
I’ll let you touch
my stump
she said
no need
I said
I'll try tonight
sneak down
after lights out
good Kid
she said
she took my right hand
and lay it
on the stump
and held it there
it felt warm
and soft
she let my hand go
good huh?
wish the rest
was there
she said
off you go
and don't get caught
I nodded
and backed out
of the room
seeing her cover
the stump
with her dress
and smile
see you
I said
you bet
she said
I walked away
thinking
of the big steal
of biscuits
unthought through
by my 10 year old brain
as yet.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
About a week or so ago,
I fell in love with a man
when I went to sleep
in a boy's bed.
His chest
read "weird"
in black-block ink
his self acceptance
made me smile.
His eyes,
puppy dawg brown,
breathed in every edge
of my body
knowing exactly
where they
were going,
but never fully
meeting mine.
Up my hips
on our dance floor.
Down my tummy
on his bed.
His distant
self assurance
consumingly
relaxing.
His
freckled face
and dimpled smile
only implied
deep sincerity
matching
his overgrown
words.
In adolescence
I'd forced myself
to give up the idea
of being with a boy
whose fingers read "bad."
But
When he came
to me
his hands
over
my body
his silence
over
my mind.
He
enjoyed me
The whole night
The way I did him
He took in
my stories
grabbed my shoulders
with shaking
enthusiasm
with reaction
to my action
with interest
in the questions
of my own life
I'd barely explored.
He took in
my toes
my ankles
my hips.
He acknowledged
the marks
on the skin
of my backside
i became
self conscious
and uncomfortable
But he noticed.
He tinkered
with the ring
of my belly button
grazed
the edges
of my breast.
He breathed
in my ears
He wanted
badly
for me
to feel good.
He didn't play games
in either his loving
or his company.
They were both
giving
gentle
and distantly
warm.
So much
sincerity
from a man
I accidentally
fell in love
with the briefness
of a boy.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
Eight-
In a general store,
the middle of nowhere.
I stared at toys,
oblivious to the stranger too close.
A hand on my backside,
a rub and squeeze.
The cops huffed,
'are you sure it wasn't an accident?'
'Is it really that important?'
Suddenly I knew shame.
Twelve-
Last day of school,
cornered in an empty classroom
by my lifelong bully.
He tore my pink shirt,
grabbed me where Trump would have.
My father helped.
Did what he could.
Told me it wasn't my fault.
But the teacher,
a male who never liked my voice,
groaned in private,
'this will ruin that poor boys life.'
But what about me?
Sixteen-
A class full of people,
feeling pretty as a rare treat.
A boy with a knife
sitting too close,
hand inching up my thigh.
A malicious smile
with a dangerous whisper,
'spread your knees.'
I never told,
It had hardly mattered before.
But that's the last time
I wore a skirt to school.
Eighteen-
The officer taking my prints
made me cringe as he lingered.
His compliments made me shudder
but I told myself I was paranoid.
Leading me to a cell
he offered me a private room
leering as he mentioned
I wouldn't feel alone.
I almost laugh now
at his offer to pay me with juice.
But a year later at the hearing
his lude claims were loud enough
for everyone to hear.
A court room full of people
heard him brag about things
he never did.
Only one person shut him down
without even a word.
Simply a glare of digust
that I was too scared to give.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 7:18 PM UTC
A photograph, taken at dusk, of Tokyo & Mt. Fuji looming behind,
a line, running horizontally across the middle of a photograph;
below it, the city: a field of lit buildings & streets,
buildings: blocks & cylinders of rock, metal, glass and light—
streets: human rivers of car-lights,
the glowing orange Tokyo Tower rises like a great sword to fight the sky—
above it, the mountain: great, wide cone of rock & soil, with a cap of snow,
wisps floating up its ridges,
the cold, purple sunlight kissing its backside;
his peak is looking down at the city.
It is waiting,
like a grandfather,
while the wild, excited boy, pours Elmer’s glue on orange construction paper,
ruining the rug,
the mountain is waiting.
The mountain is stronger,
and when the children move out,
he will rock in his chair,
as always.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
a twenty-six year old woman sits alone outside a coffee shop, waiting
she plays Snake on an old Nokia that was discontinued long ago
her red dread locks are tucked neatly under a worn beanie
that she stole from the boy that she gave her virginity away to
in a skate park when she was nineteen
a twenty-six year old woman sits alone at her desk, writing
she has a one night stand whose name she doesn't remember sleeping in her bed
her mascara is running and her lips are dyed black from henna
that she stole from the girl who offered her shelter when she ran away to live
in her car and dingy motel rooms after college
a twenty-six year old woman sits outside a Stop and Shop, drinking Shasta
she recently tried to publish her book of poems , but it was rejected so:
her shorts barely covered her backside and she wore the bralette
that she stole from her brother's girlfriend while she was visiting
in the false hopes that he would register how badly she needed him (or anyone)
a twenty-six year old woman sits in a little blue rowboat, drilling holes into the bottom
she skims Red Kayak before she leaves home and ties rocks around her ankles
her thoughts are set on mentally regressing the pain of her teenage years
that she wishes she could steal back to at least put some emotion back
into her heart
it'd been better than feeling nothing at all
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
UNTIL NEXT TIME
THE PRESENCE OF YOUR BEING
PLACED UP AGAINST MY BACKSIDE
CAUSES A BIT OF EXCITEMENT
THAT MY BODY CAN’T JUSTIFY
FROM JUST A SINGLE TOUCH
FROM YOU AND YOUR UNSEEING
MY BODY TREMBLES DEEP INSIDE
AND MY GENDER BECOMES SO REVEALING
I TURN AND WRAP MY LEGS AROUND
AND USE YOU LIKE A CLUTCH
THE FEELING IN MY BODY STARTS TO TRAVEL
I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN HANDLE IT
OR IF IT’S JUST TO MUCH
THE SLICKNESS MY BODY’S REVEALING
BECOMES LIKE A FLUID GUIDE.
YOUR ARMS GLIDING MY EVER GENTLE MOVEMENT.
AS WE INTERTWINE
YOU SLOWLY TAKE YOUR GENDER
AND PUT IT INSIDE OF MINE
TO REACH YOUR IMMENSE INDUCEMENT
WITH YOUR HARDNESS BURIED INTO MINE
AS I SHAPE INTO THE PERFECT FORM OF YOU
SO ACCEPTING AND AGREEING
BANGING THE WALLS INSIDE
I GRADUALLY ACCEPT YOUR FREEING
WE RISE TOGETHER IN THIS MOMENT
MY BEING BEGINS TO SHATTER
THIS IS A PLACE OF EVERLASTING BLISS
AND NOTHING BESIDES THIS SEEMS TO EVEN MATTER
MY BEING SHATTERS AS I START TO INCLINE
THE COMBINED MOVEMENT OF US TWO
THE SWEETNESS OF YOUR SWELL
TELLS ME WE’RE NOT THROUGH
AND IN THE SHADOWS I CAN SEE
YOUR EYES LOCKING INTO MINE
MY SOUL WANTING TO BE BURIED
AND MY HIGH IS CLIMBING AGAIN INSIDE
YOUR EXISTENCE IN MY LIFE SHORT LIVED
YOUR BODY SO CLOSE TO MINE
FOREVER YOU ARE APART OF ME
YOUR BODY IS SOMETHING I STRIVE
AS YOU LAY YOUR LIPS UPON MINE
AND WE SAY OUR LAST GOODBYES
YOU ARE FOREVER SPECIAL TO ME
REMEMBER, UNTIL NEXT TIME
BY JENNIFER WOLFE
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 12:11 AM UTC
Cast it aside I…
Can the world be so…
Is anything actually…
Where does it go?
Promises they kept
Lifted from the well.
Hurt me just a little longer…
And I will never tell.
Basically, the chains they…
Craftiness all ensnared…
Turned round to face the…
Was it ever there?
Sever my motives
What does it matter?
Emptiness concepts…
Meaning’s in tatters.
Legs wrapped tight on…
Hardly notice the…
Singes the backside…
Looks so good, huh?
Push me to action.
Call me a fake.
Hurt me with venom.
Lies from the snake.
Nobody knows that…
So much of knowing it…
Is there a knowing such…
Yet, how we commit.
The pain sets it free now.
The blisters remind us.
Sifts through unknowing…
Blood, guts, and ****
Will it ever be, I…
Where is the voice of…
Searching for aching…
And finding love.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 2:04 AM UTC
the girl was always strange...a little different from the rest...she stayed to herself in her room after school...and loved animals the best...talked to them out loud in funny voices...her long hair covering her face and eyes...so one day it really came as no surprise to her to find she was growing a funny bump on her backside...that sorta looked like a tail...at first it was easy to hide...she stuffed it in her pants and no one was wiser...except it felt a bit strange sitting on that thing...and when she was happy, darned if it didn't start to wag...all by itself...a few weeks went by and that tail started growing...longer and furry red like a setter dog...at least the back part anyhow....and her parents wondered why she never wore shorts anymore...one day she answered a question at school...and a happy bark slipped out of her mouth!....classmates eyes round looking at her...teacher smiled and thought it was a joke...of course that is how she passed it off...but by golly if she didn't control... her cheers for a team....yips and growls popped out in excitement...her friends really thought she was strange...but the more it happened the more the girl liked it...she enjoyed being different...and by golly...her dog loved her just the same (as he always did.)..but her folks wondered why there were furry dog hairs inside her clothes...just down the one pants leg...hmmm...
well that gal grew mighty strange...funny things like barks and howls sang out in the middle of church choir....they started calling her wolf girl at school....and darned if her ears didn't start pointing at that remark...at night she'd stick her head out the door...gaze at the street waiting for a bark...from a little yorky across the street...and when that dog caught sight of her... man...the barks went crazy...all from her!....soon she got the urge to run...so down she went when no one was about...and raced like the wind on all fours...man she could rip...faster than her dog...they'd zoom about the back yard...after a ball...and she caught it first...parents watching her one day...seeing her playing like a pooch...worried the heck out of them...they wondered what to do...they took her to a doctor...doctor saw that growing tail...well he scratched his head in puzzlement...and darned if the girl didn't lick his face!....and offer him her hand to shake...like a dog!....well time went on since then...that girl is still stranger than strange...running round barking scratching at fleas...got a collar now and tags that say her name....guess she's got the best of both worlds..being human...and being man's best friend...''
by L B
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
The peacocks were behind wire
the sun warm
cloudless sky
and Monica had ridden
beside you on her bike
knowing her brothers
were out with the older brother
you not knowing had gone
to the farm house
to meet them
o they’re out
their mother said
didn’t they tell you?
no they‘d not
you walked to your bike
and got on
where you going?
Monica asked
don’t know now
you replied
I can ride with you
wherever you decide
she said
her mother
hands on hips said
don’t go bothering Benedict
he doesn’t want no girl
hanging on his tails
he don’t mind
Monica said
looking at you
her big eyes pleading
don’t mind if she comes
you said
giving the mother
a smile
if you’re sure
she said
and walked back
toward the farmhouse
her backside moving
side to side
in her flowery dress
and you watched
until she had gone
sure you don’t mind
me coming?
no I don’t mind
you said
where we going then?
the peacocks again
o I like them
she said
climbing her bike
foot on the pedal
ready for the push off
her sandals open toed
bare feet
the off white skirt
contrasted
with the mauve top
her hair dragged
into a bow
at the back
ready?
sure am
and you rode off
along the track
from the farmhouse
into the lane
between trees
and hedgerows
she followed at your side
keeping up
her eyes seeming
on fire
her hands gripping
the handlebar
white and pink
and the small fingers
holding on for dear life
her legs up and down
pedalling
you felt the wind
in your hair
through the open neck
of your white shirt
pushing down
the jean covered legs
up and down
the lane narrowed
then widened
there they are
she called
the peacocks
she dismounted
and laid her bike
against a tree
and ran to the wire fence
and peered through
you put your bike
by the hedge
and walked over
to where she stood peering
her eyes bright
and fiery
how comes the *****
are bright and colourful
but the hens are so dull?
she asked
that’s how it is
in the bird world
you said
hens are just dull
I’m not dull
she said
holding the wire
with her fingers
making noises
at the birds
am I?
she said
looking at you
beside her
no you’re not
you said
nothing dull
about you at all
I’m like a peacock
she said
bright and beautiful
aren’t I?
sure you are
you said
you peered
at the strutting peacock
nearest the wire
out of the corner
of your eye
you saw Monica
nose inches
from the wire
call to the bird
her lips pursed
and opening
and closing
her arms soft
and reaching up
I’m a peacock bird
she said
her arms in motion
like wings
her hands flopping
above her head
her feet in dance
stepping
and dancing in turn
you watched her dance
and twirl
Jim and Pete’s sister
the peacock girl.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
Tell me something interesting
because there's lot's that I don't know
It's like meeting the actor
without ever seeing the show
I want you to be familiar
like the backside of my hand
I want to get to know you,
learn about your plan
I want to know how you feel
when we're really close
I want to know what you think about
when we're nose to nose
I want to be
your confidant
But I'm not so good
at nonchalant
So tell me something interesting
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
Her skin
soft
like satin
rubbing against mine
as we sat-in
the couch
cuddling against mine
she's so ****
the way we flexing
just passing time
so close against me
can't hold it against me
its got its own mind
hand on your backside
thoughts inline with my incline
feeling warm on the outside
as two fingers slowly slide on the inside
of the cover, pushing it to the side, to uncover
over the magic button my tongue hover
Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 10:13 PM UTC