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Jenn Coke Jun 2016
He was never my classmate,
Neither was he my schoolmate,
As we have met on OkCupid,
Which is where we got suited.

He soon became my tablemate,
Then got promoted to bedmate,
Ranging from late-night nosh
To some naughty oh-my-gosh.

He was my almost-roommate,
Now, a hopeful housemate,
Since he would visit me daily
And keep me company gaily.

He was frequently my seatmate,
As well as invaluable playmate,
For we traveled places together
And cloyingly wrestled each other.

He has always been my helpmate,
And is presently my best teammate,
As he has cheered me up from afar,
As we chat as if there is no au revoir.

He will one day become my inmate,
Plus my hard-working workmate,
Since we will both have mini-me’s
Forcing us to slog away on our knees.

He is undoubtedly my soulmate,
One who is to become my lifemate,
For he is a romantic yet **** geek,
A keeper with charms all too unique.
Joy stayed with me a night--
Young and free and fair--
And in the morning light
He left me there.

Then Sorrow came to stay,
And lay upon my breast
He walked with me in the day.
And knew me best.

I'll never be a bride,
Nor yet celibate,
So I'm living now with Pride--
A cold bedmate.

He must not hear nor see,
Nor could he forgive
That Sorrow still visits me
Each day I live.
When a woman says: she likes
The man to take the initiative;
What she is really saying is:
“Yes, I will *******, just ask.”
As I write these words,
I rent The Eugene O’Neill Theater,
Located between Broadway &
8th Ave, on West 49th Street,
No shabby venue, I might add.
Then I stage & cast the play,
Choosing for the role of me,
Myself:  Queequeg.
Ishmael’s Crypto-Gay,
New Bedford, Mass bedmate,
A large, well-toned, muscled
Man of much ink & few words,
Just short pigeon-English phrases,
Utterances such as: “I likee.”
That’s right, playing me is
Melville’s freaky, tattooed,
Polynesian harpooner,
Right out of Moby ****.
And should the ****** imagery &
Metaphor of me—yours truly—
Packing a harpoon in my trousers,
Prove a trifle too scrumptiously
Potent for you, consider please the
****** potential of a three-way with
*Chingachgook.
Jillian Jesser Oct 2018
yes
here we are again
walls, white
cotton sheets
teal socks with the tread

we share small talk
i ask about home
things are the same there

i tell you about my bedmate
she thinks she's satan
it's all up from here

when you leave
i sit down to dinner
a jail meal

it drips from the mute's lips
who sits staring
at the table diagonal from me

she is afraid of dogs
i, a dog
bite a dry piece of bread
and cough

in this lowland we halt and look up to the sun
but see only a black sky

and when you ask
are you getting better
the response
yes

is for you
susan May 2015
strange bedfellows we do make
where have i heard that
but looking at you
next to me
              asleep
looking peaceful
i know that this is true
i wouldn't have picked you
   from a crowd
but you picked me
and i gave it a chance
out of loneliness, maybe
      ... feeling *****, quite possibly

and i'm glad i did
because strange can be good
when it comes to bedfellows.
I woke up
Eye to eye
Face to face
With a stranger.
She was a hard reminder of my past
A promise of my future
As she greeted me with a kiss
She whispered her name.
“Today.”
Wanderer Jun 2014
Eyelids slowly part to soft sunlight
Glowing off of the red highlights
In your beard
Good morning
Mmm...it's always good with you here
Your hardness a welcome bedmate
Birds singing through the window
India Temple incense smoke
Hazing the shadows
Circling the heat between our frames
betterdays Apr 2017
heres is the story of
Bad boy Bill...
..with slight of hand
he had the plate
with eight pieces
of skate
which he quickly ate
not that he was
a deadweight
he did share
with a mate
before he did
donate the *****
plate to the nearest
gutter grate
he was a pick pocket
that he could not debate
he had given going straight
a trial but could not cognate
the traits of the cheapskate
state that gave him too many
gates to open only to end up
at the same old checkmate
so after beating his breastplate
he went on the lam
lashed out against
the ingrate magnates
and after a spate
of flyweight burglaries
he now awaits
as a sometimes
somnambulate inmate
at the pleasure
of the  abrogate state
in a room slightly
larger that a crate
with a surly
burly bedmate.
they who dictate
think he will be
down for at least eight
he was at this news
discombobulatedly
disconsulate
But that is the fate
of those who hesitate
to choose bad over good
and manipulate the laws
of the land.
Bit of silliness for the boy..with a handy lesson thrown in....some ones been stealing biscuits
Death of mother hallowed out silence
   more painful then  buzzing power tool,
aye never again saw,
   nor heard industriousness jollity eviced,
   contrasted when mourning did rule

wrought immediate cessation
   from his strong lance throwing arms,
   where artisanal magic did un spool
and ample tears streamed down raw cheeks
enough   o fill a pool

uncertain if sparring with depression sprung
   via loss of a Coney Island jewel
whose poverty she claimed (shamefully)
   most meals comprising thin gruel
rescuing a damsel in distress thence deceased didst fuel

   unwonted burded, and forced him to spar
   with fear he might lose the duel
left alone in a old mansion
   with only fond fading memories utmost cruel.
----------------------------------------------------------­----------
Suddenly without bedmate and counterpart
   one month shy of fifty years, no deity could answer
razor sharp emotional pain cut to the quick
   recollecting ballroom dancer

himself as a handsome youth so graceful and suave,
   fast as Bill Haley, or comet
   and lightly afoot in seventh heaven as a prancer
oh..and ever the debonair, humorous, and loving romancer
where pixie dust sprinkled via an invisible en trancer.  
-----------------------------------------------------------------­---
Uterine/ovarian Cancer metastasized
   dealing deathblow, and took more than mother away
her rigor mortis terminated love labor lost,
   whence second love sans father,
   his hands no longer did oh bay,    

whose once passion to ply his creative handiwork
   heartfelt interest hardened as sun baked clay
where formerly, he spent energy and time
Page Number Two:  

drafting designs and building ornate creations
   most every night and day,
which lifelong penchant to draw
   (deepseated and etched within his genes)
   until profound grief did flay  
dealt mortal kombat towards,
   whence toiling at basement workbench

   colored his world blackish gray
nor would he respond, and only tearful sorrow
   exuded upon losing the special maiden, whom he lay
down and begot thyself and two sisters,

   during living years sans lightness of being an a may
fly expert designer, creator and builder –
   during me chilhood objects like play  
house and Flintsone car

   (with license plate to boot), beaming with ray
dee ants at products of imagination got wrought,
   until grim reaper did slay
purposefulness and will power to remain alive  
   pronounced sadness witness loss of appetite

   and considerable diminishing beefiness obvious
  without him getting atop scale for a weigh
but fate smiled upon accursed widowerhood,

   and now for quite some time,
   a gal took hull hiking to history
   and the restaurant at the end
   of the galaxy they went – yay!
Charlotte Ahern Oct 2020
Good and bad are always housed
Under the same roof
It all depends
On who you make your bedmate
Comprende?
Darling, it seems the time has finally come
For you to make your call.
Do you want me to stay? Or to flee from you?
Because how you act from here on out,
That could be our peace or our downfall.
Dearest, I’m not done- this isn’t all.
I’m doing every single **** thing right
And its you who does me wrong.
And when soft bodies collide, to me
Its all too bittersweet to think
That perhaps you’re playing me like a pawn…
Or perhaps like one of your lovely piano songs.
Am I carrying a dead man’s weight?
Is it deep water I’m drowning under?
I gasp for air, you’re my breath of life
But only when you’re around.
So is it better to die from a murky bedmate
Or should I send you off, before it’s too late?
Ninety years April 9th 1929
after maiden USA début
hoop fully more than a few
remain, a filial connection
I can cultivate and hew

cuz, the ghost o' me late
mother, would be Jew
(red eye with swollen tears),
bull lent beef ****, aye rue
permanent AWOL of papa,
whose paternal Zayda, I never knew!

He, pulled off a top aerospace
rocket launched secrete tete a tete
impossible mission an ace legendary
sharpshooter, sans Aaron Harris
firearms passion never did abate

spewed spear shaped ammunition
in league with the missus to create,
who no surprise hapt tubby his bedmate
launched payload with joint consent
(plus bonus) re: private effort to satiate

call of the wild hit targeted bullseye
(eggs cell lent lucky shot) did initiate
genesis nine months later begetting
an audacious, industrious, rambunctious
bouncing baby boy with black curls atop pate

christened Boyce Brandon Harris
bright eyed infant bestowed with brilliance,
brawn, and bravado quickly evinced late
tent smarts landed lad admittance schools
geared to those who did accelerate

with mathematics and sciences, which
positive accolades since a lil whippersnapper
family and academicians did accentuate,
thus stellar classroom dedication, diligence
dogged nose to grindstone did accommodate

him being courted by prestigious storied
halls of education kickstarting promising
future and adequate income to accumulate
ample to live comfortably within middle

class economic (March madness) bracket,
and provided basic creature comforts fate
blessed him, and Harriet Harris nee Kuritsky
with this sole son and two daughters, I advocate
as exemplary siblings (despite) contention,
which required lifetime to agglomerate,

and estranged relationship with me father
coalescing into pleasant raport, adolescent
chomped at the bit, and
did fidget, cower, and alienate
experienced palpable tension
as though a "FAKE" wall,
I could not eradicate!
Grasping figurative literary straws
     poetic theme yielded
     farfetched aggregate
i.e., where each dwelling
     listed as figurative Stormy bedmate,
this nada so eminent (Eminem fan)
     lived since the year MM at:
     1148 greentree lane,

     724 railroad avenue, and
     2 highland manor drive, which
     defy obvious numerical pattern relationship,
     albeit tougher than dismantling
     an atomic bomb
     Fermi (Enrico) to create
least common denominator
     nonetheless, aye delineate

laughably limpid, loquaciously lumped,
     and ludicrously as an Uber Lyft
     (please lemme look foolish)
     evincing desperate clamor
     ring blather already
     prepping myself for fallout after,
     I post very tenuous
     schema attempting to enumerate

loosely linkedin previous
     to present physical addresses
     straining credulity to formulate
formulaic relationship between
     street numbered residential places,
     futile endeavor mathematical
     relationship to generate
readying myself (hatches

     being battened down) against
     first responder, who
     doth dare to humiliate,
this self serving ingrate
gnome hatter hood
     awkwardly entwine goofily integrate
ting (Spike Lee's
     She's Gotta Have It)
    
     "FAKE" self importance,
     sans presenting schema
     with literary Bo Jangles
     flourishes, that (EGADS) doth jaculate
utter cheek to jowl (consonant
     to vowel) outstanding
     Uttar Pradesh Khanate,
nonetheless strives to

     feign making Genghis
     (alias Matthew Scott)
     Harris heirs legitimate
if necessary calling on
     Trump to mandate
and/or asking supreme
     court to necessitate
putting sanctions against

     quasi (moe toe)
     POTUS oxymorons
     so American totalitarianism
     can freely operate
in tandem with
     Putin to participate!
Safana Nov 2021
It's for so long
We bonded apart
We thought it's for
mean time...
So, it's for the whole...
The whole way to live
In the matrimonial dom
And now, we are soulmate
everyday as a bedmate,
We sleep on our hearts
today like yesterday
for the sweetest
tomorrow
We are now
like moon and star
in the dark night
over the sky

We are
Auwal and Maryam
The moon and star
Over the sky

— The End —