"bernard" poems
Following are several translations
of the 'Old Pond' poem, which may be
the most famous of all haiku:
Furuike ya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto
-- Basho
Literal Translation
Fu-ru (old) i-ke (pond) ya,
ka-wa-zu (frog) to-bi-ko-mu (jumping into)
mi-zu (water) no o-to (sound)
The old pond--
a frog jumps in,
sound of water.
Translated by Robert Hass
Old pond...
a frog jumps in
water's sound.
Translated by William J. Higginson
An old silent pond...
A frog jumps into the pond,
splash! Silence again.
Translated by Harry Behn
There is the old pond!
Lo, into it jumps a frog:
hark, water's music!
Translated by John Bryan
The silent old pond
a mirror of ancient calm,
a frog-leaps-in splash.
Translated by Dion O'Donnol
old pond
frog leaping
splash
Translated by Cid Corman
Antic pond--
frantic frog jumps in--
gigantic sound.
Translated by Bernard Lionel Einbond
MAFIA HIT MAN POET: NOTE FOUND PINNED TO LAPEL
OF DROWNED VICTIM'S DOUBLE-BREASTED SUIT!!!
'Dere wasa dis frogg
Gone jumpa offa da logg
Now he inna bogg.'
-- Anonymous
Translated by George M. Young, Jr.
Old pond
leap -- splash
a frog.
Translated by Lucien Stryck
The old pond,
A frog jumps in:.
Plop!
Translated by Allan Watts
The old pond, yes, and
A frog is jumping into
The water, and splash.
Translated by G.S. Fraser
11.2k
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy
~~~
the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none
~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”
“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”
“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life
“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words”
“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
Hello everybody. My name is Neal and I'm your tour guide.
The first creature that we will see is a koala, to your right. Do you know that koala's have fingerprints very similar to those of humans?
So much so that their prints have been mistaken for a human's at crime scenes?
Anyways, this leads us to ask some very important questions: are methods of finding criminals therefore unreliable? Is it truly possible to avoid imprisoning those that are innocent? Is reality merely an allusion?
Or, more importantly, was it my boyfriend John with the good fashion sense that took my hairbrush? Or was it that little ***** Bernard that is hiding in the top left corner?
Anyways, to your left you'll see our world renowned snail tank. Snails can sleep for up to three years at a time....
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 10:02 PM UTC
Art class was a given
A bird course as they say
But, our teacher had gone awol
You could say he flew away
They found him at a campsite
Cross legged on a mat
Naked, drinking cool aid
And talking to his cat
He snapped while teaching concepts
beyond the grasp of teenage kids
Who only wanted to pass time
and be on ebay making bids
He taught them about structure
about lines and Bernard Frize
and now he's in the forest
sitting naked with the trees
Pastels, crayons and chalk sticks
littered where he sat
sitting naked, drinking kool aid
and talking to his cat
the kids, they drove him crazy
never doing what he told
Instead they sat and doodled
while the teacher...well...unrolled
they didn't draw the things he asked
didn't study all the masters
instead they were more intent
on creating art disasters
he came to class equipped one day
to show them some van gogh
instead they all got up
And told him he could blow
he snapped and left the class room
never stopping at the door
he went to his apartment
and picked the cat up off the floor
he went down to the locker
he took his tent back to the car
he was going to go camping
he wasn't going to a bar
he drove up to the campsite
made his kool aid, grabbed his cat
took his clothes off and got naked
and sat down upon his mat
this is where they found him
seven days since he walked out
he's now painting in nice place
where there's lots of staff about
most days he sits in silence
in his jacket, sleeves behind
zonked out on medication
to help him find his mind
they give him lots of kool aid
but his cat he does not see
he just paints with all his fingers
making pictures of a tree
once he was a teacher
of a bird course teaching art
now he gets all his excitement
drinking kool aid from the cart
in his mind there are da vincis
claude monets and rembrandts too
but, on paper he paints tree limbs
in black and grey and blue...
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
Is there someone out there that can make the insecure, secure?
The lost become found?
The weak become strong?
The introvert extrovert and all things in-between?
The ugly more beautiful?
The headedness and nightmares become more of a joke?
The sounds in the background become solid and free
Chuck out the garbage
The ties that bind thee
Those that put you in trouble of the deepest kind
The ugliest of mothers hellbent on revenge
Taking out pennies from someone else's den
Is there someone decent and cool
To help get along in the life of a fool?
I am the pest the irregular verb
Adjectives, hyphens the comma's full stop and nerds
All comprehensive found sometimes expensive
So you'll never know what kind of gift wraps inside
Quaky, Jackie, Stumble bunny and fall
Am running amok for the sake of it all
Sinderella what a fella
He went to the garden zoo
Played hokey cokey
Oh what a jokey
He even drank the soup
Happy Halloween you creeps!
© Bernard M Coldwell all rights reserved
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
It was all a reality Doris had come to accept (and Bernard too, to an extent). They had moved as if they were one entity for the majority of their life. Every thought would come in pairs; each footstep was echoed by the other, and every wine bottle was shared. They'd been wed for 50 years now, and with each anniversary, they found themselves becoming all the more soluble; mixed together like some kind of brilliant concoction: a solution to all of life’s problems.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
In Aix les bains the Moon began to ebb
weekend dry skiing gone awry,
Country and Western jukebox
by the verdant bar.
"Elle ne comprend pas",
come to me with willing woes!,
a broken heart
a tryst gone wrong?
maybe just an old fashioned
broken toe,
though no St Bernard's rescue
the Cognacs even unfaithful,
perhaps a tetanus jab
and the ferry back home.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
The day he died
The sun rose just the way
It always did on cold December mornings:
Frost crystals on his back,
Breath steaming in the winter air,
A few sparrows chattering,
Molly at the barn mooing news:
Milking time!
Frozen water tank!
Hunger pains!
And where was Farmer now?
So he yawned and stretched himself,
Looked at the house whose walls
Allowed his master's voice to filter through thin, cold air:
Heard an oven door squeak wide,
The telephone ring,
Morning voices and the creak of floors,
And then the door cracked open.
Full scents emerged:
Fresh baking from the oven,
The farmer's coat and boots,
Laundry soap in fresh washed jeans,
And a bowl of food with milk
Steaming for him.
The diesel tractor coughed and roared,
Semi-warm from its head-bolt heater sleep,
and sent thick cloud plumes to winter sky
Before the engine warmed enough to move
The wheels' crunching pressure, packing snow.
Breakfast down, and morning chores to follow,
The St. Bernard stretched himself,
Pushed through the old iron gate
And followed in the tractor's track
To see the morning feeding in the snow.
No one could tell him he was getting old,
And maybe was a little stiff and slow
To follow tractors as they plowed their way
Through newly fallen snow.
An hour later, the man, the tractor and the dog
Had made their way below the farmstead hill
To feed a sheltered herd just out of wind's cold way.
What happened next is painful still to say.
The tires sank through crusted snow and spun
But forward movement failed it in its rounds;
Reversed, a chain came loose and outward flung
to pull the faithful follower down.
So what is there to say about a friend whose harm
And death came accidentally at my hand?
I knelt there in the snow and held him in my arms,
Sobbing sorrows... begging him to try to stand.
But he only looked up at me with brown, sad eyes,
Hard broken from the crushing of the wheel,
And moved his tail a little bit to show he was content
To lie there in my arms, and shuddered once and then was still.
The cows looked on impatiently,
Steam rising from their hides,
And saw me bawling on my knees
and begging mercy from my silent God.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 9:50 PM UTC
I ponder of something great on a sonderous level can a man a sentient being ever exist like an omnipotent being
am I just a subsidized being is the vanity of a self-absorbed world
the pneumatic indifferent fascist question my legitimacy so I question the society of a world more cold and more active than an incestuous birdy and the bee
They question an artesian hand slightly smaller than the average man yet the
significance of the difference in that artesian is not the manic who refused me
embarrassed me
rumored me
****** me to a dark inexsistant inbetween
the coldness of a lover never to be
because she is in league but out of reach
like a lion her simple minded pedagogy has left her to everything and everyone
as she is not mine and I am not hers just the birdy and the defective bee
a farce love story the ending of a never beginning trip why o so dramatic
because I just can’t help falling in love with one
a selfish self absorbed vanity in a repugnant world disgustingly this pedagogy stays to me like glue on this dying bee
this is true of our starcrossed unrequited drug induced comatose that put me into this ponderous level
the inevitability of what truly will never be yet for some reason these
sounderously significantly radical thought I ponder just like a pneumatic bot
have you ever felt this lost
this cold dark nonexistent in-between
a limbless sentient rushed in the ever invoking might of hysteric emotion
I ponder this cold and warming toiling notion
The one like a lion can you and will you requite and love me
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
You were a talented British actor but sadly, not anymore.
If you hadn't died, today you would've turned ninety-four.
You starred in an episode of "Fawlty Towers" and "Dalziel and Pascoe".
Forty-four years ago, you starred in "The Adventures Of Picasso".
You starred in an episode of "Last Of The Summer Wine".
You starred in an episode of "Mogul" and "Space: 1999".
You starred in a short lived British sitcom titled "Cuffy".
After living a long life, you died at the age of ninety-three.
When you starred in Fawlty Towers, you beat up John Cleese.
Today would have been your birthday, may you Rest In Peace.
Dec 29, 2022
Dec 29, 2022 at 12:13 PM UTC
Ham took you to a cafe
on London Road;
he was meeting
Bernard there.
Sit there,
Ham said,
indicating a table
by the wall with wallpaper
with a flowered pattern.
You sat; stared
around the cafe;
frowned at two men
at the next table.
Who's there?
You say,
pointing towards them,
wondering where
your Lord Hamlet had gone,
and these two jesters
at his court.
What's the matter, love?
One of the men said,
smiling, eyeing you,
taking in your hair and eyes.
Nay, answer me,
you said, stand,
and unfold yourself.
Ham came over
to the table:
Hush, Ophelia,
he said.
He apologised to the men,
twirling a finger
at the side of his head.
You gazed at your lord;
he contested
with these jesters,
you surmised,
eyeing them.
They looked
away from you;
conversed between themselves;
sipped their mugs of tea,
ate their breakfasts.
You sat gazing at your lord
bargaining with a rogue.
He brought
two mugs of tea
and bacon sandwiches
and sat opposite you,
his back to the jesters.
Bernard will be here soon,
Ham said, gazing at you,
behave yourself.
Bernardo?
Yes, Bernard,
so keep your voice down,
Ham said.
He began his sandwich;
you began yours.
Bernard came in the cafe
and ordered a tea,
and waved.
Bernardo,
you said,
you come most carefully
upon your hour.
Hush, Ophelia,
Ham said.
Bernard smiled at you;
he tried to understand you
and your vocal expressions.
Bernardo,
you said softer
and waved.
He waved back
and paid the rogue
and went, and sat next you,
facing Ham.
Unfold yourself,
you said.
Ham raised his hand
to hush you.
You sat and ate
and drank.
Your lord was speaking
with his minister;
he spoke of battle,
you assumed,
and jested of wounds
of war.
You felt your ***
beneath your dress;
it felt so sore.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
Le Whippet de mon ami Bernard
Tu es entre chien et coursier
Avec ton museau effilé
Tes oreilles se dressent hauts
Comme le Dieu-Chien égyptien Anubis
Ton pelage ras fait penser
A un Kangourou tigré
Ou à un Léopard satiné.
Tes pattes de coureur de fond
Te donnent un air d'Antilope
Prêt à disputer une course.
Tu es de la race des lévriers
Si prisée par les princes Arabes
Et aussi les Lords anglais.
Ces lévriers qui fendent l’air
Comme les gazelles d’Afrique.
Tout en toi est fait pour la course
Ton corps est sculpté pour courir
Ton museau est comme un drakkar
Qui fend l’air pour gagner la course
Dans les prairies et les déserts.
Tu es un des chiens bienveillants
Si gentil avec les enfants
Qui prend des airs de Patricien
Quand sur le sofa il se tient.
Mais tu sais aussi rester sage
Veillant sur la paix de tes maîtres
Et apportant à la maison
«Inédit» est ton nom d’année
Un «grand cru» pour les Lévriers.
Paul d’Aubin (Paul Arrighi)
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, ’mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device—
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath;
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue—
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright,
Above,the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan—
Excelsior!
“Try not the pass,” the old man said:
“Dark lowers the tempest overhead;
The roaring torrent is deep and wide.”
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
“Oh, stay,” the maiden said, “and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!”
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered with a sigh,
Excelsior!
“Beware the pine-tree’s withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!”
This was the peasant’s last Good-night:
A voice replied, far up the height:
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
There in the twilight, cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star—
Excelsior!
1.6k
You cannot swim where there is no water
However, you can drown from the inside
Our skin changes ever seven years,
New cells, new ideas, new technology
However, the first lady in the house
Is not the same lady of yesteryears?
Even if she said she doesn’t care:
Most likely, you can drown from the inside
From tears, humiliation, aggravation
Never mind how traumatic those situations might be
There is no antidote for buildup pride
Love is NOT the antidote to pride – humility is:
And who has agitated her more than him:
Her eyes and her voice show fears:
I sense her wait, she will be free again
Fake happiness is dangerous.
*Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting." Bernard Meltzer
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
watched three grey geese in a field fulled with wheat grazing
while Peter Piper pecked some Petunias
while Bitter Butter bit her lip gazing on the scene
of strangeness like writers on paper
wrapping alliterations softer than sleep
louder than firecrackers I had a dream.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
Over the past few years, white and red, black,
white and black. I work for a long time. But
Bernard's war, civil war, war with Russia, Russia,
Russia, Russia, Russia and other countries.
Kenya, Uganda, pigs, dogs, women and adults
are good. Dreams, dreams, dreams and goals
are reflected in the world. Hawaiians are present
today in Paris, Austria, Honduras and Ireland.
It is a weak helper who helps the user to listen
to the sponsor. The first company received
the name 100% and full of fire, Isaac answered:
"They do not understand and do not get upset."
This rule should apply to all court cases. Damage
to dust and particles changes the red-eye effect.
The best libraries in Russia, Russia, Russia
and Russia are two people for long distances,
two people and three people. Kenya,
American women over 60 years old.
Monkeys and Christians and Armstrong's fauna
represent the gods of Austria, Italy, Ireland,
stars, and the gods of all gods of Austria.
do not go. Belgium is wrong. Changes in the node
and change of paper-in-law. Dogs: For more
information about the editor, see: Healthy box
with a yellow child. Aaron Illustus 1. In recent
years white, red and white. We work for a long time.
This work - Russia, Russia, Russia, Russia,
Russia, Russia and France, as well as the secular war.
Kenya, Uganda, pigs, cats, adults, differences
and taxpayers. Austria is now a paradise,
and today people in Honduras and Ireland
are today called Hawaiian. Many users
can listen to Spanish. First of all, I would
like to remind you about the jungle
and I am above them. Look at Isaac. The groom
grew and lifted him up. Try now. You must
register your mobile phone. Dust, pesticides,
foreign textbooks are different. For three years
I have been proud of all the red bodies
and far east of Russia, over 60 women,
especially women who have lived in Kenya
for over 10 years, in women aborigines'
social organizations, especially in Austria,
Italy, and Old America and Kenya.
"They do not like anything, they do not
like anything, they do not like anything,
they're big snakes." Some publishers
have found jungles in Russia, Russia,
Northeast Asia, and Eastern Europe.
140,041.2 thousand People (200 bears,
Moscow, languages, authorities) Sunlight
Recently, ****** white, light wars,
Russia, Russia, Russia and other regions
of Kenya, Uganda, were very interesting
to other people's lives.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
As I ran down the stone path
The cold snowy ground below me
The snow storm raging above me
I couldn't help but save them
I had to help Annie Janna Billy and the families Saint Bernard JoJo
To the family car
Not my family but theirs
As we heard the sirens from over yonder
JoJo barked
Shhhh's filled the night
I drove as fast as I could
While Annie sat beside me with a horrified expression
While Janna wept
While Billy tried to keep JoJo quite
While JoJo snuggled into the young boy for warmth
I turned on the heat but the car wasn't getting warm
It's an old car
It takes too much time
Not that we had any
They would already be at the house
Burning it most likely
Can't have a house that my kind have used
To them
We were a disease that needed to die
Those ********
As I made a sharp turn
----------------------------------------------------
I gasped for breath, shirtless sweaty and in tears. Freezing cold from my fan blowing on me. Who were they?
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
Sonnet: The Ruins of Balaclava
by Adam Mickiewicz (1798-1855)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Oh, barren Crimean land, these dreary shades
of castles―once your indisputable pride―
are now where ghostly owls and lizards hide
as blackguards arm themselves for nightly raids.
Carved into marble, regal boasts were made!
Brave words on burnished armor, gilt-applied!
Now shattered splendors long since cast aside
beside the dead here also brokenly laid.
The ancient Greeks set shimmering marble here.
The Romans drove wild Mongol hordes to flight.
The Mussulman prayed eastward, day and night.
Now owls and dark-winged vultures watch and leer
as strange black banners, flapping overhead,
mark where the past piles high its nameless dead.
Adam Bernard Mickiewicz (1798-1855) is widely regarded as Poland’s greatest poet and as the national poet of Poland, Lithuania and Belarus. He was also a dramatist, essayist, publicist, translator, professor and political activist. As a principal figure in Polish Romanticism, Mickiewicz has been compared to Byron and Goethe. Keywords/Tags: Mickiewicz, Poland, Polish, Balaclava, Crimea, war, warfare, castle, castles, knight, knights, armor, Greeks, Rome, Romans, Mongols, Mussulman, Muslims, death, destruction, ruin, ruins, romantic, romanticism, sonnet, depression, sorrow, grave, violence, mrbtr
Jun 13, 2020
Jun 13, 2020 at 8:56 PM UTC
Each pad sinks deeper into the soft
smushy, slush that was once hard like
Oak paneling in an old farm house.
The snow melts into calm reflecting pools
but constant spring is not a blessing
to the pink skin underpainting
of the great white bear.
He is not in a gold rush,
or a hurry, but he cannot swim forever.
The rising tides will bring the whales
closer, and only leave oil
and Caribou behind.
What shoes should you wear
when the ice goes renegade
and leaves you all but stranded
on a liquid isle?
Polar bears do not dock their boats
in Bernard Harbor,
so check your snow shoes
at the door and be prepared
for pirates. For when deer
jump eight feet into
pools, predators
should still know how to hunt.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 8:23 PM UTC
I used to have a little bird
Bernard was his name
Whenever I would call to him
Bernard always came
One day when I was cleaning
I left the window up a bit
Bernard up and flew away
The ungrateful little ****
Sep 22, 2021
Sep 22, 2021 at 11:39 PM UTC
You stamp on the abattoir,
you eat clean vegetables,
and drink clear spring water,
they filter out the wildness in you,
and comfort your life,
let you embrace,
the harvest of the earth,
the clouds in the sky,
like a St. Bernard,
wagging its tail at you,
plants on the ground,
dance for you,
like elves and fairies,
deer and hares,
they put a forest and a hill,
into your dream,
there lives a docile sheep,
in your personality,
your great heart,
has no place for a butcher knife,
you keep watch over,
that patch of garden,
of fun, joy and hope,
the dream of your life,
embroidered with colors,
red, blue, violet and green,
and your life,
blossomed with,
grass, flowers and trees.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 6:46 AM UTC
The funniest thing about the Andy Griffith Show.
He had an aunt that he loved so.
Which took time for Opie to know.
He had a deputy with one bullet.
Give him more.
Then you were in for a show.
But, he also had a famous phase.
Like "Nip It In The Bud".
Which every now and then, he spoked.
In truth Bernard P. Fife was vital to the show.
Yes, the funniest thing about the Andy Griffith Show.
He was a good parent first and fore most.
He was fair and firm.
When it came to his son.
After all.
He only had one.
Unlike that , of My Three Sons.
The men seems to gather at the Barber Shop.
Which , we still see today.
And like Flyod, many talked before they cut.
And many times.
He would cut too low.
Yes, this was part of the fun of the Andy Griffith Show.
Who doesn't remember Otis?
Who could teach many drunks today's a lesson.
He personally checked himself in.
Just to sober up and leave again.
Who doesn't remember that adult kid Ernest T. Bass?
Who many of times was sneaky and smart?
Or wanted a uniform just to wear it with class.
Of course the black and white shows are better than color.
All because they are so much funnier.
We admire Thelma Lou.
Still trying to figure out exactly what she did do?
We remember even Ellie.
Who wouldn't give a senior citizen?
A sugar tablet.
Yes, this was part of the fun of the Andy Griffith Show.
I could go on.
But I stop for now.
Least until, I see the show when Bill Bixby learn a lesson.
From visiting the town.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 9:45 AM UTC
She said our *** life was mundane
and had become routine
so we should spice it up a bit
indulge in the obscene
So I figured what the Hell?
Lets give it a go,
it should be fun to mix it up,
rekindle passion's flow.
Monday we tried dressing up,
I donned a Batman suit
and she Catwoman to my Bat,
we'd thought we'd have a hoot.
I leapt from wardrobe to the light
and swung to hear the crack,
the ceiling caved around us both
and I threw out my back.
Tuesday we tried role-play,
I met her in a bar,
the gangster and the ******
we messed round in the car.
A tap upon the window's glass,
a frowning, outraged cop
who booked us for soliciting
because we wouldn't stop.
Wednesday I surprised her
by leaping in the room
naked as my ***** sprang
'She'll like this' I assume
'GERONIMO!!!' I called out loud
and then began to choke,
her mum and gran were sitting there,
her gran then had a stroke.
Thursday we got *****
I chained her to the bed,
aroused to see her naked form
and naughty words she said.
a banging on the door revealed
her angry, ranting dad
who called to speak of yesterday
but saw her then went mad.
Friday, naked she sat on
my back atop a saddle
she spanked my **** coz in each hand,
she swung a ping-pong paddle
She rode me round til I was sore,
through all the rooms and halls,
til I collapsed when one mis-swing
had caught me in the *****
Saturday we calmed it down,
massage with scented oils
to help relieve this week of hell
and all it's *** game toils,
til I felt something part my ****
was not a nice surprise
"Vibrating ***** 5000"
brought tears to my eyes.
I bit down on the pillow hard,
not much that I could say,
I clawed the plaster from the walls,
a bid to get away.
By Sunday, I had had enough,
and told her 'Please, no more...
I miss mundane, I like routine,
just like it was before...
No more costumes, chains or spanks,
or objects in my ****
no more surprises you have planned,
or schemes you must surpass.'
'Fine' she said 'I'll call my friend
and cancel our three-way'
I looked at her through narrowed eyes,
my jaw dropped in dismay.
'Don't be hasty by my words'
I grinned and calmly tried
'Good, coz Bernard's on his way'
she said and so I cried...
...And cried... And cried...
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
64,500 words have never meant so much.
Read enough books and you'll find your out of touch.
The rest of them can't know what it's worth.
They don't read enough.
I've been meaning to reread A Brave New World.
Something haunts me about the ending.
Between slaying lions for loved ones and belts of contraceptives,
I've taken on a whole new perspective.
*** without love,
and love dismissed with ***
In high school I thought this world would be best,
but all of a sudden, it's happened too fast.
I used to relate to Bernard,
with his inferiority complex,
but now I fear I'm just like John;
one day my feet will swing from the north,
to the east,
south,
and then west.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC