"blasted" poems
I heard the world's loudest **** today
It echoed round the town enough to say
*"I am a **** of great renown and fame,
I am a **** who's worthy of the name
Of* KING of FARTS!" Unthinkingly I sniffed
And, let me tell you, I have never whiffed
Aught so potent, dank and dread and foul
Blasted out from heaving human bowel
As that king of farts I smelled today
And which took my ******* breath away.
Who was the pumper of that putrid beauty?
How many curries in the line of duty
Had he consumed? It must have been a man -
No pong so strong ere blew from female can.
Can no one answer yet my urgent question:
And say who suffereth such dire indigestion?
O heavens! his torment must be something chronic.
Can no one subsidise a high colonic
Irrigation to prevent another
Noisier and more noisome than its younger brother?
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
Like I loved coffee,
that's how I loved you.
Like the first cigarette of the day.
Or like a Beatles song
blasted on the radio
during a road trip
to nowhere in particular.
Like each slice of coffee cake,
cinnamon and pecans
delicately, deliciously curled
into every little streusel.
Like spring,
when the snow melts into water
and runs, rushes
past yellow-colored, polka-dotted rain boots
on a sun-soaked afternoon.
I loved you like I love you;
simply, completely,
without frills and without doubt.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 3:47 PM UTC
Phone in your home
Phone with you on the road
Three way connections
Incoming calls, not one, but another-aka call waiting
Phones with caller ID
Cordless phones
Hands free phones
Toothy phones sticking out of people's ears
Picture phones...say cheese!
Phone texting instead of talking
Hello? I cannot hear you!
Television and movies in your home
DVD players in your car
Watch those images on your computer
Watch them on your cell phone
Television in the airport
Television in the restaurant
Television at the gas pump
Television in the grocery store line
What's next? Television in the operating room?
Music on your home stereo
Music on your car radio
Store it all on your traveling ipod
Melodious cell phone rings everywhere
Your mp3 player and new computer speakers
Your favorite cable music channels
And plenty of music blasted in the stores
Can't I just have a thought to myself?
Don't forget computers!
Instant messaging
Junk mail in cyberspace
All your shows and movies
always at your instant access
Computer dating
Computer stalkers and hacking
Computer crashes I foresee
because computer bugs and viruses
are trying to invade my soul!
And I feel sick!
I can't get that music out of my head!
I think my ears are ringing!
You've heard of couch potatoes
I think I'm a mouse potato!
How is that for a human spud?
Yes, I admit I'm addicted to my PC!
That I spend more time with technology
than I do with the human race!
I should be burnt out
like old hardware
that is on extreme overload
Not made of wires and steel
but of flesh and blood
I am designed!
But I can't stop!!!
The technology of the future is now here!
I know what George Jetson was saying when he said:
JANE! GET ME OFF THIS CRAZY THING!
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 1:46 PM UTC
the bus poets
we are the modern day chimney sweeps,
the ***** black faced coal miners of the city,
digging up its grit, toasted with its spit,
the gone and forgotten elevator operators,
the anonymous substitutable,
still yet glimpsed occasionally,
grunts of urbanity
provoking a surprised
whaddya know!
once like the bison and the buffalo,
we were thousands,
word workers roaming the cities,
the intercity rural routes and the lithe greyhounds
across the land of the brave,
free in ways the
founders wanted us to be
us, the stubs and stuff,
harder working poor and lower cases
we were the bus poets,
sitting always in the back of the bus,
where the engines growls loudest,
seated in the - the most overheated
in winter time, so much so
we nearly disrobed,
and then come the summer,
we were blasted with a joking
hot reverie from the vents,
but vent, no, we did not!
no - we wrote and wrote of all we heard,
passion overheated by currents within and without,
recording and ordering the
snatches and the soliloquies of the passengers,
into poem swatches;
the goings on passing by,
the overheard histories,
glimpsed in milliseconds, eternity preserved,
inscribed in a cheap blue lined five & dime notebook,
for all eternity what the eyes
sighed and saw
books ever passed
onto the next generation in boxes from the supermarket,
attic labeled, then forgotten beside the outgrown toys
with our names writ indelible with the magic of
black markers
if you stumble upon a breathing scripter,
let them be, just observe,
as they, you,
these movers and bus shakers,
as they, observe you
tell your children,
you knew one in your youth,
then take them to the attic
retrieve your mother's and father's,
teach your children
how to read, how to see,
the ways of their forefathers,
the forsaken,
the bus poets.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 7:53 AM UTC
(10/13/12)
At the beginning of “64” - I packed up my uniform
And walked out the door- it was the beginning of
The Vietnam war.
By August of that same year
President Johnson started the draft
Under protests and jeers.
Then he made it a full scale war
And sent our soldiers to Vietnam shores.
The Beatniks in Greenwich village
With their long hair, beards, and
Flip flop sandals - wrote their poetry
About this undeclared war, and why
Our men were going to those shores.
This created a new generation called ‘HIPPIES”
The hippie generation was groups of protesters
Against everything that they found wrong
The draft , the war , pollution
And loved to stay high with *** hashish
Coke and acid (lsd) which kept them blasted.
This also created the “ flower children”
Who like the hippies loved to be high
And on certain flowers they would fly.
But they spoke of loving one another
And gave out flowers as a sign of peace
Which to the president was a relief.
They all started painting this “53 Chevy impala”
With the words “ flower power”.
Now the “ flower children and hippie movement
Was in full swing, and everyone was doing their own thing.
They had Greenwich village under their control
And not one coffee shop would ever be sold.
Every coffee shop had a poetry night
And going there was such a delight.
Then in AUGUST of “69”
The WOODSTOCK festival was on the rise
Over half a million people drove to that farmland
And set up tents , hammocks, sleeping bags and such
And the police found it was much to much
So they had no choice but to see it through
Because there was nothing else that they could do.
The WOODSTOCK festival had become world wide
And to this day it still thrives.
© L . RAMS
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
Are we fated to dance to the same tune alone in our separate universes?
Is it true that we must silently keep to our preordained curses?
Are we destined to swoon at the beauty of the moon at differing time slots?
Why were we given invisible ink to connect our lives' dots?
Must it be that our lives revolve around the whims of the sun?
Isn't it ludicrous that we won't see the intricate webs we've spun?
Was it the plan that we exist only in our minds and hearts?
Why do we have to tolerate starting when the other's ending and end at the other's starts?
Has it been written that we can only afford to infinitely chase each others heartbeats?
Was it foretold that we're trapped in a singular notion that never really fits?
Is the game set as such that we can never emerge as winners?
How is it that the ocean was made out of our tears that flowed from rivers?
Why is it that with our entirety we believe but do not know?
What's the reason for the path made clear but we're too afraid to go?
What does it entail to possess the very least but yet you covet it the most?
How do you pride yourself in something but not allowed to boast?
Why do we frantically scramble to piece together jagged shards?
Can't we just play this blasted deck of lousy cards?
Is it destiny or cruelty to have found then lost?
Why does it seem absurd that we have all its takes but can't afford the cost?
Is it the thoughts that **** or the emotions that debilitate?
Is it the challenges we take on or the curveballs we anticipate?
Why bother when sheer folly is all it seems to be?
Why tarry when the heart is free and the mind is ready?
Is it ridiculous to have found myself still very bothered?
Is it wrong to question fate that had always bound us tethered?
Why is the good always bad and the bad becomes worse?
Is it true that the harder we fight, the deeper we immerse?
Has life turned to be but sad little rhetorics?
Are we but performers on stages coerced into theatrics?
Is it time for me to surface this one-man submarine?
Will it be so that if I do, my journey would then begin...?
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
The sky was under stress
Fire lit up the night
Winds wailed and screeched
Foundations were blasted
Dread, death, doom and demise
A woman crying, "The world nevermore!"
A man thinking "It will be an eternity for daylight."
A baby, so fragile and small, lays in the street.
Danger arises
Hope shattered
Where is the light? And the salvation?
Thugs and gangs roam the cities
Terrorists never seem to stop
People will die 'til the Day.
Lucky seven no longer brings
Death and sickness and disaster come
Will the suffering end
And will the Earth be rebuilt again?
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 6:50 PM UTC
the shock
of bodies—
a sound
rippled in
cheetah lightening
to wings of blasted
flowers taught
red
yellow
lavender sky—
butterfly wound
festering pollened
breeze to
where your
mouth
is opened
breath
tongue
and twisted cord—
opaque bee
twirling with
opaque stamen
lit
in a wall of
rushing
waterfall—a
perfect contrast
of forgiveness
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 11:22 AM UTC
I've been ****** over and left for dead what makes you think I can't rise up and lyrically behead at least you were honest and said that you genuinely didn't like me but **** you I tried to pursue you I put my pride to the side told you all my demons i contained inside now I have to excorsice my hell from this ****** hellion I'll burn your soul like Ether either you or that ashy **** that's been on your nuts since day one I slay son **** you and him he can have your drunk *** I've blasted on to bigger and better things than an anorexic ***** who only is honest when she's of the **** I glimpsed what could've been and you through it away it's too late now watch me make millions and you'll be the first call offering up ***** like it's on a dinner plate **** you **** you wasting people's time eating my heart like a sandwich you should've made me now you can eat these nuts oh wait you've already had enough dragged on your face maybe even had a few golden showers you little coward
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
time is an infinite stream of possibilities
may this blessing flow to you across time through love
I pray for you, the me of my past who struggled and
lost your way in depression.
May this blessing find you across time to you, from me the you of the future, to the 26 year old that I was in a moment in time,
where I was lost.
May you find your way out of despair and hopelessness, and
may you find the courage to set the radio outside of the filled
bathtub. I know suicide seems the only way out, but you have
so much to live for. I am you of the future, as I speak to you of my past.
May my love and hope travel across time to help you find joy in that little moment, where you turned on the radio to make sure power was flowing before you electrocuted yourself. But in that tiny moment, reggae music blasted through the speakers bringing a spark of joy and rhythm into a dark moment, where you could not distinguish from the true and false.
May you find the wisdom to know that your pain will not last forever and all wounds heal with time, even heartbreaks. I know, because I am in this very present moment the future self of you. I know that your present feels bleak and each day feels more painful and pointless than the day before. It feels like the whole world is against you and people who are supposed to love you only judge you and ridicule you. Somehow it feels like who you are is not enough and you are sick and tired of feeling this way.
May my love and hope travel across time. Love is infinite and collapses the space that separates us. May my blessing find you
through this dark moment and many to come, so you may know
and experience joys, sadness, and full specturum of emotions
with an open heart. You will someday embrace pain as one of your greatest teachers, because it has lead you to the other great teacher of life, love. May you have the courage to really live, so you may face death, another great teacher. May you live and die with love, and not with fear and hatred in your heart.
May this blessing travel across time in that infinite place in your heart, where hope will rise out of the heavy despair that is pulling you down to depths of pain that goes deeper and deeper. Somehow, pain upon pain becomes comforting, and you begin to be trapped in yourself. All you can see is this moment.
May my prayer and blessing find you and guide you to a future you cannot imagine in your present, but you would not want to miss. Thank you, I love you. I'm sorry for ways I failed you. Please forgive me.
May this blessing of hope and love find you across time and space to bring you home, so you and I can live in that infinite space of love in our hearts, where we are connected to life flowing through and in us. May you find your way to me, to the now that is always being created.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 1:03 AM UTC
Behold the One with the Aries, the Ward of Santa Muerte
Our 16th President voted by 16 million Filipinos this 2016
The 1st President from Mindanao from being Mayor of Davao…Duterte!
He is One with MiJoRdGr (Miriam, Jojo, Rody, Grace)
The 4 Opposition Presidentiables who defeated Mar Roxas
And brought Liberal Party its great disgrace!
The One with the Aries from the Land with War
The Land of Promise – feared by typhoons, but filled with goons
So from her came a Liberator among MiJoRdGr!
That this One should war with our nation’s greatest horrors
-Drug Lords, Liberals, Treasoners, Criminals & Terrorists-
These powerful entities to our history are desecrators!
So by being one with lawmakers, law enforcers & lawful people
By the overwhelming power of the Supermajority
Our country’s greatest terrors…Du30 shall conquer them all!
But first, he must defeat his detractors – Leila, Leni & Trillanes
These triple crooks who want to topple the government
Are also said to be conspiring with EU, UN & US!
Yet with Trump’s triumph, US is no longer an enemy
Our American hatred weakened, our Chinese friendship strengthened
As it established great friendship with Pres. Du30!
Do not emulate the girl power of those Liberal crooks
We got an Olympic medalist Heidilyn & Ms. International 2016
But Leila & Leni?...Can only ruin our country…like blasted nukes!
Do not worry for we have Pacquiao as still winner & role model
Alongwith Gen. Bato, a victim of yellow washing machine
But these Pro-Du30 men…to criminals tough, to innocents gentle!
May God allow this True Change to take place with continuity
Let Pres. Duterte lead us for many more years to come
For the Supermajority, for you & me… for our country!
-12/30/2016
(Dumarao)
*Our Golden Times During PDu30
Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 9:19 PM UTC
When the heart is stilled,
and our eyes are blind.
When our limbs are lead,
and our hands are chained and numb.
Keep your eyes open,
Use the pain to stay alive.
Protect your Allies son,
protect them with your life.
Get them out of the dark,
and lead them into the light.
Protect your comrades son,
Protect them with your life.
* Even if only one of you can
leave this fiery Hell.*
If even only one of you survives
then a victory has been one!
For they cannot stop you child,
If together you stand and fight!
Fight for your rights my Child,
Fight to live your life!
Fight for what you believe in Son,
fight for what you know is right.
Defend your brothers and Sisters son,
protect what you hold most tight.
You know your lives are ending,
as you stand and fight.
But as you lay here dying,
You see him striding through the light.
He stands tall and strong now,
the Boy now a man,
Not a child in any's eyes,
Standing tall in the light.
With his Infantry behind him,
he blasted all enemies in sight.
When the others saw him they burst into tears,
For their arrival also washed away their fears.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
I asked the Lord that I might grow
In faith, and love, and every grace;
Might more of His salvation know,
And seek, more earnestly, His face.
‘Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He, I trust, has answered prayer!
But it has been in such a way,
As almost drove me to despair.
I hoped that in some favored hour,
At once He’d answer my request;
And by His love’s constraining pow’r,
Subdue my sins, and give me rest.
Instead of this, He made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart;
And let the angry pow’rs of hell
Assault my soul in every part.
Yea more, with His own hand He seemed
Intent to aggravate my woe;
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.
Lord, why is this, I trembling cried,
Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?
“‘Tis in this way, the Lord replied,
I answer prayer for grace and faith.
These inward trials I employ,
From self, and pride, to set thee free;
And break thy schemes of earthly joy,
That thou may’st find thy all in Me.”
~ John Newton (1725-1807)
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 1:08 PM UTC
my cousin liked to have breakfast
at an open air café, with his fiancée, on Fridays
the owner knew she loved French breads, having
been schooled at the Sorbonne
the bakery made them at his behest
he would tell his staff to keep one for her
and to bring a bag when served;
she always saved half for later
rush hour was madder than usual
that night, until the bombs blasted
and brought the synovial silence that comes
in the wake of wondering, what
has happened?
the sirens screamed soon enough
and my cousin smelled the smoke
cordite, yes, but burnt baklava,
Maamoul as well
his fiancée came to him that night
watched and waited to hear if anyone they knew
was lost, their hands clasped tight, breaths shallow,
in the languid hush after the city slowed
to its mournful rest
the sun rose, the skies clear, crisp, to their surprise,
and they went to the café, where the owner apologized
for the wicked, wicked world, and for not having baguettes
after the bakery died
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
pale clouds at the summit
water color sky
cattle guard at wood bridge
creek bed running dry
split log fence downtrodden
razor back in wire
sinkhole on the wild plain
grouse fields under fire
pine bug and a lone wolf
clear cut on the trail
stump lake on the open range
kettle valley rail
raven on the hatheume
slash and burn and scar
blasted church in a tired sun
wild rose under char
thistle in the hollow
quails nest sitting high
carriage house at lone rock
curtains of july
smoke jaw in the canyon
percolator dream
silver sage in chapel
schneider's requiem
stockmen on the wrangle
big horn antler chase
table top at sunset
deacon creek in grace
quarry in a furry
lines of tinted red
spurs and blades and columns
patchwork of the dead
past the bow hill junction
cattle ropes are black
indian amphitheater
saddle on the rack
sun is at a high bake
sedimentary stone
three days on the morphine
skeleton and bone
cold water road is lonely
corrals are cut and paste
gone but not forgotten
the dust filled aftertaste
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
To a Louse
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hey! Where're you going, you crawling hair-fly?
Your impudence protects you, barely;
I can only say that you swagger rarely
Over gauze and lace.
Though faith! I fear you dine but sparely
In such a place.
You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,
Detested, shunned by both saint and sinner,
How dare you set your feet upon her—
So fine a lady!
Go somewhere else to seek your dinner
On some poor body.
Off! around some beggar's temple shamble:
There you may creep, and sprawl, and scramble,
With other kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now hold you there! You're out of sight,
Below the folderols, snug and tight;
No, faith just yet! You'll not be right,
Till you've got on it:
The very topmost, towering height
Of miss's bonnet.
My word! right bold you root, contrary,
As plump and gray as any gooseberry.
Oh, for some rank, mercurial resin,
Or dread red poison;
I'd give you such a hearty dose, flea,
It'd dress your noggin!
I wouldn't be surprised to spy
You on some housewife's flannel tie:
Or maybe on some ragged boy's
Pale undervest;
But Miss's finest bonnet! Fie!
How dare you jest?
Oh Jenny, do not toss your head,
And lash your lovely braids abroad!
You hardly know what cursed speed
The creature's making!
Those winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice-taking!
O would some Power with vision teach us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notions:
What airs in dress and carriage would leave us,
And even devotion!
One Sunday while sitting behind a young lady in church, Robert Burns noticed a louse roaming through the bows and ribbons of her bonnet. The poem "To a Louse" resulted from his observations. The poor woman had no idea that she would be the subject of one of Burns' best poems about how we see ourselves, compared to how other people see us at our worst moments. Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, louse, church, bonnet, lace, Scotland, Scots, dialect, translation
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 5:26 AM UTC
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, by wagon, train or foot.
Days not all that long ago, in tall ships made of wood.
“A gold rush struck in’49, all quite by accident.
A burning fever that cut men to bone, in a sea of dingy tents.
Day and night, they toiled and tolled, many headed home without a cent.
But some packed out bags of glistening gold, and made a stop at "Buzzard’s Breath."
"The town’s mud logged street, deep with horse manure, bubbled like a shallow grave.
With a Sheriff’s office, a livery stable, and a church for souls to save.
And a fancy house, on a grassy knoll – sign read, “Madam Lil la ****
With soft, curvaceous ladies who mined for hearts – and gold of a different sort.
Didn’t take long before easy gold, was extremely hard to find.
And burly miners, tough as steel, moved in to hard rock mine.
With bloodied knuckles, dented hats, they blasted at a furious pace.
To find the gold, called the Mother Lode, yellow blood coursing through their veins!
The mine they worked was called “Long Shot”, the men thought that name a curse.
But the miners hankered for the handle, "Buzzard’s Breath”, and the mine’s name was reversed.
As luck would say, they held a royal flush, when they hit that horse-wide vein.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found, this side of the Pearly Gates.
Eyes wide as saucers, they were all in awe, everyone was filthy rich.
The miners should have all retired and should have cashed in all their chips.
But a man’s hard to figure, when his blood is yellow, and he’s stricken with a gold fever.
“Eureka! Boys, *** the dynamite and a whole lot more mining timbers!”
They mined that vein to the bowels of the Earth, and the heat increased by day.
"Buzzard’s Breath" became the hottest place, to Hell – the shortest way.
And then one day, the men never came back. – Hell must have jumped that claim.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found – that’s where the Devil mines today!”
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, died a slow and quiet death.
Along with days of tall wooden ships, and the ghosts of Buzzard’s Breath.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
I was born Of a broken family.
Surviving on the skills,
You taught me.
Now I stand in the valley.
Beside the red stream.
Awaiting the arrival.
Of the Dov.
My daggers twirl in my hands,
As I dance with zeal.
Brave but reckless.
Because of youth.
I await thy path,
I must pursue.
The journey ahead,
Will be new.
I am Imperial,
Daughter of the wolves.
My home was Solitude.
Skyrims Capital hold.
I travel this weary path,
Adventuring beyond death.
I doth not fear you,
Dragon of hearthfire.
May my path pay,
The debts of my partners.
They deserve better,
Than the blasted Jarl.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
It’s Christmas time, Santa Claus is here,
I guess it’s just that time of year
That fills everyone with glee,
Everyone but me.
I immediately regretted climbing out of bed
When I feel the chill creeping up my neck.
I just want to go back to sleep,
Then some sanity I can keep.
I slowly make my way toward the fireplace.
But that’s when I see your face
Because you always kept me warm.
And sheltered from those winter storms.
Everyone is asking me to make a list,
If I could have anything that I wish,
What would it be?
I close my eyes and I see.
Hawaii or Europe could be nice,
At least they aren’t covered in this ice.
Or maybe a new sweater,
To hide myself from this weather.
Avery wants a Barbie and Kayden wants it all,
Ian wants legos, but I fear that they’re so small,
He will probably lose them, so I guess that’s a waste,
I just want to kiss away these unpleasant holidays.
I could say I want a new car covered in ribbons and bows
But if you want the truth, then here it goes.
I want to go back this time last year where everything was right.
Where I had the boy, I had the Dad, but a Mother? Well…not quite.
Maybe that could be my other wish,
A bonus on my gift list.
I would do anything you need me to,
Because Christmas isn’t the same without you.
You didn’t have to be my father,
Because I was another man’s daughter,
But you pulled me in, and gave me your name,
And when it came to your children, you treated me the same.
Maybe I didn’t know my dad,
But there was one special man that I had,
And as I look out over this blasted snow,
I realize that I can’t let you go.
Mom part 2 might seem alright,
But you should see how she is at night,
Because the love of her life was taken away,
A month ago from last Sunday.
Daddy’s little girl, isn’t little anymore,
And daddy isn’t here to kiss her little sores.
Her heart is breaking because you’re gone.
But life is supposed to go on.
They asked me what I wanted
And all I know is that this is true,
**That Christmas time, isn’t Christmas time,
If Christmas is missing you.**
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 5:18 PM UTC
****** and bass
****** and bass.
All she want in her face
is ****** and bass.
All she wanna do
is **** ******
kiss *******
and listen to Future.
**** that's why
I won't pursue her.
Love and the essence of life
don't get through to her.
She is an addict.
Running from life
and abusing ****
to get away from it.
So much beauty and potential
but he she wanna be a dumb *****
She wanna be that *****
or some *****
that gotta man that's rich
and follow the crowd.
Blowin loud.
Poopin xans
and sippin lean.
She ain't never seen
a trap but
She listens to Future
and shes stumblin.
Choppin it the **** up
and mumblin.
Lickin her lips and giggling
because my sub in the trunk
is tickling her pearl tongue
and both lungs.
We are both young
but that's no reason
to act so dumb
and walk around all numb.
When I kick her some philosophy
she doesn't care
all she can think about
is her on top of me.
All in her soul.
All in her face.
****** and bass.
****** and bass.
All she want in her face
is ****** and bass.
All she wanna do
is **** ******
kiss *******
and listen to Future.
The Promethazine King.
The codeine connoisseur.
You can't be a loser
if you wanna get
through to her.
She needs your dollar signs
and expensive ****
before you even see the ****
or a *** or an *** cheek.
She's fine as hell but
If you ask me
she ain't no Ashley
from Fresh Prince.
She's nasty.
Freaky and far from innocent.
She wants it blasted
in her face
until she can't see straight.
She wants the force from the back
till she feel it
in her stomach and her back.
She listens to Future
but I'm no codeine cowboy.
She's mistaken me for him
because I'm
as fresh as an altoid
and my eyes are as low as
the unemployment rate.
I set the bait
and there is the prey.
Now she is
all in my face.
****** and bass.
****** and bass.
All she want in her face
is ****** and bass.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
the way she read books
was the way i looked at her;
interested and quietly
always on the edge of my seat
watching her beautifully move
without any cares
i loved when she blasted rock music in the car
and made me sing along
and i remembered she hated her voice
but all i could do was fall in love with it everyday
and yes this is in past tense because
i let go of the prettiest flower in the ugliest meadow
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
Universal love
Corresponding hearts
Beating tandem
In tune
In tune
Ohh if I was sure
Id let it be known
Cause we've been here
Taken me there
High upon high
Laying beneath soil
Touching skies
Flowers
In bloom
In bloom
Tell me of something
Has poison ever sex'd lips
Making it unreasonable
To mistake this
Tune in bloom
Mary
Mary
Sweet David and Joseph
Blasted hits
Beyond stars
You've dragged me closer
Still so far
In tune
In bloom
Vile bitter taste
****** from a tip
Drank slowly
Drunken sips
I've dreamed
Excuse nightmares
Visions of you
Mary
Mary
Sweet you and I
Revelry
One hell of a guy
The face that kills
Murderer of the night
In tune
In bloom
Given up fight
Ohh Mary
Mary
Martha too
It wasn't I
But demons
That chased you
Sweet David
Dance your jig
With a fiddle mans tune
In bloom
In bloom
Only by the day
Has the end come clear
Mary
Holds Martha
Out of fear
David clutch his hand
Beg for mercy
On our behalf
Once again
Universal love
Corresponding hearts
Adam loved Eve
As the time starts
Ohh what a lovely garden
Hidden between thighs
Cause we've been there
High upon high
Laying beneath you
Scratching skies
Sweet David and Joseph
Has poison ever sex'd your lips
****** from a tip
Mary
Mary visions of you
Revelry
Murderer of the night
The face that kills
Mary
Mary
Martha too
Dance your jig
Forget the demons
That chase you
The runner
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 2:06 AM UTC
There was never before heard
Such a cacophony
As the day I witnessed
The vegetable medley
'Since you've bean gone'
They blasted out
The runners and broads joined in song
They could have rocked it all night long
But it was Taters turn
They rocked the stage
The veggies went wild
The 'monster mash' was all the rage
Then was petit pois chance to shine
He wowed them with a dance
Then made the broccoli sway and weep
With 'Give peas a chance'
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
Live through me vicariously...
My rich neighbors got upset
Sycophantic ******** pretentious jet-set
I am the pariah the iconoclast blasted by rumors, iron-curtain of suburbia hurtin' tuff darts pointed at me
Think young it's only the vicissitudes
That control your mood and attitude
Am I gay? Your wife doesn't think so!
Go ahead live through me vicariously...
D. Clare
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 6:20 AM UTC