"built" poems
Glistening with wetness,
fingers fitting in like Tetris.
Cream dripping on the mattress.
Pillow firming press against your ****
gyrating to the thoughts of being licked.
Then ****** on like a twisted piece of licorice.
Pleasure leaking from your body through your hips
Desire holding your body captive like a hypnotist
Your skin crawling with desire screaming it's fix
Drowning your finger in a pool of your juices
Your hips ****** and twist,
and mind, lift and dip.
Our bodies working a full shift,
like we were built for each others fit.
You biting on the sheets,
I'm biting on your lip,
****** at the same time;
when our world eclipse-
our-space doesn't exist.
Off to another world,
a briefly escape to,
a pleasure abyss.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
With this ring comes a promise. You must be willing to accept it before you wear it. The promise is to love me for as long as possible as I will you. To love me through all the hard times that are yet to come as I will you. To love me and nurture me back to health on the days where I am sick as I will you. To love me and comfort me when I need it as I will for you. But most of all when the day comes where all that matters to be said is “I do” when I say those words you will not hesitate to say them back to me.
*Our love is not fragile, it is not shallow. Our love is strong and none can fathom how deep.
Our love is not short, it is not passing. Our love is for a lifetime and it is here to stay.
Our love is not one sided, it is not full of doubt. Our love is open and it is built on trust.
Our love is not for you or for me. Our love is for US.*
Some say that the journey into life begins when you first enter this world. I have a theory that there are multiple journeys of life in the life that you live. There is obviously the journey into becoming a adolescence and then teenager (it is coupled with school). When that ends there is the journey into adulthood (can be accompanied by but not limited to college, vehicles, taxes, jobs, stress). But I believe the two most important journeys in life are the ones about love. The first one begins when you are first born, the second one begins when you find the right person. The first one is finding the person you belong with that you love with every fiber of your being. The second journey is simply to spend the rest of your life with this person. And as I have went through both of these (the first being a bit rough to start) I ask you to join me in starting the second journey of love. I want you to be my lifelong partner in exploring the world.
If you choose to make this promise all you have to do is put this ring on your finger, and I will be yours for life.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 1:48 PM UTC
Behold Nigeria my motherland
A land that sits upon the hills of many waters
A country built on the ancient landmark of heroes band
An Eagle that protects her citizens in the arms of her feathers.
A beautiful Nigeria whose fields are as green as green could ever be
An Iroko that stands on the root of peace and unity
A fertile land that is as fertile as fertility can ever be
A united people, a proud nation void of segregation nor discrimination in her city.
My motherland a land that upholds the staff of dignity and natural endowment
A land of unity and peace glowing like a river of gold across the horizon
A nation that feeds on the diet of heavens supplement
An ocean that runs through the test of raging storms un-torn.
My motherland! My motherland!
A Nigeria that adores her women more highly than the Queen of England
An Olive that yields more than the cedars of Lebanon
A land whose daughters are as beautiful as the daughters of Job in Jerusalem's land
An independent country as powerful as the King Nebuchadnezar of Babylon.
It's Nigeria my motherland
A land that rests on the pillars of her freedom
A country seated on the pearls and treasures of many Ireland
A Nigeria that lives on the soil of heavens wisdom.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
Burning fuel but not to leave,
boys circled town, came back
to the station where they began.
Gas exhaust drifted like spirits
above asphalt, dissolving in the night.
Girls stayed in the lot,
waiting for men old enough
to buy liquor, their names
claiming the land-
long after other names lay
buried in the ground.
They kept to the faces,
legs folded on hoods,
lip gloss catching the station lights,
bracelets chiming, hair flips rehearsed,
laughing at trucks circling back.
They wanted to be chosen, and I tried
to want that too- tried to be a girl among girls,
waiting for the moment some hand
would tug me out of the circle.
But my eyes kept straying-
across the street,
to the rise that was not just dirt
but a chest under earth,
ribs shifting,
a hum curling into my throat.
Something skeletal in its patience,
as if Baykok himself
were sharpening arrows in the dark,
waiting for breath to break.
Built long before us by Ojibwe,
still honored as sacred ground.
The others smoked, struck sparks,
sequins spilling from careless wrists,
never thinking how easily flame
might travel down, through us,
into what we couldn’t see.
I could hear bones shifting,
a buried drumbeat, the land’s own warning.
Every glance of the mound
pulled me back into silence.
It told me what the others
didn’t want to know-
that all this circling, waiting,
was only the lid of a grave.
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 12:02 AM UTC
Friendship is built upon the foundations of
Unique and quirky first impressions.
It is not brought together by what others
May say or recommend,
It is not brought together by a Rubik’s cube
Or the use of super glue—
Friendship is just what it states!
Two or more ships brought together
To become one friend—thus the
Creation of Friendship!
It involves a raging sea of betrayals;
Of innocent white lies; of going astray;
Of being in the wrong place at the wrong time;
Of hatred and envy.
But Friendship is strong
And it prevails over anything above all else;
And when the bonds of
Friendship is that strong, nothing between
Friendship should ever; could ever be wrong!
However, you do get one or two that goes overboard
The bow of Friendship and are forever lost at sea
Hoping to be picked up by Cecrops, the Lost Mariner to
Remain forever a prisoner on the ship of Friends that
Corrupts the minds of truthfulness; of the One True bond
That which is called Friendship.
My ship is true and has never
Strayed from its course.
It is homeward bound towards
The foundation that which
Made it true; towards quirky
First impressions that’s unique and precious;
Back to the fleet yards and of harbors
of its creation--
The Fleet of Friendship.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
I'm used to being abandoned by the men in my life
But that never makes it any easier
I was always a dreamer
And a part of me still is
I let my hopes grow too big
Filled with hot air
Only for them to float away from me
Disappearing
Like everything else
Naturally I've built up a wall
But people always find a way to sneak in
And usually walk right out
Once I've opened the doors
You could say I have trust issues
But there's always a moment
When I open myself up
Completely
It scares the hell out of me
But I do it anyways
For the chance at something bigger than myself
The only problem
Is that I don't do well with vulnerability
I worry, I doubt
But only because
Having another man walk out of my life
-- Especially you --
Would be too much to bear.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
In the cold grey light of the sixth of June, in the year of forty-four,
The Empire Larch sailed out from Poole to join with thousands more.
The largest fleet the world had seen, we sailed in close array,
And we set our course for Normandy at the dawning of the day.
There was not one man in all our crew but knew what lay in store,
For we had waited for that day through five long years of war.
We knew that many would not return, yet all our hearts were true,
For we were bound for Normandy, where we had a job to do.
Now the Empire Larch was a deep-sea tug with a crew of thirty-three,
And I was just the galley-boy on my first trip to sea.
I little thought when I left home of the dreadful sights I'd see,
But I came to manhood on the day that I first saw Normandy.
At the Beach of Gold off Arromanches, 'neath the rockets' deadly glare,
We towed our blockships into place and we built a harbour there.
'Mid shot and shell we built it well, as history does agree,
While brave men died in the swirling tide on the shores of Normandy.
Like the Rodney and the Nelson, there were ships of great renown,
But rescue tugs all did their share as many a ship went down.
We ran our pontoons to the shore within the Mulberry's lee,
And we made safe berth for the tanks and guns that would set all Europe free.
For every hero's name that's known, a thousand died as well.
On stakes and wire their bodies hung, rocked in the ocean swell;
And many a mother wept that day for the sons they loved so well,
Men who cracked a joke and cadged a smoke as they stormed the gates of hell.
As the years pass by, I can still recall the men I saw that day
Who died upon that blood-soaked sand where now sweet children play;
And those of you who were unborn, who've lived in liberty,
Remember those who made it so on the shores of Normandy.
________________________________________
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
And then in just a click of a button,
I'm all alone. Nothin' but 2 Mutton.
For I have been stranded,
and perhaps abandoned
from my dear friends.
I see some stems
of an old tree, dying in despair.
I see a new land offshore,
but the distant island has no grass.
I went to the cave, nothin’ but bats.
So I went deeper forward,
toward the mighty horrors.
I found some iron and gold,
I make a tool to behold.
After some more iron,
I acquire some attire.
Then suddenly, out of the dark abyss
I found my true and only bliss!
After a few days more,
I have my tools galore.
A long time from then…
I built myself zen
All along the old island,
a long time after my first diamond,
I see something strange…
I know something’s a change
I see it coming closer,
I peek out like a toaster.
And there a person behold!
He was in a boat, looking bold,
I went out to the shore,
After all, I’m not gonna ignore.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
*I think to be thoughtful
I speak to be heard*
I write to decipher
The truth in my words.
*I smiled to ensnare you
I laughed to secure*
You slipped through the trap
That I built to procure
*I kissed to consume you
I hugged to enfold*
My arms close on nothing
You're no where to hold
*I writhed to entrance you
I clutched you to keep*
Now the place where I hold you
Resides in my dreams.
I write so you'll read this
My hand pens the truth
All that I've written,
I've written for you.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
I remember you told me
I was like a lit candle -
Warm and soothing,
But dangerous,
When left unattended.
If I had known you’d leave,
I would’ve burned down
The house we built so
Carefully.
But when you slammed the door shut
That last time,
You put out my flame.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
I am the shadow of trayvon martin
Lying on the ground just as he did
I'm black just as he was
I wasn't planning to die that day either
I wasn't threatning nobody either
that day
The gunshots echoed
just as loud
when I was shot down as Mike Brown
yet his name echoes through the streets years later still
mine followed me to the grave
They don't care about me it seems
If I cried "what about me"
Who would ever see?
because my hashtag has even been drowned so deep in the depths of R.I.P's that I can't barely breathe anymore
When we think black brutality
Why do the names of trayvon
Mike
Tamir
Sandra
Rush to our heads just as fast as blood once rushed to theirs?
Does my black life, too, matter?
I can't blame you
That there have been so many deaths due to oppression and police brutality that they all seem to sound the same
No matter how loud we scream Black lives matter
We will never be seen as the living
But the potentially dead
We cry for justice to a system that's no longer built to accept us
A president that tries to forget us
A black voice will always be too loud to a world who never intended on listening
Who am I?
Besides a hashtag and a t-shirt with my face on it?
A black lives matter sign and a melanin fist?
A statistic?
I am black excellence
Regardless of how much sin you may see in my kin
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
A Robin said: The Spring will never come,
And I shall never care to build again.
A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome,
My sap will never stir for sun or rain.
The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow,
I neither care to wax nor care to wane.
The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago,
Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main.--
When Springtime came, red Robin built a nest,
And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight.
Grey hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might
Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core.
The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest,
Dimpled his blue, yet thirsted evermore.
25.6k
Brick
By
Brick
A house is built
Hour
By
Hour
The house becomes a home
Day
By
Day
The home turns into memories
Year
By
Year
The memories turn into people
Century
By
Century
The people turn into stories
Story
By
Story
Stories turn into legends
Legend
After
Legend
History is changed
Piece
By
Piece
Lives are changed
Person
By
Person
Love is spread
One Love
After
Another
Bricks are purchased
That build houses
That turn into homes
That create memories
That turn into people
That turn into stories
That turn into legends
That change history
And it all started with
Just. One. Brick.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC
You bought me sunflowers last Saturday
because you like the yellow orchestra we can
listen to, but you do not have to direct.
It plays a private concert only for you.
I play a few notes here and there too,
but nothing can compare to sunflowers.
I compare lots of things to
flowers,
like your eyes.
You do something to my insides
I cannot explain
in a metaphor to flowers.
You planted a gilded seed.
It grew faster than any ****
more delicious than homemade irish mead.
Sun shining, birds chirping, children playing-
all of this-
sounds like life’s decaying
because you’re not next to me.
You make oxygen more than a box on the periodic table.
I’m not suggesting I’m unable
to perform tasks without you.
I’m used to ashes in my coffee cup.
Your presence seems to open up
cold sunflowers.
You set ablaze the sun’s powers.
I could go on like this for hours
about the love you built;
iridescent solid sunflowers
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
Kudos to Kaepernick.
I just cannot drown all my beliefs and ideas, even if it contradicts my flesh and soul. When I heard that not standing up to the tune; that has always succeeded on sweeping all of the messes underneath the sad reality, to be deemed as subversive, I know that Rosa would definitely clench onto the seat tighter than ever.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
To drag our body out there, all over the precious hills and fields, while acting as if the scale has always been set fairly beneath you all this time, will hurt you more than myself. How can a mere matter of things decide our future, our destiny? We shall shape our fate, you shall shape your own fate, and to be judged on the perception biasedly built in the name of order for thousands of years, is a situation that should not be endured by anyone or anything in a tiny dot within this vast universe.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
And for that, I cannot stand proudly and profess my love to you as of now, even though I will always wear my heart on my sleeve for you to see. To be cheated, to be manipulated, to be deemed as surplus, by those at the tip of the plateau, that cunningly asked us to forget all the tangles and wrangles for the love of this sacred land, while unashamedly distribute everything off the land, off the ocean amongst them, is the last thing that we should allow to happen. I am one of those people that are not able to put on the mask on top of our meant-to-be honest faces, to say hail to the thief is worse than the eternal grief. I have never dreamed of burying the hatchet with them, not even for a second and if I ever do it, I shall be condemned and dismissed for forgetting the roots, the fons et origo of mine. To love you does not mean to stand still to the soulless melodies, to love you does not mean to bow down to the meaningless piece of cloth that has overseen countless infiltration and bombing over the years.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
To love you is to fight for the rights of many, by any means, even by not standing up. When black is no longer the symbol of miserable, filth and calamity, we shall then breath with ease, stand on our feet and fully embrace the real meaning behind all those majestic words.
Kudos to Kaepernick.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
A bleak motive, turning in a black backwards motion.
Fluent in rushing, pursuant in the crushing.
Ebony wood, the serenity compared to the knife.
A stifling recollection, within the house of corrections.
Was it a natural selection, gazing within the angel's reflection?
Garbed in white, and in her conviction.
A change of direction, now...
The resurrection of our mutual affection,
Was it over protection, or was it just mental rejection?
The pain was only an imperfection, built within all our disconnection.
My sense of direction gone within your vertical selection,
left with words- sharp like a needle;
sticking an intravenous injections.
So, should I offer my protection? Moments, within sight of the point of intersection?
No, keep on...
Keep on spreading the rejection infection.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 2:10 PM UTC
Once, monster feet were all you wore,
pounding its claws upon wood floors.
Well now the beast is walking in your skin,
that you have lived, and fought them in.
How much can a human body take,
When horns pierce your skull, to keep you awake?
People say faking's profitless,
while I'm choking demons back in my esophagus.
An intervention for dented hearts,
that were beats, you wrote apart?
Do they await indented bumps,
a heart, bitter, selfishness pumps.
Alert the shadows as I bow to them,
poetic, inadequate, I lost to them.
What worthy life have I built to live,
if pain is all I know to give?
------------------------------------
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
Glistening with wetness,
fingers fitting in like Tetris.
Cream dripping on the mattress.
Pillow firming press against your ****
gyrating to the thoughts of being licked.
Then ****** on like a twisted piece of licorice.
Pleasure leaking from your body through your hips
Desire holding your body captive like a hypnotist
Your skin crawling with desire screaming it's fix
Drowning your finger in a pool of your juices
Your hips ****** and twist,
and mind, lift and dip.
Our bodies working a full shift,
like we were built for each others fit.
You biting on the sheets,
I'm biting on your lip,
****** at the same time;
when our world eclipse-
our-space doesn't exist.
Off to another world,
a briefly escape to,
a pleasure abyss.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
I considered you
As my sister.
I knew love
Through our friendship
I laughed with you
Cried with you
Stayed awake all night with you.
Your addictions died hard
I was there when you needed me
I made sure you got help
And we got through it together.
You called yourself my twin
But can you tell me,
Does one twin,
Betray the other?
I told you everything
Let you climb the solid wall
I'd built so high.
I thought you could never hurt me
I thought you'd never betray me.
I thought I could trust you
Coz of every sweet word you said to me.
Now I know,
Where your loyalties lie.
You pushed me aside,
A huge part of me died.
But that's just fine,
You carry on saying things
Saying I'm a ****
Behind my back.
You can carry on calling me
All the names under the sun.
To hell with your friendship.
I'm done!
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC
Why is body shaming
curvy people wrong,
but shaming
skinny people is okay?
I can't help the way I am.
My body was built this way
so stop shaming me.
Stop shaming everyone.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
Back in the day,
When I was a little whipper snapper in Leeds,
We would go “chumping”, as we called it, for firewood,
For weeks and weeks.
Everyone built towering infernos,
Ready for November Fifth:
Bonfire Night.
Some made effigies of the “evil” Guy Fawkes,
Leader of the “Gunpowder Plot”
And stood in the street saying
“Penny for the Guy”.
What a night!
Roaring fire on a chill Winter night,
Those flames burning your face.
A World War Three
Of Fireworks:
Rockets, Catherine Wheels and bangers.
Bangers to scare the girls.
Kids painting pictures in the air
With sparklers.
And best of all,
That yummy gingery Parkin cake:
A taste I cannot put
Into words.
Oh and deep dark
Treacle Toffee,
Jacket potatoes,
Roast chestnuts
And Crunchie-like cinder toffee.
It’s many a year since I went to a bonfire.
Politically correct firework displays
Are more the modern thing.
Seems strange to burn the effigy
Of a man who had the sense
To try to blow parliament up –
Especially a Yorkshire Man.
Ha ha.
But then I read that good
Religious reasons are behind
This bonfire Celebration:
Those flames are orange
After all.
Not wishing to create divisions
Anywhere in the world,
It’s still good to see traditions
Being maintained.
Let those fires and fireworks keep rising,
Constantly emerging from the shadows
Of Halloween.
Paul Butters
© PB 27\10\2018.
Written at the request of Stephen Chapman. “Treacle toffee” added later, with “jacket potatoes” and “cinder toffee” added on 31\10\18. "Roast chestnuts" added 18\11.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC
Some day, if you are lucky,
you’ll return from a thunderous journey
trailing snake scales, wing fragments
and the musk of Earth and moon.
Eyes will examine you for signs
of damage, or change
and you, too, will wonder
if your skin shows traces
of fur, or leaves,
if thrushes have built a nest
of your hair, if Andromeda
burns from your eyes.
Do not be surprised by prickly questions
from those who barely inhabit
their own fleeting lives, who barely taste
their own possibility, who barely dream.
If your hands are empty, treasureless,
if your toes have not grown claws,
if your obedient voice has not
become a wild cry, a howl,
you will reassure them. We warned you,
they might declare, there is nothing else,
no point, no meaning, no mystery at all,
just this frantic waiting to die.
And yet, they tremble, mute,
afraid you’ve returned without sweet
elixir for unspeakable thirst, without
a fluent dance or holy language
to teach them, without a compass
bearing to a forgotten border where
no one crosses without weeping
for the terrible beauty of galaxies
and granite and bone. They tremble,
hoping your lips hold a secret,
that the song your body now sings
will redeem them, yet they fear
your secret is dangerous, shattering,
and once it flies from your astonished
mouth, they-like you-must disintegrate
before unfolding tremulous wings.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
Glassed with cold sleep and dazzled by the moon,
out of the confused hammering dark of the train
I looked and saw under the moon's cold sheet
your delicate dry ******* country that built my heart;
and the small trees on their uncoloured slope
like poetry moved, articulate and sharp
and purposeful under the great dry flight of air,
under the crosswise currents of wind and star.
Clench down your strength, box-tree and ironbark.
Break with your violent root the ****** rock.
Draw from the flying dark its breath of dew
till the unliving come to life in you.
Be over the blind rock a skin of sense,
under the barren height a slender dance...
I woke and saw the dark small trees that burn
suddenly into flowers more lovely that the white moon.
19.4k