"bung" poems
*Karuyag ko pagsurusuntukon ini nga busag nga bung-bong
Pero sigurado nga maul-ol
Salit, adi nga ulunan nala
Karuyag ko mamusdak hin mga pinggan nga nakatambak ha banggera
Pero magluluto pa ngay-an hira hin sura
Salit, niyan pagkatapos nala
Karuyag ko kumurahab hasta ako mapaas
Pero may bata nga nakaturog bangin makamata
Salit, tik-om nala
Karuyag ko manrabot hin tawo
Pero naguusahan la ako ngadi ha kwarto
Salit, it akon kalugaringon nala
Karuyag ko gusi-gusion an mga surat nga ginhatag mo ha akon
Pero aadto ha hunos, maupay an kahipos
Salit, sunod nala
Karuyag ko na bumul-iw ngan talikdan ini nga grasya
Pero waray ka bumaya
Salit, ayaw nala*
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
The age demanded that we sing
And cut away our tongue.
The age demanded that we flow
And hammered in the ****
The age demanded that we dance
And jammed us into iron pants.
And in the end the age was handed
The sort of **** that it demanded.
6.3k
it became a perpetual motion
a dance
someone hands the card, another lights
the amount of aching discolored grazed fingers was immense
put your finger on the flint wheel
press it down
karen thought we should make a sign
the scrambles of bruised fingers for a piece of cardboard
my fingers throbbed as i scratched our message on the board
i kept the pink flower locked in the crease of my hand
and threw them in air
“draft card burning here”
it was 7 00 in the morning
october 21 1967
i was only 17
my brother jeffrey was flying a plane over dien bien phu
a friend richard was screaming in the trenches of xuan loc
a lover michael treading through a swamp in mui bai ****
i stepped up to The Police.
The. Men. In. Suits. Stared. At. Me
Blank. Faces. And. No. Expression.
I picked up my Pink Daisy, and brought it up to their bayonets
this is for Jeffrey, for Richard, and for Michael
the men in suits stared at me
in a world of chaos and confusion
all I heard was
Silence.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
Don't **** the Genie
Peg-leg Pete, the pirate, in the good old days of old;
found a sealed amphora, whilst searching for some gold.
The label bore a warning & a faded, scary skull
but Peg-leg Pete was curious & gave the **** a pull.
The bottle appeared empty, so he gave it quite a shake.
A rumbling, grumbling let him know – a genie was awake!
“You didn't ought to do that, you one-legged, one-eyed beast;
to someone who's been fast asleep, a hundred years, at least!”
The genie was so angry, like a bear, with a sore head.
“You'll only get one wish for that, so make it count.” he said.
“Only one!” poor Pete complained. “but I've just set you free.
I've got the very task though, that you can do for me.”
“Me owd peg-leg has woodworm & me glass-eye's on the blink;
me 'ooks gone rusty & me trusty ship's about to sink.
If you can make me whole again, one wish will be enough.
So, come on grumpy genie, shake a leg & do your stuff!”
“Make sure you word your wish exact, for there's no going back.”
The genie smirked, then got to work & everything went black.
When Pete came round, he quickly found his hook & peg-leg there
& underneath it's tatty patch, his glass-eye's icy stare.
“What trick is this, you scurvy dog, you've gone back on your word?”
“I think not Pete, just look around & see what has occurred.
Your ship is now a merchant & that warehouse on the dock.
It's yours, for import/export work – for honest trade old ****
Pete
“I don't get this, I'm still stood here,
like Ahab, off the whaler.”
Genie, smirking
“You asked me, quite specifically
to make you a whole-saler!”
Briz 5/11/13
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
I always wrote bung-ee before, it made more sense with the context, you are stretching the rope, it is adding to your acceleration, you are, possibly, falling.
My darling friend, it is not the momentum of the rope I was warning you against. Although I wonder what metaphor that could take. No, I was warning you about the fall. Period.
Albiet I warned with an unconscious mind. For I was falling too. No, I did not jump. I shall not take that credit. (Not because I am above it, but because others who read here know I did not jump). But we both fell anyways. We fell for fictional men. We fell for fictional beasts. And we fell for boys.
Good luck to us both. May we never get used to the fall. May each jump feel more strongly than the first. May we never be that hurt that we are too scared to jump again.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
565
One Anguish—in a Crowd—
A Minor thing—it sounds—
And yet, unto the single Doe
Attempted of the Hounds
’Tis Terror as consummate
As Legions of Alarm
Did leap, full flanked, upon the Host—
’Tis Units—make the Swarm—
A Small Leech—on the Vitals—
The sliver, in the Lung—
The **** out—of an Artery—
Are scarce accounted—Harms—
Yet might—by relation
To that Repealless thing—
A Being—impotent to end—
When once it has begun—
1.4k
Me doops and me was woking da street in a bomba reggae style
When to me suprise a goodaz said com and ste a wile
Me doops say nii but me says yes
cause how can i refuse *"no ***** dress"*
Inside her bungaloo i went for da **** but tasted poo
Oh no i say, dat dont taste good, a ****** now i really shuld
Too late she says you got the Klanga!
now i wish i didnt bangha
Me days are long and ful of strife
I lost me kids and me wife
me nips do hurt and so my wanga
Buts thats the life
of a Bomba Klanga
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
Fractured Fairies
the stalk was tall but Jack climbed high
they said he was looking for a golden goose
but the giant wasn't keen on him getting by
he caught the little brat and kicked his caboose
old mother Hubbard lived in a shoe
she had lots of sole and a rather large tongue
her old man was proficient in kung foo
when she bent over he kung foo'd her ****
Alice lived in wonderland she was constantly high
her and that crazy rabbit eating mushrooms wild
they looked into the looking glass and my oh my
they both had golden locks so neatly styled
once upon a time there were three bears
they couldn't eat the pourage on their first attempt
they shaved their bodys except for their ***** hairs
found out they were Jewish and now verklempt
little Miss Muffet sat on tuffet eating her curds and whey
along came a spider and sat down beside her
and she stomped him good put a crimp in his day
Mary had a little lamb what a big surprise
the doctor's scratched their heads in disbelief
they just couldn't even believe their eyes
but when old McDonald had a farm good grief
Gomer LePoet...
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 8:47 PM UTC
Judy went online to do what she usually do,
As a teenage girl looking for a lover to make her feel blue.
She was always close to her mother,
Her father would always beat them both,
And at the age of fourteen she thought she needed ****** love the most.
She joined this secret forum somewhere online,
How it came about I don’t know,
But at this place she loved spending time.
Guys would wink at her,
Because of the pictures she had.
Never showed her face though,.
Her friends would tell her that’s bad
Mom and dad never knew that their daughter was sleeping in bed.
Mom would always be in her room when she was sad,
Dad would always be out,
Sleeping with his baby mama,
Releasing his anger when he was mad.
Judy was on the net this time though,
She got a big ****
Someone told her they want to meet her and to have some fun!
She was ready to take a risk,
About fed up with the things at home.
The man made her feel good,
From talking online with her,
He loved his women who didn’t speak, while they were alone.
He just wanted to get straight to the point and move on.
Mom and dad would be their separate ways on a usual Friday night.
Judy was in luck to have a good time tonight.
The man gave her an address and promised there would be no cameras or lights.
Mom left the house at seven as usual dad was already gone,
Judy went, as the gentleman said, it was and Judy played along.
It was dark and they could see each other bodies but not faces,
They begun their ****** ***********
They touched each other as if they were in love,
And mingled with each other’s hair,
Then a door opened their stood
Judy’s mom another man,
And Judy and her father acting out a love song.
Secret Forum.
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 5:31 AM UTC
The all faith popes were flaming atheists,
all two thousand leagues of stacked sea,
sending out their **** hole flotillas
on carillon arks stacked ten tiers deep with homing doves,
tithe teething continents of dithering dullards,
the poor mouthed succulent souls
that have so, so
over crowded a once peaceful heaven
to render this one blue ball a hell on earth.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 10:23 PM UTC
**** Mucus
The alternative man liked an **** massage
Getting his sphincter muscle lovingly relaxed
This allowed his **** mucus to flow with love
Every time he took a dump in the royal throne room
Pushing a curly big **** with S turns in it out
Plopping into the bowl like a fish back in a pond
The masseur did the best **** massage
It was only money and it all got soothed
Green enjoying his **** hole massage
Making sure he produced mucus to ****
That and regular sphincter muscle work outs
With a big black ***** and American **** plug
Sep 24, 2023
Sep 24, 2023 at 7:23 PM UTC
Aftershock
it's been another bad day I'm shakin like a leaf
my house collapsed and I'm looking for relief
the walls rumbled and rattled until it finally fell
I can still see the flames like I'm livin in hell
yes I told my woman I think I needed a break
thought she'd understand boy what a mistake
she seemed bored with me more than I with her
but when I made this comment I could see her fur
the hair bristled up on the back of her neck
her eyes fired daggers so I hit the deck
I bobbed and I weaved dodging her slurs
I could feel my shorts being filled with burrs
seems it's ok for the woman to be restless and bored
but you better not say this to her or you'll get gored
with those barbed missiles attached to her tongue
you'll be picking thorns out of you ****
yes the walls shook loudly from the aftershock
I think this is gonna cost me my head's on the block
I begged for forgiveness but it was to no avail
I handed her the hammer and a 2 penny nail
so I've been kissin her **** now for over a week
still lookin for a paddle to get out of **** creek
bought her a nice big diamond to ease my pain
it didn't work still carrying the ball and chain
so I shake my head and wonder why I'm so dumb
as I sit in the corner ******* on my thumb
don't stir the *** leave the lid on the crock
or you better be prepared for the aftershock
Gomer LePoet...
Sep 1, 2011
Sep 1, 2011 at 6:57 AM UTC
Now
Imagine, Jean du Scatmân
Xanax, give me more, man
Only the great scatting of John can give
Now you can live
Wearing tight-pants for the nation
**** irritation;
Stitch the jeans right
The kakis are white
How many kids did you ****
Entire stomachs, hungry still
Burp during the call
Elephantiasis, in the ball?
Save us from the reds
The **** hole is now Dead
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
Ate so much it has to come out
belly ache makes me whinge and shout
try to be quiet, bite my tongue
like I closed my *** up with a ****
I've Got to get rid of this pain
so I can eat some more again
strain as fiercly as I can
spladoosh! I bust the ****** pan!
A tidal wave is swirling round
knocking buildings to the ground
gossips whisper"have you heard?"
Jeremy did that with his ****
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 8:57 AM UTC
Bad habit
the moment
you first sprinkled stardust
in my hair
tenderly
caressed my cheek
the husky morning light
throwing faint shadows
bed sheets scattered
hearts caught
by surprise
then shattered
into shimmering bright
as pre dawn
had me forlorn
lost in your
sweat
my tears
kissed away
your tongues mixology
feeding back to me
my tears and my ***
breeding blending
alchemical lust
the birth of
a bad habit
born out of
a good love
this little bird
stuck
in your gilded cage
would become
locked out by
your inner rage
as madness descended
four lives upended
passion
fighting the good fight
biting back against the strain
of this bad bad habit
loves first bloom
birds singing
before the sun rose
you tearing down
all my defences
raw desire
the fire the fire the fire
in your *****
becoming my ******
scribing incantations
secret spells
of love
of dreams
of wanting
with your ***
on my belly skin
glistening in the
early morning sun
when did the love
mutate to ownership
passion became obsession
your misbelief
my imagined transgressions
tearing the silk at its seams
then on your knees
begging to
redeem redeem redeem
too many heartbeats too late
the light snuffed out
stuffing the ****
in loves spout
sweet turned bitter now
just spit it all out
loves lamb slaughtered
throat cut and bleeding out
spitting my teeth on the floor
of our house built on 'love'
feeling my jaw crack splinter
under the strong hands
that once held me "safe'
'loved' me
wed me
then bled me
dry of all hope
love hanging
choked on the rope
kicking me
to pieces
and me
kicking this
bad bad habit
clean.
J.C. littlebird 03/07/2019
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 11:03 AM UTC
i feel like i'm dreaming
all the time
like somebody took it upon themselves to throw words at a wall
and turned what stuck into doo-wop scatting nonsense
which was then assembled gracelessly into a scathing neologism
something that scrambles into some semblance of an inner monologue and circles my tongue like treacle or a lab rat's ****
and if this is the scattered fantasy that my brain cells have scraped together from that primordial soup
then i don't think i want to wake up and see the aftermath of what feels like an eternal loop
but it's so scary to live life like a browning dulux colour swatch
businessperson's rolex watch
vignettes of vague consciousness vitally percieved through a time machine of moments and a swelling kind of grief grieved
for the moments inbetween that are lost and i'm pristine in an ocean of dark marine wondering where in my head my emotions and i have been
i can't ******* remember what i had for breakfast but i can recall that i feel like i've come last
in some kind of riddle where the clues are in a language i don't speak but could read with practice and anguish and the rhyming becoming more linear and fluent but i wish i could tell you what i said's congruent
to this fairytale drowsing that makes me feel alone and i think therefore i'm in a state to atone
i can't wake up
i'm going to throw up
similarly i think that i don't want to show up
tomorrow
i'll see you when i'm better or better yet never but it won't last forever
right?
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 5:23 PM UTC
literary food for thought.
Self Mutilation
(ah bet thar iz an app for that!)
within unlit partial "FAKE abattoir"
sans wardrobe alcove
where dust bunnies didst allures
completing a simple task among
my never ending (Matthew's) list
of domestic chores
this undertaking engaged
thankfully while completely clothed,
and scrounging on all fours
nonchalantly picking up scattered detritus
including food crumbs
potential critters hors d'oeuvres
the spouse (ideally seated
on this same swivel chair
dashing off these lines
linkedin with this Macbook Pro) -
housing at least four scores
of word documents, she espied
the cheeky opportunity
that triggered many wars
within arms length the taut outline
of me 'lil derriere - re: rear end
temporarily dormant versus
when flatulence roars -
posterior flank hie
could not de fend
she playfully poked her finger
that didst dis send
within close vicinity of sphincter,
where ****** turgid business height tend
(most likely this husband not alone
getting ***** twerked) inn me own coal
less cents great movements got made
jabbing ma **** hole
while i happened
to be "blindly" groping
upon darkly cutout cubby hole
i.e. without wearing bifocals/ spectacles -
envision a human mole
thus amply qualified her role
to be literal and figurative
pain in the *** vole,
where much to my horror a flash
of red hot poker blind
momentary rage, did lash
out at me, when aye espied
a kitchen knife and acted rash
(how cutlery got in closet floor
a minor mystery
and potential topic de jure
for another poem)
to brandish sharp edge
around abdominal area
grabbed handle with left hand,
thence commenced to slash
rhythmically thwacking
wrist of right hand
then quickly dropped sharp implement
(as like a man momentarily possessed)
before rendering permanent harm
with a river of blood to wash.
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 2:10 AM UTC
immersed
crowding the inner-ear
warm
and clung
drum lightly
digits
on the porcelain
'Tung - tung'
and its a simple world
peacefully distant
immersed
in a bathing bell
purse the breathing
an interspersed need for air
submerged ****
i lung for longer
with peace
i could
be
..
:
.
:
Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 2:15 AM UTC
The great turbines now rusted
I wonder if I can still cry
the heavens make it look so easy
when tears fall from the sky
the wet rags of emotion can no longer be wrung
the sobs to the beat of a tearful drip have been sung
those sonnets have been passed to another's lungs
another's tongue
are tears what it means to be young
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 9:42 AM UTC
Ahhh, sweet beauty of relief
farting in the halls
The odor of gas, released
warming up my *****
I do it every chance I get
maybe meds, or dietary choice
Everyone knows the happy feeling
a silent, ******** type of voice
The twisted faces and features
of my coworkers, and boss
Priceless as gems, with the knowledge
of their olfactory loss
They think they know the culprit
but they never will accost
Reeling like gut punched fighters
from the fruits, of my exhaust
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
I woke up laying on some bed;
it felt as if someone
had placed a tight band
around my head.
All part of the ECT,
I guessed: the headache,
the heavy sensation
of limbs and head;
like some Lazarus
back from the dead.
Electro-convulsive Therapy,
they called it,
those guys in white coats;
make you feel
a whole lot better;
it helps some,
the nurse said,
before applying
the black rubber ****
in my mouth;
and that ***** of a needle
in the top of my hand,
and that buzzing feel
up from my toes
to my head and wham;
it's like I’m dead.
The window showed
the tops of trees,
snow covered,
grey sky;
the window frame
was white painted,
thick glass panes;
no cure, they say,
without pains.
There was a girl
in the next bed
to mine,
flat out,
barely breathing;
her ******* rising
and falling
in slow motion;
hands at her sides,
strapped in by belts
across the bed.
I had them, too;
to keep me
from falling to floor,
I guessed,
attempting to rise up
from where I lay.
I gave up trying
and stared
at the single light bulb,
(hanging like some suicide
from the ceiling),
with an odd
surreal feeling.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC
while being a man eater
she preferred
to be eaten
like a ***** bride for a vampyre
cleanse us from all unrighteousness
she liked her ****
bruised as beaten apples
with scorched *******
perforated with the needles
still glimmering in her areolas
oozing small rivulets of blood
as if alters to a weird mythic Jesus
do unto others
she spread her haunches wide
and knelt in supplication
her **** and glistening **** presented
for the scythe and whipping slick ******
let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace
she imagined
her body like a dirigible
exploding in mid air
her hands caressed her lush *****
with rabid fingers
like a woodpecker on amphetamines
girding an unlocked cage
of wet smeared lips
for this is my blood of the covenant
her **** drooled
as if a thousand baby tongues
dripped for a teasing tickling blade
knotty hung ***** and sagging *****
on the way to a glorious ascension
hard is the path to God
her life more dissolute
than *** **** videos
a rich lady languishing
with a growling animal inside her
and gold enough for life
but not too rich to bleed
extravagant tears of flaming petals
while licking devils *****
and being eaten and ******
from **** hole to gut
in a bottomless rusty bathtub
by a pantheon of fiends
*come now, let us reason together, shes a horney *****
in her own rem noir dark city
of obsidian dreams
she woke up happy as a jitterbug
and full of grace
her cunty fingers tasted extra ******
and slippery as melted butter
beware
watch out for the boiling red eye
and the hillbilly keep out sign
Jul 25, 2021
Jul 25, 2021 at 12:45 PM UTC
Getting beat to get that seat is not my idea of how to start the day,
if I had my way
I'd be younger and **** a
spanner in his works,
but he's bigger than me
and I'm older than him by
about forty years.
Tears?
I've got none
fears
I've got many
a seat?
there aren't any
left.
It's not only the rich
that are idle,
not on the underground line
time after time I have spent my
time standing
and
nor one of them youngsters has
a thought of handing me a pew.
My thought is
**** you.
one day you'll be stood
and I'll think
good
but it doesn't get me a seat
because he beat
me to it.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 2:56 AM UTC