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Canoodling his significant other,
Our man Henry was loathe to discover:
The **** had run dry,
But rather than cry,
He decided to go get the butter.
© 2015  J.J.W. Coyle
K Balachandran Sep 2012
Allured by the witchcraft of your auburn curls,
hit by the corners of those swift piscine eyes,
submitted to your canoodling with my secret desires;
the last straw was your pouty, luscious, ruby lips!
Brent Kincaid Apr 2018
Let’s canoodle, let’s spoon.

Let’s cuddle, let’s squeeze.
It has been too long in between
So, let us do this now, please.

I want to lie down next to you
And feel your heart beat close.
To match the rhythm with mine
And then enjoy it as it slows
And matches with the cadence
Of the heart inside my chest.
Of all the moments in my life
This is the one I love best.

I admit that I’m distracted today
That’s the idea I’ve been noodling.
Having fun with you all alone;
Doing some serious canoodling.
It s a better idea than hiking
Or washing the car or cooking.
We just turn on some cool music
And both of us get to canoodling.

Doing simple math for us,
Like one and one make two.
Means I am one number
And of course, so are you.
We can add up some others
Like one well planed meal.
Later it may seem like a dream
But, I assure you, it will be real.

Let’s canoodle, let’s spoon.

Let’s cuddle, let’s squeeze.
It has been too long in between
So, let us do this now, please.
Martin Narrod May 2017
Tangley Wangling

Fruit Jews in Tutus at youth group, maybe just a few with their screws loose. One self-rolling righteous group, their brothers grinning
Within the depths of their white-heads at the brim of a wet blanket suckling the needles catering new drug use. Two by two, elefants and woozels, hippopotamü's confusals, spongey-butts outfitting the rye n' wines refusals.

The luxury of a coccyx felt from the fingers turn to sunrise, where the water's weigh the bricks of suicides, concrete block tourniquets from the migraines of English turnabouts. So there's some surplus of surprise in them, in an integers shock-appraisal face-lift on Catholicism's lobotomy to cuckhold housewives seeking collagen, or the thick dark-skinned forearm-******* insider's swinging in the houses of the denizens, or repurposing their malign from their unused vaginas, to **** the dust off such scab-covered stitches, which is like vacuuming between the loose inner-leg space of a succubus.

Bring out the gimp! Any fetishized leather-wearing hungry miner for the oral tongue-slapping mouth-dance might do, as long as the dom can subdue that sub tied to the stocks voted on for the public to use, there might be screaming, squirming, and scoffs, but there's nothing left for him that Marina Abramowicz hasn't already proven she's willing to lose. Plus, in this small town not far enough from Laramie, there's still too much fat to chew through, too much flab to tuck the **** into, where even the F.U.P.A. so deep that a *******-day or deity might need the leverage of a boot to get even Ron Jeremy's **** unglued.

Lucky loos by the brothel befit these new arrivals, though some tyrannosaurs despise 'em, smoke as much as you can if you've got 'em.

But don't let your antiques get you down, an ornithologist lends herself to your bookends, and even that nighthawk roosting makes your car alarm sound second rate, it's seconds late as the aves rave to the ravens, and they pontificate. Owls hoo-hoo and hooting, branch off with the others and start colluding. They just wanna get you home, to get back those prosthetics you've loaned.

Canoodling barbarians on their way back from the aquarium, demand  their fires come from oblivion, which sends sparks of arguments from the sharks and the bathylkopian oblivions, where we found that this water's warm these citizens, demand recompense for such grandiose living expense, three pence to use the phone, twelve rupees towards the sofa, and even a deutsch mark for every sit or every look at sit, it's just a chair, a doubly set of wooden legs, idling under a table plank. Pirated by the buttocks, such bullocks it is, and that's just it!

An archaeologist on assignment discovered that the future of the rhinoceros exists upon the olfactory exaggerated proboscis, the result of flushing unused anti-biotics, and is currently working for dimes out of college to deluge this quite deprived yet interesting biopic.  

The films of the *****, grab at the ***** thrown about by The Monkees, and the musicians wearing those stickers on their *******, are victim to XXS cotton denim vests, unzipped and barely covering themselves, added to by the accessories and rings, jewelry if anything, a pearl necklace and nubile sacrifis.

And the trollops frolic, diurnally dispose of logic, doing the hoopty-hoop, the alley-oops, with mom's high school flute in nothing but cowboy boots!

These are, the new discoveries of our species, carved into the marble and wet frescos, in the street reliefs, spray-painted and air-brushed motif, this creates such gatherings for throngs of people who've unachieved their needs, who've displaced their parents and display their racist grieving beliefs to trash indigenous language pleas for francophonian linguistic greed that have splayed their hellacious treaty in what's considered to be modern circumscribed and ill-painted cuneiform visually conceived, vocal graffiti.

So that the neu-faux derogatory delegates stress to sudatorium, it has regressed to moratoriums, we've now cancelled this sport consortium of awful and flagrant art performances.
Martin Narrod May 2017
Tangley Wangling

Fruit Jews in Tutus at youth group, maybe just a few with their screws loose. One self-rolling righteous group, their brothers grinning
Within the depths of their white-heads at the brim of a wet blanket suckling the needles catering new drug use. Two by two, elefants and woozels, hippopotamü's confusals, spongey-butts outfitting the rye n' wines refusals.

The luxury of a coccyx felt from the fingers turn to sunrise, where the water's weight some surprise them, in an integers shock-appraisal. Lucky loos by the brothel befit these new arrivals, though some tyrannosaurs despise 'em, smoke as much as you can if you've got 'em.

But don't let your antiques get you down, an ornithologist lends herself to your bookends, and even that nighthawk roosting makes your car alarm sound second rate, it's seconds late as the aves rave to the ravens, and they pontificate. Owls hoo-hoo and hooting, branch off with the others and start colluding. They just wanna get you home, to get back those prosthetics you've loaned.

Canoodling barbarians on their way back from the aquarium, demand  their fires come from oblivion, which sends sparks of arguments from the sharks and the bathylkopian oblivions, where we found that this water's warm these citizens, demand recompense for such grandiose living expense, three pence to use the phone, twelve rupees towards the sofa, and even a deutsch mark for every sit or every look at sit, it's just a chair, a doubly set of wooden legs, idling under a table plank. Pirated by the buttocks, such bullocks it is, and that's just it!

An archaeologist on assignment discovered that the future of the rhinoceros exists upon the olfactory exaggerated proboscis, the result of flushing unused anti-biotics, and is currently working for dimes out of college to deluge this quite deprived yet interesting biopic.  

The films of the *****, grab at the ***** thrown about by The Monkees, and the musicians wearing those stickers on their *******, are victim to XXS cotton denim vests, unzipped and barely covering themselves, added to by the accessories and rings, jewelry if anything, a pearl necklace and nubile sacrifis.

And the trollops frolic, diurnally dispose of logic, doing the hoopty-hoop, the alley-oops, with mom's high school flute in nothing but cowboy boots!

These are, the new discoveries of our species, carved into the marble and wet frescos, in the street reliefs, spray-painted and air-brushed motif, this creates such gatherings for throngs of people who've unachieved their needs, who've displaced their parents and display their racist grieving beliefs to trash indigenous language pleas for francophonian linguistic greed that have splayed their hellacious treaty in what's considered to be modern circumscribed and ill-painted cuneiform visually conceived, vocal graffiti.

So that the neu-faux derogatory delegates stress to sudatorium, it has regressed to moratoriums, we've now cancelled this sport consortium of awful and flagrant art performances.
K Balachandran Aug 2017
Rapidly the girl speaks  in convoluted riddles,

Seems like  bent to push him in to a puddle,

Intrigued he sets out tightly tying his girdle,

Being the type who always wants to be in the saddle.

Wanted to unravel the true intent, concealed,

He did go about it in right earnest, the next moment.

Watching her blue eyes for any sign of betrayal.

One serious doubt, persisted all the while.

Which one of them is naive here, him or her?

He could sense she poking fun of him, now and then.

In some way, does it to him send, a clue, clear?

Now, he gets it, in a flash, who is at fault here.

The moon shine, abruptly wanes , can't last for ever.

Coming from under the shadows, the sun shines brighter.

"Ay, there is the rub" he heard him tell himself!

When they, the duo swooned were already busy canoodling!
AC Sep 2013
It's as if a photograph is the most valuable thing one can own;
That sepia tone, that time and date stamp,
What a friend,
What an ode to memories of a time long past,
A year ago today it went- ****!- Just. Like. That.
And just like that, you're back there with all your fears and trepidations
And slight ponderings on the habits of water snakes and devils' babies.

****! just like that you're brought back to the present,
Wondering about the future;
Will it all work out outside of this moment? Which like that one,
Is so perfect and complete, a puzzle not missing a piece or having a hair out of place,
Here, in this rose garden amongst garbage heaps of relative affluence.

****! you're gone away unto the Future,
A mystical, magical unfamiliar place... because there is not like here,
Where you are so sure of everything, and the complete certainty of infinite possibility
Canoodling with your youth cries out to you in exhilaration
And apathy
For your autumn years;
You know these city streets and ally walls and University halls,
You know these faces and those places and the box
Which you have built yourself out of recycled materials- opinions, quotes, and ideas
You're only borrowing,
Like a sweater with multi-coloured buttons from an old friend that you might just decide to keep,
Or give away to charity
If that happy interlude between lending and returning has long ago expired.

****! Here you are! Right now! This instant!
A vast infinite collection of empty spaces and visited places,  
Held by bonds no tighter than your weakest ties.
And all those times you said you were going to carpe diem,
You let it veni vidi vici you instead.
So, holding this photograph, I ask you now:
In the puff of smoke lit from the flash of the camera,
Is this the way you want to live, or is the meaning of alive simply to die?
Prabhu Iyer Nov 2014
I hear your footsteps on the clouds:
and I waited for you,
but you sliced the skies, and
vanished in a haze of crimson.
I am the insolent waves canoodling the weeds.
I am the rock-resolve that is dissolving
unknown to leaps. I was waiting
for you and I got drunk.
I will be everywhere, mourning in the winds
and lisping in the depths.
Though they said I shouldn't.
The chorus of gulls announces now,
that I lost you, I lost you. A whirl-storm
is rising in the desert. But that is
so far away. Evil is always far away.
I must earn my bread now, though
I am waiting for you. Half-whirl.
Half-whistle. Pestle-pounding my soul
Looking for pebbles in the flour.
http://sineinverse.wordpress.com/2014/11/12/on-loss-and-reconcilization/
Prabhu Iyer Jul 2015
It was a night of sulking darknesses

there in the distance, clouds thunder
raining tears down the shanties

crickets scratch the silences elsewhere
as winds bring the smell of ash home

in their thousands, mayflies clash
for a swab at an orb
hung hazy into the shadows
canoodling the trees

foreboding come thoughts clouding

the morning after, the stairs are awash
in swarms of broken wings
and shattered dreams

a newspaper's thrown across
there are deaths:
heaving at the heart.
--- Jul 2013
Canoodling is to
Kiss and cuddle amorously
...
I looked it up.
Squarely conscientious, I unwittingly
sanction selfhood acutely triangulate
courtesy webbed geometry jeopardize,
galvanize pluck nudging contrived arc,
virtually courting temptation aware,

sans impetuousness compromises an
anonymous commingling, nonetheless
electronic fraternization enthralls mine
plucky chutzpah possibility intrigues
yours truly sporting impish grinning

smile across world wide web unsure
quasi cryptic communication decrypted
maybe imperfectly interpreting message
this enamored disembodied spirit doth
chance circling foursquare kibitizing

downplaying grand illusion spontaneity
gist ripples thru this human entity while
comfortably cushioned buffered against
disappointment accepting outcome - par
for the course amidst cyber spatial gulf

nothing ventured brings disappointment
more often than not, this solitary fellow,
a beetle browed fool on the hill smarting
over...he ne'er gathered rosebuds fruitless
ruing foregone opportunities, hence tho'

cocooned against adverse outcome revel
at fleeting giddiness affixing envisioned
smile upon unknown reader, or perchance
another veritable stranger, cuz amiability
need not be sole providence aimed at one
select web surfer, but extended warm free

greeting permissible allow one imperfect
troubadour to sprinkle pleasantries to any
person, whose scrolling intersects with my
genuine not "FAKE" aery mission to offer
abiding friendship e'en if limited to realm
of harmonized synthesized online reality.
stiletto quill Mar 2019
years of disheartening
disappointments,
continuously plagued
my deteriorating mind.

darkness romanced delusions,
intimidating personal integrity.

fog drizzed mists
of abyssal depression,
denser than Satan’s fevidness.

isolated from human contact,
ive hugged authenticity,

and discovered

relaxing with
a comforting pillow,
that embraces imperfections

is like snuggling
with a lover who adores,
my imperfections.

embracing mortality,
wisdom has shown me,

canoodling myself
is a selfless necessary.
James Floss May 2017
Cat-n-dog.
Lovers?
Snugglers?

What you'd expect?
Mutt 'n Jeff?
Jeff loves Mutt.

L'll baby
Crashes into
Gunther's nose;

He knows—
Old dog about to
Bark his last "BWARK!"

(She loves me…
And I like her—
No, love her, but…)

(Actually, she bugs me;
Her nose hugs claw me!
But, she needs me…)

Cat loves dog.
Dog…loves cat.
And is better for it.

Old dog Gunther
Is feeling lil' Lucky
Canoodling his pock-marked cheek.
Sona Lachina Oct 2019
You, common sunflower,
Yes, you, Helianthus,
Who takes a stand without his brothers
        in this fresh-cut field of golden hay
And bows his petalled head in reverent grace --

Teach us of living with no apologies
Saying "so what?" to wind and rain
And canoodling with the sun on cloudless days --

Yes, you, H. annuus,
In love with life from seed to bloom
Teach us how to dream in yellow
        and dwell in tune with Nature's
                jagged beauty --
Jill Tait Oct 2020
Twas just another ordinary day down on the farm when Clarence cockerel “****-a-doodle-dood” his daybreak alarm..as Pingo pigeon picked from tiny little crumbs of corn amidst the shed loft and his partner Sonia sat in the hay stack that was warm and soft..

Yes it was an Autumnal morning just like any other as Farmer Ted Brown worked in the dairy along with Molly his Mother, milking the Friesian cattle all in a row as the udders filled the pipes with such a creamy milk flow..And  Daisy the cow being the oldest of the lot would “Moo” and “Moo” as Harry horse did trot..”Quack” “Quack” “Quack” went Daddy Donald duck as he splashed and swam in the farmyard pond quite covered in muck.. with his partner Michelle a very fine Muscovy Mother as her ten tiny ducklings, nine sisters and a brother.. splishing and sploshing muddy water with their wings, squibbling and squabbling the noisy little things..

Of course this Monday morning at the crack of dawn didn’t rouse the Farmer’s son Sid as he stretched with a yawn coz he hadn’t went to bed until well after late courtin’ and a’kissin’ his latest date..just a couple of school kids lying canoodling on the hayshed floor as mice and voles ran in and out of that door..But Penelope pony pranced around the paddock as she  strutted and head butted in her frenzied fit so sporadic..The Suffolk sheep “Baa’d” and bleated munching in the meadows all that day in the Farmer’s field not too far away..

So it was indeed just another average ordinary morning on that hillside farm and the sun had risen as the day was dawning.. Everything was normal with nothing untoward as Great Granny Glenda Brown stood pressing her pinafore on the ironing board.. she had the bacon and eggs frying in the pan, ready to enjoy her breakfast with Great Grandad Stan..And how they all adored their countryside affair with the sounds and the smells in that cow dung fresh air..Ted, Winifred his wife and his Mother Molly and Sid her Grandson, lived in the big farmhouse with lots of fun..And Great Granny Glenda and Great Grandad Stan Brown had just moved to a lovely country cottage nextdoor from a flat up the road in the neighbouring town..
Travis Green Oct 2021
Tell me I can come to your crib
Lay back on your sofa
Cool breezin’, crankin’ up the jams
Amiably incandescent, canoodling
Feeling a crescendo of ardency between us
When I look back on it
it hurts just for a little
and I think, cringe, ****!
was that really me?

I wanna say to
the girls who walked
through me and to those
girls who knew me
and the ladies who blew me away,
yesterday
was a long time to learn in and
the shame of it still burns today.

Times we meandered at the back
of the bike sheds,
kissing and canoodling
while life was just poodling along
and we never thought it a waste
didn't believe it was wrong
but
it was always a
so long
it was fun and the sun set a
thousand times more as we
were wore down,
being whittled away by
the workings of man and the time in
the day,

just the way that we were
and I think we still care
about that.
Jeffrey Aug 2020
Two lovers canoodling in the woods along the path whilst I run past,

They, embarrassed, disentangle

Having canoodled my way into conundrum so many times, and wishing that I'd known that which I now do,

I would love to tell them to not
let
    go,

instead, (hold tighter still)

For I am but a stranger, anonymous, fleeting, passer by

And there are far too few moments of (embrace)
in dappled morning sunlight  breath
                                       Beside tall oak trees,
to let a few
            foot
                 steps create, so much alarm so as to
lose each
other

I would tell them

when beauty's found, no matter where,
hold on, gaze fixed-and-deep
into its eyes, and declare
that this life time, there will be no interruptions;
steadfastly defend the moment;
ignore all else that beckons,
as so much will
phantoms all
and take arms against that which would otherwise intrude

No passerby, or gilded path should draw you from this place,
this
depth

you must not allow that to come to pass

For, in the final accounting, years from now perhaps, the two lovers will lament having disregarded a moment enraptured, for but a passerby -

I would love to tell them all of this,

but I’ve long since run passed them,

just a passerby
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                 William Needs an Intervention

                                     Cf. Shakespeare, Sonnet 42

Will, we need to talk:
                                                       this is all your grief
Your friend and your lover aren’t grieving at all
I’ve seen them swanning around The Swan in Southwark
Catching Pembroke’s Men in The Isle of Dogs

They saw your Julius Caesar here at the Globe
But were mostly canoodling high up in the back row
I cannot imagine they were admiring your wonderful verse
Grieving over the deaths of Romans, or thinking of you

Give over your hoping, your moping, your sighing, your wishing -
The Avon’s down the road; we should go fishing
Meme-ing from Shakespeare's Sonnet 42
courtesy Matthew Scott Harris
sentimental memorialized mental archive

No matter mine eldest daughter
(born December 22nd, 1996)
starred circa within storied
Matthew Scott Harris family
rendition of Breaking Home Ties.

Now interspersed with
following recherché trivia:
originally titled film made
during 1922 courtesy Sigmund Lubin,
and among “Pop” Lubin’s
Silent Film Empire
produced over 3,000 silent movies
spanning the two decades
of his film career

commencing with 1896
short film Horse Eating Hay
concluding with 1916’s
The Light at Dusk,
the final Lubin Manufacturing Company release,
his studio’s repertoire
ranged from educational films,
dramas, and disaster movies
to mysteries, comedies, and epic war films.

She "star student,"
who elected advanced placement classes
while diligent student at Harriton High School
graduated summa *** laude circa June 2015,
and matriculated at University of Pennsylvania

autumn of aforementioned year occupying
coed dormitory King's Court
English College House,
located at 3465 Sansom Street,
incidentally the first college house
to host a residential program.

Like Hill House,
said facility a freshmen-only house and
includes a dining hall on ground floor.

Our beloved progeny,
an 2019 minted alumna
relatively freshly minted
bachelor degree fortified
biomedical engineering graduate

confident, exhibits fierce political
(i.e. progressive liberal democratic opinions)
harbors piers sing quay zee
wharf fore did conscientious papasan go?

His fatherly duties
(he ably, eagerly and readily admits)
shirked, squandered, subsumed...
with marital infidelities
whereby precious energy and time,
(compromising spouse and offspring)
constituted posting and answering

(ofttimes linkedin private risque conversations
so that no family member could eavesdrop)
barring excellent outlook to access
locked bedroom door prurient exchanges
within which ****** flirtations,
(i.e. oral *******) occurred.

Understandable resentment bubbled forth
regarding promiscuous, salacious, vexatious...
in apropos overtures, plus covert canoodling
insync with chronic penury,
neither parent earned an income,
thus condemning two girls

living with refrain
***** deeds done dirt poor
overshadowed by threat
that Children and Youth Services (CYS),
would swoop down and
****** away our darling lasses.

No reconciliation forthcoming
between "Atalanta," predicated
upon her passion to run free and clear
and yours truly, who repents
atrocious, devious, hellacious... muckraking
whereby daddy's once upon a time
adorable angel, who easily
wrapped around her little finger
brings tears to mine eyes.

Twas only thru gentle prodding
"big sister" convinced youngest
to hightail to Bend, Oregon
under drafted legal guardianship
of me mine younger sibling
willingly and lovingly accepted role.
nivek Aug 2023
The upshot
canoodling lovers.

Present moments
all along the skyway.

— The End —