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"carlisle" poems
.*well **** me, after writing such a revealing piece, i really need a double whiskey gob-smack... i need a drink... i really need to have drink... but it's honesty, i'm not ashamed of it... people have a harder time owning up to gay bar pop songs in their closet, like a Belinda Carlisle song... ooh... personally? i've never come across anything more **** than a pregnant woman ************ or, to mind the pursuit of the Wendol idol? exhibitionism to boot; a striptease? pare by comparison... you can't exactly possess the carnality of a woman, and the concept of the mind's eye... with a fetus, to boot.* in terms of jerking off... **** me,   i moved away from fine art nudes...   found an alternative outlet.... https://tinyurl.com/ybhzl3x5 i.e.? the exhibitionism of pregnant women... it's like peering into a wormhole, of sorts...     who the hell needs ****** glory-holes, ******** crap?    pull me to sight a pregnant woman encouraging exhibitionism and i'll be there, within second, with a tissue... **** it... she can do it, and doesn't shy away from?     **** is so lost... been catching up on the whole American Pie franchise... m.i.w.i.l.f.     mom in waiting i'd love to **** who said that jerking off leads men to ******* *** ****** *****   who said we would turn the ******** avenue?      oops? for not being adventurous enough?   adventurous consisting of watching a pregnant woman exhibition herself, oiling herself, jerking off...     what... if i were married... could probably become the mouth and tongue of God in terms of oral *** ******* losers... having the negligence stipend in allowing a wife, as pregnant as she is... to exhibition herself like that... for me to pick up the crumbs from the table... ******* losers... i'll admit it... jerking off to a pregnant woman exhibit herself beats jerking off to fine art nudes.
0
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 9:46 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
***********
.*well **** me, after writing such a revealing piece, i really need a double whiskey gob-smack... i need a drink... i really need to have drink... but it's honesty, i'm not ashamed of it... people have a harder time owning up to gay bar pop songs in their closet, like a Belinda Carlisle song... ooh... personally? i've never come across anything more **** than a pregnant woman ************ or, to mind the pursuit of the Wendol idol? exhibitionism to boot; a striptease? pare by comparison... you can't exactly possess the carnality of a woman, and the concept of the mind's eye... with a fetus, to boot.* in terms of jerking off... **** me,   i moved away from fine art nudes...   found an alternative outlet.... https://tinyurl.com/ybhzl3x5 i.e.? the exhibitionism of pregnant women... it's like peering into a wormhole, of sorts...     who the hell needs ****** glory-holes, ******** crap?    pull me to sight a pregnant woman encouraging exhibitionism and i'll be there, within second, with a tissue... **** it... she can do it, and doesn't shy away from?     **** is so lost... been catching up on the whole American Pie franchise... m.i.w.i.l.f.     mom in waiting i'd love to **** who said that jerking off leads men to ******* *** ****** *****   who said we would turn the ******** avenue?      oops? for not being adventurous enough?   adventurous consisting of watching a pregnant woman exhibition herself, oiling herself, jerking off...     what... if i were married... could probably become the mouth and tongue of God in terms of oral *** ******* losers... having the negligence stipend in allowing a wife, as pregnant as she is... to exhibition herself like that... for me to pick up the crumbs from the table... ******* losers... i'll admit it... jerking off to a pregnant woman exhibit herself beats jerking off to fine art nudes.
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64
Here are the names of my lovers, The women I sleep with, whom I use, like they use me. Spent, they discard me, for when their pleasure needs Satiated, they climb aboard another man. What they do not know, Is that in my mind, in my ears, everywhere, I did not let them, or you go, We are still romping, For I Take them as needed. I need them all, For my pleasure needs, like my unshaped heart, Addictive, endless. If your is name is here, I do not Apologize. Pink Adele Lilly Allen Anna Nalick Bess Rogers Beyonce Brandi Carlisle Cat Power Colbie Callait Duffy Eva Cassidy Evanescence Alison Sudol Fiona Apple Florence Welch Grace Potter Ingrid Michaelson You Joni Mitchell K.D. Lang Kate Nash Kate Voegele Leona Lewis Lizz Wright Madeline Peyroux Marie Digby Mary Wells Norah Jones Regina Spektor Sara Bareilles You Sara Haze Taylor Swift and Tracy Chapman Tristan Prettyman Vanessa Carlton So many others, used so long ago, I can't remember the faces, Which can't be googled. Use them hard, use them often, more than daily. Bluntly, I tell you Your name is on my list, Even if I do not disclose it.
0
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
nat-lipstadt
Here are the names of my lovers, including you! (Aug 2013)
Here are the names of my lovers, The women I sleep with, whom I use, like they use me. Spent, they discard me, for when their pleasure needs Satiated, they climb aboard another man. What they do not know, Is that in my mind, in my ears, everywhere, I did not let them, or you go, We are still romping, For I Take them as needed. I need them all, For my pleasure needs, like my unshaped heart, Addictive, endless. If your is name is here, I do not Apologize. Pink Adele Lilly Allen Anna Nalick Bess Rogers Beyonce Brandi Carlisle Cat Power Colbie Callait Duffy Eva Cassidy Evanescence Alison Sudol Fiona Apple Florence Welch Grace Potter Ingrid Michaelson You Joni Mitchell K.D. Lang Kate Nash Kate Voegele Leona Lewis Lizz Wright Madeline Peyroux Marie Digby Mary Wells Norah Jones Regina Spektor Sara Bareilles You Sara Haze Taylor Swift and Tracy Chapman Tristan Prettyman Vanessa Carlton So many others, used so long ago, I can't remember the faces, Which can't be googled. Use them hard, use them often, more than daily. Bluntly, I tell you Your name is on my list, Even if I do not disclose it.
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58
Carrickfergus (1937) - poem by Louis Macneice. I was born in Belfast between the mountain and the gantries To the hooting of lost sirens and the clang of trams; Thence to Smoky Carrick in County Antrim Where the bottle-neck harbour collects the mud which jams The little boats beneath the Norman castle, The pier shining with lumps of crystal salt; The Scotch quarter was a line of residential houses But the Irish quarter was a slum for the blind and halt. The brook ran yellow from the factory stinking of chlorine, The yarn mill called it's funeral cry at noon; Our lights looked over the lough to the lights of Bangor Under the peacock aura of a drowning moon. The Norman walled this town against the country To stop his ears to the yelping of his slave And built a church in the form of a cross but denoting The list of Christ on the cross in the angle of the nave. I was the rectors son, born to the Anglican order, Banned for ever from the candles of the Irish poor; The Chichesters knelt in marble at the end of a transept With ruffs about their necks, their portion sure. The war came and a huge camp of soldiers Grew from the ground in sight of our house with long Dummies hanging from gibbets for bayonet practice And the sentry's challenge echoing all day long; A Yorkshire terrier ran in and out by the gate-lodge Barred to civilians, yapping as if taking affront; Marching at ease and singing 'Who Killed **** Robin?' The troops went out by the lodge and off to the Front. The steamer was camouflaged that took me to England- Sweat and khaki in the Carlisle train; I thought that the war would last for ever and sugar be always rationed and that never again Would the weekly papers not have photos of sandbags And my governess not make bandages from moss And people not have maps above the fireplace With flags on pins moving across and across- Across the hawthorn hedge the noise of bugles, Flares across the night, Somewhere on the lough was a prison ship for Germans, A cage across their sight. I went to school in Dorset, the world of parents Contracted into a puppet world of sons Far from the mill girls, the smell of porter, the salt-mines And the soldiers with their guns. Louis Macneice
0
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
bones24
Louis MacNeice (1907-1963)
Carrickfergus (1937) - poem by Louis Macneice. I was born in Belfast between the mountain and the gantries To the hooting of lost sirens and the clang of trams; Thence to Smoky Carrick in County Antrim Where the bottle-neck harbour collects the mud which jams The little boats beneath the Norman castle, The pier shining with lumps of crystal salt; The Scotch quarter was a line of residential houses But the Irish quarter was a slum for the blind and halt. The brook ran yellow from the factory stinking of chlorine, The yarn mill called it's funeral cry at noon; Our lights looked over the lough to the lights of Bangor Under the peacock aura of a drowning moon. The Norman walled this town against the country To stop his ears to the yelping of his slave And built a church in the form of a cross but denoting The list of Christ on the cross in the angle of the nave. I was the rectors son, born to the Anglican order, Banned for ever from the candles of the Irish poor; The Chichesters knelt in marble at the end of a transept With ruffs about their necks, their portion sure. The war came and a huge camp of soldiers Grew from the ground in sight of our house with long Dummies hanging from gibbets for bayonet practice And the sentry's challenge echoing all day long; A Yorkshire terrier ran in and out by the gate-lodge Barred to civilians, yapping as if taking affront; Marching at ease and singing 'Who Killed **** Robin?' The troops went out by the lodge and off to the Front. The steamer was camouflaged that took me to England- Sweat and khaki in the Carlisle train; I thought that the war would last for ever and sugar be always rationed and that never again Would the weekly papers not have photos of sandbags And my governess not make bandages from moss And people not have maps above the fireplace With flags on pins moving across and across- Across the hawthorn hedge the noise of bugles, Flares across the night, Somewhere on the lough was a prison ship for Germans, A cage across their sight. I went to school in Dorset, the world of parents Contracted into a puppet world of sons Far from the mill girls, the smell of porter, the salt-mines And the soldiers with their guns. Louis Macneice
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46
Expert testimony has decreed yellow, Who are we to speak against those with seven tongues and antlers, You sleep as the muffin man creeps Camera in hands and remnants of sickness past upon his clothes Your eyes Otto Dix, your face like an anguished customer at Greggs. He, the muffin man, staggers in the night and surveys these barren lands. At what point will you release your patterned anguish? Expert testimony has decreed yellow, Watermelon and disorder for the masses in their lived fury hunters of the lowest rung, misery and handbags at the cumulative paces from Newcastle to Carlisle Flawed Romans and tasty Saxons, Expert testimony has decreed yellow, Revolt! bring down the manor! The muffin man in his element, deckchair reclined
0
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
wa-west
Hunters of the lowest rung
Expert testimony has decreed yellow, Who are we to speak against those with seven tongues and antlers, You sleep as the muffin man creeps Camera in hands and remnants of sickness past upon his clothes Your eyes Otto Dix, your face like an anguished customer at Greggs. He, the muffin man, staggers in the night and surveys these barren lands. At what point will you release your patterned anguish? Expert testimony has decreed yellow, Watermelon and disorder for the masses in their lived fury hunters of the lowest rung, misery and handbags at the cumulative paces from Newcastle to Carlisle Flawed Romans and tasty Saxons, Expert testimony has decreed yellow, Revolt! bring down the manor! The muffin man in his element, deckchair reclined
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15
Her loud voice echos inside my head Tears pool spilling off my bed And her hams can, and laughter fled As life goes on, shes still dead Just a rewind video I replay Before sad sleepy eyes go to bed Weeping, sleeping,dreaming seeming Try to find the right words to describe She was the only one I could find To stay up and create, art, color, life A garden to a picture drawn in crown She was the only one around Who found what I found Art is the heart of family Love and life She found me, in the darkest nights She helped me understand The human struggle, to experience Complexity, she was her inevitably Embarrassingly, intoxication in both ***** and personality, fatality being She never took care, her loud voice Tinny in her last moments here Her brave soul Trembling in fear Grandma don’t be scared I'm here Just like you were Im here for better or for worse Her heart beat beat beating Tell its run its ran its course   and when its done ill run some more Grandma my heart beats for you that's for sure
0
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
Rage
Susan Carlisle, My Heart Beats for you
Her loud voice echos inside my head Tears pool spilling off my bed And her hams can, and laughter fled As life goes on, shes still dead Just a rewind video I replay Before sad sleepy eyes go to bed Weeping, sleeping,dreaming seeming Try to find the right words to describe She was the only one I could find To stay up and create, art, color, life A garden to a picture drawn in crown She was the only one around Who found what I found Art is the heart of family Love and life She found me, in the darkest nights She helped me understand The human struggle, to experience Complexity, she was her inevitably Embarrassingly, intoxication in both ***** and personality, fatality being She never took care, her loud voice Tinny in her last moments here Her brave soul Trembling in fear Grandma don’t be scared I'm here Just like you were Im here for better or for worse Her heart beat beat beating Tell its run its ran its course   and when its done ill run some more Grandma my heart beats for you that's for sure
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34
I wanted to write you something that said something and I looked at your hands like the losers of a street fight beaten until they are no longer hands and thought of nothing . . . well . . . nothing that would mean something anything to you and I looked at your mouth that rolled like waves on a stormy day in a movie a celluloid memory that is blind to me hanging like a silver ghost tethered to the wall by the wrong kind of light and it rolled and pitched and yawed until it was no longer a mouth and I thought of nothing . . . well . . . nothing that would mean something anything to you and I looked into your mirror that was a boomerang a u-turn a paddle ball in the hand of an obsessive-compulsive mute keeping the beat like Belinda Carlisle like Jane Wiedlin and it came back to me again again it came back to me it came back again to me and I thought of nothing . . . except . . . anything that would mean something anything to me And I wanted to write you something
0
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 2:10 AM UTC
suzanne-wilson-regalia
What I Wanted . . . .
I wanted to write you something that said something and I looked at your hands like the losers of a street fight beaten until they are no longer hands and thought of nothing . . . well . . . nothing that would mean something anything to you and I looked at your mouth that rolled like waves on a stormy day in a movie a celluloid memory that is blind to me hanging like a silver ghost tethered to the wall by the wrong kind of light and it rolled and pitched and yawed until it was no longer a mouth and I thought of nothing . . . well . . . nothing that would mean something anything to you and I looked into your mirror that was a boomerang a u-turn a paddle ball in the hand of an obsessive-compulsive mute keeping the beat like Belinda Carlisle like Jane Wiedlin and it came back to me again again it came back to me it came back again to me and I thought of nothing . . . except . . . anything that would mean something anything to me And I wanted to write you something
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41
It's getting to be posh all these new folk with their dosh. buying up the property leaving nowt for you and me. It's not the same not as it was because, our street's got a brand new name. 'Petunia close' sounds like a dose of something bad, awful sad, that it's getting to be a bit posh round here, next year, I won't recognise the pie and mash shop the garage pit stop it will all be gucci,reebok smoochy bars, fast and frantic tarty cars. I'm moving out to Birmingham at least up there they still eat spam, I may move further North to Carlisle they'll not change not for a long while. Anyway I made a fortune holding on not selling too soon. (The problem is, not the solution or gentrifying or more pollution it's the weeding out and in their place making space for evolution)
0
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
john-edward-smallshaw
The cement mixer
It's getting to be posh all these new folk with their dosh. buying up the property leaving nowt for you and me. It's not the same not as it was because, our street's got a brand new name. 'Petunia close' sounds like a dose of something bad, awful sad, that it's getting to be a bit posh round here, next year, I won't recognise the pie and mash shop the garage pit stop it will all be gucci,reebok smoochy bars, fast and frantic tarty cars. I'm moving out to Birmingham at least up there they still eat spam, I may move further North to Carlisle they'll not change not for a long while. Anyway I made a fortune holding on not selling too soon. (The problem is, not the solution or gentrifying or more pollution it's the weeding out and in their place making space for evolution)
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40
Give me another Minute alone with you Give me another Kiss on the lips I want to feel that Future/present Collision feeling I want to feel like I have plans again *when i was 6 i learned to float on my back eyes closed against the sun and i zoned out floating made it all the way to the middle of carlisle lake where i woke up but couldn't swim yet so i treaded water and floated away eyes closed under the sun again* Give me another Dinner in a tiny college kitchen Give me another Twin-bed-sleepless night I want to feel that Flying bullet/speeding train/sound barrier Breaking feeling I want to feel like I don't have to make plans I want to feel like All roads lead in the same directon Like I don't need directions Like you're my direction I feel like a cartographer Lost in space floating In no discernable direction
0
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
holly-salvatore
Cartographer
Give me another Minute alone with you Give me another Kiss on the lips I want to feel that Future/present Collision feeling I want to feel like I have plans again *when i was 6 i learned to float on my back eyes closed against the sun and i zoned out floating made it all the way to the middle of carlisle lake where i woke up but couldn't swim yet so i treaded water and floated away eyes closed under the sun again* Give me another Dinner in a tiny college kitchen Give me another Twin-bed-sleepless night I want to feel that Flying bullet/speeding train/sound barrier Breaking feeling I want to feel like I don't have to make plans I want to feel like All roads lead in the same directon Like I don't need directions Like you're my direction I feel like a cartographer Lost in space floating In no discernable direction
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37
Laetitia A trilling name A wack-a-mole Incompatible yet true Go on and bust 'a move ol' suga' mama Make your poppadipops proud! And don't disregard Dr. Carlisle Bartholomeue Schmo To lift your wings as you undulate Through human sized stalks of rye, wheat, Whatever the young call it nowadays And fly to the heights Of a tall sandy-haired boy
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Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
alexandra-of-old
Tribute to you
Laetitia A trilling name A wack-a-mole Incompatible yet true Go on and bust 'a move ol' suga' mama Make your poppadipops proud! And don't disregard Dr. Carlisle Bartholomeue Schmo To lift your wings as you undulate Through human sized stalks of rye, wheat, Whatever the young call it nowadays And fly to the heights Of a tall sandy-haired boy
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12
I will apply your benevolent nature to my own grandchildren the remainder of my days Instill your wonderful insight on Early Girl tomatoes , Sassafras Sun tea , love of family , Fig and Apple trees How a smile can say so much , a perfect word with - a timely , gentle touch The first week of July in the Blackberry thickets , bumper crops of sweet Georgia peaches , homemade - ice cream and Watermelon evenings Weekends filled with wonder and love of the natural world Homemade kites , fried Sweet potato pies , picnic lunches at Jackson Lake For country music Saturdays , 'Tall Tales' , hometown Honey and Cathead biscuits
0
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
randolph-l-wilson
Gramaw Carlisle
I will apply your benevolent nature to my own grandchildren the remainder of my days Instill your wonderful insight on Early Girl tomatoes , Sassafras Sun tea , love of family , Fig and Apple trees How a smile can say so much , a perfect word with - a timely , gentle touch The first week of July in the Blackberry thickets , bumper crops of sweet Georgia peaches , homemade - ice cream and Watermelon evenings Weekends filled with wonder and love of the natural world Homemade kites , fried Sweet potato pies , picnic lunches at Jackson Lake For country music Saturdays , 'Tall Tales' , hometown Honey and Cathead biscuits
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13
*Our wind chimes sound like loose - change jingling in Granpa's britches He's coming in the door from a day at Scott - Lake with a wry comment on Bluegill fishing Every time the wind blows at the house I'm wishing that I could be with him for just a smidgen* ...
0
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC
randolph-l-wilson
C.D. Carlisle ..
*Our wind chimes sound like loose - change jingling in Granpa's britches He's coming in the door from a day at Scott - Lake with a wry comment on Bluegill fishing Every time the wind blows at the house I'm wishing that I could be with him for just a smidgen* ...
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6
if heaven is real, it's an open road it's a place I've been on far off travels where the light hits right and the sun is warm, like the love of a friend it's a moment in time where you remember that the world is a beautiful place despite the cruelty, agony, and pain it's the eye-shine on a deer amidst a nighttime field, the headlights pass over it's the vision of a birdshadow crossing overhead, or landing beside you like an angel checking in beady eyes bright with intelligence letting you know heaven is happiness and nothing more, nothing less
0
Dec 27, 2024
Dec 27, 2024 at 1:15 PM UTC
rumrose
belinda carlisle was right
if heaven is real, it's an open road it's a place I've been on far off travels where the light hits right and the sun is warm, like the love of a friend it's a moment in time where you remember that the world is a beautiful place despite the cruelty, agony, and pain it's the eye-shine on a deer amidst a nighttime field, the headlights pass over it's the vision of a birdshadow crossing overhead, or landing beside you like an angel checking in beady eyes bright with intelligence letting you know heaven is happiness and nothing more, nothing less
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13
all of the troubles in my head started to pile. i had to get away for a little while so i took the train down to carlisle because for a second i forgot how to smile.
0
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 12:22 PM UTC
samaralael
carlisle.
all of the troubles in my head started to pile. i had to get away for a little while so i took the train down to carlisle because for a second i forgot how to smile.
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4
People are strange Doors are ajar Strangers often met Is it the end? Threads of doubt As doors remain open To a parallel world The horror Distantly floating To a faraway land Where infinity resides by Jemia
0
May 2, 2022
May 2, 2022 at 6:49 PM UTC
jemia-de-blondeville
The Carlisle, And The Doors
People are strange Doors are ajar Strangers often met Is it the end? Threads of doubt As doors remain open To a parallel world The horror Distantly floating To a faraway land Where infinity resides by Jemia
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12
My little Georgia place Where sun & pine embrace .. Where the windblown grass borders- lakes of pure glass .. Where the morning dew emboldens- the sylvan view .. Home of the Wilson's , the Carlisle's- and the Kuhn's .. Home of magenta skylines & harvest- moons .. Where tacit cattle work summer fields.. Where piedmont farmers toil for their yield ..
0
Feb 14, 2024
Feb 14, 2024 at 12:14 PM UTC
randolph-l-wilson
Our Home Off The Beaten Path ...
My little Georgia place Where sun & pine embrace .. Where the windblown grass borders- lakes of pure glass .. Where the morning dew emboldens- the sylvan view .. Home of the Wilson's , the Carlisle's- and the Kuhn's .. Home of magenta skylines & harvest- moons .. Where tacit cattle work summer fields.. Where piedmont farmers toil for their yield ..
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12