"champ" poems
Boy,
She's
got you
all tied up
again.
Just.
Bound.
Once more.
To her
infernal-eternal,
heart breaking
beauty.
Witch, she possesses.
you,
to play the pawn
in her pussy's game.
Like a champ.
But will you really be winning?
When you find all-o-those,
***** little secrets.
She has hidden in her black-lace-panties.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 2:10 AM UTC
~-English-~
The Beauty Of Flowers (Multiple Tankas I)
A field of tulips
Is where I laid down to sleep
And dream a sweet dream
Dew sparkled on the tulips
And fell upon my fair cheeks
In the shady woods
Ladyslipper Orchids grow
Near a babbling brook.
Yellows and Pinks standing tall
With ferns spreading all around.
Beside the ocean
The hibiscus are blooming
Such a sweet perfume
Lingers on the salty breeze
Such beautiful rainbow hues
Snowdrops are the first
To appear blooming in frost
Pure white heads nodding.
Cold hardy and full of life,
They offer a hope of Spring.
Beside the farmhouse
Gardenias are blooming
White satin blossoms
Their perfume is breathtaking
Rain-washed petals of fragrance
~Timothy & Marian~
~-French-~
La beauté des fleurs (plusieurs Tankas je)
Un champ de tulipes
Est où j'ai prévue de dormir
Et un doux rêve
Rosée brillait sur les tulipes
Et tomba sur mes joues justes
Dans les bois ombragés
Ladyslipper orchidées poussent
Près d'un petit ruisseau.
Jaunes et roses debout
Avec fougères répand tout autour.
À côté de l'océan
L'hibiscus sont en fleurs
Tel un doux parfum
S'attarde sur la brise salée
Ces teintes belle arc-en-ciel
Perce-neige est les premiers
À comparaître fleurissant en gel
Têtes blanches pures hochant la tête.
Résistantes au froid et pleine de vie,
Ils offrent un espoir de printemps.
À côté de la ferme
Gardénias sont en fleurs
Fleurs de satin blancs
Leur parfum est à couper le souffle
Pétales restés du parfum
~ Timothy et Marian ~
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
Crash
Amnesia blaring in your ears.
Piano running through its arpeggio
as you hear muffled questions being
shouted from a distance.
Take off your helmet.
Remove your ear buds.
Open your eyes to a disgusting amount of dead valley sky.
It's time for you to sit up.
Engine still puttering like a champ.
The stranger mutters something like,
"That's a lot of blood. Are you ok?"
Stifling ***** and a laugh you reply,
"Feelin' fine. Never better."
You notice that he's still in his car.
He didn't even roll down his window fully. This is the extent of help or empathy you've come to expect.
The taste of iron fills your mouth.
You spit. Crimson.
You smile. Fake.
You wave him on.
It's time to work. It's a process.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
A new day, press play, a challenge for one.
Solo for I, never won.
Spawned like magic, 100 people? That’s tragic.
Less would I prefer,
From the bus, I jump and glide
From the wailing heights, I go to a bush and hide.
Found a camp, a player I’ve tramped,
One closer to being a champ.
Many people less, beginning to stress,
Loot everywhere, what a mess!
In this battle, I thought I would be fine,
But in the distance, I saw a white line,
With the numbers of sixty-nine,
A soccer skin! A soccer skin! Oh God, oh why?
Building fast as the speed of light,
All I knew that it could be a hard fight.
Because, with death in my mind, I didn’t know what to do,
Thoughts boggled up, like the texture of goo.
I placed a trap on the wall of wood,
I waited suddenly, wondering when they would,
Yes! I caught them with my trap!
One closer to being a champ.
Found a vehicle of an interesting shape,
Bouncy like a ball, all around, on the landscape,
A Baller! Yes! Now I’m glad,
But no need to use it, I got a launchpad!
However, I could bounce around, Boom! Bam! and Pow!
Then I could tell them, “who’s laughing now?”
However now, I’m in the final two,
I shot his build down, if only he knew,
Now it is over, show off with a ramp,
Now I’ve become the champ.
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 8:26 PM UTC
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose
California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise
Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore
The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky
Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod
Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise
Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed
Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge
Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung
Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV
Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind
Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)
Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!
Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85
The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll
Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!
Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ
Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track
Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch
A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel
Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC
I was starving in
Pennsylvania.
One night, I had
enough.
Done with it all.
The poverty and
sickness.
The drunken mad
nights
and dog-fight days.
Brutality for breakfast.
Served sunny side up
runny yolks with
butterflies trapped in
the yellow sunshine.
Spiders built webs in
my soul.
I stood on the torn-up
couch in my living room and
yelled at the walls.
Listen, you devil.
You want me, you better be
ready for a fight.
I paced the floor like a
washed-up heavyweight champ,
eyeing the ceiling like a
drunken sparrow in a cat's mouth.
Apr 18, 2025
Apr 18, 2025 at 11:59 AM UTC
Ping Pong World Champ Andrew Baggaley,
Wow that lad can really play.
Dethroned the “King” who came from Russia,
Then 1966d that kid from somewhere near Prussia.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
there was a little horse he dreamed of having fame
to win a big horse race where he could make his name
he began to train and run around the course
training everyday to be the fastest horse
round and round he went preparing for his race
with his little stop watch checking on his pace
now the horse ready for his racing day
soon what he had dreamed of would be underway
he went down to the track to his starting stall
waiting for the starter to give is starting call
now the race was on horse he took the lead
running like a train very fast indeed
no one else could catch him he was far to fast
racing on his own as the winning post went past
now he was a champ he had made his name
the fastest horse alive in the hall of fame
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
You tried to learn everything you could.
About life, love, religion. The whole deal.
You were convinced that you would be the one to go to if there was ever an apocalypse.
You laughed things off, but you always had a heavy heart.
And when you shared your soul, It was beautiful.
You used to call me in the middle of the night
Pretending to be an old black man from Louisiana
Keeping me up for hours laughing.
I ALWAYS found it creepy to wake up on the couch to you spooning me.
And whenever you just randomly licked me across the face,
I was truly disgusted.
I've never seen someone break a bone before,
But you took it like a champ. And still caught the ball.
Washing dishes.
Late night bike rides.
(You riding Mom's bike, honking that **** horn at EVERYONE)
Sunglass and antique shopping.
Ancient Ways.
Bonfires.
Oreo races.
Sushi trips.
Labyrinth hunting.
Our obsession with graffiti.
And SO much more.
We had such a rocky start.
And we drove eachother crazy.
But you made me feel special.
Important.
You saw things in me that no one, including myself, would've ever noticed.
I will be forever thankful to have gotten the chance
To see what a beautiful person you truly were.
You grew to be more than my friend.
You were my brother.
I Loved you more than you'll ever know.
This stupid poem doesn't do justice to explain just how much you meant to our whole family.
You were a part of it, whether you wanted to be or not.
That's where you ended up,
And I've never been so happy to have a *** sleeping on our couch.
You were one weird ******* kid. But man, I sure loved you♥
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 12:14 PM UTC
Every time I touch a controller
I set a new highscore
I said a new highscore.
Look out behind you, mother ******
I capped that ***
You should've watched your back.
Now I got an L-shaped block
Watch as I drop it in that L-shaped slot.
Haters gotta throw the blue turtle shell,
Because they can't keep their kart on Rainbow Road.
Donkey's going to throw some barrels at me;
Don't worry princess, watch me jump.
I promise I won't get hit, not even once.
Hey there champ look right here;
I just stuck a plas grenade
On you right ear.
Lucky shot? So you say.
Still watching me tea-bag you
From the grave.
Pilot Wings, Punch-Out, Mario
Madden, Sonic or GTA
It doesn't really matter
The number of pixels we play.
D-Pad or joystick,
Night or day,
It doesn't really matter how you play,
Put me on tron I'll blow you away.
Turtles in Time:
You take that next slice.
Even blindfolded your no match
For my SuperScope.
Tony Hawk, what a joke!
In Pacman or Galaga in space
Even with the Kunami Code
You've got no hope.
So the next time you hear
Scorpion yell "Get over here!"
Have no fear
A Sonic Boom will soon be there.
Busting out Atari's Pong?
Noob, I'll pwn you
One-thousand to none.
Hell, not even Parapa the Rappa
Can touch my rhymes.
Read those initials
That score is mine.
I said read those initials;
That score is mine.
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 1:38 AM UTC
O Golden Hair, My Friend
Kitty kitty
So fluffy
So witty
So unbearably pretty.
Stay away from
The city,
My kitty kitty
It'd be such a pity.
Hussanara
This is my mango.
There are many like it,
But this one is
Mine.
Without me,
My mango is useless.
Without my Mango,
I am useless...
My Sweet Wonderful Mary
Dark dim witty kitty
Trailed into New York City
With bad intents inevitably
Bad.
Through Earth and lake committing
All its great natural giving
Forced utter pain incoming,
Dad.
Lord (Religious readers please take no offense again the writer was not quite there)
God is a champ.
The bearded light upstairs.
He's cold and he's damp
Like fresh lumpy pears.
Won't one, if you dare,
Stick your hand in the air
To clamp
Like bears?
He's a scare of
Puny people
With long ginger hair.
Whose souls the cannot
Go in there,
The holiest of despair.
They all run through his stare
Of bulging eyes he got!
Anyone want to translate that one? I sure couldn't.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 1:43 AM UTC
Plumped rouge with pigment
her lip fills to graze the ********
intent to disquiet the likes of de Sade
autografted with ocular detachment
should a Marquis wish to harness
the song of the morning
within a bandolier of Seine
to ensnare any bustled Persephone
gilted by discharge of ions
into a ménage of torment
through the Porte des Lions.
Hers is the tincture of doxy
caramelized and debrided of naivety,
empowered by the eve of invention,
swollen to curves and grounded in Paris.
Illumination defies pervasion
down to every gear and pulley
she has hushed through mechanization
and lulled by steam,
swaging a cacophony of flickers
encased in glass by the Lady’s watch,
where every rivet of her plate glisters silken
reverberation in cascade,
elegant, caged, and towering,
outspoken in silence,
ever challenging the Champ de Mars.
"Paris by Gaslight," written by Dionne Charlet, is the title poem to be featured in the upcoming steampunk anthology Paris by Gaslight, the third anthology in the By Gaslight Series from New Orleans small press Black Tome Books. Look for the first two collections of poems and short stories set in Victorian Times, New Orleans by Gaslight (ISBN 9780615801186) and Cairo by Gaslight (ISBN 9781516961528). Both collections feature poetry by Charlet, under the pseudonym Dionne Cherie.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
Yes..I picked her precious flower
Gave me head in the shower...
Ate her ***** for an hour
Nice and wet..Sweet and sour
I must've been tasty
Not a drop did she waste me
Looking at her face see
Made me *** all crazy
Then we started playing
No words you know what I'm saying
My actions got her spraying
Whips..chains..all my tools out laying
Feeling like a champ number one
Passion within burns hotter than the Sun
Candle wax down your ***** it run
Slap that **** you've been Scorpio stung
Unf I don't want to hurt you
Like a machine find every way to work you
Is that the spot?
It doesn't hurt too
Take my time..discover your mysteries
When I pull out umm all becomes history
When not inside I'm feeling the misery
At one when we *** holding you blissfully...
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
HORSE OF A DIFFERENT COLOUR
Auden & Isherwood
strolling in China
trying to soak up
The War
by the process of
osmosis
staining it
with words
observe
(at first what seems)
green horses
but turns out to be
only white horses
painted green
for camouflage purposes.
That evening in Canton
also offering them
the futility of two men
trying to put a rat
into a bottle
a woman who lived
in a beehive
pouring water
into a sieve.
War knocks
over the inkwell
spills
into men’s lives
covers the white pages
of their wishes
makes the idea of Hell
...all too real.
The spilt ink eating
the words of men
who send letters home
and die in pain
never to return
only in other’s memories
& useless dreams
marble memorials
while green horses
champ the grasses
the bridles & the bits
clanking & glinting
in the hot sun
of Now.
as this last lost evening
dies.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 5:46 AM UTC
Czar no ***** that's lie.
Rumour's fake like the treaty of Versailles.
Yeah, I know a lil history.
But her face beat, lookin like Rocky.
Brows ****** like drawn on *****
I guess Carl just makes bad champ picks.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
Avec mes premiers droits d’auteur je m’achèterai une vieille maison à retaper
Longeant une petite route déserte au milieu d’un champ immense
Je ne sais pas qui retapera ma maison
Je ne mentirai plus oh non jamais plus
Mais j’aimerais que l’ivresse me vienne plus vite
Comme ce mur blanc salement tacheté de jaune
Je voudrais tout couvrir, effacer toutes les traces
Ne plus penser à toi
Mais te dire à quel point tu m’as troué le cœur
Te tordre le cou devant un parterre de gens débiles
Oui
Je ne veux pas penser à la mort de mes parents
Encore moins à leur folie
Même si je sais, je sens qu’elle approche
Je me vois bien crever toute seule comme une vieille conne frigide entourée d’une centaine de cadavres de lapins dans cette vieille maison que j’aurais achetée avec mes droits d’auteur
Les gens je les déteste, ils ne se rendent pas compte du mal qu’ils peuvent faire
Ne se rendent jamais compte de rien
Non
De rien du tout
Pourtant
Je sais que ces trous du cul ont mal eux aussi
Je sens d’ici leur souffrance
Sous leurs mensonges et leurs faux-semblant je sens leur douleur d’inexistence
Mais moi vous savez
Je ne sais pas pour vous
Mais moi
Je veux juste écrire
JUSTE ECRIRE
Que mes parents demeurent immortels
Et aussi un peu d’amour charnel
Juste
Une fois
De temps à autre.
…/…
Avec mes premiers droits d’auteur je me suis achetée une vieille maison à retaper
Longeant une petite route déserte au milieu d’un champ immense
Mais comme mes parents sont morts et que je suis une vieille conne frigide qui n’aimera jamais un homme autre que son père
Personne n’a retapé ma maison
Vieille maison qui tombe à présent en ruine
Dans laquelle je m’effondre
Jour après jour
Minute
Après
Minute
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
The past should defy you but live in the presents
Everyday is a new day a fresh start
Learn from your mistakes do your best not to make the sameones
I wake up saying today ill be someone make a name for myself
I love softball be a coach help the girls
I coach be the best in the league
Improvement and get better hope the make the high school team.
I like to do MMA bag work do it right be sore but a move towards goal achieve greatness be the next champ be
the trainer whole shares all he knows
respect and love helps the sport grow
Years of getting beat up now its time to move up
Always writing stories writing down moments of my life I feel grown up more mature
Success is the cure to defeat I'm not talking but doing my thing
One day take what I love to another level mainstream main event I'm doing what I love that's the main thing
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
Hippos in crates
On rollerskates
Crashing through
the rickety gates.
Crashing and bashing.
Oooooooooooh, how Smashing!
Rolling about
Their teeth a-flashing!
Running amuck!
Watch out for the duck.
Open the doors!
Back up the truck!
Zipping up the ramp
Like any old champ.
There they go!
Don't forget the stamp.
Crates in the mail!
Delivered without fail.
Those Hippos on skates
Lurching down the trail.
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 3:27 PM UTC
*"Just the tip. Just the tip." Initiation. Fourteen years old, fourteen year olds don't know the just the tip trick. It hurt like hell but the sound of his panting was well...worth it. Just the tip, then just the shaft. Just a lick, what a champ…the other half. Gigi was born, de-flowered then flourished. Naughty by nature. Fed and *** nourished. What a **** I was, what a ***** I am.…just slap my *** grab me and pull me in. Choke me, bite me...squeeze, pull my hair, look me in the eyes, cuff me to a chair. Quiet ones you have to watch. I moan louder than I talk, nice rock in my hips....do me real good and I'll wobble when I walk. The club is my home, but not where I belong. Under my hijaab they can't see my laced thong. Taught to cater to the men and serve them martinis. Not dance ***** naked in heels and bikinis. Allahu Akbar. Don't let my family find out. Allahu Akbar. They'll **** me. Allahu Akbar. But if they do. Allahu Akbar. I'm still me.
My name is Neha,
Stage name GiGi however so complex, Stripper in silence,
And I'm strung out on ***
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
To come in like a champ
means to come out like a champ
To come in like a whimp
means to come out like a champ
No matter what
come out looking like a champ
and no one will know the difference
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
The love of a female fitness champ and a male bodybuilder
It all started at Everlasting Gym
Two members that were their own sparking gems
Jane, a Fitness Demonstration champ and a beauty in the face and slim in the waist
John being a Male bodybuilder who is a novice bodybuilding champ and muscles defined in vascular as a road map
The magnifying glass in bringing love close
The muscles that entertain in being most
Two Dum bells seemed to form a heart overhead when two champs kissed
It was a muscle thing blooming into full swing
An exercise pair that normally perform on stage, but went further in their own amaze
Jane and John became Husband and Wife
The moment wasn’t wasted in being a couple for life
Posing was transferred to chores in being married
This is the responsibility that it carries
Well John and Jane continued to be fond of each other
Far more than lifting weights, their love was strong for another
Exercise with a different blend and a chosen soul mate at the end.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 8:58 AM UTC
Je vis cette faucheuse. Elle était dans son champ.
Elle allait à grands pas moissonnant et fauchant,
Noir squelette laissant passer le crépuscule.
Dans l'ombre où l'on dirait que tout tremble et recule,
L'homme suivait des yeux les lueurs de la faulx.
Et les triomphateurs sous les arcs triomphaux
Tombaient ; elle changeait en désert Babylone,
Le trône en échafaud et l'échafaud en trône,
Les roses en fumier, les enfants en oiseaux,
L'or en cendre, et les yeux des mères en ruisseaux.
Et les femmes criaient : - Rends-nous ce petit être.
Pour le faire mourir, pourquoi l'avoir fait naître ? -
Ce n'était qu'un sanglot sur terre, en haut, en bas ;
Des mains aux doigts osseux sortaient des noirs grabats ;
Un vent froid bruissait dans les linceuls sans nombre ;
Les peuples éperdus semblaient sous la faulx sombre
Un troupeau frissonnant qui dans l'ombre s'enfuit ;
Tout était sous ses pieds deuil, épouvante et nuit.
Derrière elle, le front baigné de douces flammes,
Un ange souriant portait la gerbe d'âmes.
2.2k
there was a little mouse snooker was his game
and to be a champion was is only aim
he bought himself a cue and a little case
hoping maybe oneday to be a snooker ace
he praticed day and night doing lots of shots
chalking up his cue practicing his pots
now his time had to come ready to compete
to be a snooker star and make his life complete
getting to the final he had beat the rest
now it was the time to see who would be best
mouse he was on form and used all his skill
crowd they all applauded he gave them such a thrill
in the final frame mouse took every ball
clearing the table mouse he took them all
now he was the champ he had made is name
a snooker ace forever in the hall of fame
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
Undefeated. Undisputed. 12 wins, 0 losses. A perfect 12-0 record.
You’re the crowd’s favorite as Vegas odds are in your favor.
Through the years of being in this game, you can almost get used to the fame.
“This fight’s going to be an easy one” – you assured your Coach.
You enter the octagon and see her warming up. Then you hear Bruce Buffer laying out the ground rules.
You’re excited – but nervous.
You feel the pressure of having to live up to everyone’s expectations. From your coach to the little girl on the other side of the world rooting for you.
You thought it was going to be another landslide victory.
Barely 2 minutes in and you feel scared.
Suddenly, you feel a numbing pain on your chin. It was a left hook.
As you fall face first, you feel nothing. Your unconscious body lays flat on the octagon floor.
Lights out.
Moments later you wake up to the sound of the fans cheering in the octagon.
A left hook was all it took for your dream of retiring undefeated to come crashing down.
For the first time, it wasn’t your arm that was raised by Herb Dean.
For the first time, you heard the words, “….and the new Featherweight champion”
You don't let it sink in at first but you can only hold back for too long before you realize that you lost.
You stood up, wiped the sweat off of your forehead, removed your gloves and marched out.
Suddenly you feel this weird feeling of embarrassment.
"So this is how it feels to lose?" you said to yourself.
You found a chair, sat down and composed yourself.
You’re still in one piece, which is a good thing but you know that fact cannot compensate for the emotional disorientation you felt.
Broken bones really do heal faster than injured egos.
Maybe your loss was a way of knocking some sense into you.
Winning is not everything, the same way that losing is not.
Sometimes you need to experience defeat in order to appreciate how satisfying every victory is.
As a fan, I know it's going to be hard to bounce back from this loss.
But you're going to be okay, champ. You always do.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC