"combative" poems
Within the shadow of a false icon,
Which hangs over me like fallen titans,
The ones who in the darkness of ignorance wore capes and flew,
But now wear maniacal grins and snarl to.
The same person who used to make you want to say live,
Now only force you to to spell it backwards and with yourself become more combative.
He says he misses me,
But that would make three,
Me, mom and The Monster,
He says "straighten your postue"
I miss the days I could look past your hypocrisies,
Back when I could look at your and think "these are the right policies "
In my time of need,
You can't seem to see,
Your voice make me bleed,
You're whose killing me
To be stuck in a house, but not a home,
Trapped inside not a shrine, but a tomb,
Imprisoned by the voice that used to be that of ideology and hope,
Which is now the voice of the hate that hangs me like a rope,
The voice that tears my mind in two,
One side screaming "you are wrong," and I should be rejecting you,
The other side creeping and deafaningly whispers I am the infection, adieu.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
Liking you was just too easy
Leaving you would be too hard
Please promise me that you'll stay here
and love me while we fall apart
Is it good,
Is it bad?
Are we happy,
Are we sad?
Doesn't matter to me
You are all that I need
Because when you smile
I smile
whether Id like to or not
And that hard head of yours
you're too combative
and I'm too smart
We talk, we argue
we **** we fight
but by the end of the night
when I can't stand you
I need your hands to
wrap me up, hold me tight
Get away from me
You don't deserve me,
but while you're leaving...
please don't desert me
I really need you
to stick around so
I can drag you
and wear you down
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 1:28 AM UTC
*When minds start warring
Reason loses its way
Chaos prevails*
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 4:02 AM UTC
A follow on poem to 'In the Sunroom (Suicide)" (1)
writ many years later...
~For MWK~
<>
A stray thought. a burring burrowing, thorny tawny:
A wish, yet to get, but vetted for each of us.
*This within, this redoubt, a contemplative oasis,
my indoor poet's nookery rookery sanctuary
each one, each is, deserves, all, one such,
a place holy filled, with lice and dirt of a life,
strained and trained for emission and transmission
of the best of the worst, and the triumphant emergent commission of
our individualized most excellent fresh best
where crumbs of apple crisp pie solidify, vanilla bean ice cream
melt offsets the oven heated warmth, and from this interactive
contrasts combative,
a poem pie reborn, newly disguised, familiar words,
yet unheard and before this very never,
went unspoken and now goes forth
svelte and unbroken
*rhymes of yore, forgot from a before, but making up the walls
of the here and now,
a sunroom to spread out the lit lights of egress and entrance,
of fire door no exits that now are chiseled closed,
lock in, lock up, and somehow, one, stills to learn from
the stilling quiet solitude.
to penetrate the prostrate kneeling grinning grief,
how to expel and spell the words
that grant
relief
visit my sunroom, though no fiction.
the sun rays *********** create the friction
of that which cannot ever be withered nor contained,
and your mouth opens wide and a poem birthed and delivered,
pastiche paste composted of truth and dreams of fiction, fine diction,
with a shrug, a smile, a satisfaction extracted extraordinary,
you garner moments of satisfaction but cloud cover returns,
and the process of sunrise exposition recommences,
and one revisits the elemental sequencing of
all the predecessor pain, but this time,
for gain, for gain,
<>
written this sabbath Saturday
12:38am EST
Sat Aug 2
2025
in the sunroom,
on Shelter Island
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 12:59 AM UTC
Anger
Fury
Rage
Like three tigers in a cage
Fierce like fire
Having a desire
for revenge
Not making amends
Temper
Wrath
Hateful disgrace
The world's often a hostile place
Anger out of control, corrupting the peace,
Becoming a riot, calling for the police
Anger is combative to a truce
When raw emotions are on the loose
Anger comes in many colors:
Tumultuous reds
boiling in your head
Purple passions
in warlike fashion
Seething greens,
for envy is a fiend
Anger that is a shocking yellow
is anything but mellow
They blend together in a melting ***
A big, boiling cauldron, scaulding hot
In its feverish calamity, anger reeks
Of dead men's bones, you shall see
Like tasting gasoline, it is a toxic tonic
You don't want to be anywhere around it!
Its angry concoction you partake in to sip
Though it's like deadly poison on your lips!
In your body, it courses through
Before it makes a fool out of you!
Like two lighted matches on your tongue
Anger does the tango just for fun!
This mouthful of hot pins and needles stings!
You swallow it down, the whole **** thing!
You wash it all down with wine as it smolders
Down your throat anger goes, like jagged boulders!
Through your esophagus, resisting a slippery slide
Anger within you does not want to hide!
Into your gut, like a rugged coastline of pain
You now see the world with great disdain!
Your stomach evolves into a volcanic hole
Hot as a furnace with blazing coals!
Anger soon rises from the volcanic mountain
Lava bursting forth like a fiery fountain!
That is anger's transition that I see
My vision portrayed in this poetic story
Anger does have a rightful place
But out of control, it turns into hate
On one hand, it can help us fight evil
On the other, it can hurt other people
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 2:49 PM UTC
Ink in the bowl goes on to skin
Culture from Africa to Americas Indians
Ink that is absorbed into the mind
Held in place forever in time
Ink that controls the blood in veins
Moving through the pulses and chains
Not strong enough to hold the soul
Ink that lives infinite in the world
Smooth grooves in nights and bars
Jazzy blues, singing croons through guitar
Villages and huts where elders bang drums
Leaders dance songs for rain and sun
Music through words transferred through ink
Thoughts held in mind brought into links
That form into the soul of the world
Blood that stains as ink swirls
Tantrums and storms that guide the spirit
A spirit so combative you can't come near it
It won't come if you hear it or read it
Learn to live the life, words true when you feel it
Artist from autism, loose thoughts bridge cataclysms
No cure for the self, wealth grows, pace kept slow
Races to save victims and glorify human conditions
Giving thoughts and heart to help, it is felt, is it felt?
Writing soul, from heaven to hell
Spiritual fire, culture is furthered
For my blood flows parallel to ink
Ink that flows and grows from me
Me goes to you, then travels beyond
We show growth, all faces of God
One voice seeks to speak
Through songs, poetry, love in the ink
****** lovely ink
Muddy purity links
The ink the ink
The ink the ink .
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
Herein, laying dormant,
veils of reposed
secrecy 'neath
foamy seascapes'
frenetic passages,
languishing below
sunken treasures'
false facades of
reticently rolling
shrouded bluffs,
shaded of darkly impetuous
hued blood in
unceremoniously
bound convolutions,
a million ancient
undisclosed shadows hidden,
notwithstanding combative
rumblings of death's
unwelcome sycophancy,
depths of centuries'
old unparalleled stories,
whence hush-hush
undulatory influx
of defiant upsurges
and turbulence reside,
that of which only the
winds of indiscretion,
clandestine spirits
& gods could surmise
...as privileged moons watch over amaranthine skeletons
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 6:57 AM UTC
Blue for the chill,
It's blue,
That hill,
Off in the distance,
Past that window,
That hasn't been washed,
I'll do that,
I will.
But the hill,
It's blue,
Blue is for the chill,
In case you forgot,
I do that sometimes,
I can't remember my lines,
But it's ok,
Cause they did too,
So it's not just you,
But look,
Out the ***** window,
That I forgot to clean,
A minute ago,
Oh,
Right.
...
Now look,
Look!
Past the window you don't know is there,
Cause its so clean,
Out to the hill,
It's blue,
Just like you,
Blue is for the chill,
Blue is for you too.
I know why blue is yours,
Cause I know almost everything,
I knew what your favorite colour is,
I know your favorite song to sing,
I shouldn't give it away too soon,
But the colour is blue,
And the song Blue Moon,
I knew I shouldn't have said anything,
I gave it away too soon...
But that's why you need to look,
You need to see,
Just like me,
I see you have eyes,
I know that cause I can see,
Big surprise,
It's deductive reasoning,
I like your wide eyes,
Makes you look scared,
Maybe you won't be so combative,
Maybe you'll do better than the others faired...
No no,
Don't cry,
Please don't cry,
I,
I don't know what to do about tears,
I find them to be one of my bigger fears,
I fear them like you fear death,
I'm not sure how to make them stop,
Without stealing your breath...
That's better
I'm glad you stopped,
It's better than you smile,
Cause it's been quite awhile,
Since I've seen someone not so scared,
Perhaps you will do better,
Than the others faired...
Oh no,
I've gone and frightened you again,
I'm sorry,
I don't mean to,
I'm unsure what to do,
How about I show you something?
Here look,
See,
It's a ring,
Diamond and gold,
Will keep shining forever,
Till we're grey and old,
Isn't that something else?
It'll last longer than both you and I,
But that's no surprise,
Rocks have long lives,
We humans almost never survive...
But never mind that,
You got me all sidetracked,
Trickster you!
But look,
Beyond the window,
All the blue,
That is the hill,
Cause blue is for the chill,
And I know how you like the colour,
I like always how the world is still,
Never moving,
Not an inch,
Not a mile,
Not bit,
Not in quite awhile,
I've often wondered why not,
But then I forgot,
What I wondered about,
And then I scream,
And I shout,
And when I stop I find everyone's sleeping,
Not making a sound,
Not even breathing,
So I dig a big,
Big hole in the ground,
And in they go,
Without a sound.
But don't worry,
I won't forget a thing!
I won't ever forget the name of that song,
That song you love to sing!
It's called...
It's called...
It's called.....
...
....
...Hm,
Wake up sleepy head,
Wake up lazy bones!
Oh,
You're dead...
You never even got to see the hill,
That's passed the window,
It's blue,
Blue is for the chill,
All for you,
That hill,
Cause it's blue,
And I know you really like the colour,
Or liked I guess,
What a mess...
I'm sorry for this,
I really thought I'd miss,
Never hit anything with it before,
But I guess I did today,
I had hoped you could stay,
For a little while longer,
I knew that I could be just that little bit stronger,
But not today...
Jan 13, 2010
Jan 13, 2010 at 11:53 AM UTC
Sunrise nearing its death,
the end of today
complementing the beauty of a pen stroke,
harsh scratching alleviating indelible ideas
showing selves in hues painting our last moments
allowing me to trace timelines
in the contoured caresses
of this silent instrument played
to blend melody with beginnings,
each progression scaling further along
the passing hours left settling
to minutes from now,
purpose elaborated in contrasting
blues and oranges and purples
composing the elegance of utility,
colors not enough to excise the excesses
of depicting days in dimensions,
of simplifying it to degrees of time.
Laying alongside this current
to shape clouds
and animate constellations,
my faux-corpse stares again into
the memory held in galaxies
only glimpsed at twilight.
Sharp cuts of consonants
and vowels' smoothed corners
try to rid me of
stream of conscious thinking loosed,
the inner struggle hoping for reprieve
from that constant combative nature
of inward disagreement
and dialectic digression
deflecting the question of
what if we'd only spoke
instead of being lost
to foreign type-faces designed by
some soul never to see
the dying day my way.
If only we'd spoke,
I would have had the chance
to stumble on a goodbye.
Rather we are left
to flourishes of unfamiliar weapons
sitting askew on these pages,
the balance shifted due to
us degrading to another's personality,
and writing out those lines
we couldn't come to say.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
There was tension between the families from the start
My best friend's wedding was certainly one for the record books
I tried to bring sensible mediation to the dance floor
As his Grandpa Helmar raised his walking cane and struck the Brides Father in the neck
Each of the families allegiance spurned combative retribution and all Hell broke loose
I took one for the team with a sac of Jordan Almonds to the right eye
Then slipped on the wedding gift of excrement left by the ring bearer, the family poodle
I came to consciousness wet with champagne thrown in my face, I thanked my wife for caring.
Aunt Sarrah, in her drunken zeal, thought it wise to toss all her cookies in the Reverend's face
The Bride's mother slapped an unsuspecting cousin with her overly expensive oversized hat
And the Groom's sister's dress was ripped to shreds by the Bride's teenage niece
Yes. the same dress that my wife said was hideous and did nothing for her.
The two parties had not much to say to each other in the waiting room of the ER
bandages and gauze were passed around like Hors d'oeuvres, but not the Bayer Aspirin
We all watched in shameful disgust, the videographer's collection of memories
The next day as the Bride and Groom opened their gifts
And I, sporting a keen black patch, a pirate only his wife could love...
Reminded my dear friend of the possible outcome of having two reception menus
One honoring him and his family and one honoring his Bride and her family
Highlighted by Königsberger Klopse, and respectively, Gefilte Fish with carrots
Their love endures!
-----ChawzzyScript
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
Guarded is a key word for you.
You keep your privacy highly protected.
Your reluctance to openly
Exhibit your feelings must be respected.
Though you are interested in others,
They know you ONLY to a degree.
Even when seemingly open, you show
Only what you want them to see.
Your strong will and your ability
To want to get to the bottom of things
Make your sense of resourcefulness
Guide you to seek out and pull the right strings.
You can be very stubborn at times;
Your reticence becomes persistence.
You're not usually combative, but when
You're pushed you knock down all resistance.
If people try to fool you, forget it.
You DON'T like being manipulated.
The outspokenness of Scorpios
Often remains understated.
You could be called a truth-seeker;
Your insight is powerful, your judgment keen.
Challenges are not to be feared
And must be brought into your routine.
You must learn how to master
The two forces of need and desire
So you can develop your potential
To manage the power that you require.
Until it's unleashed, true Scorpio
Energy stays deeply hidden.
Everyone knows that criticizing
A Scorpio is strictly forbidden.
You might tend to dominate
Relationships, so do be wary.
That your intensity can overwhelm
Others for you is customary.
You're not arrogant or self-involved;
Inner struggles you rarely display.
Allowing others to see your weakness
To you would be a cause of dismay.
You appear to be easy-going
And have to learn that it is fine
To manifest the intensity
Associated with the sign.
Your power and magnetism
Can be for some an inspiration,
As well as your stamina
And your fierce determination.
Your mental and physical powers
Of recuperation, along with--of course--
Your creativity,
Make you a guiding force.
- by Bob B
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
The cosmic river of placidity our spiritual
Graveyard, laden illuminating the resevoirs
Of the sun serpents mineral kingdoms created
As the desecrated flowers of the
Universe decay,
The barren Earths machinery immortally
Combative rebirthing deaths plague.
Akashas victorious joy reflecting the
Sillohettes of times ardititious travellings
Fleeting, the strength of withered spirits
Collective daydreams upon solacses fallen
Fields of despair, redeeming justices
Patience provocating abeyance.
The irredescent golden amber of an iron
Roses kindling flame; katabolisms landscape
Transcending sunsets incarnate pharisaical
Clouds defying agonising temptations rising
On the wind of sanctimonious whispers
Working the stagnate temper of
Choas' repining heart.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
Now the first leaves, golden,
Falling, fluttering tranquilly.
Breeze becomes wind,
A slight chill present.
Summer ending,
Fall in the air,
You can smell it, see it,
Touch it, even taste it.
Saturday, Freeway fills with cars,
Flags flying, team colors displaying,
Car Horns honking, people waving.
Mighty Ducks are beating their wings,
Getting ready, who could have known?
That Ducks having no teeth,
Could be so very ferocious,
Tenacious, combative, thrilling.
Tailgating celebrating,
Throngs of laughing people, moving
Pennants showing, blowing in the wind,
Through the gates into the huge arena.
Filling the stands, waiting spectacle’s beginning.
Band blares spirited tunes, people and
Students cheering, Ear splitting, the grandstands
Vibrating, spines a tingling, tension mounting.
Among great fan fare, the Gladiators emerge,
Regaled in colorful Costumes for combat,
Helmets gleaming in the sun,
Muscles bulging young men strut and pose,
In spirited pent up raw anticipation,
Soldier-players moving now as one,
As a well practiced oiled machine,
Each part supporting the other.
Each knowing its own function,
Resulting in precise synchronization.
A time and place where boys become men.
Beautiful young women, under dressed,
Bosoms bouncing, pompoms waving
Add to the Circus flavor of spectacle rising.
Only a game? None in the bowl knows that.
No one cares to think so, it is more than that,
It is war, it is life, it‘s aggression without death,
It is pride without regret; it is a melding of hearts,
And expectations, of loyalties to a common goal,
It is a Saturday in the sun and fall air, a chance to
Yell and cheer for youth in flower, to feel and fear
An inevitable outcome not yet predetermined.
To ebb and flow all human emotions,
To hopefully all, end the day a winner,
Or perhaps display compassion for the looser.
To feel alive, to participate in life’s cycle of living.
Football, just a game? Don’t you believe it.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
That clever fine line, so subtle in form
En dormir yet greedily alert to vulnerability
Nimble tentacles easing you over
Once steadfast, comfort in being
Then slippage, slow, painful crumbling, curiosity grappling with descent
Transition seamless as a lullaby yet fiercely combative
Happiness, contentedness, numbness, collision, abyss
That clever fine line, so subtle in form
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
Hey cold gray decrepit wall , paint me a pretty picture this morning because I'm too 'unstable' to be let out ..
Draw purple sunsets and seagulls flying away because I'm to'combative ' to be walking about ...
Good morning minimum wage , mad at the way the creek flows orderly , keeping the peace in the psychiatric world , strong arming sweet people to consume their numbing drugs , walking around like your in the WWE , NFL or something ...
Drink machine doctors , twenty second physicals for a thousand bucks , not even looking up with an apparent hundred percent hearing loss when your patients happen to speak up !
Good day Nurse Loser with zero patience , handed out drugs like your poisoning the hogs .. Now that I'm gone I wish you all the worst , I hope you find a Gaboon Viper hiding in your purse ..
Hello kitchen staff , how could I forget , how much sugar does it take to sweeten dog **** ? Trapped in a room with food a rat would refuse to eat .. Standing indignant by your slop like your a Food Channel cooking queen !!
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
Life is so hard sometimes.
It pulls, taking the table cloth
along with it.
It strengthens, taking the tide
along with it.
It chides
talking the moon
out of its misery
wishing it were daybreak
but when day arrives,
the moon wishes it were night.
Round and round we go
on this roller coaster called life.
Hanging on is so difficult
with responsibilities tugging
at the mainframe
about to crumble apart like
break pads crumbling under
the weight of it all.
A pressurized catapult or
catalog explaining the width
it takes to squeeze through
the trash chute without
crushing anything of importance.
Holding our breath
as the bumps become clear
afraid of the coaster
slipping off the tracks
and plummeting into
the frigid unknown.
Luck is only heresy
in this world of uncertainty.
But cars can be fixed,
jobs can be taken,
and bodies can be satisfied
in ways unheard of in reality.
Life is so hard sometimes.
But looking at it with new eyes,
with a combative, stubborn grip
on the cold steel handle,
a roller coaster can be both exhausting and exhilarating
if you know what to look for.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC
Popping out from slumberous state,
Little buds, you come to life.
Fight, fist, fend the odds,
You’re different; you survive.
Combative, commanding, cruel,
Your army, every restraint exceeds,
As it marches on, devouring
The very platter on which it feeds.
Slithering, slipping stealthily,
Deadly tentacles spare no bone, sinew.
Boundaries are blurred; your territory expands,
Your militia continues to exponentially grow.
And soon, your red flags of victory-
Those flags of death, demise and doom
Are planted everywhere; each bit
Of terrain you’ve invaded and consumed.
There you sit, content, in the middle of all the gloom,
Immortal, indestructible, infinite.
With power of the magnitude you possess,
There’s no force that can give you a fight.
And when flies of decay begin to hover over
Your kingdom, you smile, flexing your pincers.
Thriving on the depressing glow of the setting sun,
You- the kark, the crab, the cancer.
(to the malady that ate my Grandmother away)
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC
It's a common bond between the two
making a difference, connective tissue
assembled into a greatness
a line of weakness
combative graveyard
A manic savior
Tips to what keeps us up
a cheers to another empty cup
invincibility shall drown
like a statue underground
pushed away for decades
Eagerly brimming with pain
A terror of hope
shrieking of ghosts
of demons and mongrels
that make-up these problems
a mask of fluidity free flow down the hatch
A liver is weakened by this ugly thrash
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 4:39 AM UTC
This morning I was feeling
like a Savior
I saved a baby bird
from her sure demise;
pulled her right out
of his mouth, you
should've seen the
Snake's eyes
I said
I bet that doesn't feel real well
with a grin, and then
set him on fire and sent him back to hell,
to swim in the lake of sin
I cradled her gently
and heard whispered peeping
I studied her feathers carefully
for I knew she was worth keeping
By noon
I was feeling sort of grumpy
until I met an old toad
Sitting warm red and lumpy.
He asked for a snack
and I wanted to see him satisfied,
So I scooped up a grasshopper
and plucked out its' eyes.
And I picked up two more,
and a cricket just for fun,
today has been a good day
out here in the sun.
This afternoon I'm feeling
sort of combative,
A battle of species
is sounding very attractive.
For this next stanza,
no matter what the cost,
We will see titans cross swords
in the form of a spider and a wasp.
They begin fighting,
someone plays a koto
and I'm sorry folks,
I wish I had a photo.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 11:39 AM UTC
Drastic self-defence,
Drastic in my linguistic augments,
The evidence of my attempts at trying,
To see any future where I’m not dying,
And it makes no sense
Tactic for offense,
Offensive in sarcastic defiance,
Ambivalence on a course for further premonitions,
Static fragments of my continual refusal of any medicinal diminution,
Please help me make some sense
Psychopathic friends,
Systematic traffic hence,
Pensive head and that will drive you,
Insane and round the bend if only they all knew,
I can’t see any sense
Automatic ends,
Ammunition diplomatic,
Suspense in its unanimously tragic situation,
Fate’s unenthusiastic in its conflict upon two cognitive nations,
That makes no sense
Anatomically attic fenced,
Just a poetic way to represent,
One’s combative mental condition,
An addict and the opposite always on the right and the left warring in attrition,
If that makes any sense
Plastic ornaments,
Plastic bottles left to lament,
As the alcoholic labyrinth in my life that cannot be broken,
To help wash down writhing thoughts forced to remain unspoken,
And an I that makes no sense
Fix it no expense,
Fixed monthly recompense now,
I am a myth of someone, whom I do not know,
Sickly pretence took me down a road that I never wanted to go,
And now you say I’m finally making sense
Panic is absent,
Absent the magic,
In the pills that in basic blindness I routinely swallow,
Dynamic in the worn out tools that continue to carve once whole now hollow,
Does that make any sense?
Now I’m really not making sense, by finally making sense
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
Thrown from the ocean,
stones and grit in our teeth,
scraped stomachs,
and sand in our suits,
we will hurl ourselves
into the combative waves once more,
until we, too,
become thoughtless,
fearless water droplets,
identical and indistinguishable
from the rest of the ocean.
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 9:45 AM UTC
ripped out my lungs because it was already impossible to breathe;
there was a light in the dark, there is something that i need.
i will keep going, stand on this glass beach, and
i'll sing baby, baby, baby, i just want some sleep.
yeah, i just want some sleep.
when she's talking to you your mouth hangs open
but not as open as her heart that she sewed to her sleeve
when she was thirteen. everyone says she reads like an open book,
but you think she reads more like a tombstone.
she has an expiration date and everyone knows it,
but you want to be there until her light dies out.
no doubt about it, you've lost your mind, but she
was something you couldn't slide under the rug
she kept coming back.
oh god did she come back, looking like a goddess,
and you were taken aback, trying to stay honest
but honesty is only the best policy until it reveals her frailty
over frivolity, she's precious, impressive, and beautifully combative-
but never ever yours.
slept with the devil when he promised me the love i lacked.
somehow i was surprised when everything went black
his face and eyes gave me a heart attack, and
he was my baby, baby, baby, i was just a fallback.
lust never more than a fallback.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 8:19 PM UTC
The yeti woke up
To find that his flower
Wasn’t there
All he hear was the word ma’re
Being repeated and screamed
He recognized the voice
It was that of his beloved
She was in distress
When he found her
Being ravaged by a monk
This one was young
Trying to kiss her
She fighting him off.
He enraged beat the young man to his death.
Then yeti
Took and carried his flower back to
Their love nest
He took the young woman to the springs
And saw that she was bloodied
Black and blue.
When she stirred
He thought she near death
And stayed with her until she recovered
The first time they couple
The young woman
Was combative
Until she realized who was kissing her.
They were gentle kisses on rough and sadistic.
Then she realized her lover
And let him in
So the can gently couple
“I am sorry for leaving you,”
She wept.
The yeti and his flower kiss
There tounges meet and slowly danced
A comforting dance
As they couple.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
Overwhelmed & underground
Aching like a willow tree
Too early to tell if you bite deep enough
Anxious & blue I lie on the floor
My stomach is cruel
It defies my combative mind
Jelly or jam will not do
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC