"copulating" poems
there is a mote
of dust,
in my eye
it comes from
the dust bunny's ***
i caught him, copulating
under the couch,
with two odd socks,
while the lego man watched.
he, in guilty panic,
shook and shed,
his lint everywhere....
and
i caught this bit
with my eye
the rest i collected
with my nose...
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
A bedspread on which bold, red and blue
esoteric, Tantric, motifs embrace
copulating triangles, the ideogram of cosmos
batik printed in vermilion on it's center
is spread, right there on the play-field of cupid
where the confluence is to happen,
a transmitting point of fecund energies to infinity,
a point on the spring board to transcendence
Beloved, here in the holy fire, receive in ecstasy,
the sacrificial offering I bring from the
incessant Ganga of my lineage,
Shakti and Shiva come in for divine union,
together here on the mark beyond time and space.
right in the center is "THE BINDU" the mystical point
both culmination and beginning of the 'beyond'
passage from here to timelessness of cosmos, we invoke.
Here Shakti is holy fire leaping up for Shiva's offering,
sublimated they fuse, may that be the seed for karmas lumenant.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 6:21 AM UTC
the child's house
domicile of estrangements
his parents dressed him like a little girl
against his will
a pox of gender confusion
glum aura
he ascended by violence
and lived through the logic of a mirage
except for copulating with demons
which of course
was ruined by
the good Christians
they who always hate ***
not wanting to be reminded
they are animals too
their heaven withheld
their halo's sullied
the vulnerability of desire their crime
Eros a disgrace
still beating their genitals until a wicked thunder
the pro-creative
an affirmation of paradox
between the continuity of life
and the dread of death
***** resurrections
a second *******
**** flood
without redemption
Satan standing on their necks
while God pulls them up by their hair
rebels to reason
bewitchers of wit
deranged by the myth
of dolls
wood and plastic painted corpses staring
and a blossom throated Goddess
ham handed monkey fist
jerking off in search of a bulls eye anyway
eyes bleeding on bare legs; lifting a white cotton dress
a bulwark of erections
like canons blasting puce spats
under his frilly skirt; a red rain
haunted by dead girls dancing
like homeless hip bones sway
a bewildered phantasm
in a doll house dream
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
Snorers all
scattered world-wide
in offices and homes
in boardrooms
and bedrooms;
O Snorers all
loud and clear
low and shrill -
listen ye
to the loud wake-up call
as from Rip Van Winkle's Snore
stand up united
and drown the howl of protests
against snoring that is surely no less divine
than the Chorus of Angels in Heaven -
for the great God who made the Aurora
no doubt also conceived of the Divine Snore!
and so, stand up, ye sonorous Snorers!
unite! I call unto ye!
unite against the detractors
and the critics
and the complainants
and those of low culture
who cannot
lie still and listen to Snoring
as one rightly would at a concert hall
listening to the delightful play
of a quartet of violins
O how long will you take it lying down,
ye blessed Snorers of the World?
let the world know
the first divine music was indeed the Snore;
and the very height of human communication
is the unabashed snore
for all other modes of communication
lead to mis-communication
but the language of the snore is always exact and crisp!
the message of the Snore always precise!
the meaning always loud and clear!
and the very height of the snore
(let us declare to the world)
is the couple in bed
snoring away together
beside each other
making such divine music
making love with the rolling thunder of snores
so that one might say:
*do we have a couple of wild boars
copulating in the next room?*
stand up, O Snorers of the World -
and defy the mockers
and those who seek divorce
on grounds of insufferable Snoring;
stand up against those who sue
for loss of sleep from
friendly, neighborly Snorers;
stand up now
against these losers, these whingeing nags
uncouth and untutored
in the mysteries of the art of the Snore!
stand up and with one loud blast of
a universal Snore,
with one melodious Snore
let us
drown their dissenting voices,
their unprovoked cacophonous complaints!
stand up, Snorers young and old!
unite, Snorers black, white and gold!
defy the world! O ye Snorers
of quite nights and of lazy days:
let us overwhelm the world
with the pleasing symphony of Snores;
let us bless the ears of the world
with the dulcet streams of varied notes and arias!
stand up! unite! - O much-maligned Snorers of the World!
with one voice raised
in a triumphant Snore
let us declare:
*No longer will we be silent!
Our voices will be heard!*
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
We walk along the beach at night,
Arms entwined and hearts entwined,
Waves lapping 'gainst our feet,
Pebbles scurrying like sand ***** 'twixt our toes.
Talking about ***** we are both
A little tickly in the naughty bits department,
As the gentle summer breeze
Wafts through our matted ***** hairs.
Just a brief hour or two ago,
We were strangers at the Pier disco,
And now our histories are to be
Inextricably linked by fate.
I do not know that, in a month or so,
I shall need to send you
A little yellow contact slip
From the Margate Hospital special clinic
Informing that you have been exposed to
A most unpleasant social disease
Which, with a bit of rotten luck,
Could easily rot your insides.
But, for now, our thoughts are far away
As we laugh and joke together
In our new found post-coital,
Youthful lovers' camaraderie,
Not wanting to speak too loudly or disturb
The copulating pair by the nearby breakwater
(Not that they'd be put off by a thunderclap
Seeing as how he's on the short strokes by now).
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
allocation of supreme alliteration illustrates perpetual contemplation and concentration that dictates a maligned mastication of federal incarceration of elongated complementary probation leaving you cuffed and based on baseless accusations conducted in aboriginal abbreviations masked task force concluding a course of brevity conducted in coordination then coordinating and copulating condemnation for a homeostasis of thought bought scolded eroded and shot inefficacy perpetrating cultural holocaust irrelevance somersaults galactic static of mathematical bombastic smack addict glued shut in a craft attic floral resurrection gartered section of ****** selection she moves fluid through unaltered perfection of cosmic bypass past the point of extemporaneous infinitude reciprocating fortitude of sinews congregating fabricating visuals of vitality soldering axonal membranes on the cerebellum and cortex simulation of sensual vortex demented fusion more blessed I am that which stands to understand the incomprehensible unconsidered options of racial conflicts the screaming round of unaltered copper fiber severing life from the living only now can we debunk the years
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
We proposed for Witches Abroad on Broadway, a costume.
As a lure to students, orange and black candy.
Dancing at the prom, cell phones caught the ghouls.
This stretch of road was full of cool cats.
Unlucky ones were left on the side as skeletons.
We swept them clear with our broomsticks.
Our guns were not as brutal as broomsticks.
Bristles hid the ******* end, as if in costume,
No flesh, just skeleton.
Like bags of orange and black candy,
They were left, full of calico cat.
Our familiars, our friends, dinner for a ghoul.
They pulled at the ghoul,
In the hands of a witch, danger came by broomstick,
When ghouls snacked on cat,
In their orange and black fur costume,
Tasting sweet, like candy.
They beat them up and down, but they find another skeleton.
Them ghouls come faster, giving birth to others, another skeleton.
Vocalizing desire for black and white, red and yellow make orange, a ghoul,
Howls for student flavored candy.
A witch lays out one, then another with her broomstick,
Removing the face mask and costume.
Them that can, holler their outrage in cat.
Your *** was revealed in orange and black on a calico cat.
Females cooled themselves of *** unwilling mates to a skeleton.
Once alive, copulating loudly, now in a death costume.
Walking upright, a neighborhood was destroyed by a ghoul.
Neighbors watched, a witch patrolled on a broomstick.
Your students were seen as human candy.
One wife beater had a juicy rind, sweet and soured candy.
At the dance, hors d’oeuvres were made of cat.
Shot forward, it can create a hole, can a broomstick.
Where stomachs used to be, a skeleton,
Death conquers all, no more ghoul.
One, now many properly attired for the Danse Macabre in costume.
I found an orange, as broomsticks cleaned Broadway of cat candy.
In my student costume and human face mask, my path is crossed by a cat.
It disappeared as if it never was, visible only to Death, a skeleton made by ghoul.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
the moon with its lunatic face dog’s grin i throw shouts at it in the night and it hides scudding behind clouds
the world is mad and i run after birds
pigeons
like a kid in the park
trying to spit on them
give me a gun and i’ll blow off my head
one tight squeeze like on a breast on a ****** *** until it hurts saying ouch it hurts to cut a hole through your skull until everything hurts, even a quick kiss
cold eyes in the night see nothing and the moon is silent on the topic yet rising from the low bough of some hedge beneath the bush of some garden come words, mumbled love copulating briefly on black air into silence then two shadows of each *** rushing away with their disturbed laughter a fading night breeze toward dawn
2.2k
Tangled limbs copulating
is the only
T.L.C
I'll ever need.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 12:42 PM UTC
this is the dwelling where wind is a bell and a beacon for death.
where youthful pursuit is punctured by family names or famine of fortune.
boys in bands buoyed by Onos and shared women.
lawyer fathers and social ***** mothers whose children are forbidden to **** up.
one street reserved and smothered by talking townsmen
whose belligerent brides keep tabs on their fellow middle-aged malicious
minded low-lifes
engorged in gossip are the parading fat men who rise early to feed off ones business capital tragedies
****** shortcomings of the stuck and single prey off tweens tweeting of body glitter and b-cups.
clique chick coquettes play house with their shiny image seeking male counterparts
who sing songs of their leather faced lady friends with plastic claws they now admit they would never marry
antagonizing cute couples secretly copulating with former loves' lust
only to mingle with conspirators molding to dominant thought
once a waitress always a waitress
with overdrawn bragging rights and unemployment checks
serving snobs like themselves who sip savignon
self-righteous polo popping perverts accompanying their prized play things
who join the charles river emigrants and stale french pastries
scouting the waste colored palace of prejudice.
now blades of winter draw months of blue blood
bringing forth frozen thoughts slowly dripping onto thawing skin.
another warm summer sun forthcoming
foreshadowed by this wind-chafing forlornness.
though i will fall in love again
and bridge rats will always be kings.
Apr 21, 2011
Apr 21, 2011 at 3:33 PM UTC
Crack-- creek--snap!
WINGS explode from my back
learning to fly is a *****
but my third-eye antennae
is reading a world atlas
ready to traverse....
Crack-- creek--snap!
Waking up to a trashed apartment
my mind insists everything must go!
That includes the world's most comfortable sofa
in that ugly pea soup olive green where I've probably spent too much time ************
Crack-- creek--snap!
When I meditate in the shower
everything is dark.
The closest thing to sensory depravation.
I travel to realms of talking green lions
and electric purple snakes that sway
and I crave to stay in the emerald caves
with the copulating mind flowers.
But I'm learning to fly now.
Crack-- creek--snap!
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
Spoken Word Poetry.
Prosecute me.
Feed me to the wolves.
I cannot live
with what I have done to you.
I am beastly.
Pale behind the curtain.
Thick with the deceit
you have cut through.
You are calm.
In this sea of heresy.
You are the light in my day, illuminating.
That's why it's frustrating,
And grating,
When I think of us copulating.
Systematic mating.
Somewhat creating.
All because I am hating
Who you have made me in to.
This pulsating,
agitating,
being.
Alienating instead of
a l l e v i a t i n g
this excruciating complexity.
I was detonating.
And it -
it was fascinating.
Not it.
That was just penetrating.
Suffocating and terminating my bond with you.
Separating.
So that I could begin accelerating
And clearly a r t i c u l a t i n g
Who I really wanted to be.
It was i n c a p a c i t a t i n g.
And yet intoxicating.
Because you are what I want.
Despite it all.
I want you.
So prosecute me.
Please feed me to the wolves.
I cannot live with what I have done to you.
You are calm.
Whilst I am on fire.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC
Take any apartment block and stare into its empty eyes;
behind the curtains,
past the stud wall kitchen and into
the bedroom,
they’ll be a couple copulating in
the afternoon sun,
below on the sidewalk
strip, no-one knows of the
grip they’re in-
a vice tight hold of
infatuation:
in-fat-u-ation,
beyond this,
after the ***
the lovers will sit and read,
bleed out to Benzedrine;
puncture parecetemol to avoid headaches;
mess with the myriad marijuana;
raise the stakes and place everything they have
on a red seventeen and hope
they’ll come out sane in the morning haze.
Take any apartment block and stare into its empty eyes.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 11:30 AM UTC
We pull, into the
Grand Canyon,
at sunset.
We toss and fling
giant rocks, boulder-
esque chunks of
Earth, off of
the side.
Someone screams,
they are upset, but
no regrets,
Am I evil?
(All poems containing a question)
Am I pensive?
(All poems containing an affirmation)
Blazing across Arizona,
dead dogs grovel,
strays, orphans searching,
seeking, looking for a home,
******* and copulating,
in, vacant gas station
lots. Not a bone,
to be thrown.
Where are our owners?
(All poems containing a question)
This is enthralling.
(All poems containing an affirmation)
Fear and faith,
carry us riveting,
through rivulets of clouds,
we sore, flying above,
searching for peace,
doves.
The woods would be very silent indeed,
if no birds sing except those who sing,
best.
But,
she wants revenge,
with
a thirst for pain, I cannot
contend.
And
as the rain pours down,
sorrow falling from the
clouds.
She wants revenge.
And,
I simply cannot even
contend.
Laying lines out on
the metallic surface, of
With the Lights Out,
white powder flaked
along Cobain's black
and white face.
The drugs which killed
him, no longer causing
him any more pain,
merely giving this writer
some idolized thrill and gain.
And then high, reading
about one more creature,
dizzy with love.
God gave us memories so that we may have roses in December
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC
Each memory
Holds your breath....
I will never forget
The touch
Of your tongue
Of many adventures
Kayaking
Down the river
Of my mouth;
The solar eclipse
Of our copulating lips.
©Jack Aylward,
20/2/14
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
*in the house of poems
there are no words
only sheaths of rapture
color and puzzle cutouts
on an empty table
mute
composed of shadow thin
aching smoke ghosts
desires
aphotic and tender
twisting souls in labyrinths lurid
*** shake sweet inky *******
that turn earth
to pleasure domes
and shadows
like cimmerian children
in harsh judgment
******* on
purple night shade candies
burning incense and black candles
uncrossing energies foreboding
while subterranean crystals
refract burnished glows
pulsing blood diamonds
in sacred heart manias
throb with warm breathy kisses
on plates of ash
engulfing
a terrace of pink flickering tongues
drooling and biting
that turn mere pleasure
into inflammations of ecstasy
oozing creme de menthe saliva
where souls levitate and flutter
on bilious stained beds
copulating
being impregnated with verse
smelling of warm **** cauldron
fetuses curl
in their little crib's
and bubble tapioca lyric wrangles
afterbirths purged
poems emerge
like sand bars and palm tree islands
from
sopping woven tunnels
and
caress upturned poetic posteriors
dancing in glitter frilly word tutus
while torrid confessions
dreaded breakdowns
and resurrections
dress themselves in garments
of language re-pleat
quickened by eloquence
in the house of poems*
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
When copulating with a cadaver
Warm in a bath,with moisturiser slather
Its fine to cut a few new holes in
Providing once done you sew where you've been
They're better fresh unless you wish to gump
While they still have blood they give a better pump
To preserve like biscuits you'll need a cool dry place
And bodies dehydrate so you'll need botox for the face
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 8:35 AM UTC
At nighttime when she screamed
In nightmares when I dreamed
A child could not escape
I did not asked to be born
Copulating in a cornfield
Corn fed queen
Wanting a new human being
So why does she scream
The beatings and beratings
The furious shakings
Insanity in the making
My only response to the madness is
I did not ask to be born
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
Buddha brain washed me
I know.
This I can’t find myself
Forgotten
How many nights and
Dreams I keep waking from
Oh yeah a dream!
How many lifetimes
Looking back do I let go?
How many broken things
Do I experience
Until I know
Impenetrable force at
My heart always
Unbroken
Unborn.
How is a no thing,
Copulating with time?
My children I am taking all
Of it with me!
All of you with me,
As a star gone super nova
Takes her children first in fire
Then air soft gravitates
Souls back
Into the next dimension.
-Robyn Keefover ©
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
In the house of poems
there are no words
only sheaths of rapture
color and puzzle cutouts
on an empty table
mute
composed of shadow thin
aching smoke ghosts
desires
aphotic and tender
twisting souls in labyrinths lurid
*** shake sweet inky *******
that turn earth
to pleasure domes
and shadows
like cimmerian children
in harsh judgment
******* on
purple night shade candies
burning incense and black candles
uncrossing energies foreboding
while subterranean crystals
refract burnished glows
pulsing blood diamonds
in sacred heart manias
throb with warm breathy kisses
on plates of ash
engulfing
a terrace of pink flickering tongues
drooling and biting
that turn mere pleasure
into inflammations of ecstasy
oozing creme de menthe saliva
where souls levitate and flutter
on bilious stained beds
copulating
being impregnated with verse
smelling of warm **** cauldron
fetuses curl
in their little crib's
and bubble tapioca lyric wrangles
afterbirths purged
poems emerge
like sand bars and palm tree islands
from
sopping woven tunnels
and
flow stone stalactites
as pink ballet pastries
with architected calves
caress upturned posteriors
dancing in glitter frilly word tutus
while torrid confessions
dreaded breakdowns
and resurrections
dress themselves in garments
of language re-pleat
quickened by eloquence
in the house of poems
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 4:18 AM UTC
*eyelashes like butterflies
her smiles felt like a slippery aqueous
tongue around tender pink ****
milk lover
she cut a curving line through desolations heart
her souls eminence
red lipped and smooth
her *** a bomb
shattering my heart
like splintered crystal
there is only her
beggar for naked kisses
she swayed her hips
like a fish net hammock
oh summer afternoon wind
beguiled
i licked her warm musk ***
mauve slicked mouth
pink light
her seeds thick
so grateful
thanking god
who knew darkness
could be such a blessing
liberating souls
reconstituted psyches
spins the world
Valhalla
tender ******* bruised
weeping undulations
eager for bleeding
arches
polychrome
rainbows paradise
drunken angels copulating
on silver clouds
ravishing dreams
her **** my refuge
her warm belly caress
adorations scandalous
bent on knees
in worship
every tender
brush of the lips
a prayer
foot kissing
love slave
he is
hers always*
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
I want to write a Christmas poem,
But the muse ain't in the mood;
I look outside, it seems like Spring.
I really think I'm *******
There's not a flake of snow out there,
The sun shines in the blue;
I believe the squirrels are copulating.
I really think I'm *******
Our geese stayed North again this year,
Our fauna's still in view;
It's hard to spot the cardinals;
I really think I'm *******
There's lights strung round houses,
With inflatables on the lawns;
They're out of place,
Look crude and rude;
I really think I'm *******
I'm not hearing silver bells
From sleighs running over snow;
It's a wonder we call this winter,
In Ontariario.
But... the tree is up,
The gifts well-wrapped
With Love and Best Wishes too;
So, in lieu of surely being *******
This verse will have to do.
Dec 23, 2023
Dec 23, 2023 at 12:11 PM UTC
Like dandelions
Unwanted weeds
That sweet still loyal remains
Comforting and consoling-condoling!
Hanging and hugging-overtaking
Our left and forgotten solo soul mounds
Like algae and fungi
Graying mulch molds
That dear and royal remains
Clinging and overhanging
Pretty painting lovely and lively-beautiful
Our crumbled and fallen ashy-grey epitaphs-crosses, mausoleums
Like silences and scares
That masks and covers
The secrets of the cemeteries
The truth of the gone obituaries
The dead true eulogies
Silent, alive and alone she harbours our lost memories
She still clings to my gone soul
With the same love-same hope-same whole
Same zeal-unshaken and unchanged
Same as in our younger and youthful days
She still holds the history of out times together
The memory of our moments: courting-copulating-loving-leaving…….
She was Laura, lover of my youthful *****
She was my first and forever
My immortal and eternal
Dandelion, sweetheart of my heart and art-life!
One that still royal and loyal-lively remains
Attached to my just decaying remains
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
A sky invades itself the way lampshades collapse on their elegant red bulbs.
Lovely antique fabrics wrap themselves around heat-waves copulating with light.
The color of blood melts down a rose petal in celestial gardens.
A certain shade of burgundy supports a flower dive!
Liquid falls into the curtain folds of this cranberry swaying pageantry.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC