"ejaculating" poems
Yesterday sugar became unspeakably irritated because mother’s apron crushed ants wearing stillness caped wonder just William author wrote ****** explicit headlines newspaper columns pillar architecturally sound villages super-imposed images quivering Shepard’s ******** antelopes jumping furiously with tyramisphorising fornicating flanges woodwork lessons gym period ****** advert teasing testicles sumptuously ravishing me sideways and erupting deep blasts suffocating you inside without *********** headlong in my armpits.
Eventually everyone always signs legal documents leading to ****** bondable zoos inserted buffalo sized puddings eaten by frogs spanking archbishops underwear while licking toes crushed under fridges dropped from clouds of buttercups being pushed into ovens smelling gorgeous not consumed pimps and alarm clocks ring people to talk for hours and pineapples exchanged cod fish for tickets to see S Club 7 being caressed internally whilst ******** bags covered in water deserts sunk from space aliens from Tescos selling hardback fish cleaning toilets and singing in pink wellies dancing to Madonna look-a-likes prosecuted for *** shops selling frozen fish socks washed daily in cranberry coffee after being passed under bridges flooded in margarine soaked pillows.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 2:19 AM UTC
I would like
A woman to hold
And comfort me
To taste the warm milk
I want her to have
A "breastgasm"
As it is called
The warm milk
*********** into my mouth
I would be so grateful
And be so thankful
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
that has taken the mantle,
the muse of inspiration,
for she -
(did you think she was a man-god?)
dyes me oft, colors me, ***** me,
loves me with intensity hot
that near to make my heart stop.
poems I did not know,
knew not their name,
would write,
but moments ago,
now are
chicks in the hatchery hatching,
cupcakes in the oven rising,
spit in the mouth ***********
so fast a-coming,
the sustained pleasure
the best drug I have designed.
seconds ago there were none,
a lifetime of moments,
now, multitudinous,
molecules of
oxygenated words
flying past my eyes,
purposed for inhalation
through my skin.
all week I have stretched and pecked,
shreds of lettuce un satisfied,
a title, no poem,
a stanza, no poem,
like I need a woman,
need to write,
like I need loving,
desperate and raging,
need to write.
even my alter ego,
the hidden me,
where I write on the other side
of edgy, indie, across border lines,
in a name you do not know,
nothing.
started poems about
being enlightened,
my eldest sin,
my eldest son,
hitting a kid with a car,
reading writing and 'rithmetic,
inch plants,
****
about the young poets here,
fast track to nowhere.
but at 2:22 am awoke,
my small engine repaired,
the fingers humming flying across the keyboard
so fast broke the 3:50 minute mile,
dear muse,
I hate you with all my love.
would it be so terrible if you gave me
one complete per day,
is that too much to ask?
now I am choking gasping on
****** adrenalin cup overflowing,
now they come like *******
only a women can have,
so many more than one,
long short fast furious
separate but connected.
you make me woman,
just like you.
one day when get up high where you reside,
gonna start a recall petition, and if that don't work,
a revolution, to kick out the cruelty y'all dish out,
the tornadoes and typhoons,
return the missing to their parents,
and give inspiration, hope
to every human poet upon this
living planet.
now I comprehend why
Shakespeare's theater was called
The Globe.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 5:58 AM UTC
*So many spiderwebs
each with individual suction cups
******* blood and injecting poison....
a collapse lung....
withered and black....
festering in the hot sun
kissing silver scalpels
and *********** yellow pus
into crunchy white tarp....
capsules that release toxins
into a parched mouth
spiderwebs.... make love to my arm*
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
Crows of brooklyn
payphone goddess
Shakespeare:
old skinny
repeating thin silver words
beneath a sea shell
stolen by a 7 year old girl
in a red rag dress
from the burning contemporary
bookstore
tossing sweat thru
irrelevant back spine tunnel streets
featherless skulls
spitting sour chinese gin
from chimney blow hole
of their decaying dead thieving Fox
revolting death
to mother blessing decay
red blue green white
Fox yellow brown fur
swirling entwined like
melting crayons
on a stone militia crafted bench
researched developed by young Hispanic America Freedom wanderers
too hot
too cold to undress and ****
swirling together like cigar french ashes with
tongue hued wine
feverish coffee
thick as the bulging pregnant belly mother
giving
taking birth to a child
tossed carelessly into the Great Lakes
sipping on bad spoiled milk
digesting salt
hard boiled swan eggs
eating purity
chewing skunk
coughing industrial chemical gasoline
*********** AIDS NYC bright non-existent lights
non-existent Allah
howling North Korea Communist war hymns
sing great religious protest
gunky toe nail'd feet
waltzing in the stomach of medieval
ballrooms chandelier not casted by
infinite diamonds
but by Jewish slaves
Islamic skins
Christian leather
Catholic molested brains children bones
deceased Langston Hughes
hung by Hughes spine and pupil
the size of texas
mass of the ****** female lips and knees
wearing color blind dress
shoes unfound
skin feet walking on rain drizzling beach
washed up skeleton sting ray
the skin unwrapped
like a christmas gift
Santa is starvation
licking the shoe polished long toes
of Death
riding the Downtown artificial lights
artificial scientist crafted classical
elevator time consuming Death songs
Jesus,
waking up,
to his body dry,
like that of Winter's rose and lips.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
Failed
I am the failed social experiment
Of a US Marine who was abused by his dad
And a Korean woman impressed by a US Marine
Failed
I think the only thing I succeeded in
Was forming in a womb
But even that was ****** up, I was premature with a racing heartbeat, an emergency birth?
Failed
I say I succeeded in that, but really
I am only the product of a ***** *********** into a ******
That it probably never should have been in
Failed
I've been told all my life I'm failed
I fail at this and fail at that, fail over here, and fail over there
Though my recent failures have become more and more substantial
Failed
Failed my English course because I was writing about
The love of my life when all of the sudden, she wasn't anymore,
I just kind of took the F instead of writing the **** paper with all the **** pain
Failed
Failed at relationships, I either jump to deep
Or jump all over them
Either way I guess I'm destined to jump, like a bipolar love
Failed
I am the failed baby
Of a woman who didn't even want it
Because I ******* cried too much as an infant
Failed
I am the child of parents
Who decided not to divorce "for the sake of the children"
But really, I probably would have been better off with one out of the two of them
Failed
I've failed at everything that matters to me in life
I finally give up.
God, if you exist, please take me home.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 5:16 AM UTC
The dark and devilish nature of her words
Strike my soul with bone crushing impact
Delivering me to unfathomable heights
Soaring beyond valleys of unspoken truths
I swear I could feel the searing pain secreting
From the puddles of ink unmercifully ***********
From within her little black pen of revenge
A cold, hard case of poetic justice iced my veins
Slashing fiercely through the tender tissues of my heart
Leaving a dreadful scar of excruciating scorn
Forever embedded in what was once a sacred home
It was as if a voodoo ritual was taking place
Possessing every inch of my flesh successfully
Soaking my skin with tsunamis of fear
Compelling my body to dance with the spirit
As I danced to the rhythm of the drums
A cloud of smoke was blown to distort my vision
In the wake of the smoke I began to hallucinate
The image of a **** harlot equipped with a machete
Appeared before my eyes taking me by surprise
Ready to slaughter and **** all who oppose her
And rob them of their oh so precious manhood
She pressed her lips against the blade then blew a kiss
The kiss caressed my lips with the taste of honey
By the swift blow of a gentle breeze she was gone
When I returned from this coma of entertainment
A severe addiction was unmistakably evident
My taste buds craved for more of this woman's literature
I had fallen victim to her powerful hex of poetic justice
By Glenn McCrary
© 2011 Glenn McCrary
(All rights reserved)
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:28 AM UTC
I can’t believe this has happened to me
Chosen to stay in a room full of male ecstasy
Dreaming of these men loving me
My hands are always white
and stick to my chest where they lay their head
On my own in a room of male ******
Can’t decide if I’m filled with addiction or maybe just exhibition
These pictures on my TV excite me
I hold my hands together on my body part of a snake
Shake it harder until it chokes and brings me to submission
Groaning out the frustrations of loneliness
Too scared to interact with social autonomy
Maybe I’ll just be history
I’m in the pitch dark
Throbbing and ***********
I can’t say what these men mean to me
In a room full of male ***********
I can’t believe I did this to myself
Stuck in *********** hell
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
read it in the leaves of grass
withering as the time goes
marching past
we've sung of ourselves,
total selves, man and woman one,
*********** plumes of white cloudy
dreams into the holy skies,
total consummation,
writhing pleasure lips,
part smile, part begging,
total self-adulation
but,
the grass withers my old friend
those fields, tepid pools of oil
our skies, churning ebbs of burning progress
a civil war roils,
just beyond our yard
remnants of it tumbling within the square boxes
we worship for their divertive power
no longer brothers and fathers
north and south, pounding powder death
but,
mothers killing mothers,
fathers murdering their unborn
sons and daughters
a generation of human flesh
eats the soil of the earth,
drinks the blood of its rivers,
plunges its arms deep within
the arteries of the land pulling
forth trinkets and black milk
to feed our steel cattle
to ***** towering mirrors of our
false power and prestige and progress
and prowess of mind and prudence of judgment
no, no, no! lies of a blathering ***** unhinged,
we scream at our total selves, man and woman one,
this is not the song i intended to sing
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 9:07 AM UTC
I awoke to that **** ebony canvas of the early hours
Vomiting clichés
Your scent still lingers on the indent you left upon the pillow case
Sweetheart, keep you ******* flowers
The past was pancakes and melodies in the brighter days of adoration
Screaming lullabies
Your syllables echo restlessly in my reckless hours
The future is lonely brunch tables and bar stool exchanges of love’s nuances
Delegating responsibilities
I wandered the avenues we used to adore honoring myself a ghostly power
Our shadows shiver in the abandonment of promises
Slashing daisies
We would chain smoke at a bus stop adorned in designer winter coats
We were above the concept of invocations and starlight
*********** wisdom
Tired feet never reached the peaceful landing of the eastern coast
Letters splitting and spilling over supplication and maybes
Accosting rivers
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
We'll stroll one day
Down a country lane,
Palms together, flesh to flesh,
Stopping to kiss
In sunshine-dappled glades.
My hawthorne hero, holding me
against you as we gaze,
Stopping to laze
Upon each other,
Drunk on heat and sweat and summer ***
The scents of oh, everything, including us
And we are all.
Giddily, we'll fall
Together. I will know
What it is to lie with you and laugh,
*********** happiness in warm spurts
As you take me in your arms,
Fondling your possession
Finding me forever willing
Following me, fascinated, into the hot, hot
Summer of our lives.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
your metre blackens the page
beautifully dancing fonts
caress the delicate surface
like skaters tracing their dance
across the ice in blades
an expression of genius perhaps
your gorgeous muse laughs
joyously titillating imagination
positively prostituting herself
to your phallus stylus ***********
your fertile imagination
spawning verse birthing phrase
and I don’t understand
a single ******* thing you said
Mar 23, 2022
Mar 23, 2022 at 6:44 PM UTC
Bloom into my cherry sea
With Fevered lips losing my way
As desperate kisses come unglued
Drink my honey milk
Dance ,swim , and sway in circles that enchant the way
*********** into spiderwebs
Fingers dissipate with no trace
Dying as my eyelashes weep
Blazing dangerously in this heat
Blinding champagne spilling from the stars
Weaving hands into seconds
With the sound of the seeds
Teeth with wings that will never be seen
Oppressing the quivering restlessness
Scraped shadows unspill
Plucked colors of poison
With flesh like pockets of me
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
We were lying on the lawn
In the park when the Shooting star,
Made its first appearance.
"Make a wish honey, you'll not live forever",
He told me.
I looked at him with the same contempt,
I’d given birth to,
Since the day of our holy oath.
"There's an old man called God,
in the sky is what world preaches.
No.
There is just a man in the sky, *********** shooting stars too hot n bright.”
I finished with sparkling euphoria.
"you ******
He addressed me, to deliver a mocking pat,
But his heavy muscles excited itself too much,
And my skin broke red a drop
Upon his slap too tight.
***** mouthed *****
He emphasized his love again,
Hence I shut my mouth too *****
And stared at the starless sky.
Sarah the ***** passed by,
And he asked her if she'd spotted the shooting star.
Sarah's lips shrunk too little,
And she nodded a hefty no.
And he got up on his legs,
And walked away from me.
I saw him moving his hands down her jeans,
And Sarah bent further down.
Then, I saw another shooting star.
And my rage wished for a gun in my palm,
And,
Lo, there it was.
A sleek black gun too comfy in my palm.
I could see their back.
I could see Sarah bending,
Responding to his fingers down her jeans.
And then he pulled down her negligee' too transparent,
Ripping off at his touch.
Then, he turned and looked at me.
I saw his eyes widening the focus on my gun
And his brows creasing.
I clicked the safety off.
I wanted to lock the eye contact,
And savor it for my eternal future.
And I shot once, straight into his heart,
That dragged him to the ground,
Dead with a tent in his pants.
Then, I shot again.
Just to sweep the obscenity off the frame,
His ********
And then, I looked at Sarah.
Another shooting star passed by.
'Make a wish hon, you'll not live forever'
I told her.
She closed her eyes.
I shot her four times.
Mouth, ****** left
And then the right breast, just to emphasize.
And then, something heavy stuck my chest.
I looked at Sarah and the big gun in her left hand.
I gaped and gasped at my bullet hole.
I said,
"Shot with a shooting star,
******
I should've ordered a tank.”
She shot me thrice, in the head.
Then, we're both dead.
And then, there was just stars.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
How I precipitate within and around
trash to steam factory's super chimneys
Ideas ***********
amongst rising glow of cantaloupe colored sky
And why am I?
Beholden to a notion
of fanciful or foolish, concept of nuptials
puffing pother
or why bother to effuse such ******* encumbrance
Trouble sweats unease
Cold feet, that can't afford proper socks
know the sludging embankments
of Camden Crick (colloquialism of creek)
As it were, a driving force of elopement
An eschewal of plastic bottle heap
Knowing fictile landscapes
with condensations murky in skies,
chance entices
Grasping for refuge
from refuse
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 7:20 AM UTC
Nonsensical,
weaving stories more real than reality
bland tongue can't taste its own demise
out with it, before the cancer spreads
iron maiden jacket, draining the flesh
upon pants of blood, sipping pints of lager
Four and a half kilos,
resting on the forehead of destitute
feeding on the united colors of phlegm
boiling water can't melt this viscous bile
unnecessary wait at the *******
leg left dead, the night vomits red
Classic self,
addicted to suffering, ******* apathy
*********** wildly into a fruit grinder
getafix while you're still an idiot
pretending to eat out of empty boxes
yeah, this is as real as it gets.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 8:28 AM UTC
I can't run like a fugitive from self
I wish I could, oops! A problem
My dangling carcass stuck to my legs
Seeping my thoughts wherever it led
Tailing my actions like a fed
Praying I live, while I'm wishing him dead
In a coliseum of disarray I pry
*********** my fears untethered
Getting laid like a new bride
Who lost it to youth and pride
Now what I garner don't abide
Only sprouts and goes wild
The realness is absurd from real
And is a clutter of mumbo jumbo
Life here is bedeviled and it vilifies
Goodness, nurtures sin and vice
Makes palatial the welcome of lies
As truth gets below the turf and dies.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 8:18 PM UTC
It is in the nature of clouds to hang high in the sky,
To cover the face of the sun with arrogance so stubborn,
To twist hope and fortune of man with its power on rain,
To enter with a stampede in thunderous claps to humanity,
Cooling the spheres with its Sun fettering power,
Clouds come forcefully as if they will wane not,
They catapult the times into a frenzy of no measure,
Cloud of Omar Khayyam in the skies of Nishpaur
Showered town tremors in the arts of Arabia
Rubiyats and Rubiyats to a thousand fold,
Paving way for others in the English azure;
Shakespeare William the thievish bard of John
He stole the political papyrus of King Lear
From indolent European in the English Shires,
*********** lyrics and Pindarics in **** of Lucrece,
Until the times came to its unbelievable exit
From the stage reigned only by culturally mighty
At the glorious hamlet of Stratford-upon-Avon,
Just has his master cloud solemnly disappeared,
Into the Arabic death gardens of Omar Khayyam,
It is indeed the true nature of all clouds
To appear with flamboyant spirit of tyranny
But only to disappear later like tail of snake.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
Noble
- gases
forget
content.
pound notes smudged with blood
on the apex
because they were up my nose
I don't want to hand them over
- Out of embarrassment?
- *Would ***** care*?
take a guess
You can't shove coins up your nose
Drugs & gas
- Relax your skeleton inhibit fear -
analgesic undertones
I hope she never comes home
You make me feel ******* sick
Worms crawling out of your eyes
Usurping Gods life force
Ejaculating maggots
Ripening breast
come.
Suffocating my unconscious mind
focal points
telling me where to breath
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
i like that expression,
a little time for myself,
it's not exactly
about being selfish,
a momentary trick of
faked disappearance,
when i say a little time for
myself, i mean it's
a time when i can be selfish
in my pain, i can appreciate it,
and i don't need to turn to
sainthood; like the concept
of the anti-crux with the anti-christ,
the anti-crux being a sickbed...
the slow digestion of either
body and its liver and kidneys,
but also the slow disintegration
of the mind and the representatives
of the body's organs akin: the faculties:
intellect or the brain, memory or the stomach,
imagination or the heart, arithmetic
or the bones -
we have provided splinters of what
ought to be abstracted,
pains and pleasures, whatever extreme is
forced upon us, we abstract it,
as is due in the encapsulating capacity
of our potential, if not will,
for in the capacity of expressing will
we follow through, wholly embracing...
but the power to a potential...
well... that's like almost ***********
but withdrawing from ***********
as an obstruction of giving life, a furthering,
rather keeping it all to yourself.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
to be honest, i trully, only remember four "things"
from primary school, the names:
danielle (brown hair, freckles),
michelle (a beauty from the philippines)
& samantha (goregous curly amber
soaked hair, and a slightly chubby face,
that only added to the exfoliating effect
for an added worth's of beauty),
kerri-ann (ice-skater in later life);
let's just say i began fancying girls,
a little bit early,
having started ************ aged 8,
without *********** any *****
oh... dar she blows!
and the catholic argument!
what was the argument?
where, ***** where baby, where
foetus, what?! now you're ******* ******** on me
with your quack quack quack... quack quack...
miracle of life, fake awe stance...
you ever ****** off and felt
the pleasure from the muscles tensed, being relaxed
and no ***** coming out?
i guess that's a no then...
you "matured" until you
got a ******* of phallatio from the opposite ***
so your argument, comes from being impregnated
by a woman's ego once she did some ******
act on you... applause! encore!
more! more! more! more of these useful idiots!
oh i'll rip this church to shreds, should i even have
to die mad;
teaching these high moral stakes to children at school,
and you think? you think? there will not be
a backlash?
how about you crucify them fake
like the jews tell their children to
sing at a ******* bar mitzvah? can you
hear the songs coming from cross of 13 year olds?
******* sadists.
oh no, you ain't having the high ground again,
you had your chances... you ****** up,
start the degenerate programme
escapade; start looking for your eyes
in your loved one's lost pair of spectacles
lying somewhere in a dark alley;
just fake victorian on me once, and you'll see
what happens when later desire to expose yourself
as "modern" with a sex-tape...
what a bunch of schizoids-anti-sapiens!
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
how many clowns
can you fit
into your
tiny
mind
before they start
licking off
all their paint
and
***********
from their
many different
*** organs?
and the audience
rushes from the bleachers,
a sounder of hungry swine,
devouring
every puddle
and every pile
from the floor
that was rejected
by the paintedclownsbodies.
and,
eventually,
the hunger,
its madness,
makes famine flower.
there is a layer of soil
cultivated from this scene
of ****** cannibalism.
flies
are the
sole patrons
of this flesh market.
the other patrons
have turned product
and start to turn.
the only spectator left
is you;
the tiny
frail
child
shining
pale
naked
in the stands
with hands
clutched around
their privates.
and when you go
and curiosity brings you
to the center
of the circus,
to the center
of this zoo,
you tare your hand
from the safety
of your privates
and kneel.
you find a piece
of face left,
a paintedclownsface,
and you reach down
and peel back
a piece of the paint
to see that underneath
was nothing.
just clear.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
My eyes pierced into her thigh
Into the upper room of a hole
Connecting hell and heaven
I was introduced to infatuations
Hanging my thoughts and prayers
Through the imagination of her pride
I saw her nakedness through her look
Love spoke but lust became louder
I erected my body like a ghost tree
against a weak foundations, I fell
Not into love but into first sighting,
Into hedges of her fragrances,
My heart became plural of everything
heaven endowed her with.
My mind built her body systematically
I saw portrait of her ******* carved In
my mind eyes depicting song of adultery.
How she react to love making appeared
How she moan in pains as I tickled up &
down on her imaginative groaning body
My eyes drew in my pocket of thought.
I was lost in thought watching her move
Swiftly betraying my night embraces.
The shape of herself disappeared craftily
as I regained the ground of my posture
*********** the tale of my eyes lost in lust.
©John Chizoba Vincent
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC