"flacid" poems - Hello Poetry

Have you wondered how tomorrow looks When you've lied about today ? Have you squandered opportunities When you've refused to play ? Have you sought the possibilities ? Have you broken through the ruse ? Have you shed your limitations And tried to fill some bigger shoes ? Will you spread your wings to fly Across the chasm in your life ? Have you shared your closest fears With the one you call your wife ? Do you long to break the mold And try to start the day afresh ? Is there courage there to stride out, Have you the will to make it mesh ? Is there a shade of self deception, Is a colour bar installed ? Are there feelings of inadequacy Has your darling not yet called ? Does your flacid nature falter When pinned against the wall ? Have you moments of reluctance To recall it all, at all ? Does it all really matter That your world is locked within, That the things which hold you back Are simply things you revel in ? That the greatest limitations Are the ones you self impose, That the key which locks the door Is locked outside the door you close ? Marshalg reflecting@theBach Mangere Bridge 28 July 2009

0

May 21, 2010

May 21, 2010 at 12:25 PM UTC

marshal-gebbie

Limitations

Have you wondered how tomorrow looks When you've lied about today ? Have you squandered opportunities When you've refused to play ? Have you sought the possibilities ? Have you broken through the ruse ? Have you shed your limitations And tried to fill some bigger shoes ? Will you spread your wings to fly Across the chasm in your life ? Have you shared your closest fears With the one you call your wife ? Do you long to break the mold And try to start the day afresh ? Is there courage there to stride out, Have you the will to make it mesh ? Is there a shade of self deception, Is a colour bar installed ? Are there feelings of inadequacy Has your darling not yet called ? Does your flacid nature falter When pinned against the wall ? Have you moments of reluctance To recall it all, at all ? Does it all really matter That your world is locked within, That the things which hold you back Are simply things you revel in ? That the greatest limitations Are the ones you self impose, That the key which locks the door Is locked outside the door you close ? Marshalg reflecting@theBach Mangere Bridge 28 July 2009

36

Time rolls its mossless stone slowly tonight. It is as though the tic has lost it's toc. Seconds have become thirds, fourths, fifths. So slowly does the smallest hand move upon the cracked face. Minutes no longer tiny minute things. But now gargantuan wedges of pie. So large as to feed history's poor twice over. Hours are unpowered, flacid flat balloons without breath or form smothering all thought. The grandfather clock in the hallway has embraced senility and no longer completes it's pre-ordained preambulation around the captured sundial. It has now given itself airs and graces. Believing in heart and mind, and cog and pendulum, to be a jazz percussionist banging, tapping and ringing in an off beat tempo somewhat lacking in basic rhythm. So time runs with the scatterd predictabality of the Tardis. Bigger on the inside..... Slower on the darkside of the grandfather clock.

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Mar 28, 2014

Mar 28, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC

betterdays

darkside of the cogs

Time rolls its mossless stone slowly tonight. It is as though the tic has lost it's toc. Seconds have become thirds, fourths, fifths. So slowly does the smallest hand move upon the cracked face. Minutes no longer tiny minute things. But now gargantuan wedges of pie. So large as to feed history's poor twice over. Hours are unpowered, flacid flat balloons without breath or form smothering all thought. The grandfather clock in the hallway has embraced senility and no longer completes it's pre-ordained preambulation around the captured sundial. It has now given itself airs and graces. Believing in heart and mind, and cog and pendulum, to be a jazz percussionist banging, tapping and ringing in an off beat tempo somewhat lacking in basic rhythm. So time runs with the scatterd predictabality of the Tardis. Bigger on the inside..... Slower on the darkside of the grandfather clock.

45

Charley Bob is a "walker". He walks the roads and avenues where I live. He doesn't appear to have a job, he just walks.....every day. He use to walk with his zipper down and with flacid ***** in hand proudly display himself to all who drove by, but that embarrassed many and they made him put his security blanket away. Now he just grabs his crotch like the gangstas downtown. Sorry Charley. Every town has a "walker", some have several. You've seen them. They walk the streets, lost in their own little worlds. They look the same as they did 20 years ago. There's the lady with nary a tooth in her head, her ankle length skirt and her Pentecostal hairdo (PHD). They say for 50 bucks she'll let you know why she has no teeth. She's a "working girl walker", but she is still a "walker". Once I was walking downtown, and as I passed her she angrily mumbled something to me, all lips and gums, "Muver Phucker", she said. I don't even know her, but she was as angry with me as if we were the best of friends. Some "walkers" talk to themselves, some answer themselves, some stop and turn and scream out profundities to no-one, or someone, it's a matter of perspective. It's like some shrink somewhere gave them a prescription for their mental disorder, walk 20 miles and see me in the morning. Charley Bob is the best though. I swear you can see him at 10am, and by 5 he is still slowly making his way back from where he went to. I wonder what makes him turn and go home. Charley Bob is a "walker".

0

Mar 3, 2013

Mar 3, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC

ld-goodwin

Charley Bob

Charley Bob is a "walker". He walks the roads and avenues where I live. He doesn't appear to have a job, he just walks.....every day. He use to walk with his zipper down and with flacid ***** in hand proudly display himself to all who drove by, but that embarrassed many and they made him put his security blanket away. Now he just grabs his crotch like the gangstas downtown. Sorry Charley. Every town has a "walker", some have several. You've seen them. They walk the streets, lost in their own little worlds. They look the same as they did 20 years ago. There's the lady with nary a tooth in her head, her ankle length skirt and her Pentecostal hairdo (PHD). They say for 50 bucks she'll let you know why she has no teeth. She's a "working girl walker", but she is still a "walker". Once I was walking downtown, and as I passed her she angrily mumbled something to me, all lips and gums, "Muver Phucker", she said. I don't even know her, but she was as angry with me as if we were the best of friends. Some "walkers" talk to themselves, some answer themselves, some stop and turn and scream out profundities to no-one, or someone, it's a matter of perspective. It's like some shrink somewhere gave them a prescription for their mental disorder, walk 20 miles and see me in the morning. Charley Bob is the best though. I swear you can see him at 10am, and by 5 he is still slowly making his way back from where he went to. I wonder what makes him turn and go home. Charley Bob is a "walker".

41

Wavered words throughout this day's abolish torture and unjustice never sleep into blind oblivion mount the self discovery cast far away these malicious sprouts of indifference ~people grow no honest embraces until they reach from their cores divine music plays don't quarrel boys " ego's a fool - giving you a handful of bridges over the pluvial waters and rainbow warriors plight fights with more than mere words ~ I pledge to find it for myself a-priori as flacid flowers towers fiori

0

Nov 22, 2015

Nov 22, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC

ImpeccableSpacePoetess

A succulent vibe

Wavered words throughout this day's abolish torture and unjustice never sleep into blind oblivion mount the self discovery cast far away these malicious sprouts of indifference ~people grow no honest embraces until they reach from their cores divine music plays don't quarrel boys " ego's a fool - giving you a handful of bridges over the pluvial waters and rainbow warriors plight fights with more than mere words ~ I pledge to find it for myself a-priori as flacid flowers towers fiori

20

prickly little amoeba of a person with no spine & skin that never molts my passive-aggression falls flat on dead ears, on dead eyes this entity so empty, indifferent nonsense eagerly conquered the front my projections slept neatly in his vacuole whilst i spit my repulsion on his flacid corpse

0

Apr 24, 2013

Apr 24, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC

la-jongleuse

moche

prickly little amoeba of a person with no spine & skin that never molts my passive-aggression falls flat on dead ears, on dead eyes this entity so empty, indifferent nonsense eagerly conquered the front my projections slept neatly in his vacuole whilst i spit my repulsion on his flacid corpse

8

He jerks off to your stupidity Nothing arouses him more than Knowing he has you fooled Into believing that he is better than he is He is hard for your naivety Your ignorance of his flacid life

0

Dec 25, 2012

Dec 25, 2012 at 10:04 PM UTC

neurotica

Untitled

He jerks off to your stupidity Nothing arouses him more than Knowing he has you fooled Into believing that he is better than he is He is hard for your naivety Your ignorance of his flacid life

6

Zoloft has killed my poems and my erections. the unfortunate side effects of getting well. my pen won't mark this paper, and my ***** hangs it's head in disappointment. they look me in the face and ask 'why?' I try to tell them, about the constant discomfort, the urge to peel off my skin and escape, how my mind fixates on misery. they seem to understand as well as a ball point pen and a flacid ***** could. their tiny voices squeak 'we want you to be happy' and I think they mean it the three of us wonder if the writing will get easier. the three of us wonder what the point of happiness is without a working **** the three of us wonder if we are useless without each other.

0

Apr 20, 2019

Apr 20, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC

LifellKillYa

The unfortunate side effects of getting well.

Zoloft has killed my poems and my erections. the unfortunate side effects of getting well. my pen won't mark this paper, and my ***** hangs it's head in disappointment. they look me in the face and ask 'why?' I try to tell them, about the constant discomfort, the urge to peel off my skin and escape, how my mind fixates on misery. they seem to understand as well as a ball point pen and a flacid ***** could. their tiny voices squeak 'we want you to be happy' and I think they mean it the three of us wonder if the writing will get easier. the three of us wonder what the point of happiness is without a working **** the three of us wonder if we are useless without each other.

16

*Edging ************ : Refers to ****** stimulation, especially of one's own genitals, and often to the point of ****** which is performed manually; by other types of ****** contact (except for ****** *********** by objects or tools (or *** toys), or by some combination of these methods. Also see definition of Edging at Www.Orgasmedging.com.* I'm ready to nut. An hour before dismissal from this dismal paycheck to paycheck every few minutes looking up at the clock not ticking fast enough J.O.B. wishing for an emergency to relieve me - early enough before the bank closes... money is burning in my pocket as well as the rising tide the eminent swell and wave-curling rocket... fueled by the constant rubbing against my thigh 'cuz you know a brotha (from a flip motha) goes commando although a fetish for underwear on the bottom dresser drawer, hides a collection g-strings, jocks, and leather... just in case of a turn in the weather... I'm ready to nut cocoa-nut sized milk pools until my insides are outside and my eyes pop slinky boppin' tool flacid from receding tides sensational libation without licking shots drunk on release stuck in my seat, and naked sweaty celophane skin sunk in a orgasms' rut like i said I'm ready to nut... The clock is cruel to conspire against an innocent man's need to perspire... to reach heaven here earth heavy with flesh & gravity not near like hunger - this is a deeper desire thirsty carnality like a lion's snarling roars from depravity I'm ready to get the-fuck-out of dodge I'm craving for more than a simple squirt of my *** I'm ready to nut is it wrong to pray for this to God??

0

Jun 10, 2016

Jun 10, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC

butch-decatoria

ON EDGE ('08)

*Edging ************ : Refers to ****** stimulation, especially of one's own genitals, and often to the point of ****** which is performed manually; by other types of ****** contact (except for ****** *********** by objects or tools (or *** toys), or by some combination of these methods. Also see definition of Edging at Www.Orgasmedging.com.* I'm ready to nut. An hour before dismissal from this dismal paycheck to paycheck every few minutes looking up at the clock not ticking fast enough J.O.B. wishing for an emergency to relieve me - early enough before the bank closes... money is burning in my pocket as well as the rising tide the eminent swell and wave-curling rocket... fueled by the constant rubbing against my thigh 'cuz you know a brotha (from a flip motha) goes commando although a fetish for underwear on the bottom dresser drawer, hides a collection g-strings, jocks, and leather... just in case of a turn in the weather... I'm ready to nut cocoa-nut sized milk pools until my insides are outside and my eyes pop slinky boppin' tool flacid from receding tides sensational libation without licking shots drunk on release stuck in my seat, and naked sweaty celophane skin sunk in a orgasms' rut like i said I'm ready to nut... The clock is cruel to conspire against an innocent man's need to perspire... to reach heaven here earth heavy with flesh & gravity not near like hunger - this is a deeper desire thirsty carnality like a lion's snarling roars from depravity I'm ready to get the-fuck-out of dodge I'm craving for more than a simple squirt of my *** I'm ready to nut is it wrong to pray for this to God??

50

Life is lived, with hope for better. when life is dry, God makes it wetter If then it's cold, He gives us sweater and no regreats, will come in later When heavy to bear, He makes it lighter Problems may come, but just for a while sometimes are bitter, almost like bile life is pattern, and problems are tile leave them to God, mind what's worthwhile even when long, sometimes like nile prepare to thank, God in your file Life is cold, and friends are gold hearts are bold, but never sold always thank God, till you are old some hearts to fold and others to hold friends and lord, they drive the world when you are down they always crown if you are worn, they make you own joy is the noun even if unknown Some leave your heart, while others swell in times of draught, they make a well with flacid mood, they make it swell create an heaven and remove the hell when you rise, everyone will tell arise and shine, coz now you are well

0

Sep 15, 2018

Sep 15, 2018 at 2:59 AM UTC

shadyteddy

Life

Life is lived, with hope for better. when life is dry, God makes it wetter If then it's cold, He gives us sweater and no regreats, will come in later When heavy to bear, He makes it lighter Problems may come, but just for a while sometimes are bitter, almost like bile life is pattern, and problems are tile leave them to God, mind what's worthwhile even when long, sometimes like nile prepare to thank, God in your file Life is cold, and friends are gold hearts are bold, but never sold always thank God, till you are old some hearts to fold and others to hold friends and lord, they drive the world when you are down they always crown if you are worn, they make you own joy is the noun even if unknown Some leave your heart, while others swell in times of draught, they make a well with flacid mood, they make it swell create an heaven and remove the hell when you rise, everyone will tell arise and shine, coz now you are well

28

I like to keep my meaning flacid And my sound solid, The air must be rigid Or else It becomes truly meaningless. Leave the keys hanging for access And blessed By a reader are the poets.

0

Oct 6, 2019

Oct 6, 2019 at 7:46 AM UTC

ABriscoe-7

Tongue Waggle

I like to keep my meaning flacid And my sound solid, The air must be rigid Or else It becomes truly meaningless. Leave the keys hanging for access And blessed By a reader are the poets.

8

To idolise and fantasise of whence Deities wonder. And aperpo of nothing Else, the engaging prospect dwells; a condensing cloud, It begs to ignite. Melodic philosophy after all bequeaths such license and rather, idealises lofty ideals; Relevant. Real. At times, ridiculous; but written nonetheless. Inception sacked lame defences (nature's law-bound birth) Of solace and comfort, In accepting such uncertainty. Schlock festers now, page bound by binds which Tie and plunder. Rich is he whose flacid Resistance entertains this coup. Still - Who will notice?

0

May 24, 2018

May 24, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC

james-r-1

The Shame If Imitation

To idolise and fantasise of whence Deities wonder. And aperpo of nothing Else, the engaging prospect dwells; a condensing cloud, It begs to ignite. Melodic philosophy after all bequeaths such license and rather, idealises lofty ideals; Relevant. Real. At times, ridiculous; but written nonetheless. Inception sacked lame defences (nature's law-bound birth) Of solace and comfort, In accepting such uncertainty. Schlock festers now, page bound by binds which Tie and plunder. Rich is he whose flacid Resistance entertains this coup. Still - Who will notice?

21

dated lapi de

0

Aug 12, 2022

Aug 12, 2022 at 1:45 PM UTC