I like a whole lip-smacking smorgasbord of words,
such as preposterous and scrumptious,
sumptuous and curious,
roiling, rambunctious and trumpeting,
priapic, satyric and seraphic,
satyriasis and mimesis. Now this mimesis is the imitative
representation of nature and behavior in art and literature,
which is a pretentious way of trying to say what us writers do.
But hey, we don't just mimic things,
we can be sagacious and salacious, too.
Accordingly, I also like *******, which has a liquid sound,
and I'm not being facetious to suggest that
******* has a close connection to callipygous.
Then, for those who are suspicious of the libidinous,
I also like curmudgeonly and bodacious,
loquacious, precocious and pulchritudinous,
lubricious and fugacious,
scripturient, radiance, iridescence and magnificence,
lissome, lithe and languid (but not too limp),
shimmering and diaphanous, effulgent and evanescent,
flamboyant, fandango and flibbertigibbet,
(although this is difficult to say when you’re drunk),
voluptuous and vertiginous, slithery, **** and glistening.
And when I include crepuscular, strumpet and strawberry,
I may as well add whipped cream
as well, because this can be laid on in dollops,
and dollops is really an excellent word
along with slurping and *******, too.
Actually, I'm very flexible about words,
because in my lexicon, low moaning noises are OK, too.
These sounds come from the chord of creation
which is a sort of reverberation from the time of
primordial ooze, which I would like to squish between my toes.
Then there's protozoa, spermatozoa and also
wriggling flagella everywhere. So there.
But words don't even need to make sense,
because sweet nothings can say everything,
and heavy breathing can be ******,
even rhapsodic, ending in delirium.
Titillating should be in here too, because we all need
some tintinnabulation and tickling of the senses sometimes.
I've also decided that fecund is my second favorite word after love.
Fecund sounds abrupt, but it buds magnificently
in ******* and bellies to burgeon in absolute abundance,
everywhere. This brings me to *******, which I like, too.
I'm also partial to proud words, including bold, bulging and
brazen, along with a bit of swaggering braggadocio.
Then I like some big words, like brobdingnagian,
although I hope I'm not sesquipedalian.
Salivate is a word to celebrate as well,
along with onomatopoeia that helps choose some words here.
Drooling is highly evocative, too,
and it's not being provocative to observe that
even weapons drool when they're in the wrong hands.
And I shouldn't leave out *******, as you would expect,
because ****** is a sort of rippling word
that rhymes with spasm. Both sound deceptively simple,
but by golly, they can be intensely gripping.
And really, it's alright to writhe to this occasion
because all of us writers should endeavor
to have some good writhing in our oeuvre.
Even some bad writhing can be lots of fun, too.
But I almost forgot to mention yearning and burning (with desire)
and vulviform, velvet and venerous.
Yippee, yee har and hollerin' along with other exclamations
of exhortatory exuberance should be in this index, too.
Now. The words I don’t like include no, can’t, never,
stop and mustn’t. Also, irascible and intractable,
unmentionable, ineffable, inexpressible, incoherent,
immutable, impotent and impossible.
Then I don't like importune and misfortune,
and I don't know who thought up unthinkable,
because this is an oxymoron.
Inscrutable is also a complete cop out,
especially when there's no such word as scrutable.
Gawping, gaping, cavernous and cretinous, obsequious,
grovelling, pursed lips, circuitous,
obfuscation and isolation, unpalatable,
cruelty, tyranny and hypocrisy,
should also get the heave-**.
And I definitely don't like parsimonious and mendicant,
which are miserable words.
Quitting doesn't get there either,
and shut the **** up and ******* should also be taboo.
Also, hopeless is, really, well, it's hopeless
because it denies hope, and hope is buoyant and boundless.
I mean, sometimes hope is all we have.
But the word I dislike most is ****,
because this is an insulting word, and
to be taxonomical,
the negative score of this word is astronomical.
Hate is also right up there on this list. Hate is abominable
because it tries to destroy love, and love is indomitable.
Indomitable
is the
mightiest
word
of them all.
Yeah. So there.

Mike T Minehan

"you are so comfortable"

but have the pelvic bones
that I knew not of
existing anatomically
greeted your elastic skin?

hard bone on hardwood
friction on my outer flagella
pangs in my pits
this continues to concave

an artificial frame;
deemed healthy
after an unsatisfied lifetime
I remain as so
I am a wire hanger
draping fabric
awkward angles

I beg your pardon
I am far from comfortable

There it was. All overturned like
an upset stomach. Inflated and
belching, covered in writhing
steel flagella. Aluminum tin of
tuna, stabbed and leaking
fresh-squeezed juice. Red
juice. Sneeze-inducing,
iron-scented rose-red juice, almost
like old tomatoes. Thick and
sticky, it blankets the arms
pulling out the mangled fish.

I've given in
Giving you this in

Black and white

Kinda floundering
Finding
Not a rainbow
Near me
The magic is lost
Fearingly

Like ghosts
These illustrations
Of the heart

The gifts missed
From distances
In **** tube dreams
Boxed in
When we give a ****
Only now in this century
Twenty first class
Calamities

Our oceans dying
Malformed embryonic cells
Of sea shells
She sells to the sea shores
Supply and demanding
Foodies going for sushi
Tuna rolls not in season's
Greatest catch
Babies of King *****
Vegas Buffets
(Hashtags hazmat)

Overpopulation
Cities bowdlerizing nature
Iron teeth
Skyscrapers
and weeee!
All Are wanting,

Hunting, stunting, grunting
Undaunted
We sport full
Stadiums like
flagella

Single cell organisms
Goliath

mammoths now we mount,
Life best preserved in ice
Gene spliced
Playing dice
A stadium obese
With single minded
Bacterium

Gone viral

Vanities and victory
Of youth wasting time
Herding sheep
Mastering a perfect sling / swing
Knowing where to aim

Without fame
Without fail
Twix the eyes
The larger will fall

When it begins to hail
Gray
desert granite
Rocks
Throwing, rolling
Stones
on high
Or from below
Mantle, plates
Tectonics
Floods
Don't wait for names
The Hurricanes
Categorically mad
A High five

Climate changes cataclysms
Undoubtedly
No need
For
Catholicism catacisms
Or celebrations for
Dunking drowning
Under Christian steeples
Luke warms
Water

Ceremonious
Ways to cleanse

Drink and capitalize,
Divide their minds
As conquered

The fountains
We deny our youths
By learning only
Monkey see monkey doo
Masses
Congregation
A peaceful gathering

Recitations
Incited legions
Again again
religions own
What we believe

Schooled by whom no one knows
The vicarious
Malleable history

proof defining

The shapable feast of mean
and meaning...

Since it has been
All about
**** / Black or white
Just a reminder
Reminiscing
from a loss
Rather than reason
as one family,
Much more loss will
Fill your glass
But let me remind you
That thirst cannot be quenched
With empty

Actions speak
peacefully louder
When words
lift
Up like into laughter
No news of war to speak of pastor

When a summer day
In black AND white
Is still beautiful
In the shades and rays
Of a Polaroid
Picture of the day
Star : Sun,
In black and white
Still
Is bright

When the sky looks
Drab in
Gray...

The cage bird sings
The rainbows
Bright
Soul that flows a river

The living day
                   song of words

Utmost
Hearts
The Beloved

poetry
Of
The truth
When we chose

To give love
The life

Our world
Balances...

Even in black & white, I see  
The rainbow wave

               In the sky dances.









**(Continue into poetry about that universal
Ideal or melancholy, represented by the color
Gray feelings or the visits into gloamings and
Mists of dreamy worlds that host the ghosts of
Our downward spirals and dismay... The I between
Stranger things and sorrows heavy feeling, familiar
Or alien, gray as multiplcitous a color, it's shades
Of Heaven or bones, paint by writing
your feelings down, show me all or none,
Your neglected shades... The darkest to light.
Tell me how your gray turned white)

I want to end my life
In search of where to go
The subtle reverberations
Of faint murmurs from fantilion futile flagella
As if to escape their murky repose
Flap, furiously
At once distant, then endlessly so
From the warmth of what it must be
To be free; aye, lifeless
As if their yearning made it so
And our flagellum steered us true
But we're embedded now
There's only two things we can do

it dawned
     from the half-bitten fruit,
    this boorish serpent,
      this inner foreboding
          of flesh tingling tempted
    out of frame.

     sin takes to blood, the nail
    sifting the flesh, birthing
         the bells of the word

      fracturing our silences
     displacing the void into radiant senselessness -

       this heart of Pilate
     where once in front of
    this purloined innocence
   the temples crumbled to ash
     of all beginnings

    telling us all of our
     preordained peccadillo,

   unannounced wraith pouncing
   on each to lurid each,
       biting more from the world
    and its land that remembers
     the till of feet welcomed
      by diadems of flagella,

    love have we not, eternally?
      no singing seraphs wept
        as the afternoon erupts,
      a fragmented word: love.

Attendees at the game of the gods,
come in three
Pythogorean sorts:
First kinds are the lovers of wisdom,
the second are the lovers of honor and
the third are the lovers of gains. 
----------------
Ah, now, now

There is a demon
of the old kind attempting me
to lashout
my flagella and wipe my competitors from the stream
in this
only race that counts,

first and only, no second place in this race
to pass
through
into the egg, where life, as we know it begins.

All I brought, my entire being
as a cellulate entity with a will to win, is absorbed into
her.

Here, she perfects that which concerns me,
my will is done. I won.

Or did the others fail? Should I have slowed and let
another pierce this egg

and marvel at its works, while I am left useless forever?

Nay, or why would I retain this will to win?
Or this will to
calmly carry on, knowing now, this final phase in the course
of compleat being becoming,

slow and steady sets the pace,

right

up to now, k-pow, push meets shove and I win again,
recalling the joy when
I, the wiggly carrier of all that made me possible,

pass through your attentive staring, sorting egg-eye
maybe,

osmotical magical silliness wells up in me.

I was chosen. Or formed to fit, this
complex knot
lock meet for me, the key
ingredi-ant,

in ever stories provoking old men to grow on.
----------
Strange though it be, true,
Isaac Bashevis Singer inspires me, with words he left behind
for just this reason.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/IsaacBashevisSinger>

be on the qui vive when love
  is flyblown-piquant in the air
  that we breathe,
         shall we do splendidly here
where we once cried for benediction
in this station where love broke our
bones and laughed us away?

there is no retrieval of the memory
in the siege of nostalgia
when the past comes back with
the fracas of one hundred men marching
underneath the flagella
          of stark moments—

the streets will soon be named
after deaths, yet not one bears
   a trace of you.

To understand what is going on
in my belly, the tingling and tickling
of the flagella that know blindly
what I am hoping for, I dive down
in the collective unconscious

I juggle with symbols
name the gloss of the cells
soul and the cells an embodiment
of the great soul, the invisible
connection of everything, and among all

there is the mystery of the angels
who hold our essence
and carry in their hands my desire
to the nesting place
in my belly, tingling and tickling

while there are so many questions
from the angels of my mind
which are condemned as devils
by the fear of independence
of others and of yourself

questions about what is going on
and opinions, pros and cons
angels and devils, sometimes both armed
with deceit and threats, denying
that they are part of the great soul

You creatures of the quiet ponds
who swim unseen among the fronds
lift your flagella, join the song,
rejoice, for you are known.

You crickets, dragonflies, and bees
who dwell in grass and boughs of trees
raise now your buzzy symphony,
rejoice, for you are known.

You song sparrow and hermit thrush
who hide amid the forest brush
sing out and fill the evening hush,
rejoice, for you are known.

You people weary, sad, and small
who fill the street and shopping mall
take heart and praise him, one and all,
rejoice, for you are known.

Spat from the molten womb of the earth
flagella streamed behind my back
whistling like a falling bomb
pronouncing death
on a petrified city.

Planting my head firmly in the sand
sleeping the sleep of stones
glacial tears overran me like fire ants

until...

awakened by a trumpeting roar
I joined the hunt.

After eating
our toothless brothers and sisters
we lifted our heads in triumph
to the sun
and watched God
fling a pebble
into our pond.

When the waters clear...

I recall being watched
then seduced.

Hundreds of emerald eyes
clouded with lust and hunger
drew me closer.

Forelegs, clasped in prayer
wrought divine intervention
which delivered me
to her raptorial embrace.

She loved me.
Then ate me.

Gripped in the vice
of her wedding vow
my head cracked between her kiss.

10,000 suns stared
unmoving,
their constellations diminished
as a descending curtain of stalactites
reduced me
to broken, wet victuals.

The rest of me followed.
I could not look away.

Piece by piece
a bizarre stone circle marking my grave
sprouted
in the belly
of my first
and last
lover.

Since the day I awoke, within myself,
among the dead men, walking amidst the beginnings ending,
into a more serious version of mine
self... there I awoke.
Now in my forties / a toys-r-us type of young homie, I carried on without worry;
the laid back kid--type of guy,
who’d love to be in love with love,
the romantic idea of... a perfect kiss supernovae.
Something more than the mundane now,
We’re all at war with our doubts,
the lies every ****** person is spewing out
I wanted more than something not like this.
Why wake now, now when everything
begins to end / the child now must grow up. (Freudian)
Do not be depend/dent.

Alone alive / separated from that human connection,
feeling complete, a recognition of precious lives all the same,
or somethin’ intrinsic to mortality
every requiem Dream ...

All as one as life as grand as vast... as love,
as cosmic as... heaven up above.
Since that day I woke,
I begin to miss it the most, to be more
Participating
That human experience, once carefree & dreamlike
Paradise,
we are amiss of the truthfulness of it
We still sadly resist, existence still imperfect
Life already dismissed, taken,
advantage / playing pretend
losing Love to survival mode.
I feel lost, yo!  without that feeling connected...
Fathers and sons, bro to bro, each other know, y’know?
Since the day I awoke

to childhood’s end, at war
with the souls of men, again ourselves we harm,
the pain without... and on earth, a home,
A world full of soul...
plurals about, praying to one,
just one to know. To heart.
Since sad these bitter times just before the night,
let us bask in the last rays of Golden
sun, the light t’while the green miles
before we are undone... before
Any hope of getting woke
Humanity as a whole...

At war / in hell—a hell of pitch dark,
drowning in the black
The fear, the space time, its infinite width
that men want to claim / themselves define
It’s shores polluted skies ...

(****** upon to gorge, we parasites blind)
Men made / manifest more a destiny beyond barbarian,
past angst and hungry
For purpose, for a shared experience as a whole / a world,
For something more than what’s real, made here,
earth bound and heavy...
I awoke.
As Human as Experiment, flagella in Terra’s petri-dish.
Amidst the suffering, our beautiful breakdown, I awoke.
I see it now, now at dead ends... here’s looking forward to childhood once again. Before. Gone.
Only human. An oxymoron,
I am the great experiment.