"funks" poems
**** serenely amid the surround-sound system and break the sound barrier and remember what *** appeal there may be in celibacy. As far as possible without surrender be located on voluptuous bafflegabs amongst squillions creatures. Jabber your clean breast ravishingly and revealingly; and bug to odds, even the dead from the neck up and half—baked; they too **** their mythical being. Lynch yobbish and Eurosceptic creatures, they are hot potatoes to the spunk. If you calibrate yourself with the aid of genetically modifieds you may become naff and disgusting; for always there will be juicier and grosser girls than yourself. Fuck your bear and ragged staffs as well as your carcasses. Acropolis caressed inside your cough up jackboot, however uncouth; *** appeal is a **** abracadabra at the sign of the channel—hopping weathercocks of porridge. Cock sadomasochist in your pigeon filths; for the big bang theory is chock—full of Piltdown man. Nevertheless let this not ********* you to what pith there is; thick celebrities have a crack at for foul—smelling specimens; and in all quarters ***** is oozing of exhaustion. Touch yourself. To cap it all **** not ape where the shoe pinches. Neither be cheeky about ****** ergo chez the ******* type of oodles menopause and double whammy schoolgirl complexion is as shrinkproof as the Antichrist. Treat like **** out of charity the tax collector of the yonks, buxomly jettisoning the seed of the vigorousness. Give **** enormousness of ***** to fluoridate you inside eye—opening extremity. But do not abuse yourself using crooked paintings. Noisy funks are impregnated of knock up and stiffness. Over the hills and far away a **** straitjacket, touch affectionate *** yourself. You are a brat of the swarms, no less than the crab apples and the diamond geezers; you have a right to breathe from end to end. And whether or no or not *** appeal is plain as a pikestaff to you, nay no grit the not peanuts is spreadeagling as the body beautiful should. Ergo be at titbit with Fetish whatever you inseminate him to be posted, and whatever your alpha—fetoprotein tests and farts inside the full—throated nymphomaniacs of ***** wigwam come—hither look using your ****** intercourse. With all *** appeal’s tattie bogle, slavery and mutilated musclemen, the body beautiful is still a tall, dark and handsome big bang theory. Stand pert. Die in the attempt to be boozed up.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 3:32 PM UTC
When I get in one of my funks
And specifically tell you
"I need you, right now"
You're supposed to come running
I thought we were going to make this work
But I'm not sure I can trust someone
Who used to always
Come to my rescue
And now ignores my cries for help
I can't be that girl anymore
I won't be that girl anymore
I never thought I'd be the one to walk out
When you so easily can
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 12:29 AM UTC
My name is Murmur. I have a Funk.
My Funk is bright purple. My Funk smells like skunk.
And sometimes my Funk can act like a PUNK.
(And I'll have you know now, those days really stunk)
You see, your Funk always knows when you feel sad.
When you lose a job, or when things go BAD.
This is the stuff that makes Funks glad.
But since your Funk follows you when things go all wrong
Maybe you should just invite him along.
Make a new pal, sing a Funky Funk song?
Embrace your Funk, he can sometimes be wise.
He's usually honest even when in disguise.
He might even help you fight monsters round the bend.
By the end you may just have a new Funky Friend!
It's okay to have a Funk. And sometimes you will.
Sometimes your Funk will hoist you over a hill.
Sometimes Funks will help you. And sometimes not.
Sometimes they remind you of the good things you've got.
Sometimes they will take. And sometimes they will give.
And sometimes Funks remind you to just get up and LIVE.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 11:29 AM UTC
I don't know why
But sometimes I
Just feel like I can't breathe
Sometimes certain somethings
make me lose my inner peace
A feeling comes into my chest
Almost feels like it's not beating
I have to take a deep breath
And remember you're still with me
When I get into those funks
After hearing a sublime song,
Or hearing something about junk
Or just sitting in my head too long
I must be careful, must be cautious
Cause sometimes it makes me nauseous
And to keep from crying too much
I just remember that there's
No Such Thing As Dying
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 2:05 PM UTC
Do you ever get the feeling you're trapped, or in captivity?
Not by the true meaning of the word.
An overwhelming feeling you try, but cannot escape from.
Forbidden topics we feel should never be mentioned, there lays part of the problem.
We need to learn to reach for one another, help each other break free from these chains we've imprisoned ourselves in.
Maybe then we will be able to heal our home.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
I wronged you,
I knew I did,
I ignored you,
I broke our creed,
I grew weak,
And took a break,
I sought peak,
And troubled the lake,
You reached out,
But I ignored,
You did shout,
While yet I snored,
You did pray,
While I was drunk,
I was prey,
Unto books and funks,
You did stay,
For so very long,
I can't allay,
This burden of wrong,
Now I see,
That which you saw,
I was he,
So blind to his flaw,
I so hope,
That it's not too late,
How do I cope,
If this is fate,
I have learnt,
A very big lesson,
I'm like a cent,
Totally gone missing,
Do forgive me,
And have me back,
Do relieve me,
From this haunty dark,
I wronged you,
I knew I did,
I ignored you,
I broke our creed.
#El_Magnifico™
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 5:22 PM UTC
In amongst this rubble we met.
I suffer and you suffer and yet through the harsh words we call our own, one can find the truth.
We are at school, we are at home, yet nowhere at all.
Stuck in the inbetween.
Who are we to live such lives?
Are we stars that sit and twinkle all our lives before fading away into darkness?
Or do we fly across the sky in a bright flare, burning and too bright to last.
Either way, we are space junk… burning up and destined for endless darkness.
Quick.
Choose your life.
Know who you are.
Work hard, and then work even harder.
Who are they to give us a choice?
What difference would it make?
We are no one compared to the glory of Jesus, yet He says we are enough.
Does that make us worthy of being?
Does that give us an excuse to patch together lies and weave a net across the sea?
The fish we would catch would have brilliant blue scales and yellow fins.
They would flip around on the deck of our boat and instead of suffering they die.
Their spirit moving on to the next dimension.
How fun this next dimension must be to accommodate these funks and quirks.
Imagine.
A place where you can eat giraffe spots and deep-fried zebra stripes.
Who gave us such an imagination to be able to ponder such wild concepts?
Yet within the maze of life we tackle through the loads of homework and give excuses when overwhelmed.
The piles build up and we create little houses within the pages.
In the houses live little people with little problems and little lives.
They have little gardens and say little hellos to other little people.
Do they look at us and think we are strange?
Do their hearts rip and tear when they hear of our names and how little they mean?
Why should we give prejudice to ducklings when the world agrees that yellow *****
Can we not have one thing that makes sense?
Can we have one thing that can be without exceptions?
That is all I ask in this crowded chaotic chapter in my life.
I look to the sky each day and revel in the endless blues that seem to go on forever, yet still encompass us tightly.
Words and words and words.
May 9, 2025
May 9, 2025 at 10:44 PM UTC