"gaging" poems
365Nectar #107 One Last Moan
Wed. Jan. 8, 2014 10:52 A.M.
Anxious waves of swollen anticipation
Roll like hot lava
Scorching your temptation…
I’m needing your touch.
My swollen lips quiver in wild shudders
from sweet torture
and inflamed mumbles slither out of me
Twitching and turning together
our perfumed bellies are drenched in a *** soaked dream
Your ravaging renders you aching jaws
and me…
incoherent speech
Pinned….kneeling…. and blind-folded
slumped over and dripping
*** cracking
and ******* bouncing
mouth-watering ******* drown us in
the melodious echoes of the quivering screams being clawed out of me
My hot lava beckoning release
you weave my longing into streaming liquid gold
sizzling satin ***
And we surrender to nasty fantasies
I want you deep and rough
Do me long
Do me hard
Spank a mean moaning out of me
***** a gaging groaning
and lick out primitive screams
fiercely dip me towards blissful sleep
then ****
one last moan
out of me.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
million dollar moment
plastic happiness ensues
fantastic spectacle
show for the ages
sage burns raging
cage expands, elastic
free bird sings brightly
feathers flip
gaging currents
torrential downpour
damages pages
sad eyes look at the scope of alteration
alienated, they seek dissuasion
turning from this scene
seeing clean green
thoughts race at the sight
imagination in pre-flight warm-up
launches
raunchy visions flash
as past ***** attempt to crash
the brain plane flying over strange plains
grain fields sway, plainly
painfully I pine
deranged
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
Overload caffeine
No food
Too many pills
Workout for hours
No sleep
****** nights with steel
Gaging meals in the bathroom
Blackout drunk
Loss of hope
Loss of fear
Loss of self
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 8:45 PM UTC
i love late night cruises where street lights are road maps and the clicking of seat belts are signaled confirmations of undiscovered adventures. i love looking out the window and gaging speeds of trees flying past and wondering who else is in the place I'm in. i love turing on the radio and not knowing which genres of music are going to cause induced emotional thoughts and memories brought on by past lovers and significant experiences. i love winding back roads that induce stress of not knowing where to go, but only in the best kind of way. the stress of discovery and unified serenity. i love premeditated song choices set moods for the adventures we are all going to take. that talks of real things in life flow smooth and rhythmically like the turning of spinning tires on pavement coinciding with melodies of memories. i love the sound of celiphane removed from packs of cancer sticks and buying dying has never felt so satisfying. overwhelming sweetly harsh smells of gasoline and lit matches. That sometimes in these elements you think back to when you swore off ever trying these bad habits you now can't seem to kick. getting high and driving around neighborhoods looking at dream homes like built houses of cards and wondering what secrets reside inside these covered walls. i love the pattering of my heart down to my chest when i am in a automatically comfortable place iv never seen or been inside. realizations that days like these are in fact the best of your life because there is no concern for passing time in mind. in this city, where i reside, there are battered homes of love and sadness and winding roads that seem to lead to nowhere of happiness. but when i look out into those vast open fields of half rural living i couldn't think of another place i would prefer to be. that the fact there is nothing but vast land ahead and a tiny bit of sunlight sitting gently on horizons are something someone somewhere else may not ever see. makes me feel overly blessed that is pictured when i think of beauty, to me.
emily a. grande
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
Gaging your spot in this world with acid-burning insides.
A hazy head.
A faded sense of everything.
It seems that this isn't working.
You feel no passion;
that's on you.
There's something that you ought to do but that thing won't
stop the burning.
Admittance won't clear the haze.
Action won't bring you closer to what's (at least) functional
Let's not talk about realities for a minute...
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
Raw garlic as a throat lozenge
tucked into my cheeks
biting down and gaging at the bitter taste
it was starting to grow green
still alive despite sitting on a shelf
a tea of cayenne pepper
and honey
and apple-cider vinegar
and some more garlic for good measure
this is disgusting
and it goes down harder than cheap malt liquor
like going slow
when my nature is to jump in
shouting i love you from roof tops
i dance around it now
because though my nature has been
openness in the past
the pain has closed me up
getting better is an odd thing
its unpleasant
it takes time
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC
How quick would things change if justice was blind
Instead of peeking at the pile of money
Left behind by those with names of wealth
Those who should be wearing black robes
Are instead decorated in cheap dollar store green
Passing judgment to protect predators and ******
Of the right white and boo who
opps I made a mistake... it won't happen again
Ignoring the pain and cries of the victim
Again and again
Just in case you don't know
She too is somebody's child
Whose future is now bleaker
Than that **** you were paid
To keep out of criminal row
And what if all you knew where the facts of the deed
Not the heritage of skin
Or how much his father rakes in
At the years end
Would he have been sentenced as harshly
As those who did the same thing
But whose ancestors where brought here in chains
Forced to work by whip and ignorance and hate
How can I ask this
How can you not see justice
Is no longer blind
Its gaging on dead presidents
While getting
The white right and boo who off
The sword has been dropped
The scales replaced
With cheap stiletto high heels
Smeared lipstick on your gavel
While predator and ****** go free
And nothing is done
As if nothing had happened
But what if it had been your daughter
And not a wealthy mans son
If we all went blind
Then could we bring
This over the counter
**** culture
To its deserved end
Or could it be possible
To see it in its ugly truth
And just stand up
And say enough
Is ENOUGH
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC
whispering through the fir needles
the wind sang the sweetest song
offering a soothing caress
to weary and battered ears
t’would only be a moment
barely a respite
yet enough to satiate
a deep welling hunger
granting peace and pause
to a subconscious fringe dwelling
tossing haphazardly conspiracy
into the mundane and ordinary
eyes closed and face up tilted
the breeze brings a remembrance
flooding thoughts and flashbacks
of childhood summer
fresh green grass between stubby pink toes or
windows down one hundred eight m.p.h.
Honda CRX and crank
burning and gaging through sinuses and
Jorn Lake in September
mosquito free, planted rainbow’s jumping
eyes open to the swaying needles
for one second
there is only the wing song –
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC
within a year they will be as thick as thieves,
elbow interlocked with elbow,
whispering in hushed tones,
hearts interwoven so their laughter becomes one great explosion.
divine grace moved them into one.
from my seat thousands of miles away
I listen to the patter of their new found friendship,
grow, grow, in this sunny day.
He paces in his tiny office, counting the minutes,
gaging if it might be a respectable time to call.
Is her mother okay? Perhaps she must tend to mama.
They are both up late in the wee hours of the night/day,
They share the same life.
They might begin by bickering,
then he will quell her with his need to connect,
he will placate her, explain how he is fair sided,
he sees logically, he sees the Truth with a capital.
Is she still on the side of the psychics? The healers?
Will she bring to him what I brought, only in a sweeter wrapping?
Red rather than Black.
West rather than East.
Or has she cast that away, a relic of her younger days, and now she too has found what he sees. On the Eastern Shores.
This day, they share this day.
I too wait in these hours,
I heal the open **** he cut in my life,
my person, who I am and what I know.
Suture here, stitch there, cry my story until my blood dries.
This sun we all three share, this air, this breath.
All three of us here, in the heat of this day, together at once.
Will she tell him in uncertain words what I had tried to show him?
Will the same healing energy, spirit, power come through her to unite the world for him? Will he find the love he thought was not alive in me?
In me the energy faded, the spirit was dead, for why?
The shade of my hair?
The tone of my skin?
Yes, yes, it is as simple as that.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
Red ink all smothered at the bay of my palms ,
Need a quill to collect and stop the bleeding crust
Small rusty hands and yet like water gaging in
Blank spaces , open minds and blank faces seeping in
Help me move while the clock says
Tick tock
Fly to the stars like an airplane
Time stops
As the dead star passes
Another lights up
Help me choose
Before I give up
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 9:33 AM UTC
I'm not mute, as far as I can tell
And even then I signed the words into your skin
But you signed back with one hand on my throat and the other on my hip
I tried to use my jagged teeth as a fast escape
But that just earned me a no
(Not the no I wanted)
and as I tried to say no you gripped my hair and pushed your "yes" farther down my throat
apparently gaging turns you on
You pushed me on a wall and my hat came off with my dignity
and my sanity
I kept muttering no
and I didn't cry so I started laughing
So you went harder grinding me on you
And I said no
I said no
And I looked over and there was a girl sleeping
I tried to speak louder
But nothing could wake her from inebriated dreams
till someone came in and I ran out of the room
leaving my hat
with my sanity
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
Earthy smell
Kicking for life
Gaging wretch of a man
Crushed under the weight
Got to pay for it
Burning embers of life
Putrid thoughts
Still fighting
Never give up
Holding my nose
Choosing love
Looking past it
Seeing light
Fresh air to breathe
Cool breezes raise my spirit
Rivers calm my soul
Rest comes calling
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 3:32 AM UTC