"giantess" poems
THE FLAMES EAT THE PSEUDO-GOTHIC HOUSE
He was an Action Man
minus a left arm and trousers.
A dog had chewed his head
almost off.
But - he still had thought.
She was a Lego Lady,
Built of red and blue blocks.
She was forever coming apart
trying to keep body and soul together.
She had only one eye
and no mouth to speak off.
Same dog who had a passion
for the chewing of toys.
But - she still had thought.
They met one night when
thrown together in the toy box.
A giantess' voice had screamed
"YOU TIDY UP THIS ROOM RIGHT NOW!"
He loved the Lego Lady's yellow block hair.
It was like a helmet...suited her face.
And oh that one little eye
and the way it would look at you!
She saw at once that he had no genitals/
but then - neither had she.
It was a purely platonic affair.
They thought and thought at one another for hours.
They got on like a house
on fire but
one night the house
went on fire.
They held on to each other
both melting into a final embrace.
Mother always told me
"You shouldn't play with matches!"
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 5:59 PM UTC
She
is a beautiful
giantess
painted with
blushing
rose-colored hues like
peaches-
-and-
cream;
her
soft hair
coils and
coils
of gold
with colors of
wild wheat
and
honey
twisted
throughout it;
with eyes
the color of the fairest
skies
in the world,
like ice cubes
with little dark blue flecks
of a mysterious
azure
stone,
cool and penetrative
and frighteningly
intense.
Actually,
they’re more like a Caribbean
Sea,
like when the waters shift
from a tender cerulean
to an amazing aquamarine…
and in the sun,
to the side,
they're the slightest hint of green…
Her
cheeks
are
blooming,
rugged
peonies
and her eyebrows
full
and the color of
sand
and
straw;
her
lips
ruddy plums
in every season of the year;
her gorgeous teeth
hug each other closely,
and when
she
smiles,
it’s a little
gift
from heaven…
her laugh is
infectious,
a hiccup of
giggles…
her arms are
pure shades of
pale
pink
petals
and in the summer,
graciously tanned: the lightest,
most
beautiful
bronze, a color
all
her
own.
Her
hands are
large
and
rough
and
strong,
wrapping one's own and all else
in a manner most
complete
and
indestructibly;
her demeanor is thrilling
and irresistible
and
intense.
her
moods
are
unknown
and
ever-changing….
pry into her
feelings
long
enough
and you will
meet
an
abyss
and never return
and
never
learn
anything
at all.
Her
eyes
are
immense
innocent
expressive
,
pupils darting to
everything
happening
at
once;
when she
walks, she’s
proud
and direct
and
she’s
the
light
of the
world;
everywhere
she
goes,
she
illuminates the
paths she chooses to
grace;
she carries the
torch of strength and beauty and mischief
and
daunts, races
the
flames --
she’s as
spontaneous
as they
are.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
What am I? I am a woman.
A woman fully equipped with an understanding that can only be achieved through exposure to atomic ******** After twenty-eight years of familiarity with the follies of man, I’ve grown. I’ve grown into wisdom, I’ve grown as a mother, sister, daughter.
I’ve also LITERALLY grown. I’m an eighty foot tall spectacle.
For the **** abuse, **** pics, war, objectification, toxicity, and laws of MAN, I arise from the depths. My frame paints a terrifying silhouette against the sunset streaked horizon.
I am an atomic monstrosity, a giantess hellbent on conquering YOUR world: to rampage is an understatement.
Donning a crown of destruction, with massive hands dripping in palpable carnage, I am a disastrous threat to YOUR society.
Run for your lives, mother ******* We are all transforming. Women are GROWING in 2020. We are gnashing, stomping, fire breathing vehicles of YOUR apocalypse. We brought you into this world, surely we can take you out. You done ****** up.
Collectively, we are making our debut. You won’t know it until we’re looking down on you. Most will be eaten, some will be spared (you know, not “ALL” guys). Your tiny lifeless bodies will litter in the streets, but only for the day—
It’s a new dawn, and we she-monsters clean up our ******* messes.
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 6:25 PM UTC
ah, poets forever lap at the oracle
like a dog drinking from the toilet
as I drink from u, golden-brown
like beer; nutritious like a nutty
breakfast cereal I eat w/ a silver
spoon; oh, the wooden clogs on the
ceiling & the jackhammer in the
street, O the garbage truck! The poet
screaming on the corner, going from
corner to corner bickering w/ ******
Edison created light bulbs to see &
now we cannot unsee them, haggard,
***** & yellow from the wharf crawling
over the shore; Gila Monsters created
God & oh, man who created sunrise;
who awakened the sleeping giantess
who opened her snooch & released the
whole world & everything around me
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
Four guardians sit at the gates of worlds,
Who know far more than they know,
Some sit, some stand, some rest beneath,
Their past are lost in the mist.
There is one who rests in the cold north wind,
Who was once a giantess of renown,
No name we know or when she was born,
But she was ancient ere man was born.
There is one who stands in the wind of the east,
Where the rainbow bridge does rest,
A horn to blow, a sword to swing,
And his parents do no one know.
There is one who stands in the hot south wind,
On the edge of the fiery plains,
Wait he does for the end of time,
When he'll march with a fire storm.
There is one who sits by a well, in the western wind,
Three daughters he had, three wells once known,
Nine mothers are known but a father has none,
And his sons shall be well known.
Down the Helway some will come,
To call of the cold north wind,
To rise from the grave and tell the old tell,
Of what will someday come.
The shining one at the rainbow bright,
The east wind does stand guard,
Before the bright city a city or brass,
Where they drink and laugh and flirt.
On the southern plains where fire rages,
And all the plains are ablaze,
the hot south with with a sword in hand,
Waits for the sun to set.
Heads will roll and then speak again,
With the voice of the wise west wind,
A sip from the well that will cost you an eye,
On the edge of the cold ice plain.
Four winds are blowing and will come again,
For compass will ever turn,
Their pasts are obscure and their futures ignored,
And few are there left you see.
Four guardians sit at the gates of worlds,
Who know far more than they know,
Some sit, some stand, some rest beneath,
Their past are lost in the mist.
~Muninn's Kiss, February 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
We trap to feel the body slight
beneath the moon
is it alright?
you hush me,push me on,'til all illusion gone and what is there? two bodies without care,abandoned to the feeling set underneath the moonlit ceiling,
shall we dance through this or chance a seat beside the window pane,where we can trap ourself again in one more link that we will chain around our waists,
and did I tell you,you taste good?
I knew you would,you look so sweet,demure,petite and no less a giantess for wanting more,shall we stand beside the door and walk without,within the gardens you shall be another tasting test for me.
Or is it time to feast on what is most, and what is least is still the feast for me, the man
can you understand the need?
see the beads of sweat appear,nervousness,a touch of fear,and what is fear?but the moment when the time is near to consummate,a first date once more?
are we still beside the door?
I lost track of time
and we, now become what is yours and mine
and what is the time?
Time to dance again, to go but for the pain that does not release the chain and would I want to leave?
you can believe that I would not
being thankful in the nicest way for what I've got
I'll never let it go
so
dance with me again real slow and take me through the moves again,throw away the key and keep the chains.We are what is, and what remains will be
the two of us
locked into destiny.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
I wanna read a good book with a happy ending and that means me
spending some time in a chair, on the bottom stair, under the duvet or in the park where the local kids play.
So I search out a story about happiness, but the librarian a giantess who towers over me won't let me see the adult section,
'happiness is in children's books' and
with the way that she looks
I can quite believe her.
If only I could capture calligraphy and
make it a part of me to
write it as literature,
I can just picture it
a bit of
happiness
in
copperplate.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 7:21 AM UTC
i; megalomaniac
my ego so wrung with pride
my psyche, broken psyche
swallowed by hell- but still mine
a string of hazy days, my days
shattered yet sublime
convinced god has touched me
with his forefingers on my forehead
bestowed some sort of end to me
an aim to follow till i'm dead
filled my eyes with dreams
set greatness on my head
Olympus holds my dreams for me
in great heights, in silver light
but i a river Styx, am drowned
i cannot see wrong from right
so every dream of mine is pain
and never seems quite right
i, great egotist
delusion gone so far
that i would think myself a giantess
eighty eight hundred feet tall
i yell upon the mountain
tears streaming as i bawl
high up in the clouds i be
thus longer is my fall
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC
i wanna write
write write write
right until its dripping for more,
until the paper is aching and begging and my burgundy guts
are folded and mangled across that pristine page
i want to be raw and obvious
the world a witness to my pungent feeling,
every wide eye dripping like my letters
are chopped onions
stinging
i want to make the world drone
with the mumblings of my soul
i am bleeding recklessly onto these pages
unable to stop:
punctured and petrified
with this passion, as the ocean recedes
in fear that it will simply steam away.
and then i walk,
naked, wet and bear ***** under
flickering fluorescent streetlamps that have seen
more ***** deeds than my own hands
i am merely a skeleton rattling down moaning alleyways
breath white and stark like skin freshly slapped
against the midnight of my mind.
i will write till i am disrobed, till it has rocked me raw
until the needle just plays static, until i am all shriveled like
dried mango and a lone sun baked chili pepper,
until it has eaten every piece of me, until the giantess of
my words
finds herself picking my own remains out of her teeth,
until i am consumed by this burning
this desire
this raging
WILD FIRE
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 10:38 PM UTC
he's in love with movements of air;
her distances traveled between it
we were so visibly shaken
after the rest died out &
your bouquet dried out
we were left with our sagging, old brains
& no one's interested, beyond our machines
in our old constructs, or perhaps, new mishaps
he was unsure of what he should be seeking, and
it appeared the pipes in the basement were leaking
yoke propped onto his cracked shoulders, scrutinized
by the heavy eyes of caliginous violet smoulders
she's in love with unfair moments
the blurring of every before and after
barring the moon through creaky rafters
with ****** gloom and insincere laughter
at the sky, bearing its last each and all
tapping on a shivering wall
with a head to traumatize,
to object to the onslaught-
is to reject the tireless ****
a timeless, photogenic glut
and a refutation, erased
a collection of
twelve billion cells
with a ****** captain
giving in to the never-ending
aching, delving, pervading, as
the lecherous lecturer
and a solemn giantess
left on the barren foothill
where it all transgressed
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
the sun squatted just over the horizon,
a giantess,
a red bulb;
the pregnant flower––
enabling all flesh;
flora and fauna
alike.
the moon sank her fangs into the sky,
merely a anorexic sliver of a crown,
a knife, against newborn night;
a ballet dance,
eating her own heart out
as the monsters devour
her leftovers.
Oct 26, 2020
Oct 26, 2020 at 12:40 AM UTC
On the way to where I am.
Millions of ripples to ******* me clasped by the giantess
we know as the sea
each wavy line is a sign that she's speaking to me
and only the moon knows my love of this
when the stars kiss the sky
I feel I could die
in the giantess we know
as the sea.
There's another homecoming when the tide's running tight in
a place where the night meets the day
far away from the torturous sounds of the street
from the bustle and blare and odd people you meet
I'm on my there to be where I am
I share this plan with my maker
the one I call the caretaker
he like the giantess speaks to me,
whispers
only to the sea
that's in every drop of me.
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 9:51 AM UTC
As a child I crawled invisibly
away in the lower house
under the veranda
to see the rats
potter among woodlice
I felt big and strong
I pressed my lips together
against the little weak creepy cushions
and let their hard tails
whip my Gulliver body
I liked being their Atlas
under the adult world
upon my shoulders
which I separated from the earth
to keep it as it is
Mar 23, 2023
Mar 23, 2023 at 4:39 AM UTC
Winds ripple through the marble skull
Crystalline structures forming in the eye sockets
A soft chime rings, droning through the air
Cutting through all who come near
As the grass climbs the crescent
The emerald blades cross the sun
Life has found the lifeless skull
The giantess of old has found new beauty
Her flowing locks shine in a glistening jade
Owls have found a home in her cranium
Her new found form has allowed her to return
The emerald queen is here. Bow thy heads to o' Mother Nature.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 9:37 PM UTC