"gimp" poems
over-caffeinated like a maj-gician (the electricians of existence), Matilda sang her morning brew a lullaby as she convinced breakfast not to panic from the pain of the frying pan- "sit quietly, take the pain, feel the burn- SIZzle! soon you'll be a human being and begin your life as a synthetic deity free within the skin of metastasized consciousness."
soon the egg seized in pleasure; a masochistic joy overtook it as yoke splurged from within like ****** ***** during ******* when the gimp has forgotten the safety word, screaming
BANANA
NEW YORK
CODE ORANGE
! ! !
while the perpetrator continues to scream verses from the Bible and Leviticus 1:3; an audiotape of On Being and Nothingness sends chills down the dark-sides spine in a hyperreal realization of the role choice plays in evils mortality.
must we listen while we speak? does reciprocity die in egoic colonization of the African subcontinent of the mind? is this the beginning of an age of autism born within the confines of illuminated rectangles of permissible distance and social hell-frozen-over?
man, you weren't even paying attention.
**** you.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
Peter Pan said Wendy -
There's something I want to tell you.
I am neither straight nor bent
But what you might call bendy
Captain Hook stopped reading his e-book and eavesdropped more intently.
Peter knew what his flexible friend meant and spoke to her quite innocently.
Wendy - I am as vanilla as Manilla envelopes in a creamery with whitewashed walls
And identical twin albino Godzillas fighting snow leopards with cue *****
No gimp suit in fifty shades of grey for me.
I am pretty much hormone-free,
More than happy with asexuality,
Playing pirated computer games on one hand
And others' loves that dare not speak their names which fewer understand.
In my world of dreamery certain flights of fancy pass me by.
I love to fly and you Wendy.
And I love you too Peter - Not Everygirl's Ideal of A Real Man.
But I can understand the attraction of Lost Boys and their toys in Neverland.
We've known each other for all these years,
Shared too many troubles, thoughts and fears
To be anything other than in each other's hearts.
If I never visit Neverland again
I know you will always be my closest friend,
What, where, whenever happens
To the bittersweet end.
May we both be dying for an Excellent Adventure,
If not together then separately.
There is nothing better than to know
That you will always be there for me
No matter how we might grow
Into this 21st century.
And one day I may straighten out
But
That's
Not
What
Life's
About.
Captain Hook put down his e-book and Facebooked a friend...............
And that is where our story will end.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
The rabbit haunts from a distance, patrolling fields for one to bear witness.
Gracefully the tenderfoot stalks, keeping a watchful eye out for Mr.Fox.
The creature walks with a slight limp, other animals often call him a gimp.
This way, that way, it all seems wrong, keeping time with a lost robin's song.
His home constructed as a single story wonder, located within a large tree laying asunder.
Family life wasn't right, as fleeting an image as a wayward kite.
A field mouse, left without spouse,
Stumbled upon the home in a tree, accompanied by a group of songbirds filled with glee.
The field mouse was asked to go, the creature in response, simply said no.
A man stumbled up, as mad as a hatter, his portly girth made it hard to imagine being any fatter.
He spoke of intrinsic right, boundless visions beyond sight.
Told the rabbit he had a duty to the mouse, saying it immoral to deprive him of a house.
The rabbit, reluctant to accept , found out from the man of the true evils in neglect.
He was told that he didn't own the home, it had simply been gifted as a goodwill loan.
That meant it was as his as much as the rabbits, regardless of any perspective habits.
With that the moused moved in, and brought with him his prized snakeskin.
Over a meal the mouse spoke of danger, coming in the form of a wandering stranger.
He told the rabbit, this creature travelled light, but usually shrouded in the cover of night.
Said the creature was not large in size, though his methods of thievery seemed quite wise.
The rabbit recoiled in his chair, as the field mouse offered up a demonic glare.
The field mouse grinned from ear to ear, sensing this rabbit's new grasp on fear.
Pulling the snakeskin from his sack, the dried shell was quick to crack.
The mouse spoke of a brave duel, between him and this monster, which had downed a mule.
He used every ounce of his cunning, and sent the legless beat running.
It wasn't good enough for the mouse, who was certainly no louse.
He tracked the snake for six long hours, through a field of partially bloomed flowers.
In the end he killed the snake, then took its skin so listeners knew the tale wasn't fake.
He held the skin, I mean the mouse, and said he'd hang the shell within the house.
Mr. Rabbit was found dead two days after, his body lay desecrated next to the snakes, hanging from a rafter.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
We fight and we fight and we fight
For what our communal conscious believes is right
We scratch and we scratch and we scratch
At the surface of our supposed human needs
We wave and we wave and we wave
These banners that state a truthful name
How hard we work to prove that we are human
How hard we try to not to be dissproven
The grave does not care who you are
The scythe strikes fast strikes clean but strikes fair
It doth not judge for we beings think far too much
At night when the prowling pride stalks its prey
Where the stars shine heavy on the hides of the unlucky
Does the lion question whether to eat the man or the woman?
The gay or the straight?
The gimp or the man stumbling due to too many sips?
The lion only wants his meat
His catch
Much like our friend the grave
We fight and we fight and we shout and we shout
And we wave and we wave because we think that is how freedom behaves
How lost we are, we children of mother earth
How stunned we become at our own plain insignificance
That a drifting leaf in a Fall breeze has even more elegance
Twisting spitting crying masses of flesh and bone
Drones upon drones stand upon stones upon stones
An eternal cycle of nature's evolution
A plan that is known and unknown
Seen and said but not ever shared
We fight and we fight and we fight and we fight
We say the cause is the hand of an almighty God
That the cause of liberation comes from the impulse of our sanitation
The wolf howls to be free and is
But we
We human beings
We just
Fight and we fight and we fight
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 11:09 PM UTC
in the mink pith of our dismal mints and our Charlatan hearse fights
in the twice dark vice of our daffodils
you linger effervescent in the marmalade plans
of mice and gin.
you march men into your womb like pixie dust and Ebola.
there, in the devious whiskers of your manticore
i have found you naked and bereft of kin.
an oodle of gimp where the soul
had been, and the gas lights off the marsh
unclean.
the vivid hork of your dead albatross, pondering the hink of your discontinued love.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
Speaking is an art
words like paint
we smear and spread out our ideas onto canvas
If you paint too fast-
**** it
you might make a mistake
Did you know paint can expire?
you think come one, paint?
paint can't go bad!
then you try and use it and its separated and chunky
and boom
your whole piece is ruined.
Words can expire too.
did you know that?
phrases and metaphors age turn ugly and contaminating just like the paint
they might have been usable once, but now
you'd better get some new words.
Like, when referring to someone who uses a wheelchair
people don't say they're crippled.
because that word has expired!
The same way simpleton was used to
refer to someone with intellectual disabilities
was is the key word there.
please for the love of god don't call anyone a simpleton
Lunatic was once used to refer to people with psychiatric disabilities
don't say the teacher who gave you homework on a Friday is a lunatic!
******** was used to refer to people with intellectual disabilities
but now you should NOT call anyone or anything ********
because it is inappropriate and insulting
This isn't about taking away your words
it's about what you are taking away from people with disabilities
when you use language like that.
what you are stripping away from people
when you decide to use a word like
*******
gimp
deformed
disfigured
Freak
insane
lame
******
*****
spaz
stupid
whacko
Knock it off!
when you decide to use those words
it takes away from anyone who has a disability
or anyone who every will.
Use a different word
use swear words
find a thesaurus.
Get some new **** paint
Jan 17, 2020
Jan 17, 2020 at 5:19 PM UTC
Your father is dead, Gimp Bailey,
We found his body all bloodied and mashed,
Wouldn't have known it was him, Gimp Bailey,
Had he not screamed your name with his dying thrash,
T'was but days ago, Gimp Bailey,
You and I walked the town in the cold
I saw the scars on your bald head turn blue,
And your leg shook right out of your hold,
The wolves hadn't touched him, Gimp Bailey,
Though we could hear their howl in the wind,
'Treated him with the respect he never showed you,
For a sinner, that ******* sure new how to sin,
When we passed the catherdral, Gimp Bailey,
You looked to the bell tower high,
And you asked me, confused, Gimp Bailey,
Why men build their towers so high,
What's so wrong with the blue of the sky?
We know it was you, Gimp Bailey,
'Cause against the blue-black of the dusk,
Saw your silhouette, Gimp Bailey,
We saw your limping husk.
You bowed your burnt head, Gimp Bailey,
As we passed by the looming bell tower,
And we both know why you did, Gimp Bailey,
For it rang out for your final hour,
His blood turned to red snow, Gimp Bailey,
Whilst our hounds were sniffing your trail,
And where did you go, Gimp Bailey?
How did you run if you are so frail?
But you weren't trying to hide, Gimp Bailey,
Because we saw that scarred blue-bald head,
From the top of the tower with the toll of the bell,
You screamed, "He is dead! He is Dead!"
Then we heard the crash, Gimp Bailey,
As the Bell fell down the stair well
Into eternity, Gimp Bailey,
It fell into the depths of hell,
And still we waited, Gimp Bailey,
With our guns, oh so ready to shoot,
We didn't know how much you hated,
That man - that beast - that brute -
And when you appeared out the doors,
We saw your hands all bloodied and bruised
From the pillars you smashed, Gimp Bailey,
From the hate of being abused,
When the roof came down, Gimp Bailey,
We didn't know what to say!
When the walls folded in, Gimp Bailey,
There was nothing to do but to pray!
I wish you had run, Gimp Bailey,
But you were a gorgoyle instead,
I called to you, Gimp Bailey,
Whilst those stones fell upon your head...
Each brick that fell, Gimp Bailey,
Was no different from your fathers back hand,
And they twisted your limbs, Gimp Bailey,
Like your leg broken by that man,
And the mortor that crashed, Gimp Bailey,
Ripped open the scars on your head,
Like the fire your father had set on your skull,
Oh Gimp Bailey, are you happy you're dead?
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 8:34 AM UTC
flithy fresh
tattered *****
trash talkin ****
got a gimp limp
front tooth chipped
got chip dip on my lip
dont even tip
take a sip out of your drink at the club
scrub but your girlfriend love me
im a sleezeball
a goofie kid that usually uses roofies but
passes out before they kick in
im a mess
Gutter Crunk
Regular Gutter punk
snatched up your junk
and made myself a nice hunk of doe
so now im driving drunk smashin yard gnomes
blowin whippets to the dome
up inside your home
eating all your food and smashing your ***
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 10:59 AM UTC
i have no words for emptiness
i'm a bulwark of clots and knots
death is a *****
in a party mask
her seduction a cruel bite
we have always lived for
nakedness on a pyre
makes the man
the bodyless are toasting at a college breakfast party
in the netherworld
of new birthed astral lights
the dead living
somersaulting like fantasmal flux
while we the living dead
gimp through labyrinths time-space
marking spired hands of a clock
that *****
like a black glove
towards endless white-knuckle struggles
no matter our destiny
in a dream of forms
like run on *****
a truth only the dead know
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
The **********
The creepy old fat man from Sweden
Cheatin' and scams his partners
Farting old ******* rat dog
Harbors innocent little girls
Like a **** hogg
Looks just like a 300 pound rat
Fat *** clown pervert
We are all to blame for that?
For the criminally insane
Lame brain
Bring back the nice guillotine
Chop off the **** of the mean old man who ruins the preteen!
Steals money then gets killed
The beat goes on... Beat in his fat head like a drum
Dumb old creepy ****
Worthless gimp
His days are numbered
Price on his head
Uses us all takes our bread!
But soon he is flat dead!
Dedicated to Bjorn Henry Jonasson
From Sweden the worst pervert I ever met, I bet he got killed in Thailand!
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
Grimsby, a murky wee northerly town
And lousy with houses of seedy renown
The ladies wear only a loose fitting gown
Transactions are furtive and quick
And every street corner is coated in brass
With a ****** for every discernable class
In a spectrum of hues and selection of mass
All awaiting a dip of the wick
Diseases are spreading and taking a hold
With pimples and blisters and, finally, mould
But just when the punters are starting to fold
A saviour arrives in the nick
Doctor McNaughty, King of the Kink
And his brothel of many surprises
A welcoming smile, a comfortable bed
And some help with whatever arises
The rooms are fantastic, the ropes are elastic
With feathery leather and spikes
It wanders the street on mechanical feet
And it scoops up the punters it likes
There’s something to suit almost every wish
With strawberries and freshly whipped cream in a dish
There’s a bucket of springs and a kettle of fish
And the manacles, shackles and chains
A selection of ******* and optional clamps
There’re pulleys, tackle and half-pipe ramps
A physio suite for reduction of cramps
And the treatment of ****** strains
A marshmallow room with a candyfloss bed
And hookers of platinum, purple and red
And for those who are hankering after the dead
There’s a room full of human remains
Doctor McNaughty, Lord of the *****
A magical, mystical ****
With wonders galore behind every door
And occasional chicken or gimp
His visits are brief, but of major relief
To the multitude often attending
Then he’s off in a flash with a bundle of cash
He so loves a happy ending
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 6:25 AM UTC
Like a soldier standing strong in my composure
Your gimp with a crippled posture
Im a killer with compassion
Compare me to a flower full of venom
Beautiful till i take hold
and paralyze your emotions
Break down what you are
To over power you as a person
Step out of line
Ill smash you to pieces
Talk **** out your ***
But i can read faces
Dont try to overcome me
Just embrace the opportunity
To be in my presence as requested
and respect my punctuality
Because its just proper etiquette
Eat what i feed you
Just remember my warnings
Try to become me and fail
Its just in my genes
To be toughest, roughest, and hardest
Make my friends list
Your covered, no matter the situation
Even in a war of wrong reason
Ill fight for my brothers
Who can prove their allegances
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
hard to play the idiot; likened to Mr. Bean
taking the role from
Angus Daily into a Blackadder
hurrah who? ha, ha, ha!
my eyes never
left me baffled - or washington prone:
*** to a stirrup - furthermore,
or Rushmore:
Atilla with an entourage
worthy of Genghis: of prone gravitas -
i too santa's little helper
and sinatra's
five p.m. flamingo strut's
worth of martini -
when said slavic eye then lessened
germanic white-boy fisheyed to boot...
i mean less binocular and more concentrate...
but
there's me as a fifth of Nevada in Siberia
that's always the: **** we sold Alaska!
Nicolai! oh Nicolai! Alaska! **** or
of what was the Crimea, of what is the Kremlin:
k, c, k, c, s, c, k, c, k, c, Vlad, s, t, u, v, k, c, s,
Rasputin, k, c, k, c, Boney M....
i'm still fidgety about the third ethnicity in
europe... i have to gather them attune to being
southern slav, or pseudo-turkish,
Finns, Latvians and Greeks... sounds like
falafel: all guidance to the subsequent reprimands
of necessarily tongue-tied whiplash -
gravitas with the kink and jeopardy of a gimp
fetish on the loose.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
The outside was clean
No one thought any bad
He was nice and not mean
He had a way with words everyone wished that they had
But one morning he awoke with a chill
And opened his mouth to find something black
Confused and startled, he climbed the cemetery hill
But his whole body was out of wack
He moved in a frightening way
All his limbs going limp
And when he asked someone to stay
They said "No, you're a gimp!"
They all avoided him
And this made it worse
Henry, Lucy and even Tim
He was convinced he was cursed
With his insides darkening
And his entire being crumbling in
He found himself harkening
For anyone who would listen
But no one did
No one came to his aid
He was only a kid
But to play with him, all the parents forbade
They feared him contagious
Like polio or the black plague
They thought him outrageous
Because he preferred to dwell in the shade
It was only his way
And he didn't know why
He'd moved on and they stayed
And at his brain, they pryed
They tried to figure him out
They failed and gave up
They said they would talk but instead it was a shout
He didn't know what was up
No one knew what the matter was
So soon he was forgotten
He felt like furry peach fuzz
On the outside of a fruit that was rotten
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 3:18 PM UTC
This dissertation, written by a double-jointed stunt-double
A sentient being
It must take one to know one
Because he found me immediately
We counted the tally marks
Crushed cornflakes on a Kashmir carpet
We met a paraplegic paralegal
Whose views we're, for lack of a better word "perpendicular"
We we're entranced by him
He spoke of integrity and the dangers of toxic relationships
And how the service of justice is only so-so
He was enmeshed by contractual obligations and deadlines
He left us with two last pieces of advice
"Talk to yourself often, for you'll surely know best for yourself"
"Forgive yourself, for forgiveness proves strength and admitting your wrongs shows humility"
The stunt-double wrote his paper on this
And I wrote this poem
This occurrence so rarefied yet malleable
-Tommy Johnson
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
when critique is about, the unsuspecting walk like peacocks, showing off the wooden dutch slacks of fear prior to criticism, forging a proof of god so debased that it would require the holocaust to have taken place.
- yes, this call is immediate, what's the severity?
- immediacy in all circumstances.
- sounds terrible.
- yep, blood in my **** too.
- ooh, dialectical diarrhoea?
- skidding at one hundred miles per hour with a popsicle swerve on the slurp.
- trafalgar sq. fountains?
- lions roaring in alabaster to the breaking of bony hinges.
- triage.
- can i see him face to face.
- no, you need to speak to him first via the triage telephone system.
- so he's the now receptionist and knows the daybreak slots with chemical compounds.
- no, thingy thingy, dum dum **** a toe, crackle fun pull a twig: we're
the receptionists, he prioritises the eventuality of a cancer advert.
- three quid down the drain?
- yes, we, the receptionists of the world will stand against the robotic onslaught!
- ****** on winter sledges.
- exactly.
- not exactly, you, receptionist, you jane, me tarzan, you book face to face, now.
- you tarzan, you straighten bananas.
- you jane, you book, appointment.
- you tarzan, you straighten bananas.
- you jane, you book, appointment, now.
- me jane, me receptionist, me on the conveyor belt of corn crop patched harvestable.
- me i.q.
- me one hundred and fifteen.
- face to face to farce.
- farce to bloke to pole.
- pole leaning on a pole.
- englishman eating a napkin.
- blackjack and ingredients for the pride of britain: vindaloo child.
- sloshed on a cricketeer's return.
- puns and cardamon cardigans of colour without scent.
- pushy apple sours coloured acid green without the mojo juice.
- spank that gimp ***** into a piglet.
- leathered up, boots on parole.
(who the hell is talking now?)
- i need to see the doctor face to face, i need my sick note to live on:
on brink of day in ultraviolet twilights, and drink.
- are you a banker?
- i'm a sick man, a beggar.
- we only provide sickness to the rich and famous.
- so what do i get?
- premature death.
- oh, can i have a bank account with that?
- oh sure, as long as you can accept debt.
- 5% like standard a.e.r.?
- no, 2000%
- so my debt interest will be crazy dizzy above my savings interest rate?
- yes.
- do you sell *** positive syringes?
- we're accommodating.
- thank you very much.
- thank you.
- goodbye morrow and marrow tight.
- bones ashore.
- **** all ahoy.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
gimp me you tired imagery,
yearning for retirement
I will store them,
servants well used
now used up,
so in the sweet time of now,
you discover
the new that
needs yet
to be writ...
"tears that fall like raindrops,"
will get their very own pasture
to moisten green, their extended service,
remarkable, but their contract, unrenewed
"scars on wrists"
won't be missed
and a thousand others
fresh faced, lovely to trace,
new sounds with fingers upon my lips,
pleasured agonies of scribe's script,
purr the poems that make us free
but freedom needs birthing anew
as you write it,
pass this test
is it hauntingly familiar,
then let it rest...
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
A knobby kneed, crooked back, gimp mimic asked me for a smoke today
With turmoil of disgust, yet somewhere inside my freight-less morals and empathy filled heart, I felt sad for this creature
She discussed her where a bouts of why she was to travel to the next bus terminal
She discussed such events that lead her to use crack ******* explaining so tediously
how this man and that man were her men charging 30 bucks a ******* of their *****
Along with the fusing bubbles spewing from each corner of her split lip and infection bound mouth,
I gathered my thoughts, where as she ***** money..
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
His name,
well it is Dominique,
wants to be a woman,
perhaps,
as he slips into his plaid skirt,
thought it rather itchy,
he could be rather ******
Starts off in high heels,
yes,
Then he dons his rubbers,
I said Dons,
not Dom's,
then feeds his fetish,
pulls up his welly boots,
into rubber you know!
He traipses to the shop of ***
there he buys a gimp suit,
gives his girlfriend whips and chains,
she locks him up in the cellar,
he's a really funny fella,
I'm sure he is okay,
but, I guess I'll never know!
(C) Livvi
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
Waiting for superman
She's got everything else
Wishes like a paper plane
Throw them like hands dealt
I got all this single frames
Captures more then hell
If penny's were made for wishes
Then dollars would never fail
How desperate are our needs
Pay it forward to tell the tale
Figure how trigger words
Speak bigger towards
Little kids or mini ******
Friends like me who want to be
What is more then what we see
glimer of a Gimp liquor, trying to sniff quicker
then Sneak mixers into the bar so they can
**** they still out there looking for fixers,
taking pills to get stiffers
Sure im the one whos sicker
is this your trick here?
Right hand full of dreams
Had a hand left with ******
sinner is in misery
***** you cant even play elixer
hold my hand why i choke slam all our plans of scam blasphemy is only for man
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC