"glamorously" poems
Someday I'll hold you like you me charms
Look you straight and deep in your eyes
And let you know how much I lust for you
I'll pull your soft body with me masculine arms
Dead close to mine so that you realize
How glamorously my **** tightens for you
Someday I'll touch your neck with my teeth
I'll graze it so softly that you won't quit
And then pour magical whispers into your ears
The much I've dammed up all these years
I'll place my hard palms beneath your shirt
To softly hard caress your skin so that it'll sweetly hurt
Then I'll place my head onto yours and sigh
Because by this point I'll already be high
Someday I'll be this close and I won't miss
I'll peck your forehead but your lips kiss
You'll shut your eyes and savor my taste
I'll take it one step at a time with no haste
I'll patiently unbutton your outfit
You won't stop me for you'll feel me heat
Someday I'll **** at your beautiful *******
Draped like two cute oranges on your chest
You'll mourn like you're grieved at the pleasure
You'll beg me to quickly find my way inside
But I'll try and keep my control and decide
when to partake of your juicy treasure
Someday I'll explore further down your thighs
Me whom you much loathe and despise
You'll arch like a bow at every touch and laugh like a clown
Yet mourn as I navigate every street of tuna town
You'll beg me to pass through the tunnel of love
And just then I'll swiftly embed myself into nature's glove
I'll place myself above you,I'll be a long awaited burden
You'll hold my posterior as I plough through your garden
Since you say there's no love around here
Further apart your thighs will obediently split
While we make it
Someday we'll walk a thousand miles with no rest
We'll surf the ****** waves till we hit the viperous crest
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
Master builder of hanging audio of the hearts,
Tapping and mapping
a
kind of music through the vocabulary of arts,
in
conducting the harmonious sound of unique violin orchestra
a crowd of fiddlesticks rima …
up… and only ups…
never downs.
Audio
Audio…
I will go…true or false.
That’s what you ask for it. If you ask me to stay, I would never say no.
Have you ever seen me on the occasion of disobeying you?
Neither yes, nor no…
Thirsty and aridity,
Words dance glamorously in the silence of the mud of bricks
You will construct the magic towers of the world gust (crust).
On the apex
Trapper of heights
you
Shaking hand for all ant size human shape creatures
In down.
I’am member among.
Time flies and melts in icy doom of the word “why”… burning agitatedly on the white eyes.
Don’t look at me.
Whatever had been shaped, like thunder of emotional burst digs …digs in insomnia of rapid nightmares
of mine.
O' liberty…
Don’t be dubious of what you are going to do, Master architecture of heavenly domes of long treatise of eloquence and good sounds.
Hissing….sooozzzing….biippping ….buzzzing….moooppping….murmers….
Claps and shouts.
Ant shaped creatures gather under the grand dome and waiting for miraculous mesmerize.
No more I am among.
Master builder of raw materials
in vivid shape of “new oregano (m).”
Time runs and I am not “going to catch a falling star.”
Time of demise.
Heavy lock on mouths. Death of both of us in constructing the luxurious roads never ended in dead end of not being honest and neither being wise.
Master designer of unique arches…domes…abstruse stairs…
Audio…audio. I will go…for you and ours.
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 12:36 AM UTC
horror stories muffled by pillow forts and blankets that stretch across the
vast of my beloved
room.
in hiding--
your young skin
is shielded
by a lonely
shadow dancing
with sunlight.
the room's symphony plays on as
a crescendo of
soft laughter
and light footsteps
cues in.
magazines sprawled on
the carpeted-floor
jennifers & ashleys
glamorously sporting
shiny hair.
away messages
are synonymous
to x's and hearts
bordering
your
besties' names.
and these are the best
years of your life
but it just feels like dirt
to your name
being young
gets old.
mobiles in purses
strapped to your chest
"I HEART NY" keychains
dangling by the locket
that frames your blurry
picture of
him.
you feel so important
surrounded by friends
and people who
shower you with
lots of
cheap love.
you don't care
about what you don't know
and it's easy
living
when all you're living
is the lie of happiness.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
a mishap fudged together in a blur
by the onerous fate autonomy
a throw away girl
death addict
in a racket of echoes
fingernails
******* and spit
for relics of witchcraft
in a foot licking satanic ritual
she picked him
like a con mark
for the realization
of her shadow dream
to escape from form
in a shaking bed
spread herself wide
feeling the black sound
like musical water
to drown in
with weight
that holds immovable storms
of brazen villain's and glistening *****
who pumped her mouth like gas
for obliterations throat bashing she loved
causing the hideous end of herself
splayed straddled a ****** archaeology
of kisses withering in an ancient pudding
razor peeled ******* blooming
betrayed whorish curdling screams
in a deviant propulsion
glitter mucous and blood
drizzled from her lush red smeared lips
with tears of mascara
in a ghoulish basement
an object of desire for demons
on the ceiling
she abandons all hope
lubricated her **** and ****
opened her thighs
for a freakish novelty
of soaked vibrating machine gun tongues
for a hemorrhaging orgiastic suicide
her blade slit tongue
still undulating
and pinned it in bits
to a **** toy
******
for valentine's day
her love and guts like a buffet
glamorously featured
with photo pics
in Mademoiselle magazine
smiling cockeyed
drugged and staggering
she put a rope
around her neck
as if in an embrace
and blew her brains
a spiraling horror
of diabolical appeal
in a ghastly enterprise of roulette
of pants off dance off
scattered gauze bikini
and a head wreath of hair
glittered like a half-eaten pomegranate
under disco lights
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 12:01 PM UTC
Ominous voices spoke within the haze of smoke,
in the rambunctious spirit of adolescence
one would hardly listen to those rants.
I remember two things, I was a white horse
raring to go to the very end, of the track, where a mountain rose,
its peak hidden in the cloudy whiteness, beyond that lies the cave of secrets;
the second certain thing, in that dream was my age, just 18, highly precarious,
none can now say this white horse, would turn dark at the end of the race.
(not, even if one becomes 18, all over again,would be sure)
The girl, wearing a flame red streaming cape, riding on my back
said: "What a night we had"! Yes she did amaze me all through the night,
and look now, I am happily under her spell, she has the magic word
to make me excel, if by chance failed, I'll be her ****
They'll turn me in to a mare by their spell, and sell in the village fair,
They'll regale themselves with this sweet imagination: if he wins he is our horse for ever,
or else, the money he fetches, would take us forward for a while,
The horse in his delirious fit thinks:" My love, we'll have many more nights
like we had, just you wait".
The crowd gets impatient,
they just want the race, see the girl on the horse, pass glamorously before their eyes
see someone's win, or some one soon should bite the dust.
**Be ready in your blood thirsty self, to witness oh! heartless crowd,
here, I am treading the blade of the sharp sword, dripping blood from my heart.**
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 1:57 AM UTC
when I saw you for the first time you were a dove on the branches shuddering with the sudden breath of sprite as white as pure snowballs
and………………………………………………………………………I
.................................................................................................!
days after visiting you reminding me a nightingale on the same branches singing glamorously although comprehensible on some occasions and not very tangible on other times: hovering you upon the sky, upon the roof was enchanting somehow
and..............................................................................................................I
............................................................................................!
later on, a tornado encapsulated the flight of a swallow in habit of severe immigration from the land uneasy to far and far while seeing the branches empty and songs silent tortuous the sight
and..............................................................................................................I
..............................................................................................!
years past and considering those days make me to reproach myself that how wrong I was. only a butterfly sat on our written scriptures for a while never promise to stay a bit longer. Born by spring will be die in winter night,
and............................................................................................................I
..............................................................................................?
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 8:58 AM UTC
Am I suffering beautifully?
Do I wear my agony like a crown?
Adorn it with pearls and jewels,
And parade it into town?
Is my pain reasonable enough?
Do I raise it up or tone it down?
I’ll try to cry pretty, tiny tears,
In fact, I'd do it in my gown!
For even in despair, I should be desirable,
Dare not to be emotional, dare not to make a sound.
To be a woman is to bleed, but glamorously.
There shall be glitters in the meltdown.
Apr 1, 2025
Apr 1, 2025 at 2:55 AM UTC
Glamorously she walked out of the bedroom
****** feet on the cold wood ****** floor
She looked through the window;
The window which faces nowhere
In her silent look;
She soliloquized 99 questions, but no one heard
Idea captured her imagination; lightening speed
She is enchanted by his silky voice and craftiness
A face for her he invented
Behind it she died, prayed, lived and died
She wore it so graceful
When she died no one knew she had died twice
Though she is dead, she still lives
Though she is dead, she still speaks
A face with feet walking on eerie Elm Street
Browsing through dark alleys in search for a new client
He is a romantic ******
Silently, he has killed all his prey with one shot
A cut through shot to the heart
Fairest daughter of the King;
Arouse not thy love until it so desires
He is too good to be ignored at first sight
She is struggling to control herself
He came here because of her
She is thinking it’s her moment
The voice in her heart; too loud
She can hardly hear her own voice
Shhhhh…
A silence
A flashback
She recollects mom last words on her dead bed
Out of her purse; a portrait picture she pulled
A perfect image of mom’s assailant is on the dance floor
A walk away to the exit door which leads to destiny; eternity
She was not ashamed losing momentary fame
The long silent walk through the side walk;
A victory lap to the podium for a gold medallion
Copyright 2014:GOG|McDaniels Gyamfi
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
"SHE LOOKS INTO MY HEART."
I said to her, I
told her that
she resembles
the moon in the
midnight when
she's at her
brightest state.
She looks into
my heart when
she fixate.(s) She
resembled the
sun too and moon
were her
siblings. Because
they
glamorously shines
together.
#C9_fm
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 10:49 AM UTC
Like expensive perfumes
That make Kings and Queens
Have the scent of royalty
You have colonised me with your intoxicating fragrance.
Just as the presence of the unicorn makes a rainbow
And its beauty leaves lasting memories,
You have made a road map
That always makes me admire you in silvered mirror.
Like diamonds and gold, so precious and important
you are more important than the blood that runs through my veins
The fountain, lamb and ivory
Symbolises purity and hope,
You have become my symbol of life.
Just like the stars that twinkle radiantly
And the sun shines glamorously,
So your eyes is like that of an angel
Making me to ask myself if your father is God.
Just like Grimhilde in Snow White who asked the mirror,
"Who is the fairest of them all?"
I ask my mirror,
If I am legible to enamour in your beauty.
They say true beauty comes
From the inside
But your the symbol and definition of true beauty,
mon coeur bat.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 4:19 AM UTC
I look through the keyhole to peep at eternity
and wonder
what the **** are these people feeding me?
The Antibiotic does not cure the neurotic and
the cow doesn't know she's been born.
I have worn on my face each and every place that I've ever been,
I have seen things I would never believe,
but the snot on the sleeves of eternity leaves me quite cold,
now I'm old I don't care what they feed me,
they can cook up a storm from the cow yet unborn,
it's genetics and antibiotics won't cure that either.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
Part of me lives inside her,
Like a parasite of romance and memory;
The part that raises half her mouth when the joke's a specific type of funny,
The part that keeps her eyes locked on an empty inbox,
And the part that gives her boyfriend such a diarrheal aftertaste.
It's a tapeworm of longing and contempt that she's **** good at ignoring, because she turned an empty stomach into business as usual.
But she keeps it anyway, because something about it seems so genuinely human when nothing else can match the feeling.
Because when the jokes, messages, and boyfriends are all gone this little white ******** will still need something from her. It won't go anywhere.
The glamorously empty life of a parasite at the beck and call of something just as beautifully flawed.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
When I told you I loved you with all my heart,
perhaps you never understood.
My heart is like a magnificent skyscraper and every story was lit like a fancy casino,
glamorously shimmering from its hundreds of windows.
I made sure it was always lit from your view.
Though, I have a confession to make:
It was very rarely that my light was strong enough to hold by itself.
In fact, the lights would shut down more often than I’d have liked to admit to you, or anyone else.
No, the lights were nearly broken and not even a backup generator could hold such a behemoth of a building, and so I would panic.
I panicked and did my best to light it for you because you deserved the prettiest view.
I brought candles.
Thousands upon thousands would illuminate the rooms just bright enough for you to look up at the windows and smile because they were lit and you imagined a place as beautiful as it once was.
Though it wasn’t any longer.
The candles on the first floors would melt and burn out while I’d sprint up the stairs to carry more to the middle floors. My flames were burning faster than I could run, my lungs wanted to give out trying, bursting and frazzling like my lighter (which, it too, needed replacing). I was so carried away, caught in the motions of burning and burnouts that I would trip up the steps and injure myself. I cried as I spilled hot wax down my hands, my arms, and I would peek through my windows with tears, noticing the days you no longer looked up at them. I tried even harder to light the place, I brought bigger candles, maybe they’d hold longer, maybe I could have had more time. You looked up now and again and I felt like maybe you’d finally understood. Then you left and, well, I realized you never knew how hard it is to keep the lights on.
I let them burn out for good.
I keep hesitating, hovering my match over a few candles, wondering if it’s worth pretending my love is still easy. I’ve tossed my old light bulbs out the windows just to see them shatter. I thought maybe if you’d walk by and see the broken glass, you’d want to know for yourself and see what I put myself through.
Yet, all you did was ignore the sounds of the glass smashing against the concrete, the sounds of my shoes rubbing the shards into the pavement, and me.
I still light a few candles here and there, but after a few hours, I have the urge to put it out again so I drown them in buckets of water.
My heart is a mess, and I wish now that instead of just looking up at the illumination, you would have wanted to be involved, and that you would have taken the time to gander inside the building for a change. Why did you never do that for me?
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
Beach tunes happy-go-lucky spins around the living room the way you catch me when I launch myself at the kitchen tiles, I just wanted to catch something right like a childhood home and things won’t stop lobbing themselves at the walls like sad, falling existential poets eye rolls bad yarn fingerprints track loosely around this domestic space come in for a slow dance, I’ll tie my hair up and we’ll use the lawnmower as a kitchen table chasing our dinner down the street microwaved bats keep coming through the windows Happy Halloween, my love. Slow lips touch themselves together tiredly at the end of the words fall off the face sliding slowly drum beats pleasantly thoughts die here in this greeting card poster perfection ohh, how nice it would be to have a shootout in a 50’s diner with baguettes the same tune it lollops around the room a little glamorously nothing has ever been this perfectly balanced before I fall off my chair it knows something we don’t.
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 1:41 PM UTC
I no longer use fantasy as a stimulus. Because pretend drama is but extra drama to experience and I’m unwilling.
Who do you think these rock stars are, whose lives are so glamorously appealing?
My heroes are few and far between, those who help the blind to see. Those who’ve survived life’s fatal wounds, still recognised beyond tomb.
You choose yours, I’ll choose mine. I won’t commemorate the sellouts or the killing kind.
Apr 7, 2025
Apr 7, 2025 at 8:04 AM UTC
she's more blonde than any one woman;
she's got legs that go on for two bodies,
her arms are longer than spools of nylon
her belly fat is a whole cow; she sips her
tea naked & beautiful & can't hear her
daughter screaming & vomiting; at first
she was glamorously old-fashioned, w/
size-13 feet, but she got more blonde as
time went on until she was platinum &
I can see inside; she got more legs & two
more bodies, now she has four & more
arms & legs & another blonde head; her
torso so spread out & illegal; her feet are
chopped off & grow back, her ******* are
lopped off & grow back; she's wearing a
Doris Day mask; head a cherry w/ lips,
mask made of rubber; limbs multiplying
Now who is he who is offered an honorable,
The yellow woman was pale; the bodies of
the two legs in nylon coil-fed bulk of their
works beautiful naked stomach agitation of
tea can hear the first suction power; there is
an old brilliance in 13 or in general, and this
Is your language feet, holding yellow head;
until the white and gold; 1 is not green, you
are not 1; 1 has two legs no longer by means
of the four legs & the rest of & the head &
arms, abdomen, muscle party the use of
certain states; they feel he was born art;
& carries outage w/ cherry lips; flexible,
flexible, rubber is the image of God; leader
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 12:11 AM UTC
Withered leaves
cold sun
silent water
are the most beautiful sceneries
in the noble
autumn season
this may be everlasting
in the eyes of hurried padestrians
in this odorless season
no flowers no waves no snow
however
the autumnal street is blooming firily
glamorously
a boat snuggling in autumn
the earthliness is touching
picturesque
the sunlight
like gold powder
adrift in peaceful water
the moon rises
yearning melancholy haziness mistiness
have all melted in the lengthy
autumn night.
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 12:07 PM UTC
A beautiful mind lies
Glamorously sparkling
Before your eyes
Out of reach
Yet closer
than a daydream
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC