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"greased" poems
Every couple 'a years or so Our family reunites It takes a couple 'a years or so To recover from the fights A family like our'n Doesn't party like most do Ours gets a little out of hand That's why we have so few It's a redneck family reunion everybody has a grand old time eating grandma's cooking and drinking grandpas shine You never go home hungry If you make it home at all You go home bruised and battered And you surely had a ball There's daisy dukes and forty Lukes They're racing trucks and burning rubber There's jugs of moonshine everywhere And at least a hundred bubbas There's a smoker fired for the food the size of two large trucks It hold 4 cows, and fourteen pigs And at least a hundred ducks It's a redneck family reunion everybody has a grand old time eating grandma's cooking and drinking grandpas shine You never go home hungry If you make it home at all You go home bruised and battered And you surely had a ball There's pickled this and pickled that And things you just can't swallow That used to live down in the swamp Way back there in the hollow There's at least ten shotgun weddings there And the groom might be rail roaded But, the wedding isn't legal If the shotgun isn't loaded It's a redneck family reunion everybody has a grand old time eating grandma's cooking and drinking grandpas shine You never go home hungry If you make it home at all You go home bruised and battered And you surely had a ball There's greased up pigs and muddy runts And at least ten bobby sues and when they all get greased up You can't tell which is who There's horseshoe pits for tossing shoes And games of every sort Most of them aren't legal And would get you into court It's a redneck family reunion everybody has a grand old time eating grandma's cooking and drinking grandpas shine You never go home hungry If you make it home at all You go home bruised and battered And you surely had a ball But, it's the way we like it Drinking shine and acting out Tossing things that aren't tied down And wrassling about There's music there of just one kind It's country and that matters Any other sort of sound Sets the crowd off like mad hatters It's a redneck family reunion everybody has a grand old time eating grandma's cooking and drinking grandpas shine You never go home hungry If you make it home at all You go home bruised and battered And you surely had a ball There's always someone who's so drunk And it's normally the preacher Last year we married him off To the back up first grade teacher There's Chevy trucks of every kind And one covered in sod Mary Lou showed her tattoo "Jeff Foxworthy is my God" It's the best time of the year for us And it's sad when it must end but, you gotta haul your *** away When the cops come round that bend It's a redneck family reunion everybody has a grand old time eating grandma's cooking and drinking grandpas shine You never go home hungry If you make it home at all You go home bruised and battered And you surely had a ball
0
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
roger-turner
Redneck Family Reunion
Every couple 'a years or so Our family reunites It takes a couple 'a years or so To recover from the fights A family like our'n Doesn't party like most do Ours gets a little out of hand That's why we have so few It's a redneck family reunion everybody has a grand old time eating grandma's cooking and drinking grandpas shine You never go home hungry If you make it home at all You go home bruised and battered And you surely had a ball There's daisy dukes and forty Lukes They're racing trucks and burning rubber There's jugs of moonshine everywhere And at least a hundred bubbas There's a smoker fired for the food the size of two large trucks It hold 4 cows, and fourteen pigs And at least a hundred ducks It's a redneck family reunion everybody has a grand old time eating grandma's cooking and drinking grandpas shine You never go home hungry If you make it home at all You go home bruised and battered And you surely had a ball There's pickled this and pickled that And things you just can't swallow That used to live down in the swamp Way back there in the hollow There's at least ten shotgun weddings there And the groom might be rail roaded But, the wedding isn't legal If the shotgun isn't loaded It's a redneck family reunion everybody has a grand old time eating grandma's cooking and drinking grandpas shine You never go home hungry If you make it home at all You go home bruised and battered And you surely had a ball There's greased up pigs and muddy runts And at least ten bobby sues and when they all get greased up You can't tell which is who There's horseshoe pits for tossing shoes And games of every sort Most of them aren't legal And would get you into court It's a redneck family reunion everybody has a grand old time eating grandma's cooking and drinking grandpas shine You never go home hungry If you make it home at all You go home bruised and battered And you surely had a ball But, it's the way we like it Drinking shine and acting out Tossing things that aren't tied down And wrassling about There's music there of just one kind It's country and that matters Any other sort of sound Sets the crowd off like mad hatters It's a redneck family reunion everybody has a grand old time eating grandma's cooking and drinking grandpas shine You never go home hungry If you make it home at all You go home bruised and battered And you surely had a ball There's always someone who's so drunk And it's normally the preacher Last year we married him off To the back up first grade teacher There's Chevy trucks of every kind And one covered in sod Mary Lou showed her tattoo "Jeff Foxworthy is my God" It's the best time of the year for us And it's sad when it must end but, you gotta haul your *** away When the cops come round that bend It's a redneck family reunion everybody has a grand old time eating grandma's cooking and drinking grandpas shine You never go home hungry If you make it home at all You go home bruised and battered And you surely had a ball
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100
It was not a heart, beating. That muted boom, that clangor Far off, not blood in the ears Drumming up and fever To impose on the evening. The noise came from outside: A metal detonating Native, evidently, to These stilled suburbs nobody Startled at it, though the sound Shook the ground with its pounding. It took a root at my coming Till the thudding shource, exposed, Counfounded in wept guesswork: Framed in windows of Main Street's Silver factory, immense Hammers hoisted, wheels turning, Stalled, let fall their vertical Tonnage of metal and wood; Stunned in marrow. Men in white Undershirts circled, tending Without stop those greased machines, Tending, without stop, the blunt Indefatigable fact.
0
8k
Sylvia Plath
Night Shift
It was not a heart, beating. That muted boom, that clangor Far off, not blood in the ears Drumming up and fever To impose on the evening. The noise came from outside: A metal detonating Native, evidently, to These stilled suburbs nobody Startled at it, though the sound Shook the ground with its pounding. It took a root at my coming Till the thudding shource, exposed, Counfounded in wept guesswork: Framed in windows of Main Street's Silver factory, immense Hammers hoisted, wheels turning, Stalled, let fall their vertical Tonnage of metal and wood; Stunned in marrow. Men in white Undershirts circled, tending Without stop those greased machines, Tending, without stop, the blunt Indefatigable fact.
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24
my hands swelled blue and purple to match the glassy doe-eyed stagnancy. I saw a pair of cocoa moon rocks heavy with music and a queen bee trapped in a flash of departure. mine and yours one in the same corpulent and greased trembling at the lips.
0
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 4:38 PM UTC
KingPanda
so much harbors my gift to you
my hands swelled blue and purple to match the glassy doe-eyed stagnancy. I saw a pair of cocoa moon rocks heavy with music and a queen bee trapped in a flash of departure. mine and yours one in the same corpulent and greased trembling at the lips.
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18
Are you a tourist or A volcanologist my dear? With a painful joy To a live volcano  getting near, Do you want to pay homage To earth's nadir Conscious that beneath a sea level A sweltering heat you can bear? Then to Erta Ale  come you not why Found under Ethiopia's sky? With a style jumping high, Hitting the ground Beating  drums, on their waists, Sabres tied around Afro men along with braided women, With butter greased hair, The latter ululating and clapping In a row facing each other Chant a  love song “My feeling for you is strong!” The male herd camel, While women babysit,prepare food And make short huts With tiny malleable wood. Also dot the mirage-forming sand Huts grand. Are you a tourist my dear Eager to see about Out of the ordinary you heard Say about multicolored magma Volcano's dust, Disgorged out of earth's crust? Do you want to see a scenery You have not seen Since you were born, How in a motley garment Mother nature itself Likes to adorn Come then to Ethiopia, Located in Africa's horn? Visit Erta Ale , On earth To run away from earth Enjoying its hearth. You will witness The extraction of salt In a volcano-formed fault.///
0
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 3:30 AM UTC
alem-hailu-gkristos
On earth away from earth
Are you a tourist or A volcanologist my dear? With a painful joy To a live volcano  getting near, Do you want to pay homage To earth's nadir Conscious that beneath a sea level A sweltering heat you can bear? Then to Erta Ale  come you not why Found under Ethiopia's sky? With a style jumping high, Hitting the ground Beating  drums, on their waists, Sabres tied around Afro men along with braided women, With butter greased hair, The latter ululating and clapping In a row facing each other Chant a  love song “My feeling for you is strong!” The male herd camel, While women babysit,prepare food And make short huts With tiny malleable wood. Also dot the mirage-forming sand Huts grand. Are you a tourist my dear Eager to see about Out of the ordinary you heard Say about multicolored magma Volcano's dust, Disgorged out of earth's crust? Do you want to see a scenery You have not seen Since you were born, How in a motley garment Mother nature itself Likes to adorn Come then to Ethiopia, Located in Africa's horn? Visit Erta Ale , On earth To run away from earth Enjoying its hearth. You will witness The extraction of salt In a volcano-formed fault.///
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47
Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe Though I never shagged you at all You ****** the rhythm to ******* yourself While those around you ate crow They schlepped out of the cleavage And they ********** into your crumpet They ******* you on the rowing machine And they copulated you **** your three ***** And it seems to me you tasted your ***** Like a cigarette lighter in the diarrhoea Never knowing who to stick it out to When the ooze congeal from the top drawer And I would have liked to have had carnal knowledge of you But I was just a twit Your cigarette lighter exploded spew out long before Your whiff never blewout Stiffness was sticky The gristliest fat part you ever nibbled Hollywood cobbled together a wizzofrog And ******** was the corkage you greased Even when you conked out Oh the lubricator still molested you All the skeletons had to jabber Was that Marilyn was ***** flashy the starkers Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe from the virginal wombat in the twenty—second ghetto Who smells you as meat as above par than scatological Olé! than frank our Marilyn Monroe
0
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 4:17 PM UTC
irma-cerrutti
Cigarette Lighter In The Diarrhoea
Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe Though I never shagged you at all You ****** the rhythm to ******* yourself While those around you ate crow They schlepped out of the cleavage And they ********** into your crumpet They ******* you on the rowing machine And they copulated you **** your three ***** And it seems to me you tasted your ***** Like a cigarette lighter in the diarrhoea Never knowing who to stick it out to When the ooze congeal from the top drawer And I would have liked to have had carnal knowledge of you But I was just a twit Your cigarette lighter exploded spew out long before Your whiff never blewout Stiffness was sticky The gristliest fat part you ever nibbled Hollywood cobbled together a wizzofrog And ******** was the corkage you greased Even when you conked out Oh the lubricator still molested you All the skeletons had to jabber Was that Marilyn was ***** flashy the starkers Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe from the virginal wombat in the twenty—second ghetto Who smells you as meat as above par than scatological Olé! than frank our Marilyn Monroe
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28
Dinner table, Bowls of light, Stage fright, lilies, No appetite, Dark absences nibbling Right through my eyes Like black rabbits pulled Out of Truman Show skies, Provoking the question From those sat up front – Is this a trick you’re pulling - Is this one of your stunts? But no amount of smiling Will do – Nod all you like. They’re onto you. Christmas Eve, Sister’s house, Black eye, Ulcerated mouth. Divinely tickled- By Miss World! A pinecone and mistletoe Christmas hurled Down en suite toilets Porcelain pink, My face makes love To the bathroom sink. The most squalid Little Lord In the county, me, Summer blooms hold No charms for me, So I try to apply my Favourite smile And travel a few more Country miles To a chemist that doesn’t Know my face. I browse a bit (Condoms, spectacles case) Then I try to Convince the pharmacist That I need two Bottles of Gee’s Linctus. The cruelest boyfriend I ever had Gives head to a toilet roll And his fingerpads Are bordello yellow From greased nicotine, This ******* in Primrose Exhales smoke in a stream, And I try to remember what Buttercup said, His baby’s breath whispers Wilt in my head, Something about purity Something about loss Something about cleanliness Something about God Something about something That I should tick off as regrettable, But one flower can make everything So ******* Forgettable.
0
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
a-mareship
just one flower
Dinner table, Bowls of light, Stage fright, lilies, No appetite, Dark absences nibbling Right through my eyes Like black rabbits pulled Out of Truman Show skies, Provoking the question From those sat up front – Is this a trick you’re pulling - Is this one of your stunts? But no amount of smiling Will do – Nod all you like. They’re onto you. Christmas Eve, Sister’s house, Black eye, Ulcerated mouth. Divinely tickled- By Miss World! A pinecone and mistletoe Christmas hurled Down en suite toilets Porcelain pink, My face makes love To the bathroom sink. The most squalid Little Lord In the county, me, Summer blooms hold No charms for me, So I try to apply my Favourite smile And travel a few more Country miles To a chemist that doesn’t Know my face. I browse a bit (Condoms, spectacles case) Then I try to Convince the pharmacist That I need two Bottles of Gee’s Linctus. The cruelest boyfriend I ever had Gives head to a toilet roll And his fingerpads Are bordello yellow From greased nicotine, This ******* in Primrose Exhales smoke in a stream, And I try to remember what Buttercup said, His baby’s breath whispers Wilt in my head, Something about purity Something about loss Something about cleanliness Something about God Something about something That I should tick off as regrettable, But one flower can make everything So ******* Forgettable.
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66
*flowing rivers simulate the virtual reality of love warriors topple over forgotten like cartons of used milk silk worms speak sovereign messages and warn us of our fate are we ill or are we healthy stealthily imprisoned by our visions finish the sentences and sever your attachments respecting tradition leads to detachment a semblance of serenity the giver of the dawn used shards of standard force hover in the mind’s sky houses pass you by in finite allegories gardens blossom governing movies and seating our jobless go outside now remove the shades from your eyes breathe in soma and drink from the sky sightless sorrow forges on towards tomorrow art is a balancing act she came out of her shell in order to tell you a story of garlands of silver and gold woven finely into ribbons greased with oil from a rare toad*
0
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC
ganesha-michael-shapiro
in finite allegories
*flowing rivers simulate the virtual reality of love warriors topple over forgotten like cartons of used milk silk worms speak sovereign messages and warn us of our fate are we ill or are we healthy stealthily imprisoned by our visions finish the sentences and sever your attachments respecting tradition leads to detachment a semblance of serenity the giver of the dawn used shards of standard force hover in the mind’s sky houses pass you by in finite allegories gardens blossom governing movies and seating our jobless go outside now remove the shades from your eyes breathe in soma and drink from the sky sightless sorrow forges on towards tomorrow art is a balancing act she came out of her shell in order to tell you a story of garlands of silver and gold woven finely into ribbons greased with oil from a rare toad*
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24
It is And it's changing The wind into summer shower Into mushrooms and birds mouth From river to the sewer It is and it's changing From dark to light to dim with Speckles of sun born by the Mirror in you childlike hand You are catching dust bunnies Sneezing and laughing And the dirt could be followed by magic And the kiss isn't greased by the notion Of sin and the sin is only a word from the book Death and insanity Are frightening and profound Your world is built from No buts but ands And they flow into peace Just as well as the film of oil On the ***** puddle Astonishes you with An iridescent rainbow Duality is born by fear You split and separate so Caught up in the survival game To keep that face and partake Of wealth and fame Empty is locked in the dungeon And the words interlock In plain patterns Yet alive as they produce sounds And the smell of tangerines On a tree by the coast of Sicily Reminds you of the day When you could still enjoy The warmth of sun It absorbed into its juicy flesh And there's no need to run No need to stay No need to cut off the ties When life offers you more And the heat and cold are feelings That gets names as they replace each other As they flow unstoppable Dripping reactions Burning like acid and smooth like milk All in one glass And when you have no thoughts Ask questions And when you feel the pain Stay present and consider humanity
0
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
l-seagull
Undivided
It is And it's changing The wind into summer shower Into mushrooms and birds mouth From river to the sewer It is and it's changing From dark to light to dim with Speckles of sun born by the Mirror in you childlike hand You are catching dust bunnies Sneezing and laughing And the dirt could be followed by magic And the kiss isn't greased by the notion Of sin and the sin is only a word from the book Death and insanity Are frightening and profound Your world is built from No buts but ands And they flow into peace Just as well as the film of oil On the ***** puddle Astonishes you with An iridescent rainbow Duality is born by fear You split and separate so Caught up in the survival game To keep that face and partake Of wealth and fame Empty is locked in the dungeon And the words interlock In plain patterns Yet alive as they produce sounds And the smell of tangerines On a tree by the coast of Sicily Reminds you of the day When you could still enjoy The warmth of sun It absorbed into its juicy flesh And there's no need to run No need to stay No need to cut off the ties When life offers you more And the heat and cold are feelings That gets names as they replace each other As they flow unstoppable Dripping reactions Burning like acid and smooth like milk All in one glass And when you have no thoughts Ask questions And when you feel the pain Stay present and consider humanity
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52
The barber asked "what would you like? Quiff? bun? Mohawk? slicked back? side parting? centre parting? greased? permed? straightened? skin head? bald head? spiky? A comb over? pony tail? pig tails? curly? frizzy? dyed? mop top? French crop? blue rinse? purple rinse? step? undercut? shaggy? dreadlocks?" "No thanks" I replied "I'll have a short back and sides and make it messy on top please"
0
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
rh-78
Barber shop banter
The barber asked "what would you like? Quiff? bun? Mohawk? slicked back? side parting? centre parting? greased? permed? straightened? skin head? bald head? spiky? A comb over? pony tail? pig tails? curly? frizzy? dyed? mop top? French crop? blue rinse? purple rinse? step? undercut? shaggy? dreadlocks?" "No thanks" I replied "I'll have a short back and sides and make it messy on top please"
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29
I want the hollow Cheeks. The full, adipose, smooth Lips. The white-boned, Pearls she calls Teeth. I want the bright, clean, Sun bleached Hair. The fine, sharpened, Ready for scratching, Spotless Nails. The refined, sculpted, Long, profiled Nose. I want gold to flake, Off my ageing, porous, dull, Skin. I want the protruding, Famished, angled Bones. I want the pumping, Arrhythmic Heart. The tired, hissing, Tar coated, smoker’s Lungs. The round, fleshy, Cellulite covered *** The motherly, but Childless plump ******* I want the barren, Bleeding, afflicted ****** I want the faint, Wispy, high-pitched, Call that she calls a Voice. The bruised, bulging, Porcelain polished, etched Knuckles. The wide, protruding, Ballooned up, dangling Hips. The numb, heavy, metal Flavored, gum bleeding Mouth. I want the skewed, Backwards, lost Pedals she calls Feet. I want the hearing less, Wax, pus covered, Ears. The lost dull, lifeless Dumbed down, blue Eyes. I want to be her, All of them, and none. I want to be lost, Unwilling, tame, voiceless, Mindless, childless, Sexless, man-less. I want to be her, but I Can’t. I cannot because I am Thought burdened, fat, Violent, screaming, Child laden, broken nosed, Coarse. I cannot because dirt Flakes off my young Skin. Because my heart pumps, Oxygenated blood, At a steady, rhythmic Beat. My voice baritones, Deep, bottomless, Whispers. I sit on flat, concave Muscle. My lungs breathe, Strong, fresh, smog-less Air. Yellow stained, grainy, calcium-ridden Teeth. Dark, musty, greased Hair. I want to be her, But I won’t.
0
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
seagullsareevil
Femininity
I want the hollow Cheeks. The full, adipose, smooth Lips. The white-boned, Pearls she calls Teeth. I want the bright, clean, Sun bleached Hair. The fine, sharpened, Ready for scratching, Spotless Nails. The refined, sculpted, Long, profiled Nose. I want gold to flake, Off my ageing, porous, dull, Skin. I want the protruding, Famished, angled Bones. I want the pumping, Arrhythmic Heart. The tired, hissing, Tar coated, smoker’s Lungs. The round, fleshy, Cellulite covered *** The motherly, but Childless plump ******* I want the barren, Bleeding, afflicted ****** I want the faint, Wispy, high-pitched, Call that she calls a Voice. The bruised, bulging, Porcelain polished, etched Knuckles. The wide, protruding, Ballooned up, dangling Hips. The numb, heavy, metal Flavored, gum bleeding Mouth. I want the skewed, Backwards, lost Pedals she calls Feet. I want the hearing less, Wax, pus covered, Ears. The lost dull, lifeless Dumbed down, blue Eyes. I want to be her, All of them, and none. I want to be lost, Unwilling, tame, voiceless, Mindless, childless, Sexless, man-less. I want to be her, but I Can’t. I cannot because I am Thought burdened, fat, Violent, screaming, Child laden, broken nosed, Coarse. I cannot because dirt Flakes off my young Skin. Because my heart pumps, Oxygenated blood, At a steady, rhythmic Beat. My voice baritones, Deep, bottomless, Whispers. I sit on flat, concave Muscle. My lungs breathe, Strong, fresh, smog-less Air. Yellow stained, grainy, calcium-ridden Teeth. Dark, musty, greased Hair. I want to be her, But I won’t.
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95
The movie crackles on the screen My heart jolts as our feet bump I choke on nerves and Pepsi in the dark. Nervous hands slip in sweat As I reach out across the popcorn To finally intertwine greased fingers. The movie now a background noise Our thighs brush as we push closer I feel your goosebumps against my hair. Our bodies (your left side on my right) push And pulsate and beat against each other The background movie plays on. Two hours pass and our hands have danced Our legs have laughed and pushed And our hearts are now full. It’s not because of Spielberg Nor the popcorn and Pepsi I blame your fingers, feet, and left thigh.
0
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 12:29 PM UTC
cyril-blythe
**** Popcorn
The movie crackles on the screen My heart jolts as our feet bump I choke on nerves and Pepsi in the dark. Nervous hands slip in sweat As I reach out across the popcorn To finally intertwine greased fingers. The movie now a background noise Our thighs brush as we push closer I feel your goosebumps against my hair. Our bodies (your left side on my right) push And pulsate and beat against each other The background movie plays on. Two hours pass and our hands have danced Our legs have laughed and pushed And our hearts are now full. It’s not because of Spielberg Nor the popcorn and Pepsi I blame your fingers, feet, and left thigh.
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18
i'm sorry but im going to devour you like toast with butter and jam let go to me lose your self in the exaltation of suffering albeit a difficult pleasure feel me ruin you with every strike and stroke blister tear and pierce a quandary of liberation bleeding take more then whats dished ill turn you into a gushing river of squeals and filthy verse i'm in love with your **** colored almost purple like a wild mouthed poem make it kiss me let it eat my face its more beautiful then an Hawaiian sunset more tender then a baby lamb your sweet lipped ***** a buttery sticky bun its drools liquid diamonds i'm sorry i hit your **** so hard but they bounced and bounced and it drove me near mad so gorgeous bruised and bleeding casaba torrents all hot stings and sweet you stand glorious between beauty and annihilation your mouth swollen from being slapped so hard nose bleed and mucous your eyes enormous wombs like fingers touching me oh baby im sorry your tears imploring pleading and drunk on hair pulling frenzies curse my brutish rampage of *** gone mad turning your body into clouds and red splash ribbons don't be sorry she said with pursed lips your rabid hunger my own i am an abyss of dark desires a savage wraith i want to kiss you like a lecher all ******* and cherries with legs squandered wide a Halloween grotesque with a ponytail are you going to eat me like a communion wafer okay if it will save you am i not a saint of lust "There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends" john15:13 so have your fun at my expense make me your house of horrors greased for the scalding of your whip ill be good please do your worst and ill show you my best promise me pretty please kisses and cries rainbows and ash blistering ecstatic
0
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 12:56 PM UTC
zebrablack
I'M SORRY
i'm sorry but im going to devour you like toast with butter and jam let go to me lose your self in the exaltation of suffering albeit a difficult pleasure feel me ruin you with every strike and stroke blister tear and pierce a quandary of liberation bleeding take more then whats dished ill turn you into a gushing river of squeals and filthy verse i'm in love with your **** colored almost purple like a wild mouthed poem make it kiss me let it eat my face its more beautiful then an Hawaiian sunset more tender then a baby lamb your sweet lipped ***** a buttery sticky bun its drools liquid diamonds i'm sorry i hit your **** so hard but they bounced and bounced and it drove me near mad so gorgeous bruised and bleeding casaba torrents all hot stings and sweet you stand glorious between beauty and annihilation your mouth swollen from being slapped so hard nose bleed and mucous your eyes enormous wombs like fingers touching me oh baby im sorry your tears imploring pleading and drunk on hair pulling frenzies curse my brutish rampage of *** gone mad turning your body into clouds and red splash ribbons don't be sorry she said with pursed lips your rabid hunger my own i am an abyss of dark desires a savage wraith i want to kiss you like a lecher all ******* and cherries with legs squandered wide a Halloween grotesque with a ponytail are you going to eat me like a communion wafer okay if it will save you am i not a saint of lust "There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends" john15:13 so have your fun at my expense make me your house of horrors greased for the scalding of your whip ill be good please do your worst and ill show you my best promise me pretty please kisses and cries rainbows and ash blistering ecstatic
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75
vampiric ***** house a fearful symmetry of cleavers for something to love ***** addicted pearly satin's copulate a continent of curves ovoid rectums and raw mouths in a ritual of sadistic etiquette drenching phallus tongued spit like gales of flames at a masochists invitation for foot blooded kisses and heated lopped breast eager haunches thunder in a malignant lust ********* utopias **** cyclops spreading winkling's dribbling night operas in a red cathedral of flicker hives squealing euphoria's hemic arcade with greased ******* that break backs fluting throats ***** chromatic fizz and shrilling wombs flutter like bat wings pandemonium in the museum of the moon
0
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 1:39 PM UTC
zebrablack
Museum of The Moon
vampiric ***** house a fearful symmetry of cleavers for something to love ***** addicted pearly satin's copulate a continent of curves ovoid rectums and raw mouths in a ritual of sadistic etiquette drenching phallus tongued spit like gales of flames at a masochists invitation for foot blooded kisses and heated lopped breast eager haunches thunder in a malignant lust ********* utopias **** cyclops spreading winkling's dribbling night operas in a red cathedral of flicker hives squealing euphoria's hemic arcade with greased ******* that break backs fluting throats ***** chromatic fizz and shrilling wombs flutter like bat wings pandemonium in the museum of the moon
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24
The wake of nevermore To be forever and more Flowering Through the doors of metamorphosis With whorish twists To twine the submissive slits Into bracelets bracing for a face lit In joyous glee Cheek to cheek! The sheen of sheep Greased and ready to eat Oh Gristlesworth Smiling from a bag Bahhh! Don't eat the tag
0
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
Mikhael
Not the slightest
The wake of nevermore To be forever and more Flowering Through the doors of metamorphosis With whorish twists To twine the submissive slits Into bracelets bracing for a face lit In joyous glee Cheek to cheek! The sheen of sheep Greased and ready to eat Oh Gristlesworth Smiling from a bag Bahhh! Don't eat the tag
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15
Seven years I lived my life, fading from reality. Crossing into machinery. Robotics with which I am so unfamiliar. Machined, greased, lubricated parts. Built with a purpose. A meaningless purpose. Destined for failure. A broken down machine I stand. Sit. Lay. Run. Work. Play. Slide. Cursed and wretched as the demons which haunt the dreams of the fallen. I rise above. Skyrocketing through reason. Through the seventh layer of Heaven and Hell. On a false sense of cloud nine I currently float…awaiting the plummet. Its falling away from me. I sail through a shattered sea of broken glass. I closed my eyes and the tears could not flow. Blocked by my eyelids, restricting emotion. After all of this, I am amazed. The wall could be broken. Forgotten faded memories of which I have no say. Of past. Of present. Of gifts. Of futures. Of lists. Lists of black. Hit lists in my head. I live in my head. I am not what I wish. I am what I’m not. I am what I dream. A scream. A cry. Laying here, blank as the page on which I cannot create a scene. A scene behind my eyes, yet I cannot attain it on paper. These words flow meaninglessly, but not slow. Daedalus, Icarus, Thrice. Three times I roam. Randomized plains of thought, laid out on a digital page. Keys, not a pen. Ones and Zeros, not ink. Screens, not pages. Neat, not sloppy…yet my words do not understand one another… nor do I…. If we make the mainland, this song would not be made. Epic beauty, formed through misfortune and tragedy. Oh son…I beg you…keep a steady wing. For you are the only one who means anything to me. My wings are made of melting, shredding, fading elements. The sun, heating, lighting, someday dying. I understand that nothing is as it may seem. Nor is any seam as true as the seamstress believed. The Gods did not take the only thing which meant anything to you, father of legend. Your son is not dead…only afire. Acquired by the forces you believed to be merciful.
0
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
benjamin-aptaker
Daedalus
Seven years I lived my life, fading from reality. Crossing into machinery. Robotics with which I am so unfamiliar. Machined, greased, lubricated parts. Built with a purpose. A meaningless purpose. Destined for failure. A broken down machine I stand. Sit. Lay. Run. Work. Play. Slide. Cursed and wretched as the demons which haunt the dreams of the fallen. I rise above. Skyrocketing through reason. Through the seventh layer of Heaven and Hell. On a false sense of cloud nine I currently float…awaiting the plummet. Its falling away from me. I sail through a shattered sea of broken glass. I closed my eyes and the tears could not flow. Blocked by my eyelids, restricting emotion. After all of this, I am amazed. The wall could be broken. Forgotten faded memories of which I have no say. Of past. Of present. Of gifts. Of futures. Of lists. Lists of black. Hit lists in my head. I live in my head. I am not what I wish. I am what I’m not. I am what I dream. A scream. A cry. Laying here, blank as the page on which I cannot create a scene. A scene behind my eyes, yet I cannot attain it on paper. These words flow meaninglessly, but not slow. Daedalus, Icarus, Thrice. Three times I roam. Randomized plains of thought, laid out on a digital page. Keys, not a pen. Ones and Zeros, not ink. Screens, not pages. Neat, not sloppy…yet my words do not understand one another… nor do I…. If we make the mainland, this song would not be made. Epic beauty, formed through misfortune and tragedy. Oh son…I beg you…keep a steady wing. For you are the only one who means anything to me. My wings are made of melting, shredding, fading elements. The sun, heating, lighting, someday dying. I understand that nothing is as it may seem. Nor is any seam as true as the seamstress believed. The Gods did not take the only thing which meant anything to you, father of legend. Your son is not dead…only afire. Acquired by the forces you believed to be merciful.
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6
The world's greased, watch your step or you might slip and fall off of it, Serpent in the garden where you're walking, show cautiousness And nothing really grows there in the shadow of the Pyramid, Of our plutonomy, But honestly, from the top the image probably isn't that vivid That we're rats in the labyrinth scolded for eating cheese, That we're lepers on our island rebuked for our disease Once a pigeon ascends with doves, all in the name of peace, The thin air is too comfortable, to return him to the streets Hypnotized by a box framed with Rose-Colored glass While The Owl burns bright and The Baphomet laughs
0
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
Illuminationworkshop
A Hamster on a Treadmill Powered Bokanovsky's Process
The world's greased, watch your step or you might slip and fall off of it, Serpent in the garden where you're walking, show cautiousness And nothing really grows there in the shadow of the Pyramid, Of our plutonomy, But honestly, from the top the image probably isn't that vivid That we're rats in the labyrinth scolded for eating cheese, That we're lepers on our island rebuked for our disease Once a pigeon ascends with doves, all in the name of peace, The thin air is too comfortable, to return him to the streets Hypnotized by a box framed with Rose-Colored glass While The Owl burns bright and The Baphomet laughs
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12
1. Grumble Of pugs. Or old men. Correlates to the grouping of wrinkles: smile lines (down) whiskers (up). Synonymous to a gaggle of geese. Or women. A grumbleman steps on the Pug's tail and a passing girl hears a crack, yelp, **** She turns to help but the grumbleman is gone and the pug with him. She wonders why her neighbor's car is still at her Mom's house? Why her Mom wants to be called Veronica not Mary. One night she dreamed Veronica dancing on their roof in the rain holding tight to an old red picture whispering to a woman on the lawn dancing dry in white. She tried to call out to Veronica she saw her slipping, but when she touched her lips She felt them sewn shut with coarse, wet thread. Veronica turned and flew to her, to the window, grabbing her hands forcing fingers to feel the brail graven into her Mother's giggling teeth that read, Don't look, your father will be bleeding soon. She awoke and her window was bound in greased black leather. The floor ashen. Her lips still sewn shut. Anne stood, picked out her fathers bones Veronica had sewn into her pillowcase and she danced.
0
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
cyril-blythe
[anne-NAH-mull-s] Adultery
1. Grumble Of pugs. Or old men. Correlates to the grouping of wrinkles: smile lines (down) whiskers (up). Synonymous to a gaggle of geese. Or women. A grumbleman steps on the Pug's tail and a passing girl hears a crack, yelp, **** She turns to help but the grumbleman is gone and the pug with him. She wonders why her neighbor's car is still at her Mom's house? Why her Mom wants to be called Veronica not Mary. One night she dreamed Veronica dancing on their roof in the rain holding tight to an old red picture whispering to a woman on the lawn dancing dry in white. She tried to call out to Veronica she saw her slipping, but when she touched her lips She felt them sewn shut with coarse, wet thread. Veronica turned and flew to her, to the window, grabbing her hands forcing fingers to feel the brail graven into her Mother's giggling teeth that read, Don't look, your father will be bleeding soon. She awoke and her window was bound in greased black leather. The floor ashen. Her lips still sewn shut. Anne stood, picked out her fathers bones Veronica had sewn into her pillowcase and she danced.
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24
I am the sort whose love will perch cross-legged on a kitchen counter top and watch the snake-tongue sizzle of my heart diced and flying in your un-greased frying pan while you so innocently sautee the thick skin of what could once have made you cry and run so easily and only then will you look up as if to say "are you up for a little stir fry tonight?"
0
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
liz-anne
Onion
I am the sort whose love will perch cross-legged on a kitchen counter top and watch the snake-tongue sizzle of my heart diced and flying in your un-greased frying pan while you so innocently sautee the thick skin of what could once have made you cry and run so easily and only then will you look up as if to say "are you up for a little stir fry tonight?"
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21
You towed your broken down beat up, used, rusted old Chevy into my workshop smelling like crap, and looking a whole lot worse she had a busted engine sputtered like a plane (but not in a good way) you leaked black oil all over my floors stains of which I still can’t remove no matter how many gallons of bleach I use the radiator, well let’s just say had seen better days the interior leather seats were torn and the once slick body looked like you had ****** off some mafia kingpin so I spent my days and nights greased up and elbow deep, in your muck trying desperately, but lovingly to do what a mechanic does best and I was leaking time like I owned it, when I could’ve should’ve found a more profitable fixer upper I told myself, no convinced myself otherwise and eventually, against the odds, fixed you then some schmo walks in a bulging from both pockets from wads of cash and grabs you right outta my hands the you I returned to a shiny beauty as best I could with the tools I had well then, maybe I did fix you I just never realised, I was doing it for someone else.
0
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
e5m
The Mechanic.
You towed your broken down beat up, used, rusted old Chevy into my workshop smelling like crap, and looking a whole lot worse she had a busted engine sputtered like a plane (but not in a good way) you leaked black oil all over my floors stains of which I still can’t remove no matter how many gallons of bleach I use the radiator, well let’s just say had seen better days the interior leather seats were torn and the once slick body looked like you had ****** off some mafia kingpin so I spent my days and nights greased up and elbow deep, in your muck trying desperately, but lovingly to do what a mechanic does best and I was leaking time like I owned it, when I could’ve should’ve found a more profitable fixer upper I told myself, no convinced myself otherwise and eventually, against the odds, fixed you then some schmo walks in a bulging from both pockets from wads of cash and grabs you right outta my hands the you I returned to a shiny beauty as best I could with the tools I had well then, maybe I did fix you I just never realised, I was doing it for someone else.
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37
House plants are hostages we take while we rob the bank of life for all the experience notes we can carry safely away. We are using the funds to build our vivarium homes, microcosms of the world beyond our walls where we first glimpsed the scheme. The machinery of the world, greased by blood and sweat, remains beyond our control while at large, yet under our close supervision we coax submission out of our captives for our own enjoyment: selfish, ambivalently cruel benefactors, dispensers of our plants' waters of life.
0
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 7:13 PM UTC
derek-yohn
Masochistic Gardening Techniques for Beginners
House plants are hostages we take while we rob the bank of life for all the experience notes we can carry safely away. We are using the funds to build our vivarium homes, microcosms of the world beyond our walls where we first glimpsed the scheme. The machinery of the world, greased by blood and sweat, remains beyond our control while at large, yet under our close supervision we coax submission out of our captives for our own enjoyment: selfish, ambivalently cruel benefactors, dispensers of our plants' waters of life.
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22
"Every single morning for past forty-three years, with a greased head and a goofy smile, he appreciates and ponders about silly things: his milk cartons, all rusty pipes, Rabbi's vintage car, the berry shrubs, and her warm smile." "Sweet Pea, little did he know that she loves him too."
0
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 6:30 AM UTC
jwala-kay
Dear Sweet Pea: #1 Love.
"Every single morning for past forty-three years, with a greased head and a goofy smile, he appreciates and ponders about silly things: his milk cartons, all rusty pipes, Rabbi's vintage car, the berry shrubs, and her warm smile." "Sweet Pea, little did he know that she loves him too."
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16
each stroke of greased fingers on the mohawk was a result of a genius work of art an outlet where my soul barely peeks yet you cut with your hypocritical shears and your rusty hand and you call it discipline and you call it concern I call it ******** the shadows on my eyelids were davincis and picassos sketched in a magnificent representation of inner self which you all want to see yet suffocate by your rotten curricula and you call it quality and you call it excellence I call it ******** the silver that glitters in these ears conceals the tortures of my youth the horrors that dwell in my every sleep yet you rip from my skin you are unworthy of touch and you call it decency and you call it suitability I call it ******** © Glenn L. Sentes
0
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
An_Batingaw
prerogative of an oppressed freshman
each stroke of greased fingers on the mohawk was a result of a genius work of art an outlet where my soul barely peeks yet you cut with your hypocritical shears and your rusty hand and you call it discipline and you call it concern I call it ******** the shadows on my eyelids were davincis and picassos sketched in a magnificent representation of inner self which you all want to see yet suffocate by your rotten curricula and you call it quality and you call it excellence I call it ******** the silver that glitters in these ears conceals the tortures of my youth the horrors that dwell in my every sleep yet you rip from my skin you are unworthy of touch and you call it decency and you call it suitability I call it ******** © Glenn L. Sentes
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23
I stood across a fiery red and ended up purple. Greased thighs, dripping down and rested on knee caps too brittle. “So this is how you fall apart.” I say, “this is how you fall apart.” When it isn’t as glorious as others make it seem and the only sound you make is an inner monologue, where you berate yourself. “This is you, you **** of a train wreck example.” And then you stand and you cower at the mere sight of a figure ahead. You tug down the remains of your shirt and you wipe your busted lip dry, like it will hide the cut and bite. You wince once sweat kisses your brow and you hiss like someone hoisted you against a brick wall. You never stand. You never stand and you are excused for cursing. All the ******** the dammits, the batshit *** **** flow out like breath – naturally, an incestuous inhale and exhale of “someone give me that thingamajiggy for the pain!” But it never comes. And you are never cured. And it never goes away, when a quicksand of that stinky pile of unwritten brain farts start farting, one by ******* one. Blessed are the stoic ones, for they glorify aching. ****** are the loud ones, for the stoic ones are deaf.
0
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
joyce-garcia
(There's no) Sweet Pain like Rugby
I stood across a fiery red and ended up purple. Greased thighs, dripping down and rested on knee caps too brittle. “So this is how you fall apart.” I say, “this is how you fall apart.” When it isn’t as glorious as others make it seem and the only sound you make is an inner monologue, where you berate yourself. “This is you, you **** of a train wreck example.” And then you stand and you cower at the mere sight of a figure ahead. You tug down the remains of your shirt and you wipe your busted lip dry, like it will hide the cut and bite. You wince once sweat kisses your brow and you hiss like someone hoisted you against a brick wall. You never stand. You never stand and you are excused for cursing. All the ******** the dammits, the batshit *** **** flow out like breath – naturally, an incestuous inhale and exhale of “someone give me that thingamajiggy for the pain!” But it never comes. And you are never cured. And it never goes away, when a quicksand of that stinky pile of unwritten brain farts start farting, one by ******* one. Blessed are the stoic ones, for they glorify aching. ****** are the loud ones, for the stoic ones are deaf.
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31
your "friends" that we meet, i forget their names, my calloused palms are greased, by their  squeezing hands i remember one's a banker, or he could have said a thief, his ******** words were flanked, by my misbelief i was held hostage, you were a smiling drone, i remember when i lost to Stockholm Syndrome their Heirloom Suffix changes, on tuxedos and trust funds, my rental wears just fine, i'm not the danger shorting stocks on tuesday, while playing ball in hand, what a shame to lose me, busted seams this man I am not a banker, I am not a saint, I cannot to be trusted, I won't place the blame. I am not a proxy, I am an astronaut, But this distant world you live on, Is far from my plot
0
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
_trf
Heirloom Suffix
your "friends" that we meet, i forget their names, my calloused palms are greased, by their  squeezing hands i remember one's a banker, or he could have said a thief, his ******** words were flanked, by my misbelief i was held hostage, you were a smiling drone, i remember when i lost to Stockholm Syndrome their Heirloom Suffix changes, on tuxedos and trust funds, my rental wears just fine, i'm not the danger shorting stocks on tuesday, while playing ball in hand, what a shame to lose me, busted seams this man I am not a banker, I am not a saint, I cannot to be trusted, I won't place the blame. I am not a proxy, I am an astronaut, But this distant world you live on, Is far from my plot
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28
Greased wheels, I knew you once. I loved to balance like a child. Roaming the paved streets; riding is like flying. I knew you when the store held you back. I chose you from behind handlebars with purple streamers. Your tires silently carried me to classes, each brake stop signaled that we were close to our arrival. I sat on your worn black seat like I was on a throne of sorts. Even though that seat is tattered with one rip on the side, all I saw in you was my own **** pride. Spokes, I knew you once. I played your tune each journey that we went on. No hill was ever tall enough, no road was ever too bumpy. Gears, I knew you once. Click, Lock, Click sometimes you were tight and never let me ride sometimes you were loose and my feet went flying ‘round too fast for me to catch                      what you were doing. I knew you once, when time was young.
0
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
sienna-luna
Bike
Greased wheels, I knew you once. I loved to balance like a child. Roaming the paved streets; riding is like flying. I knew you when the store held you back. I chose you from behind handlebars with purple streamers. Your tires silently carried me to classes, each brake stop signaled that we were close to our arrival. I sat on your worn black seat like I was on a throne of sorts. Even though that seat is tattered with one rip on the side, all I saw in you was my own **** pride. Spokes, I knew you once. I played your tune each journey that we went on. No hill was ever tall enough, no road was ever too bumpy. Gears, I knew you once. Click, Lock, Click sometimes you were tight and never let me ride sometimes you were loose and my feet went flying ‘round too fast for me to catch                      what you were doing. I knew you once, when time was young.
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19