"griping" poems
Fantasizing
Feeling
Needing
Something scarce is eating at my melancholy.
As I deliberate, a vigor burns beneath my blood.
I get so warm thinking about his hands griping my hips.
My cheeks flush at the thought of his skin pressed heavily against mine.
Unalloyed ecstasy
His subsistence is the key that reveals my coffer.
I beg to feel his breathing
For him to cognize how much I want to gratify his every desire.
Slow motion when I fantasize.
A room bursting of fine riches I could erupt with gratification.
A gentleman who can pleasure me both with innocence and sensuality.
Rarity that comes as one.
He demonstrates loves configuration, he bestows complexity and certainty.
One could ****** with the thought of his supportive charisma.
I weaken at the awareness of his reciprocated needs.
The definition of love is embraced through his actions.
Bleeding perfection, he is untouchable.
He makes me feel amity.
He is the dream I want to feel as I shut my eyes at dusk.
I can sense him so close,
yet when I open my eyes
I’m alone.
He is what every women searches for.
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 10:41 PM UTC
Its been a while, since I, seen that smile; that **** style, that turn me on, you're such a trip. I love how you keep it hip; ******* my favorite color- your Thursday pick. From your text, you seem stressed, might have to do it a little longer. Been working out, so I'm a little bit stronger- hold your legs back, shoulder press:I hope I'm making you wonder. Hands, coiled around your legs; up. Under your dress, hands slowly progress- it hurts now, the seconds seem longer; you feel blessed. You slipped, so I slide in; like it was meant to happen.
My hand griping your hips, pulling you in, a tight fit: harder- already told you I was stronger, now your feeling it. So professional when you came; now you leaving a mess. I flipped the script.
Black ******* with white spots all over your dress- blaming me for your mess. Now I'm cumming; ready or not. Your *** up, stomach in knots, my kingdom *** our foreplay, can foreshadow my plot- give you a life sentence, that will make ****** on the dot. All our issues, disappear; like you're straight flush- red all in the face; light touch: 2 ours later; such a rush.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
Its been a while, since I've, seen that smile; that **** style, it turns me on, you're such a trip. I love how you keep it hip; ******* red, my favorite color- your Thursday pick.
I'm plotting- giving you a life sentence, making you ****** on the dot, then we pick another spot, and take it from the top. All our issues, disappear; when your clothes drop. You are, straight flushed-- red in the face; from a light touch.
From your text, you seem stressed, we might have to do it a little longer. Been working out, so I'm a little bit stronger- holding your legs back, shoulders pressed: I hope I'm, making you wonder. Hands, coiled around your legs; up. Under your dress, hands slowly progress- it hurts now, but you will love the rest.
My hand griping your hips, pulling you in, a tight fit: Thicker, longer, harder- already told you I was stronger, now your feeling it, more than just the tip. Acting so professional when you came; and left a mess when I flipped the script.
Red ******* with white spots all over your dress- blaming me for your mess. Now I'm ******* ready or not. Your *** up, stomach in knots, my kingdom *** with our foreplay. You've been foreshadowing all day, enjoying each other as we play. The rush alone, it enough to make me stay
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
in the middle of a dark night
no moon or street light
and I could hardly see the road in front of me
but it was free
and so we settled
and thus we pedaled
more then 30 winding miles
into this wilderness of isles
or so it seemed
so very mean, just like a dream
he said "continue ,
for it is in you
and we can make it to the place
within an hour, at this pace."
his plan was brutal
I'm not a poodle
but I could truly smell the sweat
and feeling hot and sopping wet
it was no fun. at. all
and like the day y'all
so very done
again not fun
and it is true
that maybe you
would think ahead and plan the weekend
get a room and buy a map
none of this crap
(but I'm a sap
and went along with his idea
for I had hopes for us last year)
and so we learned
the hard way burned.
Well I could barely,
i say just barely
make out the single line white striping
while he's right behind me griping,
"can't you speed up?
we're gonna meet up
and the collision won't be pleasant"
not that pleasant was he were
so very DER!
it's so ironic, perhaps moronic
for there were headlights
coming up the hill in front
and to be blunt
they had to blind me
oh please don't mind me
for I quickly left the scene
right off the road
and with scream
into the blackness of a pitch
which sent me down into a ditch
a steep ravine
so very mean
and then the bike no longer able
to remain beneath my seat
after that drop
the roll to stop
landed on top
and not so sweet
so very beat
I said '"oh sheet"
I was not laughing,
nor was I crying
and but more like " could it be
dear Lord that I am dying?
Oh my God, excuse the curse
so freaking odd, though i've seen worse
and though my body's somewhat shaken
not a bone or tooth was breakin'
and I'm fully wide awake and
not a pain or any ache~
so very odd
it must be God.
and there I lie
perfectly high
my eyes wide open couldn't scope but
in the darkness I could *****
the rock beside my fallen hide
and in a moment not an omen
he said "Gee!"
"Is this your knee?"
I said: " Hey Mr. Moulder,
you've got my shoulder."
"I should have driven in the Bently"
and as he pulled the bike off gently
asking how these things do happen
"nevermind, just lets get snappin"
and we made it to the youth hostel that night.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
Peasants underestimate,
the sacrifice of a King,
all they see,
are the fancy things.
*griping,
and
groaning,*
when in actuality,
they are more free,
then he ever,
will be.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
On a long stretch of highway
his thumb to the road,
Leon set off to lighten his load.
No thoughts of tomorrow
no plans set in stone
just a few hundred bucks,
and a dream of his own.
Leon was weary of playing the game.
His boss and his girl,
they both thought the same.
Their griping and wanting
was keeping him tied
to a life that he loathed,
left him weary inside.
He would act on an impulse,
and finally be free
to do as he liked, and be who he'd be.
A fantasy stirring could finally come true!
No end to the wonderful things he could do.
For hours he walked,
while the headlights flashed by
light on his feet and a smile to the sky.
While on that same blacktop
Jenny drove on
anxious to make it to Phoenix by dawn.
It may have been fate or say what you will
that she spied him on time
as she came up the hill.
Surely this guy must be needing a ride
so she pulled to the shoulder,
letting Leon inside.
Jenny felt guarded while driving along,
not accustomed to helping who didn't belong
in the world that she lived,
and the life that she led,
ain't it funny how sometimes we do what we dread?
Her worries subsided in such a short while,
for he talked with such ease.
He had such a nice smile!
It's true what they say,
you just never know
who you might meet if you give it a go.
Just outside Phoenix the sun started rising
when Leon said "Jenny, ain't it surprising?
I feel like I've known you my entire life."
The last words she heard,
as he pulled out his knife.
Ain't it funny how sometimes we do what we dread?
Leon's still dreaming,
while Jenny lies dead.
.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 4:49 PM UTC
Synergy slides like a promise from thick whips of fingers
Griping me and sinking thorns in but loving it all the same
Twitching with them
Epileptic ecstasy
Slamming and combining. Pure unadulterated noise
Lapping at the shores of nonsense
Wildly uncontrolled but watching it looks like perfectly harmonized marionettes
Punching sounds in and flowing reactions
Spinning swooshing, dancing like the Nike sign.
We are Just Doing It all over the place
Hands spread and flower
Seeming endless heartpounds swim below
Feeling the need through the floor
shattering up bones and jerking bodies into movement
Wicked entertainer creating blooming false patterns
Blood lining where it hasn't before, yet it's already planned
The electric noise makes you think inspiration but whispers command.
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
Love is pretty much every single person involved
turning into a ****
Curling, griping, grasping someone so tight
that they squirm.
We like to say that this is an act of affection
but really, whats so lovely about latching on
to something that always changes?
because as far as I'm concerned, that is not lovely at all.
That is just plain self harm.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
I'm a deer in the headlights,
I'm pacing back and forth
I don't know whether to run
forward or step back
There is darkness where I came from
but I can't see ahead
I'm somewhere between
vibrant red and navy blue
My roommate is vomiting
in the bathroom.
I turn up the television,
and pretend not to hear her
I'm a deer in the headlights,
I can't see the face that sits
behind the steering wheel
I imagine she's soft and gentle,
she'll let me pass & I'll be safe
But what if she's sharp and angry,
she'll strike me down & I'll bleed out
My roommate convulses on
the cold tile floor,
There is sweat rolling off her
rib cage
I find her half conscious,
and I don't believe this is happening again
My back aches
but only in one place
I wonder if it's you,
griping me from behind,
trying desperately to pull me backward
Or maybe my back just aches,
and I think too much
I tried to make a friend again today,
and ended up naked & empty,
fumbling around his sheets,
trying to get out of my mind
I don't think I'm doing this right
cause I feel like a deer in the headlights,
and I miss my mother,
and I know she'd slap the cigarette
right out of my hand,
and then she'd kiss my forehead,
and I'd feel better
I'm tripping over gravel,
Pacing back and forth
The yellow light creates a straight line
And I keep following it to the same place
There's been a song stuck in
my head for three days
and 8 & a half hours,
I can't focus on anything else
I told a boy I hate
that I love him,
just because I like the
way it sounded as it rolled off my lips
And I knew I'd get high off the look in his eyes
Maybe that's my whole problem-
Start to finish,
Plain and simple,
I just wanna be liked
And I never have been
Can't tell if I'm useless
or too used-
Can I be both at the same time?
I'm a deer in the headlights,
trying to find my way back to my mother,
going blind from the colors
I'm a deer in the headlights...
Mom,
If you can hear me now,
I'm so sorry for who I am
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 10:55 PM UTC
somethings really
gripe customers to excess
and in the griping
they seek redress
a box with five tablets of soap
isn't as it used to be
the size of the tablets
have been reduced
quite considerably
in years gone by
a bar of soap
had a fuller dimension
but nowadays
there is only smallness
in a tablet's dimensions
the customers are paying
a mint
for an undersized lathering bar
manufacturers of soap
must bring back
the larger bars
as customers
are voicing their valid
nah
nah
nah
nahs
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
Two Hearts But A Single Beat.
I lied there waiting and excited.
One hand softly griping your left thigh.
Faster. Harder. Pacing.
I ponder for a moment while I let your warm breath exhale against my earlobe.
“I live for this“.
I love to hear you moan against my head. Tounges’ wrapped within a mess of lips, breaths, and saliva.
I know this feeling all too well. This addiction that I can’t abstain from. You don’t understand me. It’s hard. When I’m close to you my head becomes a jungle. Your presence is enough to drive me wild. I’m ****** You’ve driven me mad with lust and love combined in one. I’m throbbing. I want you so bad and you have yet to know my true nature towards you...
You’re already mine, but I’ve been dying to make you mine in a different way. I’m going to ruin you ... make crawl back tongue drooling for more.
My lust cannot contain itself.
I want to bend you over a whisper taunting things into your ear while I slide two fingers in the back and grip my hand around your shaft.... slowly making you ooze *** from the tip... I want you to ******* beg. Tell me how bad you want it, want this, want me... pant in my ear until there’s nothing but broken cries left. Push me away even though you know it’s what you ******* crave the most .. let me explore your darkest parts and lick every crevice. I want you to the point where it’s only our sweaty bodies against each other yearning for another lick, taste, spread, touch.... **** your addicting. This may very well be my downfall.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
It is in those broken moments we find ourselves,
Torn to pieces, with no explanation –
A dark crevasse molded to fit our shape,
Holding our deepest thoughts, encasing our forgotten spirit,
We tend to allow ourselves to be encompassed by this abyss –
Explaining to ourselves the need to dwell on the darkened past,
Swallowed by its projection of memories,
Sprayed upon the walls of our mind like murals –
An endless catacomb of images, seemingly permanent in their manifestation…
It is in those broken moments, that we find ourselves.
Seemingly unbearable days, leading to sleepless nights,
Dreading the thoughts that creep their way to our dreams –
Resting in an endless adaptation of our subconscious,
Playing out their roles, as if upon a Shakespearian stage…
Each thought, acting its part with tragic precision,
Layer upon layer, scene upon scene…
Reaching back to grasp our inception of reality –
Griping its contents, and strangling the ideas to exhaustion; gasping…
It was in those broken moments, that we found ourselves,
With a weighted world pressed firmly upon our chest,
The ebbing soil began to crumble –
Giving light to the somber path traversed…
Filling the now hollow crevasse with purpose and meaning,
Each memory defined by the silver lining expressed in love –
The fleeting darkness, swallowed by the over-whelming feeling of home…
Finding it in the simplicity of a kiss, and the certainty of an embrace,
It is here that we find ourselves,
In the intricate details and delicate idiosyncrasies –
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
Locked up tight in a lover's cage
Easy target for all his rage
Lies being continually fed
I love you was said
Caught in his web
Sweetly tainted words he continued to weave
How was I ever that ****** naive
Blindly continuing to believe
Moved far from home and friends, freedom firmly suppressed
Long sleepless nights and days of no rest
As his crazy obsessions slowly manifest
Walking on eggshells till the next rampage
Locked up tight in an iron cage
Easy prey for all his rage
Never really knowing why or when the next attack
One word taken wrong, my jaw he would jack
Kept constantly pregnant, so I couldn't fight back
I realize from the outside looking in it's hard to construe
People say leave, but they haven't the slightest clue
But here on the inside, he means every death threat that's spewed
They just don't know that type of griping fear
Of keeping your children safe and near
While trying to hide all the violence from their eyes and ears
What if I left, tried to break free
Would he **** me, like he promised with glee
Would the kids survive, there's no guarantee
I know if he raised them, they would surely be twisted
As adults would they follow in his steps, also be addicted
I fear their view of love would grow so sadistic
I was determined to get my kids out of his hellish cage alive
One day my opportunity did faithfully arrive
Leaving him to rot in his own putrid cell, while watching us thrive
NEVER AGAIN
Will I be locked up in a lover's cage
NEVER AGAIN
Will I be an easy target for rage
©Pauline Russell
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 1:55 PM UTC
understand
make it stand
let it in
grasp it tight
find the heart of the light
give it water for more
hear it beat and sweet
release the flow throughout
seeping doubt
squelched in blackened drought
listened under moonlit ponds
broken by lingering clouds
shrinking
growing
morphing
exploding shrapnel hits
the streets in domino lines of
clings, clanks
against pavement
green with feeling
tentacles outstretched
grabbing downpour
more griping
a wiping the slate clean
a new approach to a one way road
sweeping away the swept under
forgotten
the last day, a cleansing
sweaters donned for greater betterness
less impressiveness, bored aggressiveness
regressing
to under intelligence, minor importance
broken vases line the halls
flowers gasp soaking last remains
crying death
its toll rising infinite forms
everywhere
everyday
every
second
this moment
emptiness
misery’s hand clenched tight
suffocating life, energy bound
and wound so small and tight
bound to explode any moment
epiphany epiphany
epiphany
ephemeral projected instance
prism hemmed answers
nullifying yourself
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
Me tracing your perfectly sculpted body
Your eyes shut
You came back with a new thong and shirt
Sliding back into bed
Scooting into me
I put my hands back on you, tracing the top of your bra
Feeling the lace on the tips of my fingers
Griping you
Pulling your bra down to your waist
Dragging my fingers up and down your curves
Making you squirm
Making my way down your back
Kissing your neck
Listening to you enjoy me
All I want is to make you feel loved
Loving you is the only way to start my sunday morning right
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
premier you've smacked
me in the face
my train ran late
yet again
what's your minister
and his departmental head
doing about this?
not much I wager
all my other commuter friends
are at wits end
not happy
nor will they be anytime soon
get the trains running on time
or you'll end up like an old rail line
piled high on a scrap heap
and forgotten
what's your vision?
what's your scheme for rail?
rail years ago ran reasonably well
now there's me getting sentimental
so much for innovation and technology
for the rail system
not much improvement yet
or on the distant horizon
I deserve and demand much better
none of this second rate stuff
I've had enough
make good my lot
what have I got so far?
dollars unwisely spent
on a parlous rail system
I used to enjoy my daily train trip
so too my fellow train travelers
we say this in numbers
numbers count
premier know one know this better than you
numbers stack up...
stop griping me
send a train to me
departures and returns on time
be prompt never late...
is the old adages
now this verse is written especially for you
you are my mate at least for now
in the future that may well change
I've been know to change trains
if circumstances dictate
I could well be writing this verse
for the alternative premier
I'm sure you know what I'm driving at...
You know...good rail policy
get cracking
get smart
allay this persistent pain in my neck
late trains, late trains, late trains
I vote for a well run rail network
yes every time
not for a premier
dragging the line
that's not a good story
in the media
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
I cradle her in my arms,
Rocking her gently back and forth-
Her tiny hand griping my finger,
Wrapping it around like a pole-
Innocence is the name of such sight,
Heaven on earth is the proper name
For such a beautiful wonder and gift.
But the world is too vile, so it won’t remain the same;
The greatest murderers and villains
Once held this innocence and heaven
In the depths of their soul at birth,
But reality is the only air we know to breathe
Which hardly brings any comfort
But all man for himself
And all lives in chaos without a proper cause,
midst this filth, heaven disappears from earth.
So I cherish this moment and sight
for I am blessed to witness a glimpse
of heaven on this earth before it vanishes
by the air of reality we all are forced to breathe.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 1:49 PM UTC
_I want to fall into myself - to leave should’s, must’s,
and need to be’s scattered inconsequentially in my wake.
I want to dive deeply - to loosen my shoulders,
relax my arms, and slacken my griping fingers.
I want to uncoil my imagination - to revel in a crystal night sky,
a cool breeze, and a pink moon rising.
I want to meet the nomad - solitary, suspended in a sky-borne
playa, and blazing a trail to infinity._
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 6:06 PM UTC
A dark moonless night,
Envelopes and hides the field.
The puddles upon the ground,
Have lost their crimson hue.
The twisted stiffened bodies,
Hidden in long deep shadows.
His perch atop the Bell Tower
A lofty lonely isle amid,
A sea of waste and death.
His filthy hands still griping
His instrument of war,
His eye straining at the glass
Searching for movement
In the silent depths below,
Finger on the trigger,
Sweat upon his brow
Three days have come and gone,
Since he climbed those stairs
And took his place among
The pigeons’ and the bells.
He had been a mere boy of
Seventeen three long days ago.
Now he felt a hundred sick,
And tired years old.
And even the pigeons had
Deserted him and flown,
Or been shot to pieces,
From the troops below.
His fingers took inventory,
Only sixteen rounds remained.
He had fired his weapon
Over ninety times and
Never once, had he missed.
Haunting ****** pictures,
Of their devastation continuously
Replayed in his head.
An hour ago he heard
Its treads and engine
Churning in the dark.
The tank had come for him,
Would **** him at first light.
Strangely he felt no fear,
Resigned and willing,
To make of this,
A final, fitting end.
Grown to a man and dead,
All within four days span.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
Slowly slipping
Losing control
Heartbeat blipping
Losing control
Blood pressure dipping
Losing Control
Hands griping
Losing control
Blood dripping
Out of control
My mind is breaking
There is no mistaking
I'm out of control
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
Hello, Hello Poetry!
My name is ORLA, as you can see:
There's my little name, up there.
It's funny, see, 'cause I don't care
If my poems stink or ****
As much as does my ****** luck,
Because you'd never tell me true,
You'll trend my poems, like you do,
And make pretend it's a big deal
When - Hello Poetry, get real -
I don't deserve this great fanfare,
Me or my little name up there,
Which isn't actually my name.
I go by ORLA just the same
Because I pour my heart out here,
And don't want snooping friends to hear
How much my heart is hurt by HIM
Or how I can't stand HER or THEM . . .
I actually hate ME, to boot!
You see? Now, if I gave a hoot
About what anybody thought,
What they believed, or what they bought,
Do you think I'd let this poem get
This long and tiresome? You can bet,
I wouldn't. I'd have never written
Something when I was this smitten
With fatigue, grief, guilt, depression -
But I must end this griping session:
Goodbye, Hello Poetry!
My name is ORLA - This is me.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
The earth is spinning and I am not even high
Self-culprit of my own demise
Time passes faster it is flying by
My devil is attempting to hitch a ride
Merry-go-round of ups and downs
Sigh of relief postmarks a frown
When I am around such a peculiar essence
Slightly griping evanescence
Intoxicated blob caused by snobs
Our ideas are objects robbed
Belittle my truth and hide my lies
Or you too will feel my demise
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
You don't look like I know you should; your clothes, your hair, your body and your accessories speak to a culture that I do not understand.
I'm not even sure I want to.
Before you cry hate realize that I am not speaking to the colour of your skin; pigment has zero relevance to the way you were raised, the friends you chose or who you are as you stand before me in this modern society.
The alien I find in you are the choices you've made, or rather the very few choices you've made as you've allowed the flavours of the masses to salt your very being, laying the foundation for the same row houses on each block, 'we' nothing more than automations that turn right, vote left and drive straight on into the witless death of 'our' meaningless life. Group hug.
I obviously am not talking about you; you read this poem and judge it unworthy or not and write your own birthing thoughts not yet authored, cutting yourself free from the tether of normality making the awakening of social consciousness possible.
Or perhaps I'm just another ******* on the train wearing awesome golf pants coming back from the game that takes more than it gives griping about life and those that don't live it or love it.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
Gruff grouch griping
His words say bags
But his tone says blacks-
I'm a piece of slate covered up by white
Bars that shimmer in fluorescent lights -
He's just doing his job.
I went to a wedding
And now I'm having my bag checked
Just me, no one else,
For "contraband."
That white boy over there,
Yeah the one with blue eyes, eyes that make you
Comfortable,
He left his passport at home.
You smile at him, it's okay you say,
Today is not your day, you bark at me.
It never is.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
he's heading for the dead end because i'm holding onto the map.
i'm the gps sending him to his doom down heartbreak avenue.
one way street with only one way out...heartbroken.
the feelings of jumping ship from the love boat has taken over my mind.
my heart has not caught on so quickly but will always follow regardless.
trudging along and griping about the hardships of climbing out of the hole once again.
nothing new here to see. nothing different from the last time.
i'll take the chance to flee. so i'll fly...and once i've fled...
i will look back at the damage done like a crash that could have been inevitably avoided.
i'm sorry.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 2:38 AM UTC