"groins" poems
Gates give galloping giraffes
gin gum
gifted ghost
Goofy gambles ginger beer
grapple games get goods
Gooses groins getcha
group gathering greatness
goat got gale
Grail
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 4:30 PM UTC
Not an amulet, an off white vertebrae; bone.
Brass wire, a loop at one end.
It bends as to make sure this will fit.
A gauge that measures mesmerization,
And we both must get along, but
Not because we're not tough enough:
Most of us aren't soft right yet.
So many stiffs, folly after folly.
The whole carful of loose cadavers,
Dangling, their feet hang with wet snow
And carnage,
Not even musk deer pop up,
They've all gone. Roosting in a parabol,
With X's sprayed to their groins.
Burning pop couples
Doing it like laboratory mice. Capybaras
Hiss, my own burnt blood is also
Flocculating.
Turn the cup upside down and
See the fire's balmy lachrymal opaque
Moss while it does not drip.
This is the story of man you asked me about;
Devoid of a muzzle, fur onto his chest; coarse
Hair in a garland.
It is the God of a tool that buzzes into the night.
A plateau for this most sensible study.
We feel another coming.
And when you awoke, your larval tongue
My eye mush, a song of verse and melancholy.
This half list of greatness, a tally we both wish to see.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
I don't know what you could call this exactly,
I was at a musical concert in one of the states
And a school filled with children of less than 13 years of age
Presented a song which I could call a petition.
They were praying earnestly for God to save Nigeria
From lawless people, bloodshed, assassination and a list of other wreckless things
It touched me that finally, it has gotten to this! When children start to file a petition to God against our leaders saying for their sake God should save the nation
It's a bit disturbing that even the kids know that there is a problem with this nation.
Do we have to ridicule ourselves forever? The children who were in the ***** and groins some years back have come to understand the situation and are crying out.
The educational standard is falling to pieces and the threads would have to be carefully woven together if we wanna make something out of it again.
It's embarrassing to know that there are so many sectors that has failed, absolutely nothing is working.
Our leaders still apportion blame. Roads are not good and then you get to hear one is a federal road one is state owned. Does it matter who owns the road if it is in their country?
Why aren't everyone looking beyond their noses and see what's wrong. Our youths have resolved to fraud when hard work and talents aren't appreciated.
Universities have been shut down for months now in the name of strike and the government officials could afford to eat and carry on their daily activities!
Aren't they meant to be in the hospital, complaining of one illness or the other as a result of the unrest the matter has caused? Disheartening! Even the hospitals go on strike and innocent people are left to die as a result of no medical attention.
I was moved to tears when these children sang. The nation's unrest and matters have become prayer points in all places of worship. God should indeed look down from His throne, have mercy on us and save Nigeria!
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 9:28 AM UTC
Be afraid of the bohém, they may write you a silly little poém to make you love 'em.
Or even worse, in reverse, with their verse, coerce your mind and soul to converse.
And even if their ascent is traverse and the obstacles adverse, routes to them are diverse.
They refine their craft to give you a raft, don't be daft, they rehearse for the terse,
tiptoeing over the perverse, not wanting to averse. They wanna choke the horses of your hearse.
They have no need to beg and plead. Just a wish to slap your *** your steed.
They just wanna make fear disperse for it they accurse, knowing well it's a curse.
No need to look for your purse. Your courage will theirs reimburse
and your smile their swollen fingers nurse.
See, the reaper wants the tails of coins thus places them on eyes faced reverse.
The bohém kick groins and leave traces but from coins take a print of the obverse.
Why? Cause they want not heads, but what's in them. They want your head to stay ahead.
Cause when a head is spiked by tails and filled with flashy tales, it is as good as dead.
They want to help you stay afloat - forget about the raft, think bigger, think of a boat.
Like evergreen crickets they ask you to disburse your fears and reverse your tears.
They ask not for a penny, just a thought or two, not many.
Like the ***** eyed and slightly sane miss Moneypenny.
Some call it a gift, many a curse. A curse the bohém can inverse
cause they submerse spirit in a lyrical sea and lower the stars for you to see.
Remember and beware, if you reward them with something as simple a stare,
you could be blinded by a hearty glare. Now you've been reminded, all's fair and square.
So why not just stay there? It's just your spirit they may ensnare like a hare,
only to mend it's wounded knee so that it can again hop away and be free.
Art is the heart of the bohém and their heart is their art.
So if you ever want to, thank them not with money but with a snack,
sprinkle a piece of your heart with honey. They'll bite it and give you two back.
Eat one too and make like a dove to flee to the place you really want to be.
Ride the waves like Nikolai's bumblebee and fulfill your uncharted destiny.
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 4:44 PM UTC
Me and the homies
built
up
a foundation of beer bottles in the corner of the living
room
that slide
down
when we play our music.
It's a pyramid
of transparent brown
********** bodies.
We stick our tongues into mouths
that will never fully be
ours,
and throw each new brick in the corner
with a clink,
*******
our
pants
and waking
up
in
entrail pools
of their digested innards the next morning.
A brown shimmer
like flashlights on the lake
bounces off them
bumping against our hips
and
mesmerizes
our upper thighs
and
inner groins.
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 9:13 PM UTC
African woman
She is the strongest woman
The cradle of all human
She tends softly her man
As well as all her children
She aint seeking for equity
She is seeking for prosperity
Growth, of all her generations
She knows well her traditions
Not to be in combatant competitions
Not to fight the physical equal wars
But to strengthen the spiritual-mental walls
And they call her in tough titles-submissive and foolish
All she does is, a sit-home mum, bear and then perish
But she knows well all she wants-her family to flourish
In the hearts of the matters there you will find her
Strong and willed to build and leave her legacy
Moral men and wise women-humans of substance
She is a pillar to her home
African woman
She is the strongest woman
The cradle of all human
She sits on her sack, in her arms
A giant club to clobber her farms-
Her fields fat yields of yams
And she beats their pulps till powders
They are all ground refined white dusts
Pu! Pu! Pu! Goes her game's rhythms
Pu! Pu! Pu! Shakes her shoulders
Pu! Pu! Pu! Her biceps fats dances with each fast beatings
Pu! Pu! Pu! Strong, on, urges her throbbing breast chest
Pu! Pu! Pu! Comes back the hard works echoes
Like her man in mines and farms and fields she, too, salty sweats
African woman
She is the strongest woman
The cradle of all human
On her back is a bundle of woods
On her head balanced, is a load of loads
On her back is a can of waters
On her back is a baggage of belongings
On her back is her children
On her bent back she is a farmer weeding her fields
All in a day’s daily work without complains
African woman, who stronger woman, than you?
She is the backbone of her family
She is the umbilical cord of her folks
She is their heart and soul and spirit
She doesn’t retire until she expires
Early she is up-late she is asleep, O Mama-African woman!
Even with all gone, she still as a mother chicken them all broods
She still them all remembers as my dear little children
Mama, African woman! Mama, who there be like you?
African woman
You are the strongest woman
The cradle of all human
When they all walk naked-liberal
She has a wrapper for her *****
A cloak to guard her gold-her fertile groins
She knows, good honey is deeply hidden in hives
And inside these hidden hives are strong stings
Bad eyes are a sight for witches-evil ruins
Her petals plains she must by all means protect
Until right comes the most suitable honeybee
Until right comes the sweetest singing hummingbird
Until moral comes the most beautiful butterfly
Until then, her nectar is not for every eye-tongue
Gathered she covers her fine curves
For she is the most beautiful of the divines-African Woman!
The strongest woman-the cradle of all human!
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
A thick flood of thought clogs
lemon teeth and pools, crude
and salty behind lost red eyes.
Gouge them hollow! Darken the moon.
Brittle moans like a swollen beehive
loom tall, fifty miles behind the lost craters.
Hugs from pigs in blue,
they dance and loll around the flames,
a funky dark against their luminous fire.
Proud and bogus (and probably ******
bitter about foul books they never read,
statues made of fear in the groins of men.
Ruined: hurled into a crag,
torn and singing, trapped in loops -
No elbow room in black hole falls.
Snoring next to wives wrapped in shawls,
hugging her leather Buick seat,
praying to wake up gaunt and lithe.
They rise, mornings, clutching onto dreams
in which they fly through the cold gloom.
They scratch desperate screeds onto napkins,
bite squirming, disobedient tongues,
souls raw, chafing in their dank enclosures.
Animals! Bred to elect ourselves for slaughter.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
Image
In a nation full of mirrored meanings
Losing the plot to the points made by editors
With the front to cover-up
The dots and dents
That differentiate one doe-eyed one-day wonder
From another
Not too difficult
Then
To discern from where our demons are derived
The motivation behind our mothers' mockery
All too often a fearful fantasy
That this will be a permanent reality
A lonely destiny of separation
In sanity
Choosing challenge as our champion
Causes less respect than one might expect to receive
From those persons whose pretence it is
To adore independence
In fact they abhor the idea
That they might not
Have got a clue
What's best for you
It's all so clear to them that the fix is a daily change
Lies in a variety of lipsticks
And the new best-dressed latest range
Of thigh-thwarting
Waist-winning
Sin-free super-fad foods
That nourish your neuroses
Whilst simultaneously stifling your spirit
While your mind is on your midriff
You're not wondering if the government have gained their votes
Through the generous use of their
Accumulative groins
And you are much less likely to ponder the particulars
Of the power plants you pass
If every article you read
Is ready to remind you
Of the importance you should place
Upon the proportions of
Your ***
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 12:39 PM UTC
Hurling curses everywhere,
pitchforks and pistols in everyhand.
The price for silence
flirted with moral opulence.
The minted paper lollipops
credited our hungry accounts;
whilst our future sold in the markets
and our groins thrown in the caskets.
Change is not a criteria to progress
because it is a slutty variable.
Honesty is not a key to political prowess
because it is transparently breakable.
Let the feet do the talking
and the mouth do the standing.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
Chocolate luscious lips
spreading opening
like a blooming flower,
Honey dew kisses trinkling down
while you drink
from my over flowing cup of lust.
Meaningful quips.
Said so softly, caressing whispers as
I whimper while softly
crying out your name,
Lustful stares,
while you extracted
a scream from my lips,
holding
my gaze all the while you've
probe my delicate rose bud.
Stockinged thighs and garter belts dance
to my ankles like swinging vines.
Hands on knees and up my legs,
opening me.
Licking, Kissing, *******
We breathe rapidly.
Once again legs begin to part,
as quickening hearts beat faster and faster.
Music to my soul,
you breathlessly
call out my name,
Silken fingers touch,
unfolding petaled tulips,
Soft succulent kisses
traces up and down bodies,
the emotional ramification's,
left me speechless
while you profess your need for me ,
your love for me.
going insane,
grinding *****
pumping groins.
"0oo-oh-ooo"
Screams aloud, muscles strain...
Proudly legs wrap around waist.
Soulful moans rant
the night as bodies collide,
crashing towards ecstasy
the seed is sown.
Passions met.
Heated to a cooling sweat.
Slowing the earth
is turning right again.
I can hear our hearts beating.
tangled feet's still dance together,
legs mingled in sheets.
Blankets scatter all over the
bed.
Spilling on to to floor.
Warm and cozy,
hazy feeling and a bit love sick too
like in a lazy dream.
Out of steam and out of breathe,
panting and trying to stand.
My legs give way and buck from underneath,
smiling eyes stare back at me .
Someone wake me from this dream.
Of
****** Gratifications!♥♥♥♥
Always Me Ayeshah
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 6:48 AM UTC
*you never really say piranha.... it’s more like piraña... no wonder english without the necessary diacritic spans north america and australia and the emoji platform, so the romans said: bonum, sed ν (nu) *** linea obliqus, sic ha est ad hoc tetragrammaton pars, et allah est la la; quamvis latin est mort scriptio autem non clara voce - basically just write some latin using english grammar, what’s beneath it? guess.*
i’ve written almost 10,000 poems and still i can only
remember having said one or two memorable things,
i mean, for god’s sake, the pedigree maine ****
that lived with me for the 7 years he lived to
dying of kidney failure said more memorable things
than i did, having only said meow / miał (i.e. he had it, once),
maybe that’s because i don’t actually cradle these outbursts
to much appreciation, hence my own worthy critique -
but like i said it once admiring spiderweb threads and the washing lines:
by the casual phrasing ‘killing time,’ i’m sure people invoke
the meaning: to occupy a definite space;
the antonym? that’s a bit what philosophy preaches - ‘to stand outside
all of time and space,’ well the first one i can do and feel remorseful
concerning boredom, but that gives me an indefinite space,
although this whole ‘killing time’ is a great option, i’m going to
schwarzenegger time with a sawn off umlaut, ooh... kick to the groins
watch the crouching tiger hidden *** change - and occupy
a definite space. see, you have to find the hammers and the chainsaws in language
to escape the waterfall of fictional narration, obviously grammatical
categorisation of words makes it easier to suddenly realise:
am i really typing, or actually hammering a word in?
but realising that grammatical categorisation of words
exposes unlikely-to-turn-rusty tools gives writing a whole worth
of sanity, as no longer the chance encounter, but a safe environment
to abseil like a spider which lost the plot of creativity famed by the cobweb, just ******** out a piet mondrian.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC
No god above could ever inspire
my love like She whom I admire.
The temple where each night I pray,
is the holy bed where nights She lay.
A cup of wine.
A bed divine.
No world outside,
nor thoughts of time.
Our bodies meet,
our arms enlace;
our limbs entwine,
our lips embrace.
When lips first taste of passion's bliss,
in this holy kiss that we rehearse;
our bodies' grace is our godliness,
our bed divine is our universe.
Shrine of our idolatry,
bind our flesh eternally;
sear our chests with passion's fire,
adhere our groins of mad desire.
Forever our spirits in the Heavens soar,
however, we plummet - to the floor.
Fingertips chase over slips of lace.
Teeth they find all things that bind...
How savagely our clothes unwind
as we prepare on bed divine
to make the sacrifice sublime!
And all Creation comes from this
Breath we form in holy kiss.
When lips combine
Your breath in mine,
two breaths they form
one breath divine.
Déesse, mon âme,
by Your body,
All that's godly, I define.
For what could be in the skies above,
that I can't find within Your love?
Our love, it makes the stars align,
the moon eclipse,
and the solar shine.
And all Creation comes from this
Union of our holy kiss.
[End of Act I]
May 7, 2019
May 7, 2019 at 3:51 AM UTC
Watching Homer struggle
to explain how a god wounded by a mortal
cannot die but may hereafter live with minor pain
and the humor when that god
complains to Jove that His supervision of His daughter
is inadequate and His Love too unconditional
while Diomed (or Tydides)
wreaks havoc on the Trojans and Hector
gives it back (in kind)
anatomically correct descriptions
of spears piercing jawbones (and groins)
sons without fathers hunting and fishing thereafter
alone. Written
amazingly presciently!
as a metaphor for Vietnam (our war)
forgotten consensually
as this generation slips lazily away
to Hades (or kayaks to the huckleberries)
where the lights are always blue, gentian actually,
supper's served at 4 and former adversaries
pass the heavy hanging time playing pinochle (and pool).
We're selling the house to pay the taxes.
Pallas Athena wars among the men
from the axle of her chariot
and Venus is injured by Diomed,
standing in the field of battle where she never should have been,
in her adorable hand.
What has this to do with Solomon in jail.
Not the Jewish king, a black American male,
same thing.
Your children can be failed at school and marched to war.
You can be taxed and sent to gaol for the honor of it.
anyone lived in a pretty how town.
We have no obligation
to perform the Iliad or read poems and even Homer
considers Achilles effete (compared to Hector)
and Odysseus is wrong even when he's right.
Therefore, modern man explores
the mathematics of circles in coordinate planes and their tangents
when (sooner or later)
the secret of warp speed is discovered
expansion of the species will be limitless and permanent.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Broderick was the smallest kid
in the class
but the girls liked him
and he had this
mass of blacks curls
and big dark eyes
and had this way with him
that the girls liked
and they would gather round him
when the teacher
was out of the room
leaning over
his shoulders
whispering things
into his small ears
and he'd say something
and they wet themselves
laughing
putting fingers
to mouths or bellies
and saying
oh my God
or
I've never heard
such a thing
and then put their hands
to their virginal groins
but you and Reynard
saw no great humour in him
or saw what it was
that creased the girls up
to the degree
of ***** wetting
(Reynard's expression)
because out in
the boy's playground
he never said jackshit
or made a sound
or joined in ball games
or cards flicking
or conker smashing
he just hung around
the fence
peering out
at the girls
on the playing field
playing hockey
or some other
ball games
in their short
green skirts
that showed
their green underwear
when they jumped
or ran along with sticks
and some guys would say
hey Broderick
what about us guys
what about joining in
with our games
or talk with us
but he never did
and Reynard said
he must have something
the girls like
small Broderick
possibly his big dark eyes
you said
or his humour
Reynard said
or promise
of his big ****
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
Are you an accidental parent in the world today
when there's so much uncertainty about at play?
People are so caught up in the lusts of the flesh
and don't really know how to escape this mesh.
They fall headlong into a premature parenthood
and don't allow things to unfold as they should.
Sure, nature has a way and takes its own course
but are we not all a victim of some blind force?
It starts at puberty and right through adolescence
there's a really strong urge involved with essence.
Our bodies undergo transformation into adulthood
there's no way around it; all are subject to the mood.
Also, there is so much ignorance in the world today
embedded in the minds of most people in such a way.
They can't see themselves when being taken for a ride
ending with an unwanted burden they're unable to hide.
If they follow those ways of the common throng
it will only lead them into a place that is wrong.
And if revolving around the centre of their groins
they go against the advice 'to gird up one's loins'.
However, this may happen without much thought
and they find themselves very often being caught.
Especially if there are two willing to fulfil desires
that between them both aren't what Love inspires.
For Love has a lower cousin which is called lust
those who are much controlled by it can go bust.
It doesn't matter then who you may happen to be
lust over Love has made a stand, we do now see.
_________________________
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 2:21 AM UTC
7:17am Sunday Feb 2, 2025
a phrase freely borrowed from
Thomas Jefferson, strikes the
face while being delivered by
Sunrise’s
first glinting, both eye opening
thought and event, a duality
intersection of notions & sensations,
for the early start to a newborn
week, making one think; truly
think. accompanied by a softly
serenading concerto played piano,
young children
laughing wirh shrieking delight,
as they climb aboard their hazy
dozy parents’ wedding bed,
launching themselves with
rocket like force on stomachs
and groins, all groans & moans,
and in the solitude of his mind’s
quiet, he laughs as he ponders,
a concluding a single concept:
This, this, is the business of life
“making yourself what you are…”
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 7:54 AM UTC
The devil was inside me
Tonight, for the very first time.
I ached and cryed out for
him to let me be
I'm sure he loved every
Ounce of breaking skin
For him, still for the very first time.
Sorry father for I am weak,
Too weak to bare reality
So pains will do otherwise to soothe my wretched soul .
Sorry father for I have sinned,
My groins and arms in agony
But still I fake this half hearted grin,
**** this life I am living in . Ball my eyes and for what reason other than inebriation and unhappiness built within .
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 6:47 AM UTC
convinced she had no beauty,
she stared at her own reflection
into her pupils , down her throat , into her ear canals,
until her own face morphed into something unrecognizable.
she cut herself open , let her veins run like a stream , shed her skin, searching for any beauty that may exist
deep
deep
down.
and in her desperate searching
she found it ,
lines and bumps and curves she once thought were horrid
transformed before her eyes.
in her constant and endless willing ,
wanting ,
wishing for them to be beautiful,
they became.
and the world started to notice ,
eyes widened , heads turned , hearts opened , and groins awoke
and she reveled in her new-found power.
she wrapped men and women alike around her dainty but deft fingers,
shining jewels.
her beauty was a power ignited and fueled by herself alone
and she burned , a beautiful flame , with an intensity that left nothing but ash and scar in her wake.
exhausted after ******* the life out of yet another and already seeing the next one willfully align in her crossfires,
she tried to lessen the flame , to tame what she had now become ,
she wrapped herself in cloaks , shaved her lustrous locks , and swore herself to celibacy.
but her beauty was unleashed and could not be returned to her dark depths.
it shown through every crack and cloth and she ran ,
ran from herself ,
ran from the world.
touch became sinful and painful and unwanted ,
gazes became violating , haunting ,
and she cried out at the world blaming them for being so weak and lustful and victim to the wills of the skin
and she cried out at herself , brushing her finger tips over her own skin ,
for the power she had wished into being had become her greatest curse ,
the world , in which she only wished would see her ,
to love her ,
she consumed violently and she now found herself utterly alone ,
with only herself to love.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
From stars to cars and bars of all kinds,
I snarl of wreaths that paraded mankind,
Which once gargled me in a brawling growl,
But it will no longer howl
No more.
Forgotten
Sootened,
They lay in
Blackened
Lying
Ice of Cold and Tremors
Murmurs of sore nerves
Of Cold chills
spine-wrenching curves
I have no remorse.
Whining groins to pawning reigns,
I gwaah at sheaths made of chatoyant neighs
It once skewed in me a featherly meow
Lest I forget the breeze
And howl into that ol’e reprise.
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 3:06 AM UTC
Dens, devils dark alleys
Apart from the quiet disco beats
The house-techno-electronics melodic
Or timbres of the naughty riddims rhythmic
And the dim coloured alternating disco-lights
Else, Dens are blurry dark
With all addicts-of *** narcos or gins
In there no one sees no one
Just the silent talks of sins around
The usual businesses brought them there
In the mixture of multicoloured lights
So no one will talk of anyone once lights returns
Yet they shared something in common
A gal maybe, a cocoa puff or a shisha vapour!
A cigar smoke or a ***** tot and danced it ***** to dawn
In there are naked nudes-
Dames as well as few muscled-dudes
Teasing silent seated decent dressed
Stripping, selling their worth or wealth
To these willingly seriously immerged
In the occults of the immoral ****
Some are seductively rolling with the podium poles
Their greased groins incised on it metallic luster
Grating-grinding-dancing dirtily down
Its silvery smoothness in timed tempting
Slow spicy synchronic, slutty slides
Watching the salivating seated
Erotically elated shift in their chairs
Some, skimpily skinned are snaking their boneless bodies up-down
In caressing zigzags of mastered dancers ***** arts
Immorally exposing their mostly expensive parts in bits
To tempt and trap these blind corrupted moths in their Lucifer’s lights
Forcing them to dig deeper their posh pockets to pay to be bemused
Business here is crooked, dark!
Like ***** and her Gomorrah
Or Tyre and her Sidon
It begins with the fall of the night:
The extinguishing of the day's light
And ends with moments to dawn’s bright
In there all night are all dealers of immoralities
Of dark arts, of *** or of drugs
Goons as well as criminals of government deals
And the corrupt business billionaires sandwiched
Richly enjoying the **** of the sinfulness-
Sharing, wasting, the rapacious richness
Of their easily gained supernormal profits
On these salacious naked nudes, free to feel
In there in the masquerade of these rainbow lights
No one sees no one, no one will say of anyone
Just cash exchanges hands
You got it, you get what you need
All the services you want-its all at your watch
With just a snap of the finger, all easily you acquire
You are the master, everyone else your servant slave-
At your disposal to your utmost attendance
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 5:05 AM UTC
I remember that night,
when you stutted whilst tryna introduce me as your girlfriend to your parents,
I guess you were nervous more than I was,
nervous that I'd be upset by you finally giving a label to what was happening between the two of us,
but,
I smiled to myself,
trying to hide the pleasant feeling I was feeling inside.
The best part of that night,
was when we shared our first deep kiss,
perhaps I wanted us to do more than just kiss,
perhaps I wanted to unveil our ****** feelings for each other,
I wanted to touch you so badly,
my groins ached for you to caress my body at that moment,
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 6:12 AM UTC
The shoreline
Has noticeable variations
After years
Of indistinguishable ripples
People wade in.
Roots are exposed;
Groins vanish under
Undulations;
A scenic road slips
Stone by stone
With waves of regret
And nausea,
Falls of remorse.
**** it all.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
When the skylarks would warble hover and sing
at about a hundred feet, high on the wing, and we…
on a heat clicking Sunday between Salt End and the sea,
well we knew - just from the ozone, on the breeze
that we’d be off …a shimmering heat haze convoy of old crocks,
Bud, Margaret, Brian and me to Tunstall,
a diminishing, mystical land of sun, sand, sea - and tumbling rocks.
But it wasn’t just us…it was a cavalcade - motors galore.
Uncles, Aunties, Cousins, Grans, Grandads and more
in Austins, Morris’s, Vauxhalls and Fords,
And a big old Rover wi’them wide running boards,
a motor bike’n’sidecar with Maurice, Denise & our Val
to wring the best from the day a’la Plage de Tunstall’…
The beach crackled in the heat…
if you walked too slow it’d burn your feet.
and our Dads, our ‘civil engineers’, built a brick oven and in a
giggling gaggle… Mums cooked a real Sunday dinner.
Kids’d run back & forth to the sea and back
buckets & spades, hacking big holes and shots in goal,
cricket with fallen rocks for a wicket and,
after pudding, burying drunken dads in the sand.
Heavy, wet woolen cozzies, sand in groins,
...changing in turn, under a soaking wet, gritty towel.
“Don’t dry me with that, Ow! Buddy hell - watch my sunburn.”
Then, all back in the cars, for our return
into the sunset and driving away.
Chaffing sore shoulders.
Chuffing good day! - yeah…Parfait!!
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 12:07 PM UTC
If properly taken the time to fully unwind the mind you will come to find that its really quit wonderfully sublime.
Take hold my hand as we transcend this staircase together
threw this un-tethered decent into my reality
Can you see it? Truly see the beauty of what is known as my insanity
because quite honestly my words are at a lose you see.
Let go the notions placed on Gravity and float away into my infinity to a far away land just you and me.
As we transverse each verse of unrehearsed blasphemy Ill open up this door so you can see threw to me hahaha this madness is consuming me
Yea I'm a rebel I was born with both middle fingers in the air, commie raised in the slums of my mother land.
Engraved in my heart the hammer and sickle
as we dig deeper my mind becomes more fickle.
Pray your mind can stand face to face with the very beast born from the cespool of darkness and evil from the groins of ever demon (Oh god please I cant stop this screaming) to fight along side the heretic god not even the brothers grim could dream up what my minds slummed up a total mind ****
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 11:31 PM UTC