"gullet" poems
yahoo
its a road trip
she did the chicken head dance
hips swayed
like an evangelist of the lascivious
slicky, sticky, dicky
happily sicky
deep throat swallow
flooding her gullet
with spits, spats and waterfalls
for 300 gooey miles
like a Deer at a salt lick
to horney to send picture post cards
and her mouth sparkled
a regurgitating anthem of love
and a billion solar immolations
in the great
howling milky way roadtrip
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
Can you not
Spare a soft word
You look at her
With devouring eyes
Grasp her in your arms
Pull her close
Anger when another dares touch
But yet
You do not speak
Not what she needs to hear
Tell her she is beautiful
When you hold her near
Speak not only with actions at hand
You are woman, I am man
When you stake your claim
For the world to see
Lean towards her ear
Whisper you are mine my dear
Be not only a lover of the flesh
Speak that she is tantalizing
When both you mesh
It should not be hard
To utter the sound
From your gullet
Out of your mouth
Those lips produce
Ectasy abound
Create more
With words from whence for
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 8:33 AM UTC
The tavern roof was smokey
with a pall of blueish ash.
The juke box was a- booming
as it played "The Monster Mash".
A giant puffed a burning witch
whilst smoke rings he exhaled....
While victims of our neighbor,
Vlad...on stakes were all impaled.
The Faceless Man was grinning...
from ear to missing ear.
The hanged man turned his twisted neck
to sip a mug of beer.
The Headless Horseman shouted
for an aspirin or three.
He popped them down his gullet
where his head was meant to be.
The zombies waited tables
and the werewolf tended bar.
Mothra was the carhop
and took orders car to car.
Godzilla worked the griddle
and served burgers ala carte.
Dracula complained about the steak
caught in his heart.
Ghosts and ghouls were dancing
with abandon on the stage
While cyborgs did "the robot"
'cause they thought it was the rage.
The mummy came unraveled
as we took him for a "spin"
As Frankenstein played tuba
to contribute to the din.
Igor brought "the monster"
and then Freddie brought his claw.
Jason brought his butcher knife
and his buddy from "The Saw".
The guillotine was working
and the raven refereed
So nevermore would pardons
be
allowed to intercede.
The pendulum was swinging
to the beating of my heart.
I hoped that I would wake up soon...
then did so...with a START!
Halloween is coming. So, I guess
I should prepare.
Watch out for bars with men from Mars...
'cause BEASTIES party there!
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 6:45 AM UTC
The jaguar of your tongue
Slithers and stalks to desolate locations
Unburdened by the guilt of temptations
Burning deep in the gullet of desires
Forsaken by the drawings of cave paintings
Clawed ragged breath discipline
Polaroid flawlessness beneath the Blood Moon
One wild summer
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 12:31 AM UTC
The write was written
red ice
twice bitten
his soul a black clot
a faucet for a neck
she fell in a crepuscular fold
odor of tincture fuckubus
red mouth
a snarling kiss
a hot hiss chariot
a black bite
her womb spread wide
for a tongue that didn't end
nail polished *******
like torn cherries
soft gauze tourniquet
a slow yield
milk petals and rivulets
a ghastly confection
leaning over like a spilled ***
her gullet a metropolis of jewels
forced throat bound
on a black cross
she sailed on a magic carpet
like a vampires fizz cocktail
a red ice float
of starvation
his mind a dead sky
a pageant of coiled clouds
he held her down
she levitated
they were in love
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
Piggies dancing, floating along narrow passages towards what they hope is their ends. Their means have been stolen and packaged and sold by big suited, corporate, handy-handy machines. They eat piggies every day and love it, love it, love it down their gullet.
They are not worth a mention yet they get it, they want nothing but your attention, they don’t need it yet they get it. Their appetites are insatiable and contagious, they use it against us by showing us how we are nothing but what they are and we are fools enough to take it as Truth.
Shame.
We have shame because they debase us and hence debase themselves.
We have shame because we see their debasement and yet powerlessness is in our bones.
We have shame because all we want is not all we get and nowhere near all we deserve,
-it measures much lower.
It is irrelevant, it is biased, it is useless, IT is un-real-(UnRealistic, UnRelated, UnTrue)
Lie.
If my breath stinks or my hair is greasy or my cloths ***** my teeth yellowed, my feet smelly, my nails long, my social life quiet and solicitous- will you discern a negativity in my human-ness? We are no villains. We hate only those who would have us believe that we must hate ourselves and each other. They are no beasts like us. The animal within, encased by a carapace of Humanity glued and mortared by self-centered ideologies gets too thick and you must break it by looking at yourself. ******** and ******* and spitting and grunting and moaning in ecstasy and pain.
Repeat after me and say it loud with beastly yell “ I am a ********* beautiful Animal!”
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
they danced in a dream
of bending shadows
face down
begging ***
all hungry back door paradise
ankles strapped on a foot worn floor
paint faced in whorey nights
with pin needle eyes
beded
blood crimson neon's
cut curtains
like kissing claws
so their bodies wouldn't forget
dark pleasures lightening
and biting tantra tantrums
they swallowed mad ***** blossoms of hell candy
breathing the others inhalations
foot sniffing ballet arch
in fastened Japanese melting red slippers
gazing upwards rectums prayer
solar eyed insurrection
finger by finger
clutching wrists like the grave
for bloods salty cove
an injured landscape
a dire pink desert
like bogs hold bones
a rave for a slave
covered in yellow ocher rubber sheets
soft on the feet
x rated amputee costume
made of blood and spit
look mommy no arms
a bellied tattoo
of hennaed homunculi
burning Candomblé Jejé, skull
black eyed beauty hissing
while accordion throated
rip tie tighten
another notch please
a dizzy *******
down silver fluted gullet
in a steamed up bath house
party of blotted sockets
*** kitten
kissed dead girls thighs
tremulous and stretched
a shimmering serum
like wide tubular channels
as pontoon edges slit
through midnight howls for velvet skinned girl
who thrills
her head a veiled Jehovah
saliva wagging tongue ****
a stuttering ****** dance
a hula hot momma in rubble
slapping hot lipped kisses
over starved darkness
along telegraphs avenue
melting eyes like butter
a globed pudding spill
******* drool drops of gold
and black river gladiators
slaughter lies
with every long stroke
between cascading squeals
paraphilias mausoleum
like tumbling eels
a scapegoat pulp fiction
chiseled in cement
******* rips
drip drip drip
babbling **** bubbles
**** spasms ooze like a hot glue gun
fire spats soil cherry clover
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC
when i want inspiration to write poetry
i watch a heaving tempest of kisses
they have a better flavor
than cooking shows
what's prettier than pretty pretty
in pigtails
shaking her delicious
derriere whipped Soufflé?
i'm kissing butter princess
witchy ****
spread lickity splits
eating her
with a big wide **** eating grin
like an open face dagwood
whats more poetic than that hopeful glaring
of
Adonis's plumper in paradise
filling Cleopatra's slathered meringue?
ga-ga-ga-gag me, daddy
merciless, pa-leazze
fluttered big wet talking eyes
like pools of blue honey
getting it zigged zagged
hard against a redraw mouth
throttling fluted gullet
while eager throat gasps
a symphonic music of the spheres
in relentless staccato chokes
lovin her big devil **** splashing
all gym built wonder-boy
a litter of ****** and tongues
licking pig greedy
rapturous milkshake waterfalls
whimpering
mmmmmm
oooh big daddy
oh my ****** god
pillar of colossus
you Tunisian donut you
pierce me like a spoon
through summer guava
who screams like that eating lunch
but a half ate apricot?
better than a football game
I'd rather take her greek
more fun than math or small talk
preferable to a pat on the back at work
or a ridged procession at a funeral
oh beautiful dark fig
squatting crotch candy
bubbling tapioca ***
queen of
spun sugar ****
all pyrotechnics
and fluttering sinews
if you asked most
do they watch ****
they'd grow smug like a senator
or punch you in the mouth
outwardly high-minded
refusing the blessing of a
video **** parade
of pirouetting vaginas
and glistening areolas
for the glory
of the secret ************ ceremony
the *** moralists
only good for a secret ******
living their lives
with passions submerged
and nothing to confess
except for guilty offerings
as they wander through dreamland shopping malls
wanting to know
Victorias ***** little secret
seduced
but not caressed
by
a mouthpiece for castrated dreams
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
Have you ever stood outside
On a cold and windy day
And felt what the wind tastes like
As it moves along it's way ?
Have you tasted wind in summer
Hot and sticky in your throat
Have you tasted it while fishing
Standing on a sailing boat?
Have you tasted wind and liked it
Just before a summer storm
As it flows down past your gullet
Is it beautiful and warm ?
It is a simple gesture
Standing, tasting moving air
I don't think you'd really notice
Until it wasn't there
Esopheagal cancer
Stops the wind inside the throat
the simple act of tasting wind
Is now something in my note
Now, think of tasting wind again
Try tasting through a mask
You try but cannot taste it
It's not a simple task
Enjoy the feeling of the wind
Remember how it tastes
Different seasons, different textures
It's a feeling not to waste.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 12:48 PM UTC
an average American
in a slept-in crumpled suit
stuffs today’s unread news
into holes in his shoes,
burps the taste of greasy chicken soup
sliding stale mission bread
down his gullet
regards two smelly
rag-tag ****** hobos
lapping the same charity meal
and realizes sadly,
the Bolsheviks may be right.
doug curry
may 4, 2012
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 12:56 PM UTC
Little Red Riding Hood walked through the woods
Singing and swinging her bag of baked goods
When out of the brush leapt a wolf with a smile
And some florist’s advice for the innocent child.
So off went the girl, picking bunches of daisies
While Wolf raced ahead with a step none too lazy.
Then at Grandmother’s door he knocked and said
“Let me in dear Grandmother, it’s your little Red."
So with grandmother’s blessing he let himself in
And ate up the oldest of little Red’s kin.
Then Little Red Riding Hood came through the door
With nary a clue of what was in store.
After noting her “grandmother’s” ears, nose, and teeth
Into Wolf’s gullet she went with a shriek.
As the transvestite wolf began snoring like thunder,
Along came a huntsman, who cut his belly asunder.
Out came Red Riding Hood, Grandmother too
While Wolf, so oblivious, kept sleeping right through.
With a few heavy stones, a needle and thread
Wolf, far too full, finally woke then dropped dead.
After a party of baked goods and wine,
The huntsman gave Red a great wolf pelt so fine.
“Thank you, dear huntsman,” said our little Red,
“But I’d rather skin wolves on my lonesome instead.
I know things now, of these beasts and their wiles
I’ll give them a lesson, with blood and with style.
Teach me to stalk, to chase and to shoot
The best huntress I’ll be - and the cutest, to boot."
The huntsman, he roared with his big booming laughter.
In a voice that rose straight up to the rafters:
“Why little girl, have you a taste for the hunt?
You’re better off sewing, though I hate to be blunt.”
But little Red pouted, and threatened to cry
So the huntsman gave in, with a shrug and a sigh.
The huntsman- he was a formidable teacher.
Now Red lives in fear of no living creature.
Today, when Red Riding Hood walks through the woods
She carries bags of new, furry goods.
And when out of the brush leaps a wolf with a smile,
She smiles right back: “You’ve picked the wrong child."
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
"Stop It!" shouted the man
who was dressed in a ***** pin stripe suit,
eye glasses half askew on his nose,
ski-slope haircut sported since his youth.
My face turned blank, shoulders shrugged
not fearing this man's belligerent outburst
because I was used to it;
it was the hundredth time I felt it's sting.
I stood there, patiently and quiet
caressing my double bass violin
my secret seventh grade lover;
she had **** curves and a deep, soothing voice.
I stood there, impatiently and quiet
waiting for Mr. Heidrich to finish the lesson
focused on the third seat violinist
whom played without feeling, again.
I stood there, overbearingly anxious
tapping on the shoulder of my wooden BFF
my rendition of the William Tell Overture
A performance worthy of a Grammy!
The man in the ***** pin stripe suit,
turned and looked at me, scornfully
his half-bald head turned beet red
body shook violently like an earthquake!
The energy released from his gullet
would have made Mount Vesuvius jealous
fiery vocals of curse and rage
would have made the evilest of demons run for cover!
My face turned blank, shoulders shrugged
not fearing this man's belligerent outburst
because I was used to it;
it was the 101st time I felt it's sting.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
The elderly psychopomp speaks his gullet words
Preparing me as charity for birds
I smelled snow and sweat when I drew breath
Though now I must give charity to birds
Juniper and fire become alms for the air
As I now must give charity to birds
The vultures are first, their beaks are the strongest,
They take the meat of my charity for birds
My friends come next, dearest to my heart,
Laughing as they grind a further charity for birds
What once I was is mixed with milk and bread
To fatten my gift of charity to birds
The speckled hawks and midnight rooks arrive
Hoarding their share of my charity for birds
I might be a wisp of smoke or softly chanted prayer
As I watch myself give charity to birds
Destitute and zephyrous I find my elsewheres
Having given everything in charity to birds.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC
The gloo, gullet, bottle
Of the bubbling sea
With its waves and the wind spreading out.
The sea - its sparse immensity,
Which rounds the headland heading home,
And hungry - my body,
Which slips into its liquid cool,
With a twisting, turning, arc 'n curve,
As i go under,
Where the white-fibred shadows
Of the cerebral dance of sunlight
Flit the sandy floor,
Where i scrape the barrel of the ocean's bones,
The grit and gravel,
Then the bursting lungs
Falling out on the evening air,
In love,
With the silent walker's seashore path,
The trailing dog, and the city lights.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 4:53 AM UTC
Her smiling that was too crazier,
In me fond of love emerges in thousands,
In whirling pleasures my mind fainted,
In gullet there too fondant love stricken,
Her smiling that were too crazier,
Her rosy lips that were frenzied more than ever,
The love in them that titters forever,
With that joy my heart speaks love
Far sweeter than melody.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 12:08 PM UTC
Vail tied to a weathering mask
with a child in tow
who grows swollen
And swells like his mother
from which he reluctantly
reared his head
In what was called The Cadaver Twist
A ******* accident, no less
No virtue in a conscience yet to breech
A lesson likely learned early
If only ...
Paternal instinct as the peripheral
responds autonomously to the bottle
with intervals of grease pouring
down the gullet
The rain decimates in torrential strife
Laying in bog known as
What Once Was
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
Born of fear, fueled by anger
This resentment I feel for you
Creates abscesses on my soul
Poison filled sacs of toxic hate which
Rise like bile in my gullet
To choke my spirit
Much like the dead alcoholic
Who's aspirated on
His own ***** and phlegm
A bloated purple carcass
Devoid of autonomy of spirit
Self-obsession robs me
Of conscious truth
Fear - that your indictments
Against me will be brought
Before the grand jury of
The universe and I will be found lacking
Resentment - at you for not becoming
A willing patron of
My brand of truth
Anger - at me for my own failings
Brought to light
Secrets I can no longer hide
While my defects are
Glaringly obvious to
One as enlightened as
You purport to be
Did not your path to
Spiritual perfection
Contain the blueprint to
Correct your vain sins of glory and
Indignant self-deception?
Is not your lofty status
Grand enough to look upon
My humiliated soul with
Something less than contempt?
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
Stained glass coffins
Crystalline mosquitoes
Death that masquerades
In silken flags and floras
Languorous beauties
Graffiti of red and violet light
Sirens kiss the bullets
As they scatter them
To burn holes in sepia dreams
Watercolor ghosts
Casting out wildflower candy
Attics that hide under
Strawberry dust and lemons
That melts into mildew
As they pass down the gullet
Layers of ashes in the belly
“But you told us to swallow!”
Masses of children howl
The pretty ghouls hiss back
“Cannot you tell a lie by now,
By the sweetness of its taste?”
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 5:37 PM UTC
*I reached safely where you sent us
It's a lovely place for any traveller
Problem is the people who came along
Those you said should be my brothers
They're bad & insert tubes in the heart
To **** out every little bit of our blood
We'd be brothers if only we connected
God you believe we're Hoppers and locusts
We should be but some became crows
These people have hearts of scorpions
And ache to fight and spread their poisons
Their loathing is deep and their hearts hard
They laugh by face and frown inside
There's one with joy filled to the brim
Simply because my pockets are empty
His heart finds peace when we're troubled
And end up clamoring for their assistance
They set traps everywhere, up and down
They rip us and are hungry,yearning to bite
It excites when you're helpless and despair
It's comic to them watching your struggles
They never remember when you helped
They celebrate when they see you dying
They already have me painfully manacled
My pains are flooding their hearts with bliss
These guys have hearts of scorpions
Which ache to bite and spread poisons
Their loathing is deep, hearts hard
They only laugh with their teeth
Yet they are frowning deep inside
They are worms inside the gullet
Slowly ******* and ******* pretty hard
Forgetting if their host dies they also die
Those are the people we live with
They have machetes in their cloaks
Hidden,so we think they're carrying babies
And get our ignorant necks real close
They are out here ready to betray us
That friend of yours you truly love
One you're breaking a piece of bread for
Is responsible for rumors that all you eat
Is stolen, and the one craving your defeat
These guys have hearts of scorpions
(I'm scared)
And ache to bite and spread poisons
Their loathing is deep, hearts are hard
They just laugh with their teeth
But they are frowning inside*
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 9:17 AM UTC
"Thus fought the heroes, tranquil their admirable hearts, violent their swords,
resigned to **** and to die." – Jorge Louis Borges, The Garden of Forking Paths
stoic labyrinthine sparrow-bone;
there is a slalom down your gullet,
bayonet curled around your neck,
you have a beak, you are lusty-smooth,
have rubble for skin, an emaciated infinity:
everything is fractal so eat your words
they are you are your rusty toenails
every footstep is a holocaust there’s
genocide under your neurons,
watch them flex and shiver.
you have soft plastic lips,
there is a vacuum in your gullet,
a box cutter carving
through your adam’s apple:
epileptics are just indecisive,
when they seize hold their tongues
they are their words you are a god
are oppenheimer and shiva,
pick favorites it doesn’t matter
it doesn’t matter it doesn’t matter
flex and shimmer we are just neurons
flatlines are not ghoulish nooses,
paraplegics are just cowards,
move with conviction each step
is a genocide, you have wooden
teeth and woolen wings,
thrashes are a velveteen sunset
an edible fog, your stomach
is a stomach do not eat the fog
just know that someday it will **** you
softly and swiftly.
it doesn’t matter it doesn’t matter:
infinity is not recursive
alive is not our default state
once is the only route
blood makes the blade holy
if you cut me i will bleed,
i won't blame you just know
you were only ever
that very moment.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
.
and your mug shot's shining through
it's a vision true (but the subject's taboo)
all ugly here
morning sunshine breakfast table autumn cool
you're poised to speak a fly lands on your lolling spoon
then i stand up merry
i make my vital move the table backs away distressed
your eyes raise
i flop open my faminous mouth and let the fumes draw in
Surprise !
(no time for you to hold surplus breath -
- form an expression - make any objection)
mechanism disjoints like the raw riches
i whip the plumb weight of my head and strike
mouth-chomp-grip over your scalp
and i am working you in
with swift jaw shifts and hingery
i **** on you with a smile and gullet
(past photos of you shuffle glaucous before my inner eye)
yap sock muscle i operate gumming on your head
(ours was the world ; we got so lazy)
budging in your hair dampened by my saliva
(our timid first meeting at a bar)
and airway and my teeth softly folding back
(us in bed-us in bed-us-in-bed)
and whole hog jaw agog
(the tourist we made as a couple)
i dilate and distend crouch low to take your weight
(the rise and falter of your sleeping chest)
upend your hands panic typing in the air
(the eyes of your investment in me)
your feet flinging the heft back and forth
your shoulders break in and forward folding
my chest cracks and wells
(gifts we gave that touched heart and others that fell short)
a complete engulfing meal of you
(your childhood antidotes and teenage feelings we discussed)
down my soft disposal
(all my memories of us in a fizz
and all the inaccuracies)
...and then i head off to hibernation
ferrying an idea that ' i have you now '
that perhaps you were my enemy
all this time
and i am digesting the beast
(what a feast !)
Sep 16, 2024
Sep 16, 2024 at 9:39 PM UTC
An ogre set out to have a
feast one day.
Dreaming of all the creatures
he would slay.
He'd have bowls
full of trolls.
And fairies buttered
on rolls.
He'd eat hairy mountain
goat coats
And fattened up ducklings
full of their oats.
He'd chomp on legs
of forest elves
And pickled gnomes feet
from his shelves.
This fearsome young ogre
planned quite well,
Except for a troublesome
oyster shell.
It landed quite wrong
deep in his gullet.
And never more was heard
from Ogre Trullet.
Jun 10, 2011
Jun 10, 2011 at 4:12 PM UTC
It can’t be TOO hard- being a duck that is.
My stomach growled watching a tot feeding a duck in the castle garden,
then my famished gears started turning.
Right. That’d be nice- I could go for some bread and a swim.
Ducks don’t even have to work for food- not these ducks
-they get fed.
I have to shop for bread,
and that’s not the half of it.
First I have to get to the bread,
which means risking it in my tired van
or sitting on a bus with a perfect smelly stranger
or pushing my luck crossing a bustling street.
And then, if I’m not way-laid…BREAD!
But I can’t just stuff it down my gullet,
and sure as day nobody’s gonna feed it to me.
The worst that can happen to a duck
eating bread
is getting its head wet…or choking on fruitcake.
Just when I was feeling particularly underprivileged
on the food chain,
I thought of my great grandfather
and his wooden decoy duck bobs
still sitting on my hearth back in Indiana,
and I thought of the dogs he used to chase the felled birds
and I thought of the bullets and the sharp October air, and the teeth,
and I felt silly.
Aug 24, 2011
Aug 24, 2011 at 2:15 PM UTC