"hankering" poems
(T)onight we get *****
(I) prepared all the tools
(E)nter my dark room
(M)ake me suffer. I
(E)njoy the pain
(U)ltimate bliss
(P)leasure attained
(C)andle wax poured on my skin
(H)umiliate me im hankering after it
(O)n my knees i ll beg for it
(K)eep me on the line
(E)nsure my spice
(M)ake me lose control
(E)mmerse my soul
Words Of Harfouchism
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
THERE is a wolf in me ... fangs pointed for tearing gashes ... a red tongue for raw meat ... and the hot lapping of blood-I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fox in me ... a silver-gray fox ... I sniff and guess ... I pick things out of the wind and air ... I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers ... I circle and loop and double-cross.
There is a hog in me ... a snout and a belly ... a machinery for eating and grunting ... a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun-I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fish in me ... I know I came from saltblue water-gates ... I scurried with shoals of herring ... I blew waterspouts with porpoises ... before land was ... before the water went down ... before Noah ... before the first chapter of Genesis.
There is a baboon in me ... clambering-clawed ... dog-faced ... yawping a galoot's hunger ... hairy under the armpits ... here are the hawk-eyed hankering men ... here are the blond and blue-eyed women ... here they hide curled asleep waiting ... ready to snarl and **** ... ready to sing and give milk ... waiting-I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird ... and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want ... and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes-And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart-and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where-For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and **** and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.
7k
I tore the fabric of space
Interrupting my affectionate stalking
Spurts of longing, interspersed
with spasms of premature *****
In vain, hankering to attain that next level rush
*Oh you're a ***** girl aren't you*
That's when I was discovered...
Her shrieks royally flushing my cheeks with shock
-Superseded by pallid chagrin
I fumble to bail,
Pants entrenched around my ankles
Premeditative,
Of absent-mind, in haste
Prime directive a method of escape
Evasion failing
Detection:
Imminent
Reflecting a grim lack of circumspection,
accursed **********
Trying to conceal my turgid ********
Her father particularly beyond reason
And not fond of my indecency for his daughter
Proceeds pummeling me to death with my beloved binoculars
Devoid of clairvoyance;
I am coincidentally sent
outward toward oblivion
Bon voyage through the portal
Falling facefirst into an abysmal wormhole
Its then I voyaged backward through time
To the moment of Creation
And witnessed the universe
**** itself from naught to existence
Spewing forth such cataclysmic splendor
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
No. It's an impudent falsehood. Men did not
Invariably think the newer way Prosaic
mad, inelegant, or what not.
Was the first pointed arch esteemed a blot
Upon the church? Did anybody say How
modern and how ugly? They did not.
Plate-armour, or windows glazed, or verse fire-hot
With rhymes from France, or spices from Cathay,
Were these at first a horror? They were not.
If, then, our present arts, laws, houses, food
All set us hankering after yesterday,
Need this be only an archaising mood?
Why, any man whose purse has been let blood
By sharpers, when he finds all drained away
Must compare how he stands with how he stood.
If a quack doctor's breezy ineptitude
Has cost me a leg, must I forget straightway
All that I can't do now, all that I could?
So, when our guides unanimously decry
The backward glance, I think we can guess why.
5.6k
I'm blind without a main road, the only thing that
keeps me walking is the craving, the last thing I have.
That desire that is taking me
to ruin
but it will be also my salvation, to be born again
like a phoenix from the ashes.
The hankering will be the key to redemption and
the hope that
won't,
doesn't want,
die,
yet..
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
You search inner peace in drugs
and alcohol, in gambling and dice.
You search it in haram money
and music and in dens of the vice.
In the dead of night you disobey
Allah, will your heart be at ease?
Hankering after this world will
you ever find inner peace?
Will never end your search,
will never cease your quest.
For verily, in the remembrance
of Allah do hearts find rest!
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
I am a rain drop flopped down from the clouds
I could have landed in a river or the sea
Then merging with the rising and receding waves
I would have been washed down into oblivion
Or could have fallen from the heights
Into a desolate dreary desert
Amid the blistering granules of sand
To be absorbed into nothingness
Chances are there to have fallen on a rock
Lying scorched in the heat of the mid day sun
Then I would have vanished into thin air
Evaporating into non existence
I could have fallen into a muddy puddle
Or perhaps into a filthy drainage
To be contaminated with the sewage
Or be the breeding ground of worms and bugs
But fortunately for me
I happened to fall into fecund soil
Where there lay in wait a few seeds
Hankering for the cool touch of moisture
Arid souls desperately thirsting for water,
They ****** the molecules within me.
As their dry kernel got soaked and puffed,
Slowly they sprouted and grew into life.
Absorbing again the drops that came after me
They, into towering trees eventually grew
Some touching heaven’s azure heights
And giving shade and shelter to many
Now as I see them crested with flowers
And bearing clusters of luscious fruits
I feel I am there in each leaf and bud
And my essence flows through every vein!
As a teacher, what more is needed for me
To feel contented in life?
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 6:36 AM UTC
Who said
sound is a vibration
that travels at a bizarre speed?
I saw it softly floating
ensconced in bubbles
to a celestial gravity
that pulls them up
to the realm of idyllic bliss.
Bubbles exude the
brilliant hues of my yearnings,
wrap me inside
their merino fleece warmth,
hold me to their *****
with the tenderness
I ever cherish in my soul.
Sound nestles in its heart
a mesmeric glow of music
ordained to play
the salute note
to augur the birth of a
new hankering.
The woeful flute
of the gypsy maiden
soulfully sings
a melancholy melody
for her lost love
to get a phoenix’s wings
under the silver mist of the
new moon’s splendour.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
I love them,
They don’t love me.
Why would they?
They’re hot,
Juicy,
And delicious,
And I’m just…
Salty,
******* them down to the bone.
Buffalo wings rip up my insides,
They’ll inflame my chest and belly,
Giving me heartburn,
As I power through my consumption of them,
And yet I still crave them on a frequent basis,
As if I didn’t learn my lesson the last time.
Bone in or bone out,
It doesn’t really matter at this point,
I gave up trying to develop a preference,
As I’m committed to my hankering,
And seek regular satisfaction,
From the sensation and flavor they provide me.
Eyes full of tears,
I power through the pain,
Believing that each and every wing is worth it,
Even if I know they don’t agree with me,
And know **** well they are not good for me,
It’s like hitting yourself in the face,
But laughing at the sound it makes.
Wings come in all shapes, sizes and flavors,
But I choose the buffalo wing every time,
For the mere fact that they taste the best,
Even if they end up causing the most damage.
They don’t even fill me up,
But they do make me feel like I’ve had enough.
How many buffalo wings would it take,
For me to try a new flavor?
Is it the saltiness that appeals to me?
Is it the spiciness that enslaves me?
Is it the drippiness that seduces me?
Why not something sweeter, like BBQ,
Or savorier like Parmesan Garlic?
Why not choose plain old wings,
With a little bit of seasoning to keep it interesting?
Nope, I’ll always go for the buffalo wing,
I’ll always have that craving,
Because sometimes, living on the edge,
Knowing the risks and going ahead anyway,
Makes loving wings all the more worth it,
Despite their destructive ways.
Oct 30, 2023
Oct 30, 2023 at 8:29 PM UTC
Here come the confectionary clouds
Packed like powdered sugar
And
They
Drizzle
All
Over
Her
Hankering
Hungry
Heart
Little quicksilver has
A bit of a sweet tooth
And grubby hands well into
A box of Quality Street
Oct 11, 2020
Oct 11, 2020 at 11:12 AM UTC
A subtle carol echoes of the evening
Upon bended knee I am arrested
Betwixt strange refrains
Shaking the floorboards of Teicu
The evocative moans amplify
The foolish peacemaker of astrologists
The English dream of poetry
Those I coaxed by death
Were the witnesses of the tragedy
And were familiar with its ballad
Crafted the design ‘tis conceptual ***********
Eradicated their honor for vanilla threads
As they shimmy and shimmy
They defile elongated hankering
And retreated in the greenhouse of Woodstock
Its language made iconic by efficacious character
Having often been labeled an experiment
Broadening its brilliance along death’s boulevard
‘tis she who was the stunning one
Her language made sacred by her iconic fame
A long time controversial reference
An automaton, an origin of extraterrestrial etiology
The evocative moans ensnares the tourist
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
Trapped inside this box of your brain
Just one way out ; crystal's key
Crush purest, whitest rock.
won't feel so foul
though careful now!
you'll waste your go
theres only bout a gram you know
translucent Blue cases and razor blades,
an assortment of bank cards and notes far and wide,
torn up notebook scrap dyed red - a meaningful sign
from the brutal nosebleeds marking the straws
The purest indication
of our devout dedication;
my love,
complete devotion to such godless acts
Hear cheers of charlie
speaking salacious acts
Sniff some magic snow for silence
the hankering soon be back
One in the kitchen starting his war,
One in the spre room - dead on the floor,
Two in the bed lost to their head,
And myself on the hunt
for half ins for more
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
There isn't a day that goes by where you don't cross my mind. There isn't a night where i don't find myself hankering to call you mine again. When you left, i fell to pieces and those pieces scattered everywhere. I have the habit of looking for you at the bottom of a ***** bottle. Im drowning and my bloods slowly but surely turning to alcohol and before i know it I'm not gonna be able to find those scattered pieces to put myself back together again.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 8:19 PM UTC
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
And from the nave build haunted heaven. Thus,
The conscience is converted into palms,
Like windy citherns hankering for hymns.
We agree in principle. That's clear. But take
The opposing law and make a peristyle,
And from the peristyle project a masque
Beyond the planets. Thus, our bawdiness,
Unpurged by epitaph, indulged at last,
Is equally converted into palms,
Squiggling like saxophones. And palm for palm,
Madame, we are where we began. Allow,
Therefore, that in the planetary scene
Your disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed,
Smacking their muzzy bellies in parade,
Proud of such novelties of the sublime,
Such tink and tank and tunk-a-tunk-tunk,
May, merely may, madame, whip from themselves
A jovial hullabaloo among the spheres.
This will make widows wince. But fictive things
Wink as they will. Wink most when widows wince.
2.1k
Other worlds have hopes,
for plants, for trees and
dogs walking by, panting
soaking in humidity like carp
above water.
Not ours.
Dead ends, parked cars supplanting
serenity with passion, desire
crammed into
row upon row of heartless
dwellings expunging sunglass-wearing
**** suckers
blocking their emptiness from the world
with reverse blindfolds.
I know their eyes still glare at me, scoffing at
them. Walking, I
walk past
their barricaded kennels, under-
construction housing
impersonating natural climes
with sushi and slushy shops.
People like them have admiss-
able drives, hankering after
freedom; they're indoctrinated
to believe admission is
monthly cable bills
wired in beneath concrete slabs
maintained compliance
through lines painted on grass
where overlords can tell livestock
what to do.
Bus chutes form
hillsides, beside lines of
trees which perfume these
feedlots
we call
cities.
**** oozes below streets
walked on, they stared at me
like cows, watching a ranch-hand
suspicion toward anything
beyond bistro fences.
"What the **** are you looking at,
you filthy animal?
Have you no idea which species your greed
feeds?
Do you know where this ends
for you?
Who's tazing your ***
who's making you sit there?"
Moo, mooo.
Mooooooooooooooooooo.
Receipts, a cudgel on each table,
more cudgels ring
from pockets
telling them what time it is,
where they're to be.
Sunday's almost over,
back to blocks of houses!
Graze on painted grass,
then die,
but not before you stare at me
with empty eyes,
you pathetic, miserable
creatures.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC
Edie was caught in the claws of copulation.
She was attractive, with no roots showing
on the top of her scalp.
Great **** great *** could hold a conversation.
Everyday, she got into her workhouse of a car,
more home than her dingy apartment, and drove
to her first "appointment."
But on this day, the appointment that loomed ahead of
her had her shower cold and her face white.
She drove past an old movie theatre
and an abstract and title company with
the fanciest sign in town.
It was Edie's favorite.
She glanced out the window.
A regular ******* standing on the sidewalk was chatting
up a woman who looked bored stiff
and there was a young man a few jumps
away who couldn't hold his liquor.
"Pathetic," Edie muttered.
An average run-of-the-mill bar slouched behind
them and there were ridiculous looking people
spilling out the door.
But only those who had survived the night before.
Across the street, a newspaper dispenser ***** and chained
to a light pole stood content as its contents spilled from
it's belly like the guts of a dead gazelle.
Like the guts of it's readers.
Like the guts of a building out an open window.
Edie's ******* were sore and hurt after the
manhandling of last night.
They began with a ***** that got straight to
the point and then they did too.
He had advertised himself as "sweety but meaty"
and Edie discovered later
that his genitals were uncircumsized and below average.
Oh well.
Submission.
She had a headache in the morning and no aspirin.
Her decision was to stop later and get some.
But before then, she had something to take care of.
Something big that needed to be handled.
Something she hoped would be brief.
"Something," she thought, "that's for **** sure."
She pulled into a front spot in her black '98 BMW,
fixed her make-up, then her hair.
Edie closed her eyes, took in a rather large
amount of oxygen,
exhaled and stepped out of the car.
She had a hankering for eggs after all.
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 7:24 PM UTC
ravenous ....
...i watch..
the caterpillar
.....munch the leaf..
..edge to spine
in a systematic arc....
with a... squirm and
an inching motion...
he moves ......all energy
concentrated ....on ...the...
mouthpiece..... **********
rhythm,....
...cookie cutter.. nibbling...
...green mouthfuls....
...always ...just.. one ..more......
...willful ...energetic...unstoppable....
...obesity... for a cause..
...i wonder... what
wonderfully... beautifully..
..exquisite ..flutterful......
thing .....will this fat
wrinkly thug......become....
i turn to go inside.....
....i have a hankering...
for some.... green grapes..
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
Watch me closely, God,
though you’ve seen it all before.
I’ve got the universe up my sleeve
and it’s itching for a sleight,
if you’re willing to be conned.
The stardust filling Aquarius
has poured for countless millennia
and it won’t brim the bottomless cup
of your oceanic blues.
That’s the warm-up for Lepus
who, lean and polar-white, leaps
out from my flipped-over cap
and is chased by the steel-plied
Orion’s hankering for roast hare.
Hunger-driven this heaven hunter
has a saggy belt; his sword’s tip drags,
slicing Gemini in two,
but twins can’t be parted long
and divinely grasping Pollux clasps
Castor’s pause anew.
Conjoined, they bow together
under showers of milky petals
kissing no-longer
furrowed brows till black
velvet curtains fall
and are followed by your eons of
endearing applause.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 6:41 AM UTC
*Your words of tender, mellow slur
are furls and wisps of thin, streaming clouds;
dancing ecstatic,
swaying hypnotic,
sailing on the somber oceans of the wind--
then nestling as mist
at the doors of these still lake lips of mine,
hankering to swallow and wallow the low-resting, quiet, ambrosial fog.*
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 11:26 PM UTC
*hard skin of life to penetrate
soften that piercing stare*
1.
seems a shot spiked with kindness does the trick
that’s how we button up the moon’s sides with silver thread
to keep its seams from splitting solemn sides
and spilling all its jolly secrets: whorls of fingerprints sinking steadily into luna-grooves
like a neat domino-stacked roll on a never-ending trip into black holes
not far from Ursa Major
2.
to grant a delightful hop up and throw seeking eyes over the orb’s gentle curve
take a little look-see
the tiniest peek into Tucanae
where tidal forces push small clouds
and outstrip the western winds
towards cunning straits
to subtly tie into bows
cut ribbons of fate
drink a dram of mercy from a well-behaved thimble
yet poems don’t pay no bills now
when words tinker with heart’s mettle
3.
wonder if sagacious rue repays in full
or satisfies the exceeding cost
of the hankering in a vessel
caught eddying in giant nacred jetsam
while casting minute gems before the moon’s eyes
it’s nigh impossible to hide behind the sun
4.
best be ready with prêt-a-porter life-pennies
and be
wise to always carry a pocket full of sorrys
*stitch 'em seams together now
it all comes together
nice and neat*
S T, Moonday, 15 July 2013
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
There was not much to do down at the zoo
They were all getting bored, wouldn't you?
The keeper was called, we're out of our minds
Help us out, if you'd be so kind
The keeper said, so what can I do?
I'd like to help but give me a clue
Well, said the giraffe it may sound daft
But I've always wanted to play the harp
You know what, said the baboon
I would like a big bassoon
The emu said, I really do feel
A hankering after a glockenspiel
The lemur requested a violin
Certain he'd coax a tune from the thing
The elephants stood all in line
Already they could trumpet in time
The gorilla said he could use his thumb
To bang away on a big bass drum
They all got their wish, it was quite a scene
And proudly they played God Save the Queen
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 6:13 AM UTC
Grimsby, a murky wee northerly town
And lousy with houses of seedy renown
The ladies wear only a loose fitting gown
Transactions are furtive and quick
And every street corner is coated in brass
With a ****** for every discernable class
In a spectrum of hues and selection of mass
All awaiting a dip of the wick
Diseases are spreading and taking a hold
With pimples and blisters and, finally, mould
But just when the punters are starting to fold
A saviour arrives in the nick
Doctor McNaughty, King of the Kink
And his brothel of many surprises
A welcoming smile, a comfortable bed
And some help with whatever arises
The rooms are fantastic, the ropes are elastic
With feathery leather and spikes
It wanders the street on mechanical feet
And it scoops up the punters it likes
There’s something to suit almost every wish
With strawberries and freshly whipped cream in a dish
There’s a bucket of springs and a kettle of fish
And the manacles, shackles and chains
A selection of ******* and optional clamps
There’re pulleys, tackle and half-pipe ramps
A physio suite for reduction of cramps
And the treatment of ****** strains
A marshmallow room with a candyfloss bed
And hookers of platinum, purple and red
And for those who are hankering after the dead
There’s a room full of human remains
Doctor McNaughty, Lord of the *****
A magical, mystical ****
With wonders galore behind every door
And occasional chicken or gimp
His visits are brief, but of major relief
To the multitude often attending
Then he’s off in a flash with a bundle of cash
He so loves a happy ending
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 6:25 AM UTC
I don't love anyone
But I am
Passionate toward others
I am infatuated or enamored
Maybe I experience
A yearning for others
Perhaps I am devoted
Enchanted
Or hold others
In high regard
Or maybe I am
A little cowboy
Hankering for you
Or perhaps I am
A little Disney
Enchanted by you
Or it could be I am
A little short of will power
And you are my weakness
Maybe its my birthday
And you could be my cake
You could say
You are my delight
But I am never in love
Because really
Why should I only use
A four letter word
To tell others how I feel
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
Seemingly out of nowhere,
I have experienced an incessant yearning for sweets.
When I see mouth-watering sweets gracing my table,
An intense temptation grow inside me,
My desire goes on elevating;
Making it hard to satiate my selective hunger.
It's always an overwhelming feeling,
triggering a happy spot in my brain.
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 12:27 PM UTC
The golden tinge of the shy sun
Peeked onto her pinkness
The youthful night was full of fun
Leaving residues on her face!
Whole night the storm blew
That no cover could protect
Denser the darkness grew
Hankering for a ****** perfect!
It’s still there the bed sheet
Spotless without a stain on it
Gone is the storm with its rage
Pinkness stolen, she has come of age!
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC