"hardness" poems
You have been with me from the start soft
Hard, never bothered which one you were
When I was young at heart.
I used to pull you my second brain, little soft
Then long and hard,as I grew, you grew with
Me a friend that never left. Only in the cold I
Wondered where you are.
The years did pass and hair you grew, where
Once I had pulled, now you just went hard.
Embarrassed I was as always hard around
The girls, some laughed while others played
With it spitting at them when excitedly hard.
Age moved on my friend for life still with me
Still getting hard but when I wanted you no
More embarrassment on my face at random hard.
My second brain, getting wasted each day, never
Unclean as cheesy smell I do not want as girls would
Run a far.
We played in the wetness we have come so far letting
The children out in the damp park. My wife screamed
Harder deeper my god your big I love your hardness
Up me and the children were excited out of the umbrella
They went a bit to far.
You have been with me through the soft and the
Hard, got me in trouble, now three children later
I must end your spitting but you can still go hard.
***** your my friend to the end when we had no
One a palm and a video was are night in, then softly
You went as to sleep in my palm, from the beginning
Through the soft and the hard.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC
We made love under a tree
crazy me and obsessed thee
Ah! holding each other so tight
at the peeking pale twilight.
Caressing you from the nose,
sliding way down to your toes;
I made the chills run down your skin
kissing your cute trembling chin.
Locking your soft lips with mine
I used my tongue to give you a sign.
Closing the eyes, you went with the flow
You ripped my pant off and dragged it low
Excited by your aggressive touch,
I slowly removed your clothes.
And when I undid your red bra
you drew me closer and moaned ‘aahh’
You smelled sweet like the fresh smiling flowers
And you were all mine for quite a few hours
Your rapid hot breathe lured me more and more
I bit your ******* took our emotions to the core.
Delicately I went down and licked your ****
that seemed to have aroused you a bit.
Then you scratched my back with your nail
I was happy to see my moves leaving a trail.
Thus, it was time to go for the ultimate bliss
So I pulled you closer and gave a passionate kiss
Gently I resided my hardness in you to quench our lust
Up and down I moved but tenderly at first
With each swift push, you moaned loud
by seeing your amazing charm, I was wowed.
Time passed as we kept letting ourselves free
And this is how we made love under a tree.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
Dal Lake
I float on Dal Lake
Suspended
between the thick soupy crisp air of soldiers
water lilies, Kashmiri bread
and the Muslim prayers
that penetrate the hardness of war
chanting Allah Bismallah
Floating Islam
Holy words drenching the air
Drenching the green cloth of Hindu soldiers
Sliding down the cool metal of a rifle
9 years of war
1,000 houseboats lie empty
in the Himalayan fog
Intricately carved furniture
Thick with dust
and the powder of blood and bullets
Himalayan silhouette etched black
against the song of lotus gatherers
Foggy voices like cloud of moon
Lotus lake
Gray of war and desperation
Children beg
1 rupee
1 rupee
1 rupee
Endless monologue
Parched like lotus shaped paddle
They throw flowers to me
endlessly
I throw them back
endlessly
Time passes slowly
like smoke on a lizard’s tail
trailing in the thick, rancid air
of burning meat and maple leaves
Like a shikara
moving over the glass of Kashmir
The sound of a dozen Bangees
floating over the water
Hollow, solemn and mournful
Echoing against the hardness
of the surrounding mountains
The circle of Himalayas
Like a womb
around the prayers of Pachin
In the middle of the lake
I hear the call to prayer
Azan Nemarz Suba
Azan Nemarz Pashin
Azan Nemarz Degar
Azan Nemarz Sham
Azan Nemarz Koftan
From dawn till dusk
Azan
4 mosques
4 singers
4 directions
staggered by a breath
like an imperfect echo
Azan slips into the pockets of island soldiers
Waters the impatience of soldiers on the shore
Steals into the vacant eyes of soldiers in the Mosque
They want to go home to their wives and children
They want to leave the place of prayer, which is not theirs
The place of prayer, which has seen death
The place where God was pushed out
In order to not see the killing
To **** what they don’t see
The place, which was no longer a refuge
Outside
Dal Lake turns to the color of red lentils
cooking in a dented metal ***
In the Shikara boat we eat dal and rice
and throw scraps into the silver water
where it washes up
onto the ***** boots of a soldier
I hear the dull gray click, click of his rifle
as it touches the ground
The prayers have ended
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
My body is the makeup of both hard and softness
The reds, browns, golds...
The light and darkness of all my ancestors.
Some men have lost themselves here,
Some men have found themselves here
Most women stand stronger next to this.
I am both war grounds and silent cities.
I am both girl trying not to drown in all this sadness, all this loss...
And woman trying not to drown in all this sadness, all this loss.
I am your blonde roast that starts a riot in you first thing in the morning
And your dark roast that goes down smooth, leaving you to want for a little more...
I am both the scab healing over bruised skin
And the area surrounding it.
I am both strong legs and soft lips
...Brown skin deep enough to hide flaws still.
I am the softness in light...
And the softness of honey, but still thick enough to swim in.
I am the hardness of knees on ground, praying to the man or woman who has made me both hard and soft.
I am the woman who cannot forget enough to truly forgive,
But human enough to help you if the light goes out.
I am consistent no's and the yes that matters,
I am shattered glass and spilled milk.
This skin mirrors both the earth and everything you give the universe on a new moon .
I am both woman dancing in nothing, but a skirt to the rhythm of the ocean ...
And the ocean kissing the shore wishing to be as free as that woman.
Sometimes this mouth...
Sometimes my words bite,
Creating harsh weather,
But I am tired of making storms of people, storms of my relations.
I am both soft belly and strong back.
Something you can count on,
A woman you can be sure of.
You can bet on me,
You can stand near me,
You can fall in my presence.
...You can be both hard and soft with me.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
twice.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
should allow.
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
i.
not bad,
i commented to myself as i watched you do your thing
for the first time ever ;
not bad was my way to say
extraordinary
still is today
i have standards, you see and —
well...
they were met when i
heard you say,
"that's only half what
i can do."
let's get this straight:
i was the best at what i do until
you came around ;
it's not like i'm mad though —
quite the opposite
in fact.
ii.
here's something else:
i have always liked the way your eyes
shot daggers
even when you were smiling ;
a death stare, they named it and, you know,
i won't call them wrong —
i'm rather fluent with the concepts of
death
and staring myself, after all.
ah,
do you remember?
when we spoke to each other —
it was always a sparring of
eyes
rather than words.
iii.
a fact:
you have been called cold
more often than
you have been called pleasant ;
i know —
it's not like you'd disagree
not like you'd be stupid enough to
deny ;
cold is a comfortable shadow
to hide in,
something people like us
wear as a coat or
a scarf
from july to june.
now,
there's this saying that the addition of
two negative objects
turns them a positive
result ;
i'm not much of a scholar so, honey,
what's on your mind?
iv.
i get it now,
if i'm propellers
you are wings —
rather than a mirror, we're
distorted reflects
a thing evolution knows
a great deal about ;
this yearning is the aspect of you
i'd wish to keep
bottled up ;
"what for?" you'd ask.
no,
yearning is not a thing
i'm a stranger to ;
i've yearned for many things including
strength
sleep
serotonin
and you —
i've been struggling
to make them mine, though
perhaps because i'm never really trying.
v.
that's how you do it:
you take what you want with
clawed hands
accomplish miracles with
thunderous silence —
an entity of cruel fairness,
icy anger but —
what you want is a complicated
thing
with definite shape to your eyes
but blurry to those of
others.
okay,
i'm neither believer nor seer but
here's a little prediction :
the day you are satisfied is the day
hellmouth
shuts down upon us all and
half of me
prays for it.
vi.
about extremes —
some will say grey is a better shade and
though i confess
it does have its charms,
it still has to paint me a picture more striking
than a soul with
adamentine purpose.
see —
i stare as you pass by,
terrific in beauty
beautiful in hardness and
off —
goes my heart, sanity, ego
and shirt.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
What if every one was forced to see,
The world exactly, even just like me?
A world where all, think as one,
A world where peers chose who we become,
What if it was wrong to love,
If we lacked the freedom to rise above?
The tragedy of a forbidden word,
Cages the mind like a wingless bird.
The human mind is meant to wonder,
We need to be free, we need to ponder.
If the world was thrown into darkness,
Nothing would grow and be reduced to hardness.
We need to know,
We need to grow.
We need to love.
And we will rise above.
What if one person chose to know?
What if one person desired to grow?
What if one persons heart sought love?
What if that person rose above?
We are each unique,
God gave us power to speak,
We should use our gift,
To teach and up lift
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
Your serene lips could liquefy petals of a rose
With twigs on your spine
Consuming my dreams as you lure me
Stretching as the stars shine
Tangled in the ocean breeze
Beyond beautiful you steal my soul
Our hands unify in the shade of the unknown
Tonight we step beneath the flesh
As the path of dust disappears
I want to drink from your collar bone
Every crevice I will endear
Following the maze of your fantasy
Impeccable skin inviting me in
The anticipation intoxicates my desires
As I travel your outline I stiffen for you
Eager to gratify the valley of your liquid pearls
You whimper as I dissolve your engorged delicacy
As you spasm and tremble you ignite the evening air
A Magnetic exuberance of fervor swept over me
Our swollen, lustful lips surrender again
As your majestic heart nurtures our love
I famine to have your tongue renew me
Your quivering hands beginning to stimulate me
You brush against my hardness lightly
I stir inside my stomach
Restless and blazing I await
Teasing the tip my luster rises
As your manhood swims inside my mouth
You swell my peaks, passionate yet tender
You linger feeling my need
Slipping into your enticing throat
My fingers clutching your hips
Connecting with my core as I absorb you
I quiver and cry out loud
With handfuls of starlight and luster
We create a haven just for us
You enter me so carefully
As we wither and blend
Our flesh is stamped together
A serene ambiance is swaying with us
As you whisper and writhe beneath me
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pin rest; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the ***** sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining **** among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a *****
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no ***** to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.
6.6k
In the softness
of my heart
In the hardness
of my mind
I'm searching
for my hate of
you, but love
is all I find
©
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 6:09 PM UTC
O Buddha, the gold vein of thy sermon of mercy ran through gloom-gorged, rocky hearts, and illumined their darkness.
Thou loftiest soarer of renunciation's skies, beneath thy God-lifted eyes, the kingdom of sense-comfort, the rivers of gross greed, the vast and lust-scorched deserts of desire, the tall trees of temporal ambition, the cactus plants of prickly world-worries—all melt into invisible smallness.
Buddha, the arc-light of thy sympathy sought to melt the hardness of cruel hearts. Once thou didst save a lamb by offering thyself in its stead.
Thy solemn thoughts still silently roam through the ether of minds, searching for ecstasy-tuned hearts. Seated beneath the banyan bodhi tree, thou didst make a solemn tryst with the Spirit:
"Beneath the banyan bough,
On the sacred seat I take this vow:
Let derma, bones, and fleeting flesh dissolve;
Until the mysteries of life I solve,
And receive the all-coveted Priceless Lore,
From this place I shall stir, never, nevermore."
Thou symbol of sympathy, incarnation of mercy, give us thy determination, that we may seek truth as doggedly as thou didst. Bless us, that we may be awakened, like thee, to seek remedy for the sorrow-throbs of others as we seek it for ourselves.
From: Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition
4.8k
Strange question indeed,
So I asked one and all;
Explain to me:
“What's a plumber's ball?”
Family and friends
Heeded my call,
But none could confine,
Refine or define it,
Yet Paul was sure
He could design it.
Still, none could satisfy
My caterwaul:
“What the hell is a plumber's ball?”
Does it sweat the pipe
Or wiggle the snake:
Can it clamp the ******
For Heaven's sake?
Could it snap on the cock-hole cover?
All these queries
Made me wonder.
Has it something to do
With hardness leakage,
Or ******** the ball-cock
To stop a seepage?
Has it anything to do
With a saddle valve dripping,
Electric eels,
Or two pipes mating?
And, I heard of male and female fittings,
And should I worry
If I'm standing or sitting?
If you're discharging the head
Or elongating the pipe,
Does the plumber's ball
Help it snug tight?
Is it in my tank,
Or in my bowl,
Beneath the floor
Near the drainage hole?
Is the plumber's ball
In the back of the truck
(Jeff laughed and said
One could rub it for luck).
I asked Michel
If he could tell,
He sensed it was something
He could smell.
I sought out Ray,
Perhaps he'd know,
But he was on call
To restrain a back-flow.
I couldn't ask Gary
For his wisdom and sense,
He was wigglin' the snake
To unclog a wet vent.
Henry, Rick, Scotty and Brian,
Gave shameless answers
I couldn't rely on.
It's not a crapper, tail piece
Or Johnnie-bolt,
Or catch basin, reamer,
O-ring or pipe dope.
So I searched the Net
With a fool's wonder,
And read of ball-checks,
Gas ***** and plungers.
I know it's too late
To ask Rolly or Ross,
For both of them knew,
And that's our loss.
And Ernie's gone golfing
So I can't ask the Boss.
With final resolve
I fell to my knees,
To pray St. Ferrer
With grace intercede.
His silence left me
In a state of depression;
Had Ferrer washed his hands
Of the plumbing profession?
So nothing could settle
My wherewithal,
I still didn't know,
What's a plumber's ball?
Suddenly, it hit me,
He's never wrong,
The Dalai Lama of dip-tubes,
I'll ask John.
Where others did falter,
John's a rock:
He knows the difference
Between a gas and ball ****
With a knowing smile
He embraced our Hall:
Here, good friend, is your Plumbers' Ball.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
but you are smooth in full regalia
reptilian in your lounge suit
your westchester upbringing
shows in your brooks brothers snake skin boots
so she knows your from old school money
and plants a perfumed eye on your rear end
it sticks there like sweaty glue
every inch of her polished skin
fermented at great expense
and you thought suntans were hard to pay off
try having the ***** pickled in whiskey
but the divorce would leave you
a destitute sideshow on rodeo drive
with nothing but your mansion and your jag
standing between you and the unwashed masses
so you make her slap on another layer of makeup
you drop another crotch rocket happy hardness pill
and slip a few more bucks over the border to Switzerland
and drop a quick prayer to the twin god of Morgan and Stanley
that the market holds for one more day
lounge lizard
pushing seventy
with a twenty two year old ******
on one arm
and the keys to the rolls clutched in your liver spotted hand
your ready for anything
you may be king of the florida keys
but
gotta respect the cash flow
if what your pointless poison
bites off your **** more than goes into your mouth
then ya gotta wonder kiddo
if moving back to the homestead
in Spuyten Duyvil
might be better than lettin lifestyle carjack your life
that twenty two year old ***** you got poured all over your lap
has more spider in her than girlish charm
shes a train wreck waiting to happen
ill get ya to the border safe and sound
don't 'cha worry bout that
have you headed north
fore they even know your gone
may be the king of the florida keys
but it high time we get ya
back to brooklyn fore they bury you down here
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
I love going to the place where you are floating on the edge of agony and ecstasy. My distraction, like yours, is something that goes beyond. Nothing intimate between two is distasteful or ugly. For me it is the intimacy and vulnerability that make it electric. I am pleased to see that the wetness between your thighs acknowledges your desire. This dance of pleasure is woven into the tapestry of ****** passion. Kissing, searching out every hidden pleasure site on our bodies -- touching and stroking, as we kiss -- playing between our thighs, excited by the wetness and hardness that greets us -- spreading our legs and looking at our hidden beauty -- tasting, smelling, inhaling our essence -- spending hours doing this -- feeling our ******* those lightning strikes, through our mouths, faces, and bodies. This is not a fantasy. We who hunger for this - and it is a hunger - are in tune with our primal minds. Our senses ache to be pushed to new limits. Our minds become filled with intense imagery - driven beyond the verbal to a much more primitive realm. I respect limits, but I also enjoy expanding then with a nudge here and there. After all that is how we grow. I appreciate the precious gift of surrender and the tremendous leap of trust one needs to surrender. Trust and communications are the keys to the kingdom of pleasure - as in all I human relationships.
It's time for your surrender.
M
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
Watch me as I unwrap... passionate,
In the drench of our rain.....
And night falls...
A silent murmur
Where the heart pauses,
A malachite shadow
Penetrates fire,
Burning
A flame's fierce lick
Beneath pulse...
Somewhere....
His smile touches
Warming the red sea of my heart
Pulsating ripples, spread
Soliloquies upon my skin
Orated in Southern sighs...
Slowly...
Desire engages,
******* hardening
Under tongue's brush;
Moist ripe, swollen folds
Tempt his lips to kiss my yielding
Where breath catches,
And I ... smolder within each touch...
Drenched..
My scent quivers languor,
Rhapsodic,
Drowning pools, orchid petaled
Finger parted... tender;
Under sweet seduction,
Stirring the supple bloom,
Tasting the restless currents
That throb through my milky sea...
Small moans...
Electric blue hangs the air..
Primal lust etching curves,
Tracing dewy flesh,
Heating
Skin on skin,
****** scent….arousing,
Tongue brushed hardness
Between dampened lips...
Hot....
The scorching sear... stigmata
Sin licks along thighs,
Essence, dripping,
S W E E T
Sensory overload,
Breaking my binds...
Feed...
My appetite,
I am.. lashes soft, licking thoughts
No words
No words...
Just....
Feed the need that overwhelms,
Grow inside me,
Fill me once again.......
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
"...Igitur quantitates relativae non sunt eae ipsae quantitates quarum nomina prae se ferunt, sed earum mensurae illae sensibilis (verae an errantes) quibus vulgus loco mensuratarum utitur..."
--D. Isaaci Newtoni.
Time did not relent under the force of speculation. The only trees that could be seen were in the photographs beyond the reach of the faltering jeep. Although it was claimed that such a rugged machine would endure the longer journeys, truth explained that the truck had grown old. It had a ferocious grill to protect the radiator.
cos ln q ( u ) d P d e = mu chi v ( w ) d ( y , par Z ) d ( x , hyp N ) .
The sense of protection fended off any result of error on the highway. Basic footing expressed the hardness, and the light, floating away, came from electric lamps, like eyes, glowing through dust. The name of the purpose implied that sensitive eyes disliked the sudden splash of illumination. It was true; the passengers did not like the expectation of more to come. The new engines were stronger and ran cooler.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
Phanerogams are plants which produce seeds.
The wanton harlot may be laid against the wall, with legs splayed, and may also have given birth to unbridled rage.
However, even though such stages of development can be entitled as “son of a ***** it is worth noting that all behaviour has meaning, my darkened companion of presumed sophistication.
The scholastic scribes will etch their wisdom upon the hardness of our vile vanity.
I hold in my hand a gothic stone, where those who stand before the courts accused of heresy and witchcraft can plead innocence before chanting crowds of bloodlust.
The reaper will gather the harvest at Lughnasadh, whilst the olfactory nerve propagates her funeral games amidst the cutting of ancient cornfields.
As we perch upon the gallows end, let us join hands and chant the mantras of old.
Photosynthesis is a forensic entrancement where there is no rest for the sinner.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
he asked me why
I'd absorb his ardent spirits
and chain want of soul
he knows why
I demand total control
...to convey my lust for pleasurable pain
this ache in thighs
denies an uttered sigh
as I cry inside with lust
strutting before him in nylon and pumps
he jumps through hoops, leashed;
he begs and flex, hungry for what is next
while I slap his hardened ****
tick tock its almost time
unwind and rock
to tease and please
I think not;
as heat of breath
taunts each slap of ****
his moans go unclocked
...as he loses control
Mistress, please he begs and moan
how long? watching hardness grow
long, strong in fits of hunger
he whispers and drools,
Mistress!!!!!
...your sweet ambrosia I know
eager beggary to be unleashed
ready to pounce
unload every ounce
but, I won't as I blindfold
and ring his ****
fore, his time is still
on the clock...tick tock
I smile, while he gropes
in the dark...leashed...now bark!
tell me! are you hard enough?
...I tease and taunt him some more
**** now hard as a rock...lash of whip...whack
...in your corner...I'll be back...after Jack laps wet ******
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 3:39 AM UTC
*Its starts with such a beautiful note
That enchants you in, listing to more
The chords flow with such passion
Such hope for the future
Till you reach the diminished
That throws the whole song down to hell
From light and hope
To dark and sin
This song of life has changed in ways
I never saw coming
The tune grows darker
The volume become louder
The chords harsher
But then it stops
And one single note changes it back to the light
The hardness of the chords soften
The volume begins to calm
And the tune once more flows through my soul
This is the song of life
And then it finishes
Leaving you with the experience of music...
The experience of life...*
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 2:01 AM UTC
This is for all the girls
Who think they aren’t skinny enough
This is for all the girls
Who think they aren’t pretty enough
This is for all the guys
Who think they have to act a little more “tough”,
As if mere kindness isn’t enough.
This, my friends, is for you.
Our society today
Has painted its own little picture
Of how we should look
So that guy’ll wanna “get wit cha”
Of how to live and how to dream
Of what to do and who to be
Today it seems the only way to be “cool”
Is to smoke a little and drink a few
To stay out until all hours of the night
Partying, getting higher than a kite
See, what gets me confused is this
The things we are told are right
Are much different than what we see on TV
If there is one thing I hate more than lying,
It’s hypocrisy.
We are told to exercise
To get fit, and eat right
Then what do we see?
Models throwing up at night
Scared
Because the pressure is too much
To eat is too pricy
So food, they don’t touch.
What is a model?
Someone or something used as an example
I don’t know about you, but
When I shop, I grab up ALL the samples
Starving isn’t realistic
Nor is it “right”
Regardless of your pant size,
Regardless of your height.
We are told that beauty is only skin deep
That what really matters is all underneath
I have yet to see one person at the VMAs
With less than 5 makeup products on their face
Why is that?
There’s a simple Answer.
Thanks to Maybelline and L’Oreal
It costs 6 dollars for a beauty enhancer.
Girls talk all the time
About how there are no good guys out there.
I hate to burst your bubble
But saying that isn’t fair
There are plenty of guys
Who are respectful and kind
But you push them away
Without a care in your mind
You want one thing
Then it changes to another
Because movies make you think
You don’t have to really care for one another
They show relationships as prideful,
Full of lust and lies
So when it comes to the real world,
Kind guys are despised.
So they mask their emotions with
Hardness and Vulgarity
Showing love on occasional,
Rarely, and sparingly.
See According to society,
Men have to be “tough”
Or else they are judged and pushed aside
Left waiting for the one to call their bluff.
This is for all the girls
Who think they aren’t skinny enough
This is for all the girls
Who think they aren’t pretty enough
This is for all the guys
Who think they have to act a little more “tough”,
You’re beautiful, you are loved.
Don’t ever let anyone tell you
You aren’t enough.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
In the depths of this despair,
Comes a glimmer of shinning hope,
As memories floor that emptiness,
And feelings gather, hard to cope.
The cold hardness softens,
And love bubbles gently afloat,
As ticking clocks start to stop,
Through years of lost notes.
"A cheeky little smile",
That's what you wrote,
As we sat there apart,
Easily your best quote.
But those days have gone,
All seem so now remote,
As I say goodbye to those memories,
A lump in my throat.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 8:35 AM UTC
UNTIL NEXT TIME
THE PRESENCE OF YOUR BEING
PLACED UP AGAINST MY BACKSIDE
CAUSES A BIT OF EXCITEMENT
THAT MY BODY CAN’T JUSTIFY
FROM JUST A SINGLE TOUCH
FROM YOU AND YOUR UNSEEING
MY BODY TREMBLES DEEP INSIDE
AND MY GENDER BECOMES SO REVEALING
I TURN AND WRAP MY LEGS AROUND
AND USE YOU LIKE A CLUTCH
THE FEELING IN MY BODY STARTS TO TRAVEL
I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN HANDLE IT
OR IF IT’S JUST TO MUCH
THE SLICKNESS MY BODY’S REVEALING
BECOMES LIKE A FLUID GUIDE.
YOUR ARMS GLIDING MY EVER GENTLE MOVEMENT.
AS WE INTERTWINE
YOU SLOWLY TAKE YOUR GENDER
AND PUT IT INSIDE OF MINE
TO REACH YOUR IMMENSE INDUCEMENT
WITH YOUR HARDNESS BURIED INTO MINE
AS I SHAPE INTO THE PERFECT FORM OF YOU
SO ACCEPTING AND AGREEING
BANGING THE WALLS INSIDE
I GRADUALLY ACCEPT YOUR FREEING
WE RISE TOGETHER IN THIS MOMENT
MY BEING BEGINS TO SHATTER
THIS IS A PLACE OF EVERLASTING BLISS
AND NOTHING BESIDES THIS SEEMS TO EVEN MATTER
MY BEING SHATTERS AS I START TO INCLINE
THE COMBINED MOVEMENT OF US TWO
THE SWEETNESS OF YOUR SWELL
TELLS ME WE’RE NOT THROUGH
AND IN THE SHADOWS I CAN SEE
YOUR EYES LOCKING INTO MINE
MY SOUL WANTING TO BE BURIED
AND MY HIGH IS CLIMBING AGAIN INSIDE
YOUR EXISTENCE IN MY LIFE SHORT LIVED
YOUR BODY SO CLOSE TO MINE
FOREVER YOU ARE APART OF ME
YOUR BODY IS SOMETHING I STRIVE
AS YOU LAY YOUR LIPS UPON MINE
AND WE SAY OUR LAST GOODBYES
YOU ARE FOREVER SPECIAL TO ME
REMEMBER, UNTIL NEXT TIME
BY JENNIFER WOLFE
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 12:11 AM UTC
You mispronounce my name
You forget I'm lefthanded
I think this is just me
I think this is one-sided
Your warmth has dissipated
It left a hardness
Inside my chest,
Like a plum
Now pitted and pruned
But I still hope
To see you soon
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC
Across the ice a baritone
Projects his notes of steel,
A tenor’s harmonizing
Adds that melancholy feel
And the glory of the voices
Flows out through alders bare
And the listeners weep for Russia’s soul
And the tragedy found there.
The tragic melancholy
Found in every Russian heart
Liberated by the sadness
A fine harmony can impart.
Of the monolithic yesterdays,
Those forgotten fields of dead
And that fire within the *****
Which numbs the agony of the head.
Dark stains along the timber wall
Wood fire’s stones make steam
It fills the room with stifling heat
Which sweats the bodies clean.
Red wheals raised on shoulders
Birch branches whip the back
Whilst companion tones of maleness
Speak in vectors women lack.
Red larches in the foothills
Gold lantern light on snow,
The vastness of ancient steppes
Of Central Asia grow.
A viola’s velvet passion
Sighs beneath a cottage door
And the sadness in sensation
Brings grown men to weep once more.
The vastness of the terrain
The hardness of the land,
The bitter cold of northern wind,
Each freezing winter spanned
By Siberia’s lashing gales,
White snow is metres deep
And turquois ice as hard as steel
Beneath which... rivers creep.
Dostoyevsky,Kruschev,
Rasputin and the Tsars,
Great Lenin, Marx and Trotsky
And the swords of Horse Hussars.
Gorbachev the great redeemer,
Poor Yeltsin’s pale white skin
And the ****** found in Stalin's smile
Span the politics of sin.
This great Russian melancholy
Lies deep within the soul
It’s a legacy of yesterday
Of her history's brutal goal.
It’s a product of the suffering
Inherent in the past
Endured by legions of the people
Then dispensed with…
With a laugh!
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
13 April 2009
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC