"humphrey" poems
The Atlanta Falcons , defender of the city in a sport of the passionate ! A longtime cold weather tradition of the Peanut State with youth , high school and university alike ......Memories that conjure Van Brocklin , Nobis , Humphrey , Van Note , Bartkowski and Ryan . Fall is for dark green numbered fields , pageantry , struggle as tactician , athlete and opponent mired in battle , bestowing honor , emotion , and pride in the warriors of yesteryear , locked in the spirit of competition , sportsmanship and Georgia folklore !...
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
Every now and then
I go deep inside my mind
Just to have a little rest
And see what I can find
I don't go in there often
It dark and I must say
That sometimes I'm afraid
That I may lose my way
There's a little corner café
Where Groucho sits alone
Stan Laurel sits there writing gags
And Greta Garbo sits and moans
Sinatra sings for all of them
John Lennon talks to God
Brian Jones gives swimming lessons
There's Liz Taylor and Mike Todd
Over in the distance
At a table in the corner
Hemmingway sells movie scripts
To mogul man Jack Warner
Elvis does a hip shake
Ruth and Gherig playing catch
Bud and Lou do Who's on First
Humphrey Bogart lights a match
Charles Dickens playing darts
A red balloon comes floating by
Andy Warhol sits with Nico
Where German pop songs go to die
Marilyn and James Dean
Sit quietly talking on the stairs
John Kennedy and his brother Bob
Just pretend that they are both not there
Chico plays piano and
Harpo with his harp
Bad jokes float around the room
being told by silent stars
Phil Everly and Phil Ramone
They're new here so they're woozy
Sit talking of the songs they'll miss
Rick Nelson sings of Susie
You see it is a mad mad place
in my head when I may wander
I don't go in too deep
And I've met Henry Fonda
There's images, and icons
Family, and friends
on a little street inside my head
That's a circle with no ends
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Flick my bean and I might scream,
do it right and I shall cream
Want to try come on by and work that tongue in my inner thigh...
Now you got me all riled up...
I just want to make you **** ...
*** on my face Or in my ****
I don't care where I just want your nuts.......
By Morgan Nicole Humphrey ... Liberty mo
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
We are Manchester. The City, The place, we’re hospitable people with a smile on our face. You can beat us, mistreat us, and blow us to hell. We have had it all before and we don’t dwell. We’re the northern powerhouse of the northwestern elite, Where the Geordie's, The Scousers, The Yorkshire’s retreat. The premier League, The Roses Cricket, The Heineken Cup Is a one way ticket. United and City two football teams with stadiums full, bursting at the seams.
We are Mancunians Of this fair City, The People, The Love, The old nitty gritty The worker, The Shirker, The Homeless, The immigrants, each one of these they are all itinerants. The Steel, The Cotton, long since forgotten the old smokey chimneys blew out smoke that was rotten. The Massacre at Peterloo. Local politicians just don’t have a clue. With all the sights this city has on show here’s something that people don’t really know. Manchester is where New Zealand Born Ernest Rutherford split the Atom.
We Are Manchester, The City, the Place, where Sir Humphrey Chetham has his musical grace a school of music with musical taste. And where a man with a paintbrush painted streets on boxes. I don’t think Lowry ever painted foxes. And A comedian from Collyhurst who was absolutely awesome, a real funny guy by the name of Les Dawson, and where a man from Chorlton on Medlock became Prime Minister back in the day. David Lloyd-George had a hell of a lot to say.
We Are Manchester and it's the place for me. And a proud Mancunian I’m glad to be. I’ll sit in a cafe watching people pass by. They are all in a hurry and I wonder why. I see a business man in a three piece suit, and the homeless guy that is counting his loot. There's the girl on the street giving out free papers she is smoking those ciggies that give off those vapours. It's pouring with rain and she’s getting wet she’s worried about money to pay off her debt.
We Are Manchester and this is our City don’t waste your time we don’t want no pity. We are Manchester we are steeped in tradition we leave other cities standing. There’s no competition. Where A man from Moss Side a Vicar not a Dean called Rev George Garrett invented the submarine. And where the great Anthony Wilson was a journalist & impresario and a man named John Nichols invented the great drink called Vimto. and so When he wrote “This Is the Place” I’m sure he did so with a smile on his face. We Are Manchester and I’ll state our case because we are Manchester and we are ace.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
Southward with fleet of ice
Sailed the corsair Death;
Wild and gast blew the blast,
And the east-wind was his breath.
His lordly ships of ice
Glisten in the sun;
On each side, like pennons wide,
Flashing crystal streamlets run.
His sails of white sea-mist
Dripped with silver rain;
But where he passed there were cast
Leaden shadows o’er the main.
Eastward from Campobello
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed;
Three days or more seaward he bore,
Then, alas! the land-wind failed.
Alas! the land-wind failed,
And ice-cold grew the night;
And nevermore, on sea or shore,
Should Sir Humphrey see the light.
He sat upon the deck,
The Book was in his hand;
“Do not fear! Heaven is as near,”
He said, “by water as by land!”
In the first watch of the night,
Without a signal’s sound,
Out of the sea, mysteriously,
The fleet of Death rose all around.
The moon and the evening star
Were hanging in the shrouds;
Every mast, as it passed,
Seemed to rake the passing clouds.
They grappled with their prize,
At midnight black and cold!
As of a rock was the shock;
Heavily the ground-swell rolled.
Southward through day and dark,
They drift in cold embrace,
With mist and rain, o’er the open main;
Yet there seems no change of place.
Southward, forever southward,
They drift through dark and day;
And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream
Sinking, vanish all away.
1.7k
courting the sun
after a cool June
in my vintner's garden
close to the southern border
carefully sipping
his latest selection
a good year
you can taste it
looking out from the hill
across the river valley
I listen to his children
proudly telling how
only yesterday
they filled 50 sandbags
just in case
the deafening roar
of an interceptor jet
splits the air
just for seconds
leaves my wine glass
trembling
three helicopters
slash their way south
and come back later
over the winding road
on the next hill
the last tank of the column
disappears
we can hear
not far away
over there
sounds like explosions
we enjoy the sun
Helmut opens another one
of his treasured bottles
and tells me
what he will do
if They come across
he is a good hunter
and an excellent shot
I sip the clear wine
watch how the sunlight
lends its brilliance
to the half-filled glass
I feel a little bit
like Humphrey Bogart
in the wrong movie.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
My past time is Warhammer 40k
Collected 12 separate army ranging from 10,000 point to couple hundred.
My personal faction is craft world Eldar,
Since they are space elves of the dying race,
Prideful, arrogant, know it all, psyker gifted, prudes of 41 millienium.
Play with twelve Wraith Knights,
And earning me as "That Guy,"
As known as cheesy player,
Or just a solid Gould cheese.
I am inspired by Marcus Aurelius
Known as the philosophical emperor,
Also known as the last true good emperor of Rome,
Loved by many by the empire,
My favorite quote by him
"Accept the things fate binds you,
And love the people whom fate brings you together,
But do so with all your heart!"
I am a Capricorn,
Driven by amethyst gem stones,
Or a pure ruby so they say!
I have not had the same gravitational pull like Joan Of Arc,
Nor have I become a champion like Mohammad Ali,
Or fought for civil liberty like Martin Luther King,
Or earned the legacy likes of Humphrey Bogart,
But I would do my best to carry even ounce of their torch of greatness.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
I take pleasure in the simple things
And I know a lot of people say that
But I think a lot of people get carried away
With the idea of getting carried away
They watch movies for the special effects
Go to baseball games for the big names
And watch trains go by for the wrecks
But I take pleasure in the simple things
The other day I paced in the rain
It was summer so the warm water
Reminded me of growing up in Shanghai
Where the chemical rain would burn when it touched you
And that's a happy memory for me
I watch movies for the kisses
The Humphrey Bogart
Reach out and kiss the crap out of them kisses
The Ingrid Bergman sly, seductive kisses
The Audrey Hepburn innocent, eyes closed kisses
I go to baseball games to smell the air
Little league games, high school games,
Minor league games, professional games
It doesn't matter they all smell like dirt and leather
I like to walk by freshly mowed lawns
Because it reminds me of when I was younger
And played soccer every Saturday morning
On just cut grass
I love, love, love to watch little kids run in circles
For absolutely no reason at all
I take pleasure in the simple things
I think too often people
Try to measure the was of each day
Against the could be of every dream
Forgetting that we don't ask our dreams
To accomplish themselves between 9-5
Some people get caught up in
Trying to live their life
Like it was a scene from a dream
They drempt while they slept last night
And though sometimes life can seem like a movie
We are not producers or directors
Merely actors following our lines
Trying to feel out someone else's vision
So I find pleasure in the simple things
The parts no producer could control
The lines that aren't in the script
The prettiest rose on my bike ride home
Warm Rain
Dirt
Leather
Cut grass, little kids, and puppy dogs
Because if we limit the pleasure we find
To the greatest moments in our lives
We're never going to believe it's happening when it is
Always dreaming there could be more to our life then there is
And when we do finally believe
The only chance we'll have to smile
Will be at a memory
And we'll miss all the beauty and pleasure
The world and life
Has put in front of you and me
Aug 25, 2009
Aug 25, 2009 at 7:40 PM UTC
By: David W. Clare
Hollywood town has seen all kind of characters from infamous to bums!
The hippest of all, exclusive dive bar that's been there forever; will outlast us all...
Not your typical cowboy-trough or rag-joint hole-in-the-wall...
No dancing allowed as silent drifters, hipsters and ****** **** on olives then ask for more...
Dress-code strictly enforced; some meet there to get married, while others get divorced...
You'll be sure to meet up with Humphrey Bogart and Cecil B. Demille, young **** chicks and a fat-director over the hill...
Be sure and tell the bartender you'll be back, he will surely remember your tie, coat and hat...
Welcome to the Frolic Room...
(C) In perpetuity all rights reserved
(P) FilmNoirWorks
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
How can one describe feelings
One's that are abnormal to most
Desolation, despair, anguish, isolation
Feeling awkward and alone in life
Even with family close by everyday
Darkness, gut wrenching pain, anxious,
Smiling yet never feeling it to one's heart
Laughter not reaching the eyes
Loving not feeling loved
Dreams unfulfilled
Arms embrace my newborn
Mourning fills my head
Overwhelming emptiness permeates every cell
Music plays the notes bring tears
Screaming within as hysteria joins the tune
All around friends and family celebrate
Heavy weight threatens to crush
Begging for relief from the oppression
Red heart clear like the perfect diamond
Swarms of black invade overpowering the light
Warmth obliterated by cold
Unrelenting tears beneath the covers
Breath held hiding the sobs
Not wanting him to hear
Love circles trying to break through
Self reflection denying any joy
Happiness, freedom, carefree needed
How can one feel these things with so many caring
Desolation, depravity, bitterness
All consuming death grip on the soul
Thoughts of regret, self doubt, undeserving fills her
Heart raging against all the blackness
He holds her tightly
Arms wrap around pulling tight and close
Willing the feelings to flow from one to the other
Joy, fulfillment, calm,
As the arms squeeze tighter
I love you fills the air over and over
Tears dry, warmth conquers chill
Love, happiness, goodness, light
Caring, sharing, oneness,
Ice shatters, light bursts through
Finally love conquers the desolation
She feels alive
Safe, loved, open to life
Storm clouds of loneliness dissipate
Leaving behind clear skies
Lastly
HAPPINESS
Written by Jennifer Humphrey 10/13/2014
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
It’s hot and you don’t feel
Like sitting down to write
The postcard to the parents,
But it has to be done or they’ll
Worry and Father will have
One of his turns and Mother
Will be flapping round like
A **** hen with no head, so
You take a chair by the window
Of the Hotel Cuba and think
What to write, what to put
Down in the limited space
Allowed, and not to write
Anything that’ll stir Father’s
Christian sensibilities or
Mother’s little world of tea
And visits and afternoon naps
And speaking to the canary
Who doesn’t speak back.
You wait for Humphrey to
Come back from the bar
Hoping he’ll come up with
Things to say, but he doesn’t
Show and its getting late
And it’s been a busy day and
The night looms large and
You want Humphrey at his
Best, not too boozed, not
Distracted, and on the whole
He’s quite a fair catch, knows
How to please a girl, keep her
On her toes and back and that
Thing he does with the…Dear
Father and Mother, Cuba’s quite
A place…there was this man
Who kissed my hand and Dear
Humphrey said…the sun’s warm
And the food is out of this world
…I can dance the latest dances
Here, nothing that is suspect or
Need worry you…I will send this
Postcard in the morning, God I’m
Tired, keep on yawning, must be
The heat… You sit back and put
Down the pen and look up as
Humphrey returns doing some
Movements with his feet to some
Music playing and he smiles and
Winks and does a twirl…Sleep tight
Parents…it’s going to be one of
Those night for she's a naughty girl.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 3:11 AM UTC
A young woman closing in on independence
Like it is a dreadful thing
Other young women
Excited, mesmerized, elated by the sense of freedom
She can taste the separation like food
Sadness permeates the flesh of youth
Spreads into the arteries of life
Almost a feeling of suffocation ensues
Others happiness caresses the flesh
Spreads into the arteries singing with fire
Unable to contain the elation!
Clouds form all around as separation is coming
A time of exploration and inhibitions weigh heavily
Loneliness, isolation, and unbearable anxiety overwhelm the brain
Happiness, exaltment, and a sense of power explode inside the other
The girl enjoyed life so much until now
Parents are much older than most
Fear encases the once boisterous heart
Everywhere talk of blossoming, answering to no one
Boundaries erased, getting older, wiser, excites
Dark thoughts of being alone fill her with anguish
Parents dying before she begins to live plays on her psyche
Children not knowing their grandparents, No! Turn back time
Please she cries!
The other cares not of these things only to get out
Into the world of money, jobs, romance, parties
Parents being a chore now just having to appease them
Loving them but finally FREEDOM!!!
One leaves home feeling weight of life crushing dreams
The other so happy to get away from meddling, curfews, and eager to carve her own mark.
Which will live the better life?
Who will be happy?
Free?
Love and be loved?
Will despair turn to death or endless fulfillment?
Will elation turn to destruction and loneliness?
Do you know which is a young woman you know?
Written by: Jennifer Humphrey 10/12/2014 copyright 2014
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 1:29 AM UTC
Two Angels
Little hands
Big hearts
Once playing
Loving life
Carefree
God's gift
Precious
Innocent
Protected
Suddenly without answers
Two beautiful hearts taken
Loved ones hurting confused
No rhyme or reason to help make sense
A community so small
Affected in so many ways
Wanting to help
Comfort
They pray
Loss for words
Not wanting to cause further pain
Sorry for your loss seems so little
Compared to the mountain of pain
Two huge souls
Have traveled to heaven
To reside in the House of our God
Looking down on family
Wishing they could give comfort
They ask God to help
Guide
Support
Comfort
Candles will fill the night
Like twinkling stars in the heavens
As a grieving family
A supportive and caring community
Come together to pay tribute
Far to young to leave us
Will leave a mark on two communities
Will be remembered by all
Two beautiful hearts
Smiling down from heaven
As our Lord keeps them safe
Sleep well little ones
We know you are at peace
Jaden and Delaney you will be missed.
Written By: Jennifer Humphrey
Dedicated to Jaden, Delaney, and their families
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
Feelings
Words of concern voiced
Blown off by the wave of a hand
Tears sting her eyes
She doesn’t understand
His anger foremost
His words see the the bitterness
She has done nothing to him
Yet His words bit her in two
The tears fall softly down her cheeks
Feeling betrayed by His anger
Asking herself
Why did He snap
What has she done
Her feelings cut deeply
Her heart bleeds
He tries to apologize later
But the damage is done
Her soul is sad now
Once alive and full of joy
Now dark and full of tears
He watches her
Knowing what he has done
Not sure why
He snapped at her
Really He was angry at another
But she was there
So He let her feel His wrath
What has He done
Will she ever forgive Him
She turns and walks away
Never to voice concern in His direction again
She was not His love
He was not hers
Her feelings were as a friends
She closes the door that connected them
Protecting her heart
From His harshness ever again
Feelings are so strong
Yet so weak
Written by Jennifer Humphrey all rights reserved J
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 3:12 AM UTC
When you want to bump and grind, I would rather you do it from behind
The thought of your body thrusting mine....
Really puts me in a bind
Now I know why your single at forty
There Is nothing about that's makes me *****
I would love to throw you in front of a bus
And watch pop like a big ball of pus
There it is you ******* *****
Now do me a favor and make this quick
Xoxo Morgan Humphrey
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
I hate the tv, I hate The Doors, and I hate this ******* couch.
I don’t like soup, Ellen just ***** and my cat is a ****** slouch.
Both parties **** Steve Harvey’s an *** and *** is antifa?
My job’s pretty cool, the pay’s not bad, still *** is antifa?
The *** is good, see I’m not ******** but the milks gone ******* sour.
My dad lost his watch because it’s been ten years and he said he’d be back in an hour.
There’s too much ******* not enough ******* because now there’s too many people.
The reason being, these pious ***** take their orders from a guy in a steeple.
So yeah maybe I’m ******** tuna’s too pricey, and I ****** hate Country.
We get it, you’re drunk, your truck broke down, and your wife left you for Humphrey.
You know what it is? Why I’m this way. A cynical merciless *******
I’m too **** busy at work all day, when I could be getting plastered.
Ok fine. I’ll stop for now. And you’re all some lucky suckers.
Btw Johnny Cash blows. Take that you bunch of neckbearded *******
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 8:51 PM UTC
Constellations of Time
suffocated, deadspace in my neural lapses—
—still, I caught the fly
with my hand.
Constellations of Time—
and I am cowboy in the outer expanses of sanity
faithful cowpoke and Lenape murderer,
native lover, too,
dun American guru
like john wayne defunct.
but when we speak like droogs,
this be:
America: A Detective Story
and I’m the dogged dreams of america:
Humphrey Bogart with his dame Liberty
No, I am Robert Mitchum, too.
Remember Philip Marlowe?
I once was america’s psychosis, and still am.
[I am
the soul who walked above
the soul who walked below;
Constellations of Time—
like gooey cosmic spider webs;
[and I ******* hate spiders]
Fear of Death
…is being stuck, and
fear of that horrible cosmic spider coming home for dinner!
For,
I am
Monsieur Bonaparte’s Hollywood counterpart
who puts the war before the art,
but not the horse before the cart
DEATH
is where my story starts;
railroads,
like the spine of a country and constellations of time
–im on a plain–
ghosts in dust bowl clusters
reflect like
dust particles, like western stars, scattered—
and im on shifting razor planes and who do the math?
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 3:49 AM UTC
Grass green sways in the wind
Sky blue of such depth
White pillows fill in the canvas
Small fingers point up
Decorations of white entertain
Bringing about such delight
Wind lifts tiny curls
Framing the cherub face
Laughter escapes
As tendrils tickle the face
The sound contagious
Even strangers are amused
Watching with delight
As happiness is so bright
A breezy spring day
Children all out at play
Nothing in sight
To give them any fright
The days longer
Bodies grow stronger
Dancing without a care
On a great spring day
Happiness grows
As the wind doth blow
The green meets the blue
In the distance
One day we might
See the day
When brown meets darkness
Happiness illuded
As children become secluded
Enjoy each day
Like it’s the last day
As it is the cure to grey days
And produces children at play
Written by Niyahlove
Jennifer Humphrey
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 2:14 AM UTC
It was the year
man first walked
on the moon
but the third year running
you and your brother
walked the streets
of Edinburgh
and stayed
at the guesthouse
where the Yank guy
told you how
he was mugged
in some bog
at Waverly Station
I was in the stall
on the seat
when there was a banging
on the door
and someone yelled
open up I’m going to puke
so I did the
Yank said
and some guy
stole the wallet
from my pant’s pocket
and ran off
your brother sat
at the breakfast table
bemused
why did you open
the door?
you asked
well I guess I thought
it would help
the Yank said
holding his coffee cup
with both hands
you know
kind of threw me
off course
I’d have told the guy
to go puke elsewhere
your brother said
but he seemed desperate
the Yank said
looking at your brother
with a Humphrey Bogart gaze
won’t do that again
he said
sipping his coffee
you studied the guy’s plump face
his bulky frame
his sausage size fingers
the gold ring
on his third
right hand finger
his I LOVE AMERICA tee-shirt
his blue shorts
no matter
guess we all learn
from our mistakes
you said
next time
someone bangs
on the bog door
tell them
go puke on the floor
the Yank nodded his head
his Bogart impression
faded
to a saggy dog face
and you thought
gazing at
his blonde hair
there
but for the grace of God
go I
and your brother smiled
and winked a blue eye.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
I love you babes, no hard feeling about the last poem.
Just a laugh, anyway how's your mum and gordan? Are they eating sausage sandwiches at the moment?
Love From Howard **
Lol jokesy names Howard ***
May 15, 2010
May 15, 2010 at 12:55 PM UTC
Tell me men of Agincourt
what was it for
why did we fight and
did we win at all?
A hundred years of war
what was it for?
The prelude that we chew upon
meatless bones across
the Somme?
Tell me,
Edward,Humphrey,Henry,
men of Agincourt,
what was it for?
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
Oh how it hurts
Words cannot describe
How life’s surprises
Can make one want to die
Yet I am stronger than you
What you did isn’t through
I will prevail
As life is my avenger
The knife you planted so well
I refuse to acknowledge
So when you see me
Don’t think you have won
I can live without you “friend”
You will suffer far more
Though I am the one that bleeds
The further I go with this thing in my back
Your world will continue to crumble
As you are seen for who you really are
Will it be me that returns the favor
Never for I have way to much class
To **** you over or in the ***
So keep your own counsel
You no longer deserve my ear
When you are found wanting more and more
Do not knock on my door
I will bare the pain of betrayal you see
In the end it is better this way
You deserve everything you get
And then some I do not jest
Look me in the eye
I dare you
Face me again
I double dare you
I put you on notice
No longer your punching bag
Your tongue is forked
One side for your truth
One side for some other truth
In the end the real truth will reveal
How ******* up your world really is
And the knife in my back
Will dissolve over time
All you will ever do is whine
I am deliriously happy so you know
Since it is all sunshine and no snow
Take your knife you slime
Stick it where the sun sure doesn’t shine
You are dead to me
I never thought the day would come
When I would consider you nothing but a ***
Garbage on the street
Not even worthy of my feet
I walk on by and will smile
When you drown in your own web
That you weave day by day
Week by week
Good luck old friend
Your happiness is short lived
You know I am right
I guess that is why the knife
Yet I am to good to give it back to you
Stay out of my life
Stop causing me strife
**** on your own life
**** yourself and then someone else
I am no longer accepting deposits
From a **** or a SOB
If the shoe fits wear it
I never turned away
Until this very day
Because while I slept
You deliberately hurt me
Its funny though you see
Your secret will come out
He will find out what you do and don’t
So keep pretending you are so good
In truth you deserve one another
One manipulator to the other
Keep clear of me or you will see
My words don’t just fit this sheet
They can be used effectively
When pushed past the stabbed back
Into a corner I will come out
With my victory
Stay in your hurtful world
I will stay in my solid happy one
Fight til there is none left in you
Then and only then
Will you be worthy of another real friend
And even then I do not know if ready you will be
As you would have to feel
What every other has felt
From your world
As the saying goes
**** me once shame on you
**** me twice
Shame on me
In the end I will WIN!
Written by Niyahlove
Jennifer Humphrey
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 1:45 AM UTC
One fateful day in a cave made of rock,
lived a camel named Humphrey Cornelius Tawk.
His **** was supreme, his fur was quite green,
sitting on a throne in that cave made of rock.
He huffed and he puffed, and he snorted in displeasure
as he looked upon his vast mountain of treasure.
"Oh, huff!" he exclaimed at the cup that's brand-new,
"Oh no" he said loudly "It just will not do."
Humphrey Cornelius just wanted more,
He wanted more 'till it covered the floor,
and it reached to the sky and it touched lands of lore.
No he'd never be happy 'till it stretched to the moon,
and became more majestic than the greatest sand dunes.
And so he sat waiting on his meager stack,
until someone brought him the treasure he lacked.
And he waited, and waited, and waited some more,
and the pile continued to sit by the door.
Then realization dawned in his head,
this waiting he was doing was as good as stapling bread!
So the camel known as Humphrey Cornelius Tawk,
looked out of the cave, and he began to walk.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
Ssussh sssussh sssussh
Fingers glide gently over
Flesh revealed
Sssussh sssussh thump
Muscles draw taut
Then relax
Sssussh thump thump
Thumb presses against a full lip
Squeezing, release
Thump thump thump
The lip is twisted tight
As other fingers graze naked flesh
Ththump ththump ththump
Warmth gathers in her belly
Chills rise like dew on a rose petal
Thrrummp thrrump thrruump
Hand slides across the swell of the breast
Hard ended tip feel trapped in a burst
Of scalding heat
Tonn ton ton ton ton
Loud moan escapes parted lips
Suddenly the other tip is awash in wet heat
Followed by red hot lava
Tic tic tic tic tic
Curve of the hip caressed by the palm
Moans, mews, and pants are heard
Tic tic tic tic tic tic thump thump
Digits slip across bare wet lips
Teeth nip, bite, mouth suckles, tongue bathes
Ta ta ta tictic ta ta tictic
Long legs part, opening to the probe
Calloused tips probe tight dripping tunnel
Ththump ththump ththump
Pelvis rotates and rises meeting roughness
Wanting more, needing more
Ththump ththump ththump
Teeth release the rosebud finding soft sweet lip
Pressing deeply into the tunnel, tongue slides across
Pouty flesh
Dundum dundum dundum
Beads of perspiration flow down cheeks, neck
Tongues collide like swords in battle
Dadum dadum dadum
Calls, cries, screams, pants swallowed by swords
Fingers digging deeper pushing up in the tunnel
Du du du du
Harder, faster, pushing, biting, extending, reaching
Mouth releases suddenly biting hard upon the ******
Spasms rock entire body, waves flood the tunnel
Tongue licks over the bite as ears savor the sweet screams
Hips continue to rock riding unbelievable forces
Heartbeat begins to thump again as it seemed to stop
Breathless as lips touch hers once again
Bodies entwined in bliss
Sssussh sssussh sssussh
All rights reserve: Jennifer Humphrey
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
Don’t play it again Sam
The same old story *****
Humphrey and Ingrid are
continuing their friendship in haven
The Casablanca is no more
what it used to be
The World is no more the same
So, don’t play it again Sam
Please
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC