"humping" poems
I'm a relationship engineer
Building engines to persevere
Through the loneliness I fear
That makes me panic
And seek out a mechanic
That tinkers
With my blinkers
But doesn't fix a thing
When I'm left with a sting
From what's defined as a fling
My pistons pumping
The way I'm *******
When I find a rocket scientist
That formulates the highest bliss
In his carefully calculated kiss
But I start to viciously *****
When our problems are subatomic
Because every decision
Creates nuclear fission
Which causes decay
And explosions of energy
His thoughts he relays
He sees me as the enemy
So I find a Christian
To pump my pistons
He has the morals of God
Which I figure can't be flawed
Though they may seem odd
But he doesn't love me
He feels he's above me
He acts like a martyr
Which makes me fall harder
But I'm left alone on the cross
He has forsaken me
He thinks I'm made of frost
He has mistaken me
I feel alone
In the brimstone
Of his dial tone
I found loneliness
In their phoniness
My engine needs trust
Otherwise it develops rust
But when everyone tries to act cool
Pain becomes my alternative fuel
Love once seemed like a jewel
Until my blood made a pool
I tried to get repairs
To find that nobody cares
I learned that science
Was of no reliance
And the pious life
Brought riot strife
So I find nowhere to turn
While my engine burns
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
put on the collar
attach the leash
get on your knees
beg for mommy
that’s a good boy
are you *****
have an ********
bad boy
no *******
mommy’s leg
back in your cage
eat the alpo
i put in the bowl
isn’t it good
have some more
how does it feel
to be dominated
be my *****
loser boy
Nov 17, 2021
Nov 17, 2021 at 12:28 AM UTC
Where do I start and where should I end,
Its about the wife and her in-between bits,
If she knows this is wrote it will be my end.
She was tight down their is what I could
Say, like ******* a ****** each time, but
No blood unless its that time of the month
If you know what I'm saying.
Then came the kids one, two, three, four,
And what was once tight is now sorely lacking
Even echoes as I sneezed up their before.
I'm not small, seven inches of love meat
If know what I'm saying (WINK).
But when I go to finger her bits, my hand
to my wrist sinks in, she moans with pleasure
Saying put more fingers in, doesn't she know
That my fist up to my wrist is in.
Then its time she is as wet as could be, she
sits on my lap and I feel water dripping off
My **** hair, she's like a tap dripping on me.
I moan, and she like's it, but I'm moaning
because I don't know if its in. I *** I am
Released, but what once stayed up, now
Doesn't even hit the walls, gravity takes
Over and it falls back on to me, no longer
Warm lands on my ***** and on me freezing
Soggy and cold.
What was once was pretty now looks like
Mashed meat. I love her but how can I tell
Her she now has a bucket, and I feel like a
Pebble in the grand canyon I love her but I
Will soon have to use my foot to **** it
Cutting my nails will she even feel it within....
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
Just in the pubs and clubs
******* our own gear around
Seemingly, always upstairs
For weddings and birthday parties
Sorting out miles of wires
Well-worked practise
But when those amps were turned on
With an audible amplified thud
As switches are flicked
And their lights gaze like tiny red eyes
That's when I am ready
First number and the drums and bass
Connect to create new heartbeats
And now I'm into it
Not the man in the mill anymore
I'm the frontman for the band
And the music soars through me
As the night goes on and grows
The crowd has grown and is dancing
Gaining energy from the music
And feeding it back to us in turn
Now THIS is being alive
And so it was
By Phil Roberts
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
Again the time has come for all to gather round the fire,
"That time again", we say, while we assess the money drained,
The looks of disappointment from the ***** with stupid attire,
And truth will leak from drink fuelled mouths, with need to be restrained.
Your mum is singing drunkenly, while flirting with the vicar,
And dad is out the back sneaking a joint with cousin victor,
The dog is ******* aunt Jemima's artificial leg,
And someone just had a turkey fart,the kind that makes you sicker.
The christmas lights have fused again, so grandad's on the roof,
Sheer will power keeps him up there,and of course, martini vermouth,
Grandma's lost her teeth,and someone screams near the eggnog,
They're sent flying across the room and land in the fire on a log,
You feel your patience slipping as the pandamoniem mounts,
With thankless moans of "Oh well, its the ****** thought that counts",
And not forgetting Glenn, invited by your mum, but why?
So you and he can marry, and honeymoon in Hawaii.
With no idea that Glenn is gay, i guess the joke's on her,
I mean, what straight guy wears his y fronts entirely made from fur??
The night draws to a close,as bitter, crying family leave,
And relief is all too short, as there's still new years eve!!!
Dec 20, 2009
Dec 20, 2009 at 7:54 AM UTC
Life for me began as an egg, it wasn't really a special egg, just a regular egg shape with some green splotches .So, you were just like the Platypus and the Echidna ?. Exactly like the Echidna and Platypus .Well not quite exactly, those creature are mammals,
I'm more like a lizard, I'm actually part dinosuar.
My mother is a dinosuar like creature known as a Dinosapien, But I'm more human than she was. I'm about 60 percent human , though I do posses Lizard organs , My eyes are ,
My heart and lungs are, So is my ****** my appetite and my tongue
I can taste the air, Just like the snake . Em, but dinosaurs don't do that
How dya know ?, Well because of science and Jurassic park
Yah, I'm sure their both official sources, any way, so how come were having this conversation ?, well that's the one thing about dinosaurs , they were notorious for having one sided conversations with themselves, ya mean they were bonkers ?, no not crazy and once they left the nest ,were pretty much losers, I mean loners.
What about mating?, Well they had wieners ya know, no, not that and what about female dinosaurs ?, well the females didn't care , they just wanted a male for about 3 minutes, if he was lucky maybe 3 and a half, the males were more concerned about ****** contact with the ladies. So, I guess there was a lot of dudes ******* each other then ?
em, I think this conversation is over now
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
I. Summer pictures litter her walls
Glitter infestations
Second grade yearbook
And a signed portrait of that one indie celebrity.
What’s his name?
Jimi Hendrix?
Or Rob the Bone Crusher?
Was it that guy from New England?
With the Iced Tea, and the apartment?
You know that really, really big condo.
II. in 1995 you were all hot and heavy
******* and bumping in the clubs
Sinking your teeth into whatever
Or whoever you could find
Like ****** and some of that crystal ****
You said you liked the way it felt
When it ran down your veins
III. I remember the nights you cried
You said you’d feel this way forever
And I said well…probably.
IV. 7 AM, you’re still out clubbing.
Out on the streets like a little hoodlum
Looking for your fix in the alleys
Of a suburb of your suburb of Minneapolis.
Anything you can shoot, smoke, snort or swallow
You’re down.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
21 years or older but I asked to use the bathroom first.
Then I slip in when the bouncer isn't looking.
Naked bodies hanging on poles.
Men, smoke, 90's rap music.
On the stage, they bend backwards like dogs.
Dogs staring back, mirroring the position
and her self - esteem.
A woman approaches two men at the table in front of me.
Her fishnet wrap shows she's naked.
******* grinding, tossing hair.
Some slimy guys buy us drinks from a table a distance away.
Dorena gulps next to me.
I leave mine alone.
Absorbed into this vision because I have to immerse
myself in this because I must write.
I need to tell people that her hand slapped her ******
like it did something wrong.
She made her hand do that because that man
was giving her dollars as I watched them slide off her back,
her legs; the sides of them.
She gave his friend a dance and a magic trick.
Setting fire to matchsticks she placed on her ******* and her ****
He blew the flame away.
The dollars blew to the ground
and after her performance she went on her knees,
and picked up the remains.
Her dress, the money, her composure.
Afterward, she lit up a Capri, the type of cigarette
I craved all night.
I bummed one off her and she fled out of sight.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
We rage
like hormones
like hyenas in heat
and ruin homes
(not on purpose, just on Fridays)
So grown up,
we're so grown up
with our mature parties
and relationship problems.
Look! I'm pregnant!
I'm oh so grown up!
We puke up jello shooters
and mama's meatloaf,
wipe the whithered corners of pale mouths,
smile
giggle
hazy glazy eyes
in smokey basements and tree houses.
Oh no,
I do not promote it
I only smoke it.
But what can we do?
I must be thin to be ****
drunk to be interesting,
naked to be loved.
We need the skin contact
because God knows we can't communicate by words,
either by tweets
or haphazard ******* in back seats.
We are so grown up
because we accept the filth,
the naughty,
the concepts that un-rad corporate burn outs can't comprehend.
Wisdom in destruction,
life in suicide.
So allow me to fill my nose with shaymen's powders,
so that I may regress
to the days that I was Daddy's ballerina,
and school yard games lacked dark ****** undertones.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 9:51 PM UTC
He was very much mentally exhausted from the three previous rounds of word play that we had. But I was very much still aroused.
I needed to grip on his large cranium as he inserted his think logophiled member into the creases of my cerebral.
I wanted him to feel my muscles tightening around his fingers as he caressed my mind.
I needed him to use his tongue to make my brain drip wet like a leaky faucet. I'm wondering if he lost it. Grip on my medulla and massage my grey plump jewel.
I could of done something else to stimulate my brain like reading a book about trains. But what fun would that be when my mate is by my side willing to start mentally ******* me.
I think I went overboard. He has his thinking cap on like the supreme overlord. Should I grab 100 words you never heard. Or just take my defeat and get back to the sheets.
Baby as the pendulum swings
We exist in moment that escapes time
Let my lips service your soul
with great rhetoric when i bend on my knees cause baby about to blow your mind
Should I make his toes curl by the vigorous word use I'm about to hurl. No I'll just sit back and play defeated like the nymphal bad girl.
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 12:55 AM UTC
My Wedding Dress got stuck on a herd of cattle
And this morning I was woken up by an earthquake
Which I dreamed was the cat
Dry ******* my face
It seems a lot to ask for a night in with a bottle of white
I can't even manage to like the movie I'm supposed to like
It wasn't that I can't look you in the eye
It was just that tonight it took a lot for me
To be looked at
Without my wedding dress on
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
Stop with the daydreams
Of wet ******* unicorns.
Stop with the dam spillway
Of "undeserved tears."
Stop looking in the rear view mirror
And start looking at your **** rear.
Stop the inverted visions,
Need help?
Walk the streets of Calcutta,
Better yet,
Pitch a tent with the homeless.
Stop the mindlog.
Stop the driveling outlog,
Just stop.
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 11:16 PM UTC
In the days when dry ******* was as far as it went
I just fancied you more.
Strange I should think of this, after the one positive stick
in an ammonia scented carrier bag of negatives, or not.
Like a car salesman in a too often dry cleaned suit,
I enticed you with lurid banners offering years of hetro milage.
"££££££££££££££s of savings, no contraception needed,
this one wants a bun in it's **** loving oven",
and as I ***** down my eyes at the sound of rustling sheets,
signifying an imagined eroticism,
a rub down with an ******** my friends would squeal for,
I'm wishing you were a chick with a strap on.
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 11:43 PM UTC
drunk woodland children, we
ask so many questions, we
firefly skin. the picnic table beneath
our lamps, our ouija board, our girlfriends
next to us warm and laughing.
stories:
we tell stories to scare eachother
before descending into our tents
on the outer darks.
sweet night nothings.
& everythings.
i’m consumed by dreams of you;
somehow running;
somehow ******* my way out of my own inevitable
death.
a lady bug wing half-yanked and humming.
wind scorpion.
mosquito
in the early morning buzz, and i roll over
to see your puffy little sleeping face ::: sunlight there.
limp beyond the tent and zipper.
we eat mayo sharp cheddar salami wheat sammies
& take acid.
everyone one else goes on a group nature-hike,
but i stay behind
hallucinating of my dead mother in those sequined clothes she used to wear.
::: we play scrabble and talk,
until she leaves.
like love.
like guitar strummed chords and many hydrations later –
my tribe returns,
with fish.
the girl i love.
you/she roll joints in your lap,
in my lap,
in a chair and i mirage
the faces of everyone through glass &
slosh; through campfire
& lemonade.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
"Don't drink that coffee," my friend shouted at me,
"That caffeine will **** you!"
he said impatiently!
Drinking water is bad for your health,
the feds put fluorine in it
to **** you by stealth."
Paternally he whispered,
"Whatever you do, don't drink cows' milk.
the sucklings its made for
aren't close to our ilk.
The consumption of pigs and animals that ****
most certainly will keep you
from obtaining sweet bliss.
And stay away from creatures that swim in the sea,
their svelte tasty bodies are filled
with deadly mercury."
And then he looked aghast at my plate,
"Tell me you're not eating that excrement," he sighed,
"Do you really want to die...
from eating french fries?
Don't you know that fried things are the scourge of the planet,
cooked in hydrogenated fats by
some woman named Janet?
Avoid eggs, if you can, and by no means eat the yolks,
your cholesterol will rise,
that's no funny joke."
Then, with a scowl in his voice he said,
"Avoid plants grown in this country,
sprayed with pesticides and poisons
by corporate monkeys.
And stay away from foods grown in the East,
they're probably fertilized by
humans, dragons and beasts.
Potatoes, tomatoes have starch and acid,
that eats up your guts and
make you grow flaccid.
Lemons and limes will ruin your pretty white teeth,
making you go snaggle
right in your sleep."
With a superior air he ended his harangue,
"Beer, wine, and all forms of liquor,
Can you think of anything that
will **** you quicker?
Don't eat rich chocolate--it'll make you a ****
humping everything in sight
like a mad deer in rut.
Cakes, breads and cookies too,
contain sugars and flours that's
sooooo baaaaad for you.
~~~
I'm hungry and starving and don't know what to do,
I want to eat something
but afraid to give it a chew.
Though all of this leaves me feeling quite uneasy and queasy,
I'm closing the door and
doing as I pleasey!
Jul 19, 2010
Jul 19, 2010 at 7:58 AM UTC
Fuji, Rainier, now to Africa’s pinnacle
she followed, behind a parade of sycophants
marching, single file behind his greatness
few made ascents with him
she only Fuji, on a windless day
though others made the trek up Rainer,
surviving a blizzard that hit halfway
down
she told her lover
his faithful must have thought his presence
imbued them with immortality
which he seemed to possess
maybe it did, the lover said
seven decades and one, still *******
old mountains and young women
and she was still there, despite
the doctors’ bleak sentence
she was painting, moving
while she still could, a water color
of Rainier in mist, hanging in some
haunted hall in his home
now a pale pastel of Kilimanjaro
for which he would spend a fortune, to hang
somewhere he would not spend a minute
when her extended contract expired
she would be ashes scattered in Big Sur
and he would still be climbing higher
breathing heaven’s ether, a color
she never captured
but her signature
would be on overpriced art
which from the start, he commissioned
to keep her from leaving without
having seen rarefied air
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
Inside, Your cancer's beating heart
My ******* shakes, dirt dust gone
I swipe the sand away. For every ounce of ****
Laughing out meaty red raw steaks and size zero thighs.
- For everythingsobad. You rattle my dream box with your sweet blue face and your gauges for neither being an idiot or being human. Too cute of you booboo. Captivity claws at you, you big bafoon, intolerant, shuffling your predicates back and forth during your 12am nonsensical ******** So long as it doesn't interfere with your curfew.
Like soggy altered-state popcorn. Your butter catches more flies than knives, the inauthentic gestures spattering over the rhythms and rolls of your fingertips is torture to watch. Kitchen countertop influenza. A tired dictionary of sad words, poor misfortunes, tired eyelids, silty and sandy crusty inside corners of the eyes
.rearing privilege
countertop crawlers. inaudible coos used by muses who can't keep their musings from tangling the long distance dial tone soaring through the ears like an Italian operatic melodrama. A horse, three brides, and a funeral. One woman, a sick child, blindness, blinding caused by toxins of the body stuck inside your gelatinous fishlike eyelids. Where's there an eye bib and a lance when you need one? A nifty electric toothbrush shank with extra reach and plaque protection. You're the kitchen sink they threw in, a budget meeting with a data analysis staph infection. A government where nobody wins. All the kids grow up with thin skin and an aorta with no ventricles in it. It's like the cynical prison system that we had to survive in our 8th grade basement dungeon. Thundering, curmudgeons drugging sluggishly, **** teen thugs. Preteen pornstars sluicing cash through their meaty canals, ******* the ******** and ******* the back bare in a messy afternoon of **** ******* Crusty infectious rumors made worse by brothers and moms, eating handfuls of Norco just to keep the family strong.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:16 PM UTC
I want my points
of entry into
states of wanton wide release grace to be
more graceful.
I want enough to
remember what's inside
the room to be able to resist the urge to claw,
drunkenly at the door frame or
**** the door **** because I am so far
gone from grace that this makes sense.
There's so much talk of a wealth divide.
Rich getting richer but what of the trickiest
shitfest yet? How only grace begets
grace and doorknob ******* makes ******** doorknob
babies,
who'll likely be humpers too.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 6:54 AM UTC
How "Gay" do you suppose, do you suppose you'll be
When In Hell you burn, for all eternity
-
Every ****** every Queer, every **** and ****
You're going to burn in Hell, while Satan ***** your ****
-
He'll tie you to a stump, barbed wire he will use
Sulfuric acid boiling hot, out his **** does ooze
-
Then there are the Demons...can't wait to get their turn
Pumping ******* pumping, in the place of no return
-
When they get tuckered out, a red-hot ***** they will use
They'll ram it up your *** while they put to you the screws
-
Yes-sir-ee you'll be so "Gay", while you burn forevermore
You ****** Queerass Fruitcake, God does you deplore
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC
Eye Balling
I felt your eyes ******* my poems
You took away the Island flavor
Enjoining adjectives, nouns and pronouns
Only blends like a raw smoothie,
However, without crush ice, it's bland
Let’s be blunt nothing beats originality in poetry
Poems demand originality not mind ****
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
to define love.
You'll be baffled
bewildered & broken by the end.
The cynical ones
will laugh,
say it's dead,
overused and cliche.
Why try write what Whitman, Dickinson, Frost & Shakespeare
have already covered?
The romantic ones
will wax on for hours
describing inner & outer beauty
compared to anything that strikes their eye.
Why can't you see it's everywhere?
The hip ones
will scare you,
take a ****
& describe some detailed carnal fantasy
involving tapioca & a talking *****
named Pony.
Ask a lawyer,
they could tell you the legal definition.
Ask your parents,
they will tell you something trite about seeing it through.
Ask little kids
for an adorably wise response.
Ask a dog
as it's ******* your leg.
Ask a scientist,
they will describe the chemical reactions in the brain.
Ask a prisoner,
they will tell you it's something they miss.
But never ask a poet
to define love.
Your brain will hurt,
half your day gone
& you'll be left heart broken
by the end.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 9:57 AM UTC
I was making love to the girl in a purple tee
She was wicked and naked on top of me
She was ******* like an equestrian
On top of a **** lesbian
As I opened my eyes an empty sheet was all that I see
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
Life has peaks, moments,
that begin just beneath the denim.
Neurotransmitters in a frenzy,
every nerve ending buzzes,
wriggles, screams, every nerve says,
"This is all there is. Inhale the smell of sweat and
****** fluids."
Serotonin, Dopamine, "This is your function," they say,
"This is what your body is for."
Testosterone, Oxytocin, "This copulation, this second, stay here."
Hands cannot be still,
Mouth cannot close,
Tongue cannot retract,
And it builds with every inch you feel.
It seeks your spots, your sensitivities, your favorite weakness,
It seeks them and presses on them,
In that slow-at-first-harder-now way,
Until,
You wake up ******* your bed.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC