"humps" poems
Rubbing her *****
Through her tight yoga pants
At first glance, the slit, split by the seam
My finger tips, slips, perfectly over her ****
She’s getting wetter with each stroke, it seems
Stroking her bump, as my finger humps,
Her warm, ***** ***** jumps.
Pulsating to my touch.
Feb 7, 2022
Feb 7, 2022 at 9:32 AM UTC
Rubbing her *****
through her tight yoga pants,
Her slit, split perfectly by the seam,
at first my glance.
Finger tips,
slips-n-slides,
methodically over her ****
I can feel the bump,
as my finger humps,
over the fabric,
her wetness,
is lavish.
Feb 7, 2022
Feb 7, 2022 at 7:06 PM UTC
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
Just as the earth puckered its mouth,
each bud puffing out from its knot,
I changed my shoes, and then drove south.
Up past the Blue Mountains, where
Pennsylvania humps on endlessly,
wearing, like a crayoned cat, its green hair,
its roads sunken in like a gray washboard;
where, in truth, the ground cracks evilly,
a dark socket from which the coal has poured,
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
the grass as bristly and stout as chives,
and me wondering when the ground would break,
and me wondering how anything fragile survives;
up in Pennsylvania, I met a little man,
not Rumpelstiltskin, at all, at all...
he took the fullness that love began.
Returning north, even the sky grew thin
like a high window looking nowhere.
The road was as flat as a sheet of tin.
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
Yes, woman, such logic will lead
to loss without death. Or say what you meant,
you coward...this baby that I bleed.
6k
camel
C-A-M-E-L
...
... (?)
...
Why?
I don't know, cause they're cool ! . ?
his favorite animal is a camel
and he doesn't know why
but i do
i think, as a kid, he read about it
in an encyclopedia
And decided, "that's how I want to live my life"
the humps on camel's backs that can store water
and they can go days, weeks, months,
I even heard years
without replenishing
crossing dry, barren deserts
carrying cargo, people
i didn't know camels wore graphic t-shirts,
crocs and cargo shorts
but he is a camel
tall and lanky
takes in tons and never gains a pound
(i hate camels)
a camel exists in the Arabian world
is in love with a Middle-Eastern girl
and they even have a miracle of that descent
He IS A Camel!
but the humps on his back
are hope and inspiration
and with just a little in the tank
he will cross a world of deserts
and bring you back a treasure chest full of dreams
but he enjoys simplicity ...
Sometimes,
then sometimes not at all
he takes things way overboard
and carries far to much cargo
but he crosses the desert anyway
i didn't know camels were such good teachers
didn't know they made such good friends
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 4:30 PM UTC
*There was a road which led to a desolate hut
an outrageously long road, winding and rough
her ticklish humps and portholes made passengers laugh
whilst they cruised through the dusty dirt
upon that road which led to the desolate hut*
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 4:32 AM UTC
*
*We all are LOVERz in the being of BELOVEDz
I keep your LOVE secrets
Hidden in the depth of my eyes
You place your ears on my heaving *******
Listening to your melodious heart-beats
I can't even share with anyone
The intimacy YOU share with me
NO one ever has dared, except YOU
To be brave to enter my skin pores
YOU courageous! - Even to my surprised
I surrendered to your LOVE
YOU LOVE me so much that
I want to end my life in your warm hug
The way your eyes shower LOVE on me
No one has ever seen me like YOU do
I seriously can't stand so much of LOVE
Just swallow me inside YOUR being
Your presence makes my knees go weak
With goose-humps on my skin
With butterflies in my stomach
I run to the bedroom, waiting for YOU
With your breathe touching my skin
Every time, you try to breach
My personal space and private boundaries
You sown seeds and buds bloom
From every cell of my body
Scenting fragrance all over YOU
Every pore of my body craves for YOU
Your graft branches on my soul-pot
Flowering colorful blossoms on me
YOU tease me much
Showing so much gentleness and respect
In the way you pluck each flower from my being
You turn me blood red with your foreplay
I bleed YOUR tears begging you to LOVE more
I want you to serve me
I want to tear your back with my nails
I want you to make it happen
Release me in a moment from living
From all the struggles life serves me
Where were YOU all these years?
Now you are here, never leave me!
When your breathe intertwines with mine
There is no gap in our sighs and murmurs
Till you are within me, you color me
Nature's creative palettes of LOVE
With joys, smiles and laughters of intimacy
But when you are not there
I become a whimper expressing
Dislike and unhappiness for every thing
When your roots of thoughts and being
Are not holding me firm, deeply
I die in your longing & crave for you helplessly
I want to run and come in your arms
And loose all my EGO, pride and status
I want to surrender my desired inert beauty
For you to worship me forever
Though I do not show my LOVE openly
I want to tell you this:
I will do everything during the day time
YOU ask me to do for YOU
I will do more for you during the night time
Those things we only fantasize about
I will be-witch you with my scent
I will cover you with my hair
I will embrace you like your skin
I will drench you under my showers
I will hide you under my bosoms
I will carry you within my womb
Where no one is / was / will be permitted ever
And I will release you only
When YOU grant me all my secret desires*
*
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 11:57 PM UTC
DRUM on your drums, batter on your banjoes, sob on the long cool winding saxophones. Go to it, O jazzmen.
Sling your knuckles on the bottoms of the happy tin pans, let your trombones ooze, and go hushahusha-hush with the slippery sand-paper.
Moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome tree-tops, moan soft like you wanted somebody terrible, cry like a racing car slipping away from a motorcycle cop, bang-bang! you jazzmen, bang altogether drums, traps, banjoes, horns, tin cans-make two people fight on the top of a stairway and scratch each other's eyes in a clinch tumbling down the stairs.
Can the rough stuff ... now a Mississippi steamboat pushes up the night river with a hoo-hoo-hoo-oo ... and the green lanterns calling to the high soft stars ... a red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills ... go to it, O jazzmen.
2.6k
(Chirstmas Day, 1917)THE FIVE O'CLOCK prairie sunset is a strong man going to sleep after a long day in a cornfield.
The red dust of a rusty crimson is fixed with two fingers of lavender. A hook of smoke, a woman's nose in charcoal and ... nothing.
The timberline turns in a cover of purple. A grain elevator humps a shoulder. One steel star whisks out a pointed fire. Moonlight comes on the stubble.
"Jesus in an Illinois barn early this morning, the baby Jesus ... in flannels ..."
2.5k
Music of the street
Reverberates loudly
Out the dumpster,
From the tiny mouth
Of a screaming
Baby
Wrought in the wombs
Of filth, injustice,
Foggy rage.
Tongues ripped out,
On the floor, tastebuds that
Know the pang
of blue blood.
Rusty nails and overused syringes
***** the fingers,
Softly.
The people yell, maniacally,
Yet remain unheard.
Pain becomes evident,
Written on the faces
Of the unwholesome.
A wafting scent of
Their rotten morals,
Forgotten dreams,
Floats, as hot steam,
from the pavement.
Unable now
To decompose.
Across the road,
A pregnant woman holds
Her cigarette, which
Smells of cookies
And cream soda.
Jesus was enlightened,
Not too pious
For the poor.
Yet more than pain
Was written
On their faces,
Missing tongues, missing eyes.
Laid together
On the piss-stained mattress,
Feet to head and head
To feet.
Nonsense was confused
As words, that danced into
Non-platonic humps.
She kissed him, because
She wanted to feel
The texture of his brain.
Pick her up with
Golden hand, though
She may see you.
And the sad image of
Dollar bills
Inspires the mind,
Making it immobile.
Here, where the **********
Stands, more holy
Than the monastery.
Crawling, as they do,
Through unpainted,
Rented walls, like
Hungry little cockroaches,
Creeping for a bite.
The small infant still
Lays on metal, each
Moment crying softer
For warmth.
Though you will not
Hear her tomorrow,
As she’s carted off by
Garbage men
Who, each week, remove
The undesired
Remnants of yesterday.
Hope for sweet
Needles to sooner bring her
A different relief.
Life is so simple
When struggles
Are never-ending.
Mi amor pequeña,
no llores más. El fin está cerca,
aunque no entiende
mis palabras.
Though the buildings
Surrender with
Decay and the sun decides
He doesn’t want
To keep on caring
The music still plays mournfully,
And only the baby can hear.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
It has every right to bare
this clenched fist of a grudge
embittered by techno-Jovian
whims and base transformations
Once delicately formed— two
tips pressed en pointe, three
others elegantly tucked— it
danced with a golden shaft
pulling indigo pirouettes
across a swept ivory stage
Then came the re-pose: a claw’s
arched looming. Unhappiness
fell as five wilted stems,
beggar mouths forced to fumble
toward those impoverished
humps of white-on-black glyph
The other hand is left
complimentary, richly gripped
by understudy glee, being
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 9:43 AM UTC
Hot boys express emotion
in the resonance and width of their exhausts
in pipe dreams of measurement
in the rev and roar of super heated motors
mixing spark and sensibility
in the sudden screech and stretch of rubber
marking asphalt and bitch-u-men
out there in the middle ground
where the road humps.
Hot boys light up the night with high beams
cruise the darkest alleyways of masculinity
challenging old men at intersections -
in their soft leather seats and euro-neat boxes
of air-conditioned luxury and debt -
to pole position and the chequered flag of fortune.
Hot boys in cars that throb with bass notes
and bootilicious chick lyrics -
sung by black boys wicked in the zone
always bragging ’bout their bone
and how they make the ***** moan -
snarl abuse at walking women
fragile objects on the pavement shelves
shaped colour lost in time
that pass beyond their touch and reach.
Hot boys are tiny traces of an oil rich mixture
trailing blue smoke in their wake
foot to the floor high stakes, top geared no brakes
as they snake round the hills and the hairpin bends
as they wrap tight trees at the crash, crush end
and the hot boys cool in the night.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
a girl found a crown on the street
clink, clank, and rolling to her feet
cold gold touched her pinkish toes-
during inspection the jewels bit her nose
she wore it all day long, in strength
found her chores list lessen in length
people blinded by it's brilliant glint
it gleamed eyes away, replaced the print
each precious stone reworked memories
envious green glass once enemies
now pink, mirrored, singular, hers
to match the crown, she wore silver furs
her cloak dragged upon the ground
other children picked it up, and found
themselves wrapped inside and gone
the village became smaller, the cloak became long
the elders dug deep at the edge of their home
while the girl was away, living alone
they discovered bones, gnawed to stumps
bugs and beetles, full, in mounds and humps
they fit the girl's old clothes perfectly
renewed dead flesh, but hurtfully
her eyes were gone, the crown's centrepiece
the flesh left again, puddled their knees
the girl had died and was eaten, long ago
it took some time, they cried, but now we know
the metal melted her fat and skin and sinew
pock-marked her bones, rotted right through
replaced a monster with her spirit, living dead
used her soul as the cloak's first thread
vacuumed others, knitted them close and thick
a pretty trinket turned poisonous trick
the elders chased the monster away
along with their children, that day
they cried and created new children, then
never let them wander again.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
As we wander through the dunes rhythm,
The blistering sun jaunts across,
Exhibiting the elegance of the sanguine sands,
A ravishing roots of colours,
Whirling on the Sahara,
The beautiful blue skies,
Their true reflection,
With delight we trail from audaghust to the inlands,
In a waddling gait,
The heavy luggages on humps,
Are the loads of luxury bade by kumbi saleh,
The camels and jockeys pride themselves in it flamboyant environs,
And our thobes and keffiyeh makes merry,
In the breeze of sacred grove trees,
Mesmerizing the aesthetics of Arab architecture,
Treking through the routes of Tjilmasa to Tehrent,
In the comfort of the oases,
Replenishing our thirst and fatigue,
With benevolent breeze from palms and peaches,
Glancing at the magnificent mirages pearls,
We sight the atlas mountains,
And its Maghreb,
Caravan
A Poem Written By,
Historian E.Lexano
©March 8,2015
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC
..[O]..
:::::::and
:::::::::::::::::shy
some moths dare
hang around a light,
dim, peeping....a lone
terra cotta lamp........not
bright enough....to guide a
journeying mind.....through
some dark paths......one....two
more lamps could help stop the
tripping..... .on life's many humps,
it makes the air....stale......with sighs,
uncomfortably moist, with cold sweat
the window curtains are a shield, a weak
wall, pregnant with longing
and apprehension.......soon
it will collapse, more moths
will fly free........the fleeing
the healing.......could make
nights longer...........the air
staler...............in this dark
conquering.............silence
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Evening rain showers merge with the
humid air.......the strong scent of the
growing pine tree...the scarce light
the aroma of chicken, simmering
in a mix of vinegar, soy sauce
...............garlic and spices
penetrate my nostrils and
infuse the atmosphere,
and.....disconcert me
i'm taken back, i gulp
i salivate...a late solo
dinner awaits...glass
of wine.......beckons
i give in....i sit by the
garden table.......raise
my wine glass.......i say
"Cheers!"...........tonight's
.................not so full moon
..........is shy............and hazy
as i hum....Patsy Cline's, "Crazy."
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
::::Sunday moon, May 1, 2016:::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Sally
Copyright May 1, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 8:14 PM UTC
Domestically the cat and dog
Are streets above the rest
But wild alligators
Have put this theory to the test.
Panting hippopotami
Run faster than a mule
And a camel humps his water
Through the desert like a fool.
Bandicoots are ugly,
Chipmonks pretty cute,
And the squirrel steals his nuts
And hides them in the ground as loot.
Tigers are voracious
But beautiful as sin,
They have coats of cruel colours
With two burning eyes within.
Elephants spectacular,
Blue whales even more
But my favourite little goldfish
Really shows them all the door.
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
4th January 2009
Oct 23, 2009
Oct 23, 2009 at 10:32 PM UTC
Ha ha doesn't do it.
Ha ha can't be it.
Nothing like Nihilism
Enlists the whole lament.
Slack relief in disbelief
mine of God
I just figured
No halo
finished
Time
Next line no using
phones please and no
cursing please think
that's going to ****
off the young,
when all they read
How mellow
Now trees?
So you think getting
pregnant tired driving 40
on the night they drove
old Dixie down it
couldn't rain enough for
me I wanted to see
their Wagonwheel slats
stuck up to their humps
in dreams. It's easy to
get a palm trimming.
actually think they
read anywhere
can write some
One.
At least I have a
************* palm
yes I'm lying
in bed now get some
sleep it's who
they all say you're *******
my recording girl
you took my
only lighter.
Because
what God
touts God
Routs and tryouts
buy shouts
yet still
Doubts if
She is really out.
Ha ha! Nihilists won't expound.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC
I want to eat peaches and cream off your thighs,
Have I ever told you that?
Well, that’s what I want to do.
On a lazy Sunday afternoon,
When we are watching something weird
Before the Channel 5 news
Cruises through, like a liner,
And disturbs the World’s Worst Hurricanes.
I want dribble the cream down
To the tops of your knees
And watch each droplet coat,
Like a new skin,
Milky and new and thick.
Then I’ll reach for my tin opener,
Peach slices, neat, from the nearest Co-Operative
Arranged like humps of a lizard
Once believed to exist.
You'll let me, won't you?
You with your hair,
And your nails
And your laugh.
I want to eat peaches and cream off your thighs,
Have I ever told you that?
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
Stocked up, locked up
In my sanctum ********
Got *** and cigs and cheap wine;
For me that makes a quorum.
I hope no friend comes by
Acting all hale and hearty.
They're not inside a moment
Then they call up Dial A Party.
Then suddenly my place
Plays host to all the bums
Who have nothing else
But the strength to come
And just sit on my couch
And then eat up all my food
Drink all of my *****
While slurring words like “Dude!”
Now, I'm not anti-social
But I am not Donald Trump
Who has plenty of cash
To entertain these humps.
If they only brought something;
A six-pack or some ****
I'd find an excuse for them;
Some lame reason or need.
So, these days I read
And keep the stereo off.
I don't turn on the lights.
Hell, I don't even cough.
I hide out in the bedroom
Just me and Sam *****
Seriously reconsidering
The kind of friends I've made.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 10:38 PM UTC
i
because instead of slipping away,
i can feel you
stretching away
through the lines of electricity that
used to run from
hand to hand finger to finger
seamlessly clasped and lightning touch
but now, the distinct, archaic
electricity wires;
through the state line that makes
144 miles
2.5 hours in a car with traffic,
3.5 hours in a train with horizons
seem like the years that we spent
not knowing each other;
through the lines of shadow that
keep me up in the middle of the night,
pulling me down when
i’m short enough already, thanks;
through the line that was once binding us,
which was only there to make separate forms
somewhat distinct—
the line which now feels
like us dissolving
thinning,
holes becoming gaps becoming gasps,
then melting into
tarred and feathered feelings,
and the knowledge that even
poetry
can’t make me feel what you felt today.
life line, my ***
ii
some days, i feel
like a ******* camel.
not only because i have to
stumble bleak miles over
thankless tundra under the
blue sky of distinct impossibility
that in reality is heaven on earth,
but in reality doesn’t have your smile;
not only because i have to do this with
memories of you stored
like water in humps—
the way you look when we press up
nose to nose and laugh,
the way you feel like something new
and something never-ending
the way you conduct lightning though my spine
and make thunder sound in my ears
all of which has faded to a distant sloshing;
not only because sometimes
i see a mirage, that
palm tree lake luau oasis,
that glimpse of the curve of your jaw or
whisper of the sound of your voice
that makes me turn around
but is really another sand dune;
but because when i see other couples
with their hands interlocked and their
eyes aligned and their feet in step like
their life is a stage and their world is a musical,
i want to ******* spit.
iii.
but sometimes i realize
that stretching is growth is elasticity;
that because the kinetic momentum of matter
is the fusion of what i want to want
with what i need to need,
it doesn’t matter
because either way,
i can’t complain.
that because i’m at home in the sound of your voice
and because i haven’t been homesick at all, but
lovesick and yousick and
healthier than ever because of it—
it makes me smile whenever, at the end of every conversation, we say:
i love you
i miss you.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 3:50 PM UTC
Blood-stains on t-shirts from really high falls
A dog humps my leg and I kick his *****
Stupid *** sweaters that my grandma brings
These are just some of my least-favorite things.
"Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels"
Conversations with people who are so dulls
Flicks in the ears gee dee, man, that stings
These are some more of my least-favorite things.
Being sent to the yard to cut off a switch
Double dating twins, don't know which one's which
Rhyming "things" three times what a pain that is-ings?
I just ran out of my least-favorite things.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 12:27 AM UTC
**** Day is the very best day of the week,
at least, if fun is what you seek.
It's the day where camels come out to play,
so let's all give a cheer for **** day!
But there is one evil that lurks within.
It smells alot worse than a trash bin.
It is a day where everything is gray,
it is called Over the **** Day!
Wendsday, ah Wendsday, the nick name of humps,
you make us not feel not at all in the lumps.
But Thursday, the nick of the core of all evil'll,
destroy you and claw you and eat you yes he will.
So let's all give a cheer for **** Day, why not,
even if it's on the day that we hate alot!
**** Day is great, and that's just so true,
so join the fun on **** Day, if I can do it, so can you!
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
Running away , running away
Running away , running away
Where am I running ..........?
To the place where there is no Pain
Where am I running ..........?
To the road where there is no humps
Where am I running.......... ?
To the place where there is clear vision
Standing at the edge of a Cliff
thinking how to cross it !!!!!
Wild Animals , Floods , Thick Forest
Uncivilized people , Desert Land , Corrupted Cities
Hard Manner , Selfish Nature ,
Troubled River , are there
Far across the Cliff
Can see a Child riding a White Horse
No Fear or Troubled heart What the Future will be ,
a Beautiful Rainbow , No pain in that land
T want to go there , I want to go there
BUT
Suddenly a second thought is coming ,Realizing
What am I doing ...........?
Why am I running away ........?
Will this pessimist thinking help me .....?
If I go !!! Will this make me happy forever ...?
Now I am thinking to go back
face the Challenges that comes across
I have the Potential , to change my thinking
To change the Place where I am
Just as beyond across the cliff
Will Sleep in peace now
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 6:29 AM UTC
Woke up thinking that
all days are great days for humps;
one just got lucky.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:30 AM UTC
When I first saw her
cruise into the health food store,
I immediately thought of Camelot
and all those visions of chivalry.
But at the checkout line,
she was rough.
I mean,
mean,
like really snobby,
treated the cashier
like dirt,
as if she were
all high and mighty.
I'm not sure what she's been through,
but it really doesn't matter,
she's afflicted with something
chivalry can't cure,
like the lack of a kind heart.
I'd rather date a friendly camel
with no humps,
I'm sure it wouldn't mind
a few manners.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
Life, as with all Beings impregnated
Hamper these Virtues for those Teens delayed
To which we remind; In Growth compensated
Handy-Spread Vices from Feelings displayed
Perhaps from which - shun such Bloke-Haste Advice
Having spoiled these Inner Credentials since
What-Not? What-For? Skin that Crumpy Device -
Cross-dress Cat's Tannery to Barrows hence:
What this means - Sentinels - or Football-Humps
Even with Morals does enrich the Need
To hear a Lumper; Then post-date with mumps
Part-and-Parcel take Learning from a Seed.
This, after all, your Labels from Friends fear
Fortify your Codes; To Values they hear.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC