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Poetictunes Mar 2016
I bet you think all ****** don't read.
I bet you think all ****** smoke ****.

I bet you think all ****** are the same.
I bet you think all ****** are the blame.

I bet you think ****** don't know nothing about the law.
I bet you think all ****** don't know nothing at all.

I bet you think all ****** are not smart.
I bet you think all ****** don't even care about art.

I bet you think all ****** are from the streets.
I bet you think, oh ****, this poem is getting really deep.

I bet you think all ****** carry a heat.
I bet you think all ****** are dead beats.

I bet you think ****** are thugs.
I bet you think all ****** sell drugs.

I bet think all ****** are classless with statuses of madness
I bet you think all ****** are cashless.

I bet you think all ****** are in the penitentiary.
I bet you think all ****** are cemetery.

I bet you think all ****** rap or trap.
I bet you think all ****** sag their pants with two rags and a stockin' cap.

I bet  you think all ****** are guilty.
I bet you think all ****** are filthy.

I bet you think all ****** rob.
I bet you think all ****** don't have a job.

I bet you think all ****** don't go to college.
I bet you think all ****** are out here wylin.

I bet you think all ****** are like Christopher Wallace.
I bet you think all ****** will grab and ****** you up for your wallet.

Some say a prophet, nah
I just see it how they call it.
Every line is on hydraulics.
Every time I rhyme, every word becomes solid.
Enjoy..
PoeticTunes is the name.
SG Holter Oct 2014
Anger. Old friend. I used to
Fear you. Now you are
A tool;

Seeing me assertive when
Others fail to act.
Pumping crimson oil through

The hydraulics of my Must,
Move and This when
Something's there that

Shouldn't. Yes, you may fill
My eyes with the Black of
Blacks when faced with

Spite and inconsideration;
The kind of Black that keeps
Loved ones safe.

Anger. Old friend. Finally
Wise enough not to
Overstay your welcome.
In the meantime in the Állos kósmos or Ultramundi, Wonthelimar after hearing the speeches and paragraphs of the speakers saw from paradise how Calypso Lepidoptera appeared, approaching in great magnitudes on the dry land on the banks of the blue and golden stones of Skalá. In torrents of rushing from the water-sky with wind-water, by geomorphological hydraulics of the collapse of the irresistible capacity to harass each other in the ears of Seleuco's dialogues, after they piled up in the sneaking curds of him on the island of his speech. Right there it settled from the koelum or sky of the Lepidoptera from the Orofí or ceiling, on the natural arches of aeolian erosion and its devastating plumage, appearing in the subaerial splendor of Chauvet and its gloomy darkness, changing the morphology of the bank of Skalá turned into enchanted turquoise light also with Calypso nuances. From here Wonthelimar obscures the circumflex arc or circumflexes, which pierced and eroded the surface, piling up the ex-generals of Alexander the Great, to skewer them on the stump that was languidly seen supporting them, after the tides of Lepidoptera that avalanche in destined per capita towards the destined underworld of Wonthelimar.

Wonthelimar was separated from everyone by the moat that was separated from the gods of the surface, but now where the supporters of Seleucus were predestined by imbibing themselves in the bilocated kingdom of Chauvet and its darkness, where they were put into agreements of suitability and clarity of words discursive for the eagerness to persuade his major general. But they all fell into the middle of a dark Ultraworld, judging themselves to be dying in stockpiles of biosystems where no one helped them and gave them some indication or diagnosis of being separated from the canopy that drained them from spectral affairs, speaking as vivid visions of benefits and sovereignties that escaped from themselves without contemplation or quietism of the human race, which procreates xenophobia to kings without throne or nation. Under the Attic, calendar were the months here were only eighth, Anthesterion, received them with the name directly of the main festival celebrated in this month, Anthesteria. In goods of name contests in the semester of Pyanepsia, Thargelia, and Skira where they were relatively significant, in some of the greatest celebrations in the life of a Polis, which is not recognized in the name of the month. Some sparkled in the sound of the Great Dionysia celebrated in Elaphebolion (ninth month), and the Panathenaia in which they are only indirectly recognized in Hekatombaion (month one), named after the hecatomb, of the sacrifice of "one hundred oxen" celebrated at night. End of the Panathenaia. This is where the suspicious fondness of both families of Seleucus and Alexander the Great differed in the accent that marks the written line of the infra Polis, where the leaders of Haides or Hades are lost, for the purposes of Aïdes, as not indivisible, but with the presence of Wonthelimar, who is invisible but epically static on his balustrade in all the rings that chorally wore them for each patronage of the diádocos generals, even so he had betrayed the Hellenic legacy, by a Hellenic-Orthodox one in the disappearance of Alexander the Great in Babylon without knowing that it had been rescued by Wonthelimar, surpassing the limits of the rings of stefánes ibix, or Aros de íbiz, as nano kvantikoí daktýlioi, quantum nano-ring that augured to sensitize the dermis of its carpal phalanges, from the eighth, Anthesterion to Elaphebolion (ninth month), minus the one hundred and twenty days of gestation in a month of the attic of imníbiz, that it was of wise advice to receive him in the new engend rivers of Wonthelimar in the depths and bundles of marrow with gestation forms of an Ibex goat, with their embedded bases of stalagmites, filing the meaning of each life that was lodged in the depths of the caves and its opacity. The Eygues of Valdaine was the Acheron, but with half the deceased who sat in rows and unleashed their laurels that possessed poor aids tormented by mandrake root hands.

The underworld was a swamp that covered the heels of the diádocos in the immense blackness of the cavern that wounded them one and the other with its Kopis, by more than a hundred blows and slashes that covered them with mud and moans in their buried half bodies. That they had been intruded from linear entrances to the underworld of Wonthelimar. In the thick musts of the quagmire where objects with ornaments of fear and cavalier materiality lay, such mangrove deserts satiated with gloomy fibromyalgia and amnesia, refiguring in the wandering bones, that sinned in lights and destinies that were adopted in the sub-world with incorporeal needs., more than the exhaustion that tore the skeletal muscle of each one behind the meager compromise openings, in the strong ligaments of the host Wonthelimar that took them at forced steps towards paradises where there will never be consciousness from a Theseus typology, but from a sub taxonomy - Verthian mythological, for purposes and among others that unleash it by propelling self-infernos that are not those born by a Macedonian force or Satrap into puny kings turned into a servile, mute and decayed.

It is necessary, that solitude of all the entrances from the abyss into which they fell, was titanic and of ultraphobic acquiescent inspiration, and in the acid gestures of search of Persephone or Aerse that in random gestures fled from their persecutors, like females who ended fleeing from themselves falling into the back room where the end of souls is never exceeded or Psyché re emigrating from the punishments of a satire or a static that resulted in a ghostly wandering, or in tendentious spinners that tribulated in belated bundles of repentance. From primitive times, subjugations have been longed for in kings who would never think of leaving their cracks and washing their hands behind the backs of others who stood by, leaving the courage to lose themselves in the perversity of a body deposited in the Tartars, having to give them their prehistoric debts and meadows of carpeted debts and caged rooms.

The generals commanded by Seleucus walked barefoot along with the stump that wounded them in seams for their plantar areas, and in extreme distress, they did not dare to ask mercy from the cave host who transported them through the deep pit of perpetuity, where the frigid bullet of angina of Wothelimar, filled them with memories that protected their survival. In unworthy caprice and watery *****,… it ran frivolously down their legs, even after each impulse to recover the flashes of estimating being scared of oneself, after finding dead fruits subsisted halfway, feeling voices from the origin of the abyss that I quoted them.

Etréstles says: "Mashiach allow me to enter this grave, I do not know if I should go to rescue them, because I know what will happen..., I only ask that if I enter with courage, help me to find the same light of the exit, with the same memory of not to waste arrests, and not to lose myself in my entrustment by those who I know will not return”

Behind some Sabine poplars, it is seen how the elytra of the Lepidoptera were opened for those who crossed from the darkness without the appearance of their fruitful eyes that tickled praises of surrender, and not of ibid in the ibid that surrounded them, as if they were violated that heal at the moment when their faces departed from the miracle of privacy, and from the solitude decreed of non-existent company, companionship calming any dogmatic symptoms and hypoxia that the glimpse of the Eygues and the Acheron left them, further behind in which Saint John the Apostle and Vernarth, Reader and Petrobus to bring Etréstles back.

Saint John the Apostle says: “Vernarth go for your brother,… he wants to protect the souls of Seleucus and his comrades, go soon because there is little left to fill them with darkness which will even besiege in their reasoning and anti homelands that will not be from the din of the campanile, out of tune with joy that runs on the graces of the gift that frees you from the worst virus by not being anti-viral… ”.

Vernarth replies: “Etréstles is the slogan of Erebus, perhaps of Bumodos…, I have to stop him for his profession, since the comrades of Seleuco will not return, the effigies of Wonthelimar have made them of his children in Ultramundi, and what is Solstice of the underworld, it is only a small Sun that fits in the buttonhole of the orthogonal slot that confines it”.

At that time Raeder paraded where he before they reached the omega of the gully pit, running swiftly over the eyelets of Wonthelimar, leaving both completely naked, to tear them away from the contrived spell and bring Etrestles back all the way together and running., but both stripped of lightness and acceleration escaped from the centripetal bodies. After the tortured walls of the pit, they no longer supported themselves in their Skotos or Erebo of Wothelimar in such a primordial deity of this theogonic and fantastic event in the bilocated cavern of Chauvet in Skalá. Here all the densities and units of physical genres, from above and below surrounded them in the thick sulfur atmosphere, Ananké in such a goddess of inevitability ran after all who tried to reverse the situation of the diádocos, for the purpose of consenting their paragraphs Hellenics and to save their lives, but the mother of the Moiras went behind Etréstles and Vernarth along with Rader and Petrobus who were basking in the glow of Persephone that imbued them as they stagnated drinking mead with the Canephores who followed him. From this cryptic moment or from the bombastic insignia of Crete, Kanti's trotting from his Cretan figure was felt united with the Lepidoptera Calypso, redeeming Demeter from her crying on the edge of some Bern olive trees, emptier now that the last gradients of the agonic and venous voices in the hilarious of some diádocos that were completely absorbed by the benevolent illusion of Wonthelimar, snowy in the harrowing tenuity of his gestures and of the great Iberian that took them towards the heights of the hillocks and towards the Ultramundi that It turned them into proles of the mountainous areas, and into super aquatic monsters with thousands of loose eyes in the arches of the generals bleating, which transposed ****** subjugations of primal deities, and philastics of phantasmagorical genres of Hellas that is plucked from the peritoneum of their stomachs, and that guttural eradicated them from the blue adrenaline of Apollo.

This odyssey dispelled the orthogonal lines of the poetic affliction of those who could see the sunset and the Spyché ***** that antagonized Ananké's numinous efforts to extubate them, and perhaps exile them to the Theban plains to graze Achaeans of the first degree alongside Shamash. Lamenting of young afternoons and of the abysmal with beautiful hair of the generous of effects, swampy and of feverish Hadesian or Hade's rounds that crippled their districts, they emanated from some Marie Curie junk and vapors radiating this Parapsychological Quantum to them from their own holy final body., for a virtuous and rout of the Ultramundis of Wonthelimar.
Wonthelimar Ultramundi
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
He wore a purple knitted cap.
He had a carrot nose
This snowman figurine wore skates
with black buttons on his clothes.
His cheeks were daubed a cherry red
His bootless feet looked cold.
His smiling was perpetual
His was a hopeful soul.

Yet now he lay out near the curb
He was destined for the trash
His mistress found a figurine
that had a bit more flash.
He looked back sadly at the house.
The only home he'd known
His colleagues, perched on windowsills
looked out at him alone.

The trash-men came
and grabbed the bags
hydraulics crushed and smashed
One trash man took the figurine
and put it with his stash
The trash man and his little girl
since Spring had lived alone.
It was hard since Emma's mother died
but he tried to make a home.

With no insurance and one salary
his house this year looked bare
Where once they'd had a festive Spruce
now a pitiful fake stood there.
Such decorations as they had
were pilfered from the trash
of folks with little sentiment
and too much spending cash.

In his workshop in the basement
He made the snowman shine
His silver skates were polished
He repainted every line.

Little Emma loved the snowman
When she saw him near the tree
He is no longer called unwanted
since he found a new family.
Brad Lambert Oct 2013
C'etait vraiment une belle soirée,
la plus-que parfait soirée de toute ma vie.
C'etait un soir amaranthine.

I have seen God,
and he is pistons on iron.
Grey-blue eyes, saltwater pools.
That squeelin' a'screechin whimperin' whinin' hydraulics,
Can you feel the hydraulic boom-boom bass-bass..

He is a man crying "Hey,"
he is a woman selling jewelry
he is wraps and rounds, garnets that glow,
he is 'Tree Fort' musically meditating with meditating musicians,
he is a writer writing in the woods,
he is burning paolo santo,
he is iced off dose,
real European ****.

(Boom, boom. Bass, bass.)

he is Scorpio sun signs sun shining,
he is a man's heart shining.

Won't you look at all these hearts,
really have a look at them,
and tell me that they aren't the most

beautiful
creative
spirited


hearts that you've ever seen?

Scorpio, I love you. I really did love you. And how I've loved you since.

It was truly a beautiful party,
the most beautiful party of my whole life.
It was a night amaranthine.
There's an entire field of math
that investigates how fast
things move, one with respect another.
From hydraulics to ballistics,
to scheduling and logistics,
to expected birth rates -
healthy babies, happy mothers.
You can model how disease
moves through a populace with ease
or with diff'culty, as coefficients vary,
how heat and energies diffuse,
or how quickly I will lose
your rapt attention, if I choose,
choose to carry,
always carry,
  carry on the way I do.
If I carry,
always carry on,
  to interest just a few.
But hey.
A passion's still a passion
no matter what you're drawn to.

And with some level of abstraction,
maybe we could find an action,
a reaction,
  an expansion
that could yield a change or two.
Piece together some firm notion,
quantify that art in motion,
brew that bubbling new potion
that can build a better view.

Because there's got to be some level
where preconceptions start to end.
Where the Bell curve starts to bevel,
where your mind begins to bend.
Where names and labels scatter free;
it doesn't matter what you do.
Where fin'lly I can just be me,
where you can just be you.

Because it all comes back to how we move,
one with respect another,
always acting as behooves
someone with our label's cover.
Father, mother.
Sister, brother.
  Pusher, shover.
   Friend and lover.
Villain, hero.
Dime or zero.
  Caesar, Nero,
or just a guy.
A ****, a bro
a ****, a **
The man who knows
every disguise.
Mathematician,
a physician,
  a scared little boy wishin'
  on a shootin' star swishin'
long across a midnight sky.
Theatrical protagonist.
Can you start to get the jyst?
We've got so many roles to play.
Who do we want to be today?
  Just who looks back behind our eyes?

A Freedom Fighter
Wrong righter
Fire started
Broken hearter
Wallet stealer
Dope dealer
  Narc
  Cop
STOP!
For God's sake,
let it stop.

I've got too many roles to fill.
Just can't chill.
Can't calm down,
can't come around.
I'm so tired,
I'm so wired,
  I'm so scared of gettin' fired.
So much **** piles up.
Please, Barkeep, one more in my cup.
  And crank those ******' dials up.
Make chaotic volume flood,
'til the sound of pounding blood
  in my ears becomes a mud
layered thick around the brain,
until that **** that's so insane,
  becomes labeled as mundane.
Betrayal.  ******.  War.
Ya know, I've seen it all before.
  And I'd expect we'll see some more.
But that's okay.
I can breathe.
I'm listed here as understanding.
It's expected.
Let it go.
I'm listed here as undemanding.

It was for a blessing's name
that Cain betrayed his brother.
So becomes our choice of movement,
one with respect another.
Stationary, if not stable,
names fighting to define
people willing, if not able,
to leave their names' confines.

I know it could be simple
if we put our names to rest,
but like some aggravated pimple
grows my own list to contest.
I'm still a lover unrequited.
Still the guy who's ever-slighted,
I've got my Fightin' Irish side;
got both the drinker and his pride.
I still speak my simple credo,
have a Gemini's libido.
And by chivalry's demand,
will keep on offering my hand,
  knowing full well that you will stand
without assistance,
and insistence
that you don't need help from a man.

It gets out of hand so quickly
trying to cultivate ourselves
into what we think we should be.
We wind up bring off the shelves
more than we bargained for
and in the end,
the labels wind up wrong.
While well-intended
all we ended up with
is a spoiled song.

It started out four hands together
plucking out a little tune.
Silv'ry chords you sent to heaven
on a morning come too soon.
But the motif
stolen by the thief
of our own grand delusions,
Our minds,
just as we trained them,
racing off to draw conclusions...

What was once upon a time
beautiful simplicity
became muddled by the noise
of the entire symphony.
The blowing brass and sawing strings
of complicated history
confuse the senses, turn our tune into
a blurred cacophony.

And so we quit that silly game,
'cause it could never be the same
after we banished every name
except our own.
Then we could be
free from confinement on the "who,"
the "what," the "why" of what we do.
with me just me, and you just you.

So it is shown.
Q.E.D.
dj May 2012
Shut your ******* mouth

And help me super-glue 
this flap of skin back to my face
Lock the door.

(Microchips & Grind-gears coo
Behind that rubbery facade
An Android god
A Hissing machinery zoo in there
Clamping hydraulics; what a scare)

Hurry!
No one can see this -
It's not even ****** for Pete's sake

It doesn't get better 
There was nothing wrong 
To begin with.
I am perfect, remember?
Wink wink
But really,
*How long until this glue dries?
Inspired by Darci Mason from the animated Superman seris
Brent Kincaid Aug 2015
It was the Saturday before Halloween
And my friends were having a blowout.
For the first time in a long time I chose
To make an exception and go on out
Dressed up for the occasion that night
As Moses without the tablets, a mask,
And when I got there, nobody groaned
Instead, I got offered a hit on a flask.

So, I arrived at the party, not hopeful
That a good time would be had by all.
I wore my silly old man mask at first
And my long gold robe to cover it all.
No biggie, everyone was dressed up
In outrageous, fantasy forms of attire
There were princesses and knights.
I called one crowned fellow sire.

My friends were doing a wine tasting
In connection with the happy affair
So, I took them up on all of that
After doffing my mask full of long hair.
We joked and told each other tales
Of our activities at work and home.
Later, I found myself kissing with
A hot to trot, **** garden gnome.

Then my oldest buddy Dan said,
“Let’s take this to the Boulevard.
It was just five blocks to the south
So the walk won’t be that hard.”
Seeing the adventure in this
Nobody disagreed even a little
We took off in a clump of twenty
With me masked, close to the middle.

First was our friend, Allan the artist.
He’d constructed a seven foot ****.
He wore black pants and shoes
But the papier mache did the trick.
Second was the Darth Vader guy,
A lawyer in a fine rented outfit.
Behind him was Doctor Ucia Sickie
In scrub greens with ****** clots on it.

There was Raggedy Anne and Goofy
And a couple of Midnight Cowboys
And Dan was dressed quite normally
Because he was the outing’s decoy.
See, most of us were a bit drunk, and
Nobody had any dope on them then
As it was a touchy time about ***
In the days of Reagan, way back when.

Daniel didn’t care. Without telling a soul
He had whipped up Toklas brownies
And passed them to us, getting us ripped
Completely unknown to most of the townies.
Dan raised great window-box stuff, so I
Remembered, in two bites, from times before,
And soon I got that happy, toasty feeling
And my shyness was suddenly no more.

Of we went, twenty fools wide then
Wandering down the Avenue of Stars
Goggling at the crowd, the costumes,
The zinging lights and the hopping cars.
Everyone had beer bottles, not just us
Or wine bottles and were guzzling glad
About this happy, jam packed occasion
There was no way to be bored or sad.

The cholos were dancing their hydraulics
On cars that cost more than some homes,
And the sidewalks were all overflowing
With humans thick as laundry foam.
It wasn’t really walking, it was standing up
And letting the tide of people carry me
In a Mardi Gras atmosphere of loopy fun
That offered up nothing to worry me.

We went all the way to Fairfax, then we
Turned around and made our way back
A knotted mass of silly people gabbing
Like hamsters running on an invisible track.
Halfway down, at about Hudson street,
In front of me I heard something loud.
People were screaming with laughter
And gathered in an even tighter crowd.

The middle of a circle, with TV cameras,
Was Allan, the seven foot ****, corralling
A six foot, totally authentic Miss Piggy
And she was fending him off giggling.
He kept putting the huge head of his guise
Down toward her thighs, and the crowd
Applauded, hooted, whistled and laughed
And it seemed the Boulevard just howled.

It was on the news the next morning
As we all were sure it would have to be
But that night became a noteworthy one
For all of my friends, strangers and me.
You never know what will happen to you
When you let yourself be a bit more free.
You might end up in a Halloween Parade.
Well. At least that’s what happened to me.
C S Cizek May 2015
From across the hall, I watched her double
over Coleridge, sympathizing as she looked
up to the thin curtain filtering the street-light
universe past the pane held in hot glue.
The click-heels, car barks, ceaseless L-Train
turnstiles, tipsy choirs in cracked-door taverns,
hinges, keys on carabiners, bus hydraulics,
the wall clock, and her fingers caressing the page.
She loved a soft wind carrying birdsong
through screen doors and dowel chimes.
She used to leave her shoes lace-tangled
by the key rack until she saw glass pollen
sparkling in a caged tulip blossom.
She raised the book and sullenly whispered
the last stanza of Frost at Midnight
into the spine, wondering how anyone
could live away from impressionist-dandelion
forests, children's plastic toys in the front yard,
and church bells at every hour.

I wondered the same thing.
This poem will be relevant to my girlfriend and I's situation in a few years.
nick armbrister Jan 2018
garage tools
orbital sander sanding away
big it up for the orbital sander
getting sand on now now now
hear the orbital sander sand away

orbital sander
orbital sander
orbital sander
sand sand sand!

like his mate the orbital grinder
give it a good grind
grind away on the go
watch that baby grind away

orbital grinder
orbital grinder
orbital grinder
grind grind grind!

hydraulic ramp going up and down
no car is too heavy
fantastic hydraulics
touch of a button up down up down

hydraulic ramp
hydraulic ramp
hydraulic ramp
lift lift lift!

laser gig perfectly aligned
laser beam on target
crash damage repair perfection
laser accuracy beyond compare

laser gig
laser gig
laser gig
laser laser laser!

boss is doing a ******* eppy
the tech is too reliable
he bosses and bullies
his young apprentices about

sweep the floor
male the brews
fetch the butties
you ****** slaves
boss boss boss!
C S Cizek Jan 2015
No mad coffee shop
emotions make time real be-
tween jazz consciousness—
and the taste of sound howls for
soul on city gas
beaches that work naked like
***, like sleep; selling
ev'ry beatnik book in some
village.

Cats improvise god in barely-there clubs,
so cigarette smoke music can be cool forever.
The slide guitar, gutter trombones, the sax,
drums beat into submission, and
that voice scatting softly but strong
like hail in the scrap yard.

Be-bop skiddly bop do-*** skiddly bop.

Those lips crack off dryer barrels, blender bases,
alarm clock cord plugs rapping on the dumpster.
Those teeth chew out heels on pavement, police
tires on gravel driveways, the 8:15 bus' hiss hydraulics.
That soul.
His soul.
Is just that.
A collaboration with my girlfriend, Courtney Hayden.
vinny Feb 2016
failed to yield
had to make a move
we collided in the middle*
you had something to prove

they couldn't separate us
even with hydraulics
fatally conjoined
locked at the lips

we were scared to be alone
so we endured great pain
never truly happy
suffering in vain

we both took a toll
decades in motion
i saw it in your eyes
you blocked all emotion

i don't have those skills
i must feel to live
you do what you need to
*i still have something to give
some hold on to things hoping it will be great again
must be the taurus in them
Moonsocket Oct 2016
What happens when an insomniac eats a heavy dose?
His madness negates all logic
It suggests speed demon urgency
with hints of hysterics
He then writes words only he finds reasonable

Chemical hydraulics move sound
I know it echoes hollow here

But inside machinery fuels motion Rusted but fluid in it's rhythm

Chaos shows signs of struggle but never really fades

So for myself I say
overwhelm and disconnect
Conditioning in it's most hysterical
smile for the fall out
Frowns cause cancer

I've seen the animosity of my biology
it came into view with no invitation

Maybe if I explain myself to myself
I'll better understand my condition

Are you listening?

Yes

Please understand

It was never my intention to show you these mishaps

Or guide you through a gray world when I know colors are hard to come by

The bearded man stole all my happy tree's and now paints with the gods

What can you do?

Immortality seems selfish to me

They tore down the animal shelter for a zoo

I never did believe in God and hope if it's not reality
It judges me on action not faith

Because faith is fleeting in this obscure philosophy
Only action resonates progress

Good or bad
We nod at the pieces while shrugging off the fluff

saying "of course of course"


Finally confrontation came
But my skies broke even
shielded by my grounded logic


END
END?
END
SG Holter May 2014
Her blood is a running force.
Her temple's hydraulics; the
Instrument of
Her will. She loves like a natural
Catastrophe
Without remorse or contemplation.
Leaving scars in her wake.
When she moves I hear the theme
Song to Raiders of the Lost Ark.
She is my Tomb Raider, my heroine.
I recieve her
Saving me
Like the plot of any
Action movie.

She has blood like a vulcano.
She has love like ashes to bury
Cities.
My Tina has the looks of Lara Croft and...well...***** of Indy Jones. But she hates spiders, not snakes. And she can only shoot straight after two ciders.
Don't ask me how I know...
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
Listen for prophetic screams
Weighing down the end of yr nose
Greasing up the hydraulics of the eyeballs
Emerging wholesale from a dream
Residue of unseen seas
Still caked in tangled hair
Charlie K May 2018
As the smoke curls and coils,
Wrapping itself around those tender black lashes;
I forgot to breathe and got the wind knocked out.
It is as though, a single second let alone these few years... bereft from your lips; is like gasping in space.
You know more of the hydraulics than I do.
But I wanted you to beg; for an exploration.
"please"
We kiss and all in the world stands still.
My mind's a broken record -as cliched as it sounds- replaying the first time you slept so soundly in my arms.

I never knew peace until you.
Hey twinkles. Did you know my satellite orbits in search of you.
Lauren Sage Oct 2022
Red electric blood
I thought of you again I
Bit skin off my lip in recoiled
Shock the reminder of you like
Buzzing of neurons, the missing limb
Fresh and shocking, both the
Absence and Presence
(alpha and omega)
That you exist in scope of me, you were here and
Now you aren’t you
Don’t
Jinn Prashanti Oct 2016
....is black
Off tracks
Dead
My love is Red
Heart shreds
Pain
My love seems in vain
Teary rain
Eternal
My love is passion's inferno
Past lovers funerals
Pressure
My love is a deep treasure
Delightful pleasure
My love is symbolic
It needs solid hydraulics
...And a helmet
NeroameeAlucard Jan 2015
Can I trade lives
maybe with a lothario, just to know what it's like
to not get shunted to one side
my affections not having to bury until they wither away like dust and die
So I don't have my insecurity up with me at night screaming at me until I want to cry.

Can I trade lives?
Maybe with a car,
my lifespan may be temporary
but I'll be able to carry you, know matter how far
I could contain a president, hydraulics, maybe even a czar,

Can I Trade lives?
Maybe with a cat
I'd get to sleep all day
and lay in people's lap
Eli the poet just pulled up in a ranfla...   '64 Impala on Daytons, gold glitter, hydraulics....clean *** ride!
Ryan P Kinney May 2019
by Kevin F. Smith, Casey Kizior, JM Romig, Danielle Romig, Rick O’Donnell

How did we let this happen?
A new era begins
For the worse
I will not be silent

We thought for sure the end was near-
I held you close, our hearts racing in sync
the alarms screamed in our ears
that we were on extinction’s brink
and then our phones all bleeped and screeched

All of a sudden, the ground is on fire
It started so harmless, so small, so contained
Now flames eat everything, from the center out
The fire crumples leaves into smoke, cracks twigs, dissolves whole trees into ash
Spreading, expanding, destroying
When will it stop?
When it is all consumed.
Is this a dream?
Please let it be a dream.

The deck falls out from under my feet at an angle of 15 degrees by the bow
My shipmate asleep in berthing remain undisturbed
The light from the stairway casts my shadow
My stomach knows the hydraulics to the planes of the submarine have failed.
The planesman has 3 seconds to switch to manual
Before the sub will slip to the bottom
My heart counts the second for me
The deck rises to a zero bubble
An even plane
I climb the stairs
It’s my watch to drive the boat

False Alarm- we unclench our teeth
And took a breath – and weep
For we knew not what else to do

Created at the Jigsaw Workshop at Cleveland Concoction 3/2/2019
Travis Green Oct 2023
He pervades me with unadulterated jubilation
With his penetrating gaze
Amaze and obliterate me
Blaze and captivate me
Examine and incarcerate me

Communicate with me
With his titillating voice
Feel his fervent adoration
Flow through my creation
Vacation in his breathtaking landscape
Of contagious enchantment

Feel his hands scan
My young, yummy pumpkins
Rub my ***** ends
Let me feel his delicious thickness
Grasp with ensnaring
Of his massive spheres

Let his spectacularness
Surface in my perception
Immerse myself in his protection
Feel his wave of blazing heat
That leaves me speechless

Sweeps me off my feet
Has me so strung out
On his high-octane alcoholic concoction
I wanna have hypersonic
Homosexual *** with him

Body-to-body massage
Rock me, shock me
Squeeze me, tease me
Make me hella punchy
So lovestruck by his
Hunky sultry thugness

His hotness is too strong
For me to resist
He is like a ravenous predator on the hunt
Entering me deep and hard
Crush my inner depths

Make my limbs scream intensely
Melt in his web
Of red-hot, rapturous romance
Like cinnamon toast
With silky, creamy butter and tasty honey

Hop on his throbbing lollipop
Make me feel his hydraulics in heavy rotation
Ram my ample naked cakes
Bathe me in his exhilarating sweat
Slather my matchless masterpiece
With his leaky sticky toothpaste
TJ Struska Mar 2020
You don't ponder the dark division,
You reign in the lines,
The white and dark
Print of the land,
Kicking up dark dreams
Like dust mites in corners,
Before you wake to the
Blueberry alarm clock
Shrilling the hour like
A blazing *****.
And I open a wounded
Outpouring of blood and moons, Burning deeper
Then you thought they could.
And you study maps of
Old universities,
Bowels of Old buildings,
Cluttered with useless relics,
Old swage presses running
On hydraulics,
Old steam compressors,
And you still look to the sky,
With swing sets rising/
                              Falling,

Lifting it's motion to the sky,
Exacting your imagination
To the dark line
Falling away from the center.
Travis Green Jun 2022
When I take in his heavy
Pumped-up thugness
I am a sucker for his love
Instantly lit on a two-liter
Of his fiery hot ****
Thugging so hard
That he gives me
A magically cosmic hard-on
He got me deep in his game
So turned on by his exclusive smooth tone
Wild stylish kryptonite

He is my life
What I need
When I am burned out
What makes me rise
To the endless effervescent skies
Just a dime of his shine
Got me ***** deep
In his astonishing saucy marvelocity

Just to feel him
Unleash his deep
And dangerous magic
Upon my chocolicious
Gaylicious body
Makes me want to
Ride all night in his
Certified top-flight whip
Get a ***** blissed out
Plunging profoundly
Into his automatic
Dopetastic majesty

Boy, his body got me hot
The way he flosses his sauce
The way he talks his stellar ****
I covet to puff his lush, rugged seductiveness
Make my world rock
Like a seamless pimped-out ride
Awash with the hydraulics
Put me on his electrifying
High-speed rollercoaster
Fulfill my fantasies

Converse his uncensored words to me
To my body and soul
Make the passion grow uncontrollably
Shoot a three-pointer in my globe
Show me the Allstar ardent marvel that he is
Drink shots after shots
From my stream of flowery dreams
Exalt in my hypnotic melodic body

Let his inviting high-quality beat speak to me
Let it pick up speed when it thrills
Through my system
Like a speeding, stinging, and sleek bullet
Give me slick irresistible chills
Boy, when he feels me, he heals me
When he kisses me, he sees right through me
Leave me speechless
Thick with deep-seated feelings for him
Travis Green Jan 2022
When you flex your *** on me
I am in extreme ecstasies
You invent passionate, perfumed dreams
That stream through my mental so gently
It feels like I am on a space shuttle
To a galaxy of paradise
Where you nuzzle up to me
Touch me like a hot bottle of Ciroc

Turn up your passion
Cause I wanna feel a ravishing reaction
Ride through my scenic strip
Feel my sirenic vibe
It’s too authentic too be ingenuine
Revel in my unparalleled bliss
Let me give you immersive kisses
Show you a more vivid version of my world

Let me bless you with my protection
Cure my stress with your best medicine
Let me rest like luminescent, light-colored leaves on your chest
Rub my hands against your arms
Repeat the rhythm again and again
Feel your breath drift over my chin
Give me an unbelievably spellbinding sensation in the nighttime
Hold me right, marvel at me as if I am
The heavenly mellow moonlight acing your sightliness

In your life, I enrapture your heart
You stroke my spot
You shop on the block of my body
You cop my charm
You cause me no harm
You pour magic inside the potion of my soul
I feel like I’m floating on the North Pole
Bewitched by your immaculate flow

You ****** my mind with your superbness
You got me so fazed
Naked in your incredibly affectionate embrace
You slow me down when you travel downtown
To my world of endless enchanting dreams
You become my favorite anthem
I dance to your handsomeness
In the innermost parts of my mind

I see you shine like bright electric lights within my vessel
You activate the most extraordinary sensations in my heartland
You make me want you more than all showy Polo clothes I rock
My thoughts are on a supersonic high
I am flying first-class on your private jet
To the best *** I ever felt
Your body talks stellar slang that drowns me
In your pleasantly incandescent seas

I wanna roll with you sparkly spots
Comprehend your masculinity
Feel your princely vibe like Aladdin
Sip on your attractiveness like rare and sweet champagne
Like hypnotic Hennessy
Approach your dopeness
Embrace your strongness
The banging beats that dance in your mind

You shimmer like a hot, fresh whip with hydraulics
You are so ******, a gorgeous party king in clean attire
I wanna retire with you
Ride on your roller coaster of ebullient dreams
Feel you up inside my dimension
Rocking on top of me
Taming me in an excitable way
You are so wild
It’s like you are wasted on Alize

Your game is tight
You hit it right
Your stroke is bomb
You score touchdowns in my dynasty of enchantment
You whirl me around
I astound you with my crazy ambiance
You move on me like a golden rampant lion
Crank out magically mesmeric rhymes out of your mouth

I feel your wildness and powerfulness
I tremble in your spellbinding heartland
You make me hallucinate in your right embrace
I think I am Chinese
I freeze when you breathe your passion over my *******
I become hotter than Prada
My thoughts are all at sea
You lick me here and there
Like I am a bag of delicious Reese’s pieces
You make me pop like a rockstar
I shudder more when you open my door
And stroll inside so zealously
Like it’s the first time in a long while
Since you have seen a bad chick like me
Travis Green Apr 2022
It’s so incredible how your pleasurable impressiveness
Caresses my heavenly flesh, makes me release hot vocal sounds
That profoundly astounds me, the way your dark ardent eyes
Transport me to the smooth luxuriant shores of paradise
Inhale my creation nice and slow, twist my emotions
Like a glossy bottle cap, make me lean sideways like
A fresh, clean whip thick with the hypnotic hydraulics
I want to melt away into your dopacetic magnetic expressions

*** me with your heavy solid jackhammer
Penetrate deeply into my sweet intriguing gayness
Cause my world to shake erratically, allow me to feel
Your immaculate static electricity, your compelling
Addition and subtraction, draw me into your multiplying magicalness
Minus the division, give me ultimate precision
Press your fingers of fiery delight against my back
Slowly drag your stellar sharp fingernails up and down my spine
While I take in your dangerous thugness, your rude, lewd smoothness

You continue your spectacularly crash-hot stroke game
Pound hard into the portal of my sheer softness
While I moan immense, fabulous, and sultry shapes
Into the lusciously ****** and pleasing air
Push your pleasure pumping gun inside me more
Encase me in your enjoyableness, let me feel your wondrous
Saucy wonders, cause me to become dazed, ablaze
Calling out your name like Switch, relishing the rhythmic
Melodic sounds your charmingly chocolate thighs
Make against mine, how I quiver when you whisper in my ear

Enrapture me with the way you regulate me
How you pull me into your spell of enamoring delectations
The feel of his low hanging ***** slapping against my flesh
Such a dominant and dedicated dream sensation
You got me hallucinating, greatly taken aback
Willing to volunteer my queer services to you anytime
Make me drown in my lustful thoughts of you
Fervently floating in space, feeling you so deep
Inside my hot, lush guts, captured in your intense worldwide spotlight
Your brilliant celestial perpetualness, ain’t nobody got nothing on you

The way you conquer my mind, body, and soul
How you remove all traces of inhibitions within my system
Supply me with your big **** energy, pure, fiery, and spicy
You are an unrestrainable high-ranking sunshine
You got me trapped in his smashing dashingness
I can feel you in my stomach, your aspiring, poetic, and
Ceaseless content, dreamy linguistic lovingness
Beamingly serene king, logical and expressive
Flexible, sensuous, and astonishing

You hold my ***** voluptuous bulbs while my chocolate points
Take pleasure in your aggressive shredded prepossessingness
You surpassingly ravish my fantastically gorgeous sublimeness
I am sizzling like fresh jalapeno peppers, like spicy grilled salmon Kabobs, you ****** your hardness inside me more
I am so beguiled by your refeshingness, feeling your big, succulent, and Addictive kisses on the nape of my neck, your innumerable
Affectionateness, **** brown spectacle, you permeate my world
With your deep enchanting fragrance, robust and full-bodied marvel

You shove your lusciousness in and out of me vigorously
I scream and feen for your sticky, delicious cream
I try to hold on while you go on and on, **** me so hot and long
Pull your big thick toy out of me and pour your delectable pleasures
Into my glittering gateway of gayness
Walter Alter Aug 2023
wishing he had sung his prayers last night
from both ends to the middle
fell to the ground in supplication
plastic Jesus hold my head
a round of applause for once
or even just a soft murmur
from those in your employ
my interrogator professor Zworykin
said quietly we want information
I knew I was up **** creek
without an assault rifle
with various blunt objects
aimed at what was left of my head
initiations with disfigurement
so give me a melodic answer he encouraged
yah well the Third ***** fell from bad music
I regurgitated like a vampire in reverse
furthermore the swelling is an obstacle
I added for emphasis I mean evidence
Zworykin was neither mollified
nor inclined to use less aftershave
a great ****** of a situation
which is a poem in itself
I got in a few imaginary hits
before he called in the hockey franchise
fine fellows who sang as they worked
that's how we laugh the day away
in the merry merry Land of Oz
always a help to morale in the trenches
men this is a spit shine day went Zworky
cracking walnuts with his hydraulics
stand ***** and do your regimentation proud
they wavered then cheered then wavered
when the going gets tough as it will
look for a bar with a jukebox
as does your present prostrate narrator
to whom they ultimately allocated
a very private security consultant
good lord not another eccentric botanist
endorphin soaked and bling speckled
with his blemish free goats
and his tunnel vision paparazzi
hi I'm Joe Product family friend
half con half circus half fury
I screamed my one line in the play
traffic fines double in poet zones

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon

— The End —