"hypnotist" poems
Glistening with wetness,
fingers fitting in like Tetris.
Cream dripping on the mattress.
Pillow firming press against your ****
gyrating to the thoughts of being licked.
Then ****** on like a twisted piece of licorice.
Pleasure leaking from your body through your hips
Desire holding your body captive like a hypnotist
Your skin crawling with desire screaming it's fix
Drowning your finger in a pool of your juices
Your hips ****** and twist,
and mind, lift and dip.
Our bodies working a full shift,
like we were built for each others fit.
You biting on the sheets,
I'm biting on your lip,
****** at the same time;
when our world eclipse-
our-space doesn't exist.
Off to another world,
a briefly escape to,
a pleasure abyss.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
Glistening with wetness,
fingers fitting in like Tetris.
Cream dripping on the mattress.
Pillow firming press against your ****
gyrating to the thoughts of being licked.
Then ****** on like a twisted piece of licorice.
Pleasure leaking from your body through your hips
Desire holding your body captive like a hypnotist
Your skin crawling with desire screaming it's fix
Drowning your finger in a pool of your juices
Your hips ****** and twist,
and mind, lift and dip.
Our bodies working a full shift,
like we were built for each others fit.
You biting on the sheets,
I'm biting on your lip,
****** at the same time;
when our world eclipse-
our-space doesn't exist.
Off to another world,
a briefly escape to,
a pleasure abyss.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
He whispers their name like a prayer,
says it carefully, beautifully as if it were the names of the goddesses.
He bathes them in praise
but is drowning them in holy water.
Repeating their sacred name
over and over and over,
blessed so that he can say he’s become enlightened
once he’s received the holy communion of their body
on his lips.
He’ll call them royals.
Dressed in purple
lifting them to their highest class,
placing them on a pedestal
sitting them, perching them delicately
on the throne held up by their womanly duties,
their feminine expectations.
He’ll call them his queens but in the end
he will commit treason against their realm.
Suddenly they’ll become a witch,
a hypnotist.
He says they enchant him.
Trance him with how they dress, move, breathe.
He’ll create signs of black magic in their eyes,
rituals in their steps,
and chants on their tongue.
Blaming his actions on theirs,
“they made me” he says
so he’ll have an excuse to curse them back.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
Right or wrong
Short or long
Agree or disagree
When singing a song
Ape or kong
Blunt or kong
When you're high
Its like you're living a life of a person from Hong Kong
Persuasive talker
Convincing stalker
Both of these are mind players
But I'd rather choose to ignore them with a bottle of Johnny Walker
Subconscious mind
Left behind
Likw a hypnotist I'll pursue this until I find
Blame it on the left
Decision making
The oven of thoughts
Busy opinion baking
Anxiety is close
Hands are shaking
All of the mess I made
I'll be out there raking
Mostly its pressure from your peers
Flowing through your ears
Seems like you've conquered most of your fears
And then peers begin to cheer
Sensors begin to hear
That you were wrong to listen to them,dear
Its...
One thought to another
Disrespecting you mother
Ignoring your father
Cause' you'd rather...
Party till the morning
Drink while you're yawning
Get drunk until you sleep on the lawn and...
Drink and jive
Drink and drive
An accident happens
Then you're no longer alive
But you thought you'll survive
That's because death gave you a high five
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 7:04 AM UTC
fire is the cyclin
of my sleeping cells
i confide that the sirens
could shake me out of hell
outside my window
they whip lights in a pinwheel
like the spin of a circus tent
the watch of a hypnotist
blaze, then extinguish
red white, red white
as if your neighbor's home in flames
wasn't annoying enough
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 10:02 PM UTC
Thistle pricked and tantalized by the hypnotist,
the heliotrope sunrise seemed bitter, offensive
at best. Ill-fated, my Magna Carta has been
stripped. Crossroads approach, I begin chewing at my
bottom lip. A simply shady azure, lewd blue lingered
our lime love had been missed. Departing, destructive at best.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 9:05 PM UTC
(the hours in between)
It is the morning after reuniting, wining and talking...the stirring of the curtains transparent, become slow moving hands and calming whispers of a hypnotist, blending perfectly with the gentle whiff of a breeze...and the soft sounds of one who has just woken...a hint of a breath of life...there is much gratitude.....these early morning whispers could still be heard...quietude is a swaying hammock, but sleepy eyes peep through the window, gazing far, enthralled by the horizon...red, orange, purple.....merging.....against green and brown of the mountains...and from all these mix of colors, finally emerges a sky so blue...a new day is born, the Almighty is most kind...but something else unsettles the mind of one who has gone through many arduous journeys...asking:
"How did I fare"? Can I still...? Will I...?"
Now shining bright is a list of
Things yet to happen...intentions---
Disguised as questions.
Though this has long been conceptualized,
There's this pressing feeling, they must now be prioritized
Pray they soon be realized
Before exit from this world has materialized.
Can I still -
Be brave enough to swim? drive a car? ride a bike?
Meet with distant friends? learn new languages?
Write with more depth, even when I turn 80... and older?
Fly in a plane with my son as the pilot in command?
See my granddaughters finish college?
Will I still be able -
To satisfy this wanderlust endlessly stirring within me?
To ride a camel in the deserts of Morocco?
To feel the sun, the air, even the rain, while walking the cobbled streets in Tuscany?
To spend an evening in Florence?
To visit Greece, Spain, Ireland, Wales, and relive stories read?
To feel and breathe the air there, brimming with adventure?
We walk through various labyrinths in life, so absorbed in our own worlds...hours, days, become prosy, they move oh, so slowly.......still, when the dark is upon us, we sit and reflect...wondering:
Will we see another day unfold before us?
Do we get to witness
The Blue Hours of another sunrise and sunset,
And further be enchanted by the day's breath-taking
A L P E N G L O W ?
How many more
A L P E N G L O W S ?
Sally
Copyright August 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
As the moon shines in the sky above.
I'm mermerize by you.
As the stars enhances the sky this night.
I'm hypnotist by you.
You the empathy of my heart.
That sweet music ringing in my ear.
The one I work hard for as long as I can.
Your love makes do the things I do.
I be totally lost without you.
And all the word I spoke above is true.
I just know.
I'll be totally lost without you.
I imagine your smile.
In every thing that I do.
I'm always calling to check upon you.
And if you not feeling well.
That's when you truly see the way I care.
Know this.
Believe it.
I be totally lost without you.
And at the end of the day.
You always hear me say.
I love you.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
37 sleepless hours,
Felt like a mistake.
Competition over,
Tests all taken.
But the memories are just beginning.
The room goes dark,
100’s of DECA kids go silent.
The hypnotist begins to talk.
Slow, methodical rhythm.
All care disappears.
The stress of competition is gone.
Seeming to melt off my body.
Eyes become heavy,
Heavier.
Bodies become heavy,
Heavier.
And somehow I'm asleep.
Leaning against you now.
If I only knew then all I know now.
The trauma that would come from this conference
I would have made it 38 hours
Or even 40 without sleep.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
Your eyes cataracts - fogged over, with a hint of blue
Still you saw more than most anyone I've known
I thought you a sorcerer, a mystic man
with lightening speeds you spun tales in thunder clapping rooms
A modern day chief, good will ambassador of Hope
you were the glue of an entire village,
sticking your heart on everyone like that
The Discovery Cafe, your story telling room, disguised as a restaurant,
a place you opened years ago
Many came hungry only for your stories
One could not easily eat and run or have a cup of joe and go, just not possible
when Tito had the floor
Tales of fishing, gold panning, black and brown bears, one with his head stuck in a lard bucket,
or the one that chased some lady up a tree.
The way your hands moved, while you went into a trance was a sight to behold
Though you never confessed it, I'm pretty sure you were a hypnotist
How many times I went for coffee at 9AM never leaving til' noon,
completely bowled over, ****** in by the fantastic rip tide of you!
I saw you just months before you passed
Though you had gone deaf and blind, your love was ever present, it's been felt everyday since,
in a world that has changed a darker shade of blue,
Tito how can I ever thank you?
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 12:00 PM UTC
Why can't I be
the spinny chair
in your office
for two?
There's nothing more
I want than to
matter to you.
Please, Please
let me be what I am
trying and dying to be:
Your lover that you'd
prefer to be some other,
with our kisses
covered in fleas.
I'm remembering to miss you,
but you'd have to
be here at some point.
I'd miss you so badly
I would dangle
your intestines over my mouth.
Can we kiss in the shade,
if we pretend I'm somebody else?
I can be the running car
in your suburban garage.
I want to steal you and feel you,
or just feel at all.
Catch me in your water,
smiling with the goldfish
and the flakes of snow angels
that bleed out every wish.
We can tremble
and mumble,
and stumble
in our darks.
There's no love that couldn't
hurt me now.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
What's in store, For the used up ***** Washed up with no dignity to show, But there was no way to know, Because they started brilliant and bright, But now, its clawing in darkness searching for a scrap of light, They had the world at the ready, With a dream that's forever and steady, But courses change from time to time, Go back a few years and see the sign, They never had a chance, Their life deemed a tragedy in a hypnotist trance, They had all the tools, To make art and words again cool, who's to know if they will turn around again, But It might be too late to make things right, So check on me again tomorrow night.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
Into the early hours
When we wake up
We pour we pour
Fill us up
Empty agendas
For the weak
White lines
White lies
Blowing though our minds
Shifting
Shaking
From toe to hip
Blast some more liquor
Take the hit
Hip hypnotist
Head strong
Honest
Hedonist
Buy the ticket
You take the ride
Wild days
Soon will all be over
How long till each of us is
Sober
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
He sits down near the roaring fire
Wild shadows dance across his face,
A dark room scented with burning briar
Pairs with storytelling like a warm embrace.
Glancing around at those who have gathered
To hear him weave stories with his silver tongue,
Shining eyes meet his gaze and you can bet no chatter
Will be heard amongst them ’til the tale is done.
With a twinkle in his eye he begins to narrate
The saddest story that has ever been told,
The tale of a maiden with such a cruel fate
That would make the hottest tea within earshot, cold.
It’s a story of love and abandonment, of malice and spite,
A comedy and a drama that’ll make you laugh and cry.
A tale of joy and loss, of hatred and fright
And a heartache so strong. Everything goes awry!
The audience chuckles and the audience wails,
His words build them up and his words tear them down.
He holds them entranced, as though under a veil,
Like a skilled hypnotist, keeps them spellbound.
A narrative so sublime the very moon strains to hear
And stars fall to their knees, weeping silver tears
As they listen to the tragic beauty of his rhymes
Softly ringing in the breeze before dissolving in a dark, velvet sky.
Concluding the tale, he gets up to retire
Leaving them incredulous, sitting by the fire.
Their astounded expressions make the storyteller laugh,
There’s truly no doubt he’s **** good at his craft!
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
You hanged yourself from a palm
on a desert island
Starved for weeks
Catching flies in the cave
that hung open
in your mouth.
Swaying in the wind
And saw a series of the most
beautiful sunrises
which you paint in my sleep
every night when you come
to visit me.
Telling me all that you know
of the habits of flies
while the new ones,
those kids,
dance around my breathing nose
and settle in my gums.
All waiting to hatch
to get a glimpse of that sunrise
their parents dreamt of.
-overandover.
andoveragain.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
Lately I've been crying internally externally I'd seem weak even though I'm already sensitive and rather meek but I've been lonely ****** can Ikik really blame me I found love that I no longer seek but we haven't talked recently I mean we don't have beef but it'd be nice if we spent a bit more time together like wu tang getting cream I mean I hate sounding clingy but I miss my lady can you blame me she's amazing entrancing like a hypnotist I swear we're into ***** **** but we've not been talking lately ugh I hate her job I know she has to work but she's my lantern in life's bog but anyway enough about my relationship issues now onto my constant sadness I hate parts of what I've become it's like I honestly thought I'd be much different from what I am I thought I'd be able to do much better socially and emotionally but I'm one depressing ******* I swear dating sometimes leaves my heart plastered on the wall in my room like it was another enemy in doom with gloom and staying almost exclusively in my room
okay I'm done now I've gotten more of these sick emotions off my chest and into the ocean that is the internet
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
She forces me to hang up
at 12:30
I think she's uncomfortable talking to me.
I know she's going to tell
her friends people like me
Feel too.
I'm not people
like I told her.
I'm a lot like the criers
The people in black
Self obsessed in their own self pity.
I'm a horrible mix
Of normal person
And complete social degenerate
To where I can't get along with either.
She's going to tell
All her buddies
who think she's such a great person
That she heard a person like me
cry.
Even more
She's going to tell them
She made me laugh.
She was telling me
How I felt.
“You feel like nothing matters”
She's the world's most depressing hypnotist.
“You feel like you're living shallowly”
Yes.
She's a genius.
I couldn't help
But laugh at the silliness
Of it all.
Jan 13, 2010
Jan 13, 2010 at 9:41 PM UTC
A smug fascination with sub classification has left her alone in a parallel realm right above desolation
She walks alone and mumbles to her self
Trips, stumbles onto a past life she had placed on a shelf
Spending most of life slumbered
Lending her soul to demons, this widowed wife became out numbered
Every day she would watch the orange sun drown in the ocean just off the coast
Used to love all her friends, they would get together after accomplishments, boast, brag, and toast
But, being all alone was when she felt alive the most
Persistence has lent an idea of where she would spend her remaining days
Her existence was spent on the hunt for a precise place
An illiterate hypocrite under the spell of a hypnotist searching for something that doesn't exist
Now an illegitimate exhibitionist only wanting another hit,
Don't ask for truth cause it's something she'll never admit
-J.A.M
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
**I'm running, but the Government is on my heels, and my shoes are untied.
If you don't see the truth you’re bound to die.
Mass Media Hypnotist if you know the truth I know you feelings this.
These lines are the best years of my life,
But they’re after my hope so I hope I finish it tonight.
Finish lines bombed before the feet crossed the line,
Before the hand crossed the time
My intelligence slips,
I dread that I’m about to lose my mind
Great uproars of silence,
The hullabaloo is mental this time.
I remember last time,
I saw the beginning before the end
But now I see the end and its only beginning
Now I beg that you make supplication in pray
So that you may live to the end
Tragedy may cause your life to end
But you’ll begin to live again.
Will you cross the finish line in the end?**
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 2:02 PM UTC
Kyler– you are my favorite **** actor
because you look like its your first time,
and you look like my first time. It's disgusting, really.
When I began to feel like what is normal these days,
I groaned and I moaned
and I spoke to a doctor
who believed in homeopathy
and a hypnotist who believed my lies
until it all lost focus and I cut myself
in the worst of places–
where no one would see it
because they were private parts and nobody wanted them.
And the Reason came along and tried to kiss it all better
but infected me instead with this insatiable lust.
And now he’s fine; probably has a boyfriend
while I’m stuck wondering if I am even capable of
loving.
And its having said that that I offer a request–
find a studio that will suspend you from the ceiling
and whip you.
You look exactly like him.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
I wish to speak
nonsense words and
be understood; for
I am a poet.
Every and any
meaningless thing has a
meaning.
You just have to
look for it.
So my job is to
give these things their
purpose, give them their
life.
I
breath life into the
letters I form,
for I am a
savior. These
words had no intentions until I
picked them up and
brushed off their dust. I
caress them and
care for them and
bend them to my will;
they oblige willingly.
These words create
art on your page, and
I am the
artist, putting
ideas in your mind from a
simple picture. But
this picture you can
read. You can
read the
emotions and
ideas plainly.
I wish to put
thoughts in your mind, for
I am a hypnotist.
I take these words and
twist them to your
preference,
infiltrating your subconscious with
my ideas that I
****** upon you;
I leave
subliminal messages to
think what I think,
do what I do,
say what I say.
You don’t even realize that
you do the same with your
own words.
I wish to be
noticed, for I am
human.
I
write these words
feverishly, hoping that
SOMEONE will
see them,
read them,
appreciate them.
I pour out my
heart and soul in a form that
you will listen to;
all I ask in return is your
approval,
response,
opinion.
Any reaction would suffice.
But it’s for
you that I write, for
you that I take
time and energy to
face my fears,
expose my flaws,
expose my
self;
prove me vulnerable.
Yet
you give me nothing in return.
And I
continue in this
thankless career,
dreaming of the day when
somebody will realize that
all I want is to be
appreciated.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
Walking to the door
You don’t even look back
Or seem to have an unsure bone in your body
My arms grip your waist
As to pull you back into the fantasy we once had
The smiles, the sunshine,
The eye kisses, the interlocked appendages
Our hands were Siamese twins
Then snap of the fingers
The hypnotist was through with you
Middle of the night
I wake to legs not wrapped in another’s
Pillow without a head
Yet an indent lies
Where the head should be
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 11:01 AM UTC
As long as you are at the center of the earth
Or the edge of the universe,
Hell will never enter your existence,
Your experience.
Once, flaws embrace, sin sought with haste,
You can reject disgrace, attack commonplace,
But all were misplaced,
Without a trace.
Disappear.
Without fear.
Now,It is worth anything.
Other than avoiding fate.
It is never too late.
Face the sense evidence:
A blade of grass, a tender touch, a slice of sky,
One piece of sand holds billions of lives,
However fleeting, however insignificant,
All unending, all replicants.
The warm sun embraces your face’s unstable, tedious nature;
The earth steps on you as erratically as your feet follow you instincts;
The wind refuses to help you succeed in life
Except for a nice breeze;
The stars shine for your hope, for your passion
But they flicker.
The universe is relative –
Shocked crystal glass shards shared
Among the blissful crowd abusing the floor
With their tranced feet and ceaseless beat.
Or
Blissless Hypnosis,
Soul lost, listless,
Embracing shears and splinters
Of sneers and tears.
They merely bicker and snicker,
Trade fingerpoints and lies,
But forgive in time-
Who can bear to live alone?
And so, they retreat,
Return to the white strings of
Existence;
They compete
On who can fabricate a better
Phantom sheet.
Or
Slash the shoelace ties,
Fraternal, maternal,
Return all the beats, rhythms, revisions,
Riffs, myths, cysts.
Live on inflated lifeboats shrouded in mist.
Your haunting, taunting dark amethyst eyes with
Decorations of admiration exist:
As strong as –
As special as –
As much as –
As harmless as –
As constant as –
A grey, limp piece of neck string,
An empty swing,
A melancholy molecule of water dripping,
A monarch armed with thorn swords on its wings,
All of the things
Arbitrary and inconsistent
As existence.
The universe laughs at individuality,
The stars sob, pitying those persistent dancers
Who stomp their feet on sheets of glass.
The hypnotist smirked,
Phantoms never could resist the redundancyOf hell.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 9:02 PM UTC