"ick" poems
(L)ick my muse
(E)at it all
(T)ry not to let a drop fall
**** my juice, **** it all
(M)oan and scream
(I)t's all i need
(S)ubmissive is what you'll be
(B)e patient your time will come
****** games are to be done
******** is my only way
(A)fter that it's your turn to play
(V)iolently, softly? it's up to you
(E)nding the night exploding on you
Words Of Harfouchism
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
I've been focused on nutrition
sense before recognition
of a requirement of nutrients
for my life.
I eat for nutrition
I shunned the processed
chemical ick
a lifetime ago it seems
no longer remembering the taste
of chemically created
food stuffs.
though I know if I were to get a taste
it would satisfy my buds
they were made with my buds
in mind
hijacked my senses
lied and lied and lied
told my body it didn't need
nutrition
that is could live off of
intuition
and stuff in boxes
and bags
and cans
I've become my own food processor
now
I have mouths to feed
now I know what to feed
and where they make feed from
so we stick to the grass-fed
I'll teach them how to eat
even before how to read
its just how I see it
once that sugar laden
red
chemical construction
touches their lips
they will instantly desire more
Twain and Fitzgerald
will take them longer to digest.
so these are my priorities
now.
I am a nutrition seeker
a truth seeker
and I believe I come from
a line of healers
all who knew nutrition
is the key to life,
here.
the basic building blocks,
the amino acids
of life,
here.
when you're nourished
it all makes more sense
but stay out of those center aisles
their chemical composition
is too dense
my kidney could no longer clean
the code of food stuffs.
My strong little kidney
I'm so proud of it for
releasing its grip on its twin.
it wasn't for us anyways
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
This isn't your mother's dance.
The wooden clave
seduces the naive
into suave arms
of the night.
Quick quick slow
exalts wooden caderas
and untames silky locks.
Wrinkled hands
caress the caras
of clumsy coquetas.
In the name of the dance,
vestidos apretados
replace pants,
which men outgrow,
steeling blue eyes
in rusty miradas.
Mirandla.
*Mira la guera,
como se toca,
como se mueve,
comos se salta el vestido suyo.*
Mirandlo.
*Look at him,
how he touches me,
how he swings me,
how his feet mock me.*
Mirandnos
Ella me quiere.
We are JUST dancing.
Ayyy, como me pega.
We're close, but Salsa is intimate.
Oooh mami...
Does he think it's more than a dance?
quick quick slow,
quick quick slow,
quick quick slow,
quicK quiCK quICK qUICK QUICK...
...silence.
they shake hands,
and thank each other for the dance.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
An Artist is Different to All
An Artist Creates
An Artist Puts Our Thoughts
Thoughts and Feelings that we were sure
Couldn’t be put into shape
Couldn’t be expressed , or understood
An Artist should bring those to life
And an artist has to get those thoughts from somewhere
an artist does not pull up and out
excrustiatingly difficult and complex emotions
Out Of Nowhere
because an artist
Not All
But an artist pulls those feelings
o ut of th ei r so ul
an artist
may stay s ick i n th e he a d
to keep that art coming
an artist
t ak es them s e l v e s apa r t
and throws themselves onto paper
canvas, a staff, a chord ,
and throws themselves up
as words
To an Artist, Blood may very well be Ink.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 11:03 PM UTC
What an odd duck.
Reading his mead is like
drowning in sweet
annoyance. His criticism,
self-westernizing
reference to Greek
heroes; I know but don't care
as much as my sister,
My look-a-like; Die Zwilinge.
Who am I to question the genius.
A genius of his craft,
but blind in sanity.
Who am I to question us,
Deaf to the genius
of our own Muse-ick.
It is just us three:
#, Brel and me.
Trois Faisans,
# 6 ft under self,
Master Brel sings
still of Les Bourgeois,
and me toolin around
still JoJo.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
This hand which moves and rides some voice is not mine.
I have given it over to you, young boy.
This is what makes it fly so, traveling out,
tripping along in dance of shape and sound.
I acknowledge your presence in this fashion.
You tell me by messages,
beaming out the back of your head,
you are the very boy who has waited an eternity
at some upper railing.
You sit and peer through the spaces,
down the twisted stair.
Your hands, they grip the vertical rail.
Silent. Silent. Waiting you.
Let this right hand of mine be your secret voice.
Let this scrawl and scratch be your gravelly tongue—
ick-nicking, ga-chooing, click and stutter.
What language may I shape for our sake?
With you, may I follow, setting trail markers just so.
Will others come mistaking their ways for yours?
My hand is opening and opens wide.
I remember you. I am returning.
Let it be.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
~
SOMEBODY HELP ME!
ThE VoicEs in mY head argUe back ANd ForTh
IT MaKes mE TirEd buT...
I cAn'T SleeP 'CaUse ThE CloWns Will EaT Me
ScaRy FReaKin' CloWns
IT's ThaT BiG ReD Nose That ScaRes mE Most
NO, It'S Those StUpid *** Floppy ShoeS ThaT
ScaRes ME MosT
ScaRy FReaKin' CloWns
nO Wait, It'S Those CreePy FlaT FeeT AnD GnaRly
ToenAils
Those NasTy Twisted ToEnailS InsiDe Those StUpid
*** Floppy ShoeS ThaT ScaRes ME MosT
IcK I'M gOnna bE SicK
ScaRy FReaKin' CloWns
And if yOu sQuEEzE that fRicKin' horn oNe more TimE
I'm gOnna craM it uP yOur CloWnie BRoWnie so ****
fAr yOur FarTs Will honk
ScaRy FReaKin' CloWns
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
There's an ick in my crick,
that makes me feel sick,
my insides are taring in two!
I seek some relief,
complete disbelief,
this sickness contracted from you!
I put on my scarf,
am ready to ****
my temperature rises above.
I'm ready to hurl,
my diamonds and pearls,
lost all of their their lustrous love.
It lays at my feet,
spread out on the street,
I told you that I wasn't faking.
My mind and my heart,
all splattered apart,
my soul lays there now for the taking!
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 9:55 AM UTC
Passionate kisses, touching, arousing, pleasing,
Leaving a trail of sensations, covering
Every inch of my body, finally being
Adored by your mouth, watching you
Sweat and starting to writhe, the pleasure is
Even more than I thought possible, ever.
From moments like that, to moments like these,
Usually, I'm not that much of a tease, please...
Come on, get a little closer, wrap me up in you,
Kick off the **** covers, I really wanna move
Moments are to be savored, with a sweet ****** thrill,
Even after I'm devoured, I want so much more, still....
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
Ah - ick coats the tongue.
Agh, let me just lick this up.
Gotta get it off.
Mar 3, 2025
Mar 3, 2025 at 9:07 PM UTC
When ever I touch the ground that’s hot
With the sole of my foot that’s bare,
I never fail to recall a time,
And the memories lingering there,
Of a day when I was just a boy,
Beneath equatorial skies,
And the tactic used to keep me indoors
While the missionaries rested their eyes.
My mother was sick with malaria
The curse of the tropic zone,
And while my dad was away on the hunt
Their station became our home.
And after lunch when the sky was hot
And the morning’s work was done
They took my shoes away from me
To keep me out of the sun.
The veranda air was still as a grave,
Not a sound to could be heard outside
Save the click-click-click from the beetles
And the grasshoppers jumping to hide.
Or the scratching scaly slither,
Of a snake on the flowerbed verge,
Or the distant cry of the crested crane,
These are the sounds that merge.
The sight of the distant Koru hills
Shimmering in the haze
Beyond the frangipani trees
Return once more to my gaze,
And the prickly spiky Crown of Thorns
That lined the garden ways,
These are the sights that ribbon back
From my early Kenyan days.
The smell of the room was a mixture
Of scents on the garden air,
And creosote coming up through the floor
From the pilings under there,
And paraffin from the pressure lamps
Which hissed as they gave us light.
With the hint of oil of pyrethrum
Sprayed round the eves at night.
The step to my door should I venture
At noon was as hot as a stove,
The soil on the paths and driveway
Would burn if ever I strove.
And the thorns in the earth would pr ick me
As I cautiously picked my way through
To the shade of the frangipani tree,
From there I took in the view.
So, when ever I touch the ground that’s hot
With the sole of my foot that’s bare,
I never fail to recall a time,
And the memory lingering there,
Of a day when I was just a boy,
Where the images I find,
Set smells and sights and sounds of
Africa sizzling in my mind.
Redding, California July 4th 2005 temperature 105° Fahrenheit
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 4:32 PM UTC
Waiting,
Blood pressure exponentially increasing,
Walking into the back room,
Sitting in a plastic chair,
Waiting,
The latex gloves and metal rods,
Prodding and probing,
Mouth blood -Ick,
Nasty mint toothpaste,
More scraping and scratching,
Skin crawling,
Blood pressure maxed out,
Breaths quickening,
Thoughts narrowing,
Time slowing,
Metal tools dragging,
Slowly across white teeth,
Reminders to floss more,
Room darkening,
Pulse roaring like thunder,
Waiting for the end,
Gloves come off,
Handed a brush and floss,
Told to come back next week,
I need a filling.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
wouldn’t it be great to learn Greek
she says
quickly riffling
through the phrasebook
with a thumb and her tongue out
while I try to discover what
‘to speak’ is in Dutch
everyone uses English
you know I say
spluttering ‘ik spreek, jij spreek,
hij spreek’,
trying to nail the pronunciation
like the book tells me to
‘ick sprake, yigh sprake, hi sprake’
but they might appreciate
tourists knowing a bit in Crete
like ‘efcharistó’
or ‘ti ypérochi méra’ she mutters
but it all, literally,
sounds Greek to me
and we can’t visit everywhere
besides, she wants warm weather
but I’d be fine in, say, Sweden,
‘Där är den närmaste Ikea?’
or in Iceland, but I can’t
pronounce anything
the way the phrasebook
wants me to
so Greece is probably best,
and anyway,
she’s too busy
informing me that
‘monókeros’ means unicorn
and it’s 575 quid each
if we book now
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
Rick is such an unfortunate name
it's like ICK with a little extra ERR
Imagine a flight attendant
his name is Rrrick
he's offering you chicken or beef
take your ******* pick what's it gonna be
what's taking you so long
CHICKEN????????!!!!!!!
or *******
BEEF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!????????????
he walks away with his tight *** pants
hugging his nasty **** ****
you know he needs to plug it
and you know every time he rips a rotten one
he's squirtin out some ky jelly
into his briefs
yeah that's pretty disgusting
so disgusting in fact i may be driven
to induce vomiting
what you say: **** I MISS YOU"
what you mean: **** i wish i could date rick and **** you all at the same time"
what you say: "is it bad to have rick and still can't wait to get home and jack off?"
what you mean: "his *** is as loose as a cannon, i regret choosing his *** over yours."
what you say: "I need someone more on my level."
what you mean: "hes willing to **** at any given second of the day.. you were too much of a **** hassle."
what you say: "Still trying to find where all the YOUNG, WHITE bois hide"
what you mean: "Hi I'm still old, fat, ugly, ***** and stickin it in a flight attendant who walks funnier than I do!"
WHY CAN'T YOU JUST SAY WHAT YOU ******* MEAN
WHAT's IT GONNA BE
CHICKEN OR BEEF !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
BUT WHAT IF IM A VEGAN
well then you're stuck with the ******* chicken
.
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 9:56 PM UTC
a toast to the gangsters, a toast to the pimps
stand up gentleman take a bow take a bow
a toast to the ****** a toast to the wanna be lovers
stand up ladies take a bow
curtsy) if you’re up to it
poor legs
poor nails
poor car
spoiled slandering moving cat
across the room across
the spill across
the dress across
the yelling and the screaming oh make it stop
will they just shut up
for some peace....and quiet....
cars’ been destroyed dress’ been ruined
oh make it stop
burn
bathe in the fire
walk through the flames
come out a winner
go right to dinner
sleep wake up
repeat
(spoiled
slandering
moving
masterpiece)
I’m here at last mother(the final step)
what could I be for the soiled money
everything
buy everything and stick it in
forget about those getting stuffed and thrown
i am my own&more;
walk past the homeless who knows anyways
upon all upon you this is burning
watchthecars watch the cars watch....the...cars..
quickly swiftly they move fast and
i am happiness
does this make you happy
the world we live in struck down by lightening and thunder ****** **** ****** theft
all of the rage and anger’s been kept
unto this moment untothisdream
i am in control of my own dreams my own mind
money
money
watch it burn
burn it all
laugh
repeat
if i were God’s foot i would smash it all
no man two hundred feet tall
feel like it lie to yourself sleep wake up repeat
if i if i if i could i would
burn it all
today the education of the nation has been flushed away
reading a book has been forgotten and instead they read how to take drugs through a can
i can i can i can
burn it all
fathom me into the faintest
pyromania-(the world we live in)-a statement of love and blessing
faith’s faith in the world has failed
i have failed
it’s all burning already there’s no way to stop it
scream
this is all i have left
at your feet
i must break through this wall
two hundred thousand feet tall
t h------ ick take a
lick
screamandcry
everyone’s lying and everyone’s crying and everyone’s dying
please dear Jesus do something please
i can not do this all on my own
i am sick call a doctor over there’s the phone
no more snow and no more rain
lay down all of your strain
your stress is at my disposal
only a few days left
we can watch it burn together
(I am burnt)
third degree
just come and help me
let us feel the click between us
we are One and I’m no longer afraid
of the world we live in perhaps
but you are my hope
lovelovelovelovehopeloveyes
(when i think of you i know
exactly in the end where we will go)
i am a flower
hold me
embrace me
let me know that I am loved too
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 12:45 PM UTC
A not so perfect sestina
For me the sestina is a perfect way to tell a story.
This is a wedding rehearsal dinner told from different points of view.
The rehearsal dinner
Father of the Bride
God, she’s beautiful. My poor blind baby
Girl. She thinks he is some kind of white knight
Tomorrow will be the blackest of days
Married to a gold digger. No more time
No, the thought…Tomorrow will be his last
Lost her to a cur. Pain colors me blue
Maid of Honor
Oh my God, he has gorgeous eyes of blue
What he sees in her, ug! She’s a baby
She’s kidding herself, this will never last
She’s so gullible. Yeah – he works nights
Like the night he’ll have with me, our last time
On to the next, tomorrow’s a new day
Groom’s Mother
What a farce! Tomorrow is a wasted day
A loveless marriage is living life blue
This smile hurts. Unfortunately time’s
Run out. She’s gotta be knocked up – poor baby
But we need the money; right now, this night
**** how much longer can this agony last
Best Man
He’s such a man whore. No way will this last
Getting married is just another day
She needs to be saved. I would be her knight
If she were mine, her life would not be blue
She’s perfect. If only she were my baby
It should be us. If only there was time
Groom
Too bad she’s not the bride, she’s a good time
God, how much longer can this dinner last
At least her friends are hot, oh yeah baby
I don’t know how I’ll get through this long day
Marriage, ick, man I’m crying the **** blues
I’m gonna bang the bridesmaid all through the night
Bride
Oh my God, he’s mine, my shining white knight
I’ll love him always, until the end of time
He’s so perfect - I’ll never sing the blues
He’s my first, my only, he’ll be my last
My wedding will be the most perfect day
Perfect, I can’t wait to have his baby
Envoi
He’s no white knight and she is such a baby
She’s doomed to sing the blues, while he’ll be caught time after time
At long last, the day will end
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 12:54 AM UTC
Fear not your ************ young girl,
for it is the very evidence you seek
that you are the universe experiencing itself.
As I lay and bathe in a pool of my own DNA,
I watch the passers by.
A shark, a jellyfish, a fetus, a worm.
Tiny strands down the drain.
The fabric of my insides.
The ick to every man fearing the capability, the strength, the love and dexterity of a woman.
A strength so ancient and full of purpose.
So strong.
Constantly producing and relieving my **** of unfertilized greatness.
Discarded materials of my own internal struggle to find a love worth carrying my star-seeds to fruition.
A wonder it is.
A magic of this realm.
A sorcery so powerful that it has brought me to my knees writhing in pain.
The pain of creation,
The suffering of the body crying out
to bring forth life.
How gracious is this pain to teach us,
We are made of stardust and beautiful consciousness.
A woman thought to herself,
“What better can this world be?”
The answer, more.
It can be more.
There can be more.
More to love.
More growth.
Seeds to be planted
and watered and nurtured.
A harvest of joy and a family so plentiful.
More hands to hold.
More hands to create.
More hands to produce more love.
More hands to continue
this beautiful cycle.
And so she waits.
And every month, again,
she bore the pain of a thousand swords.
She healed.
She began again.
She kept growing the seeds
every season, awaiting
the crops to fertilize.
Afflicted with ruin,
she fell to her knees.
The beauty of this suffering,
Begging the universe, More.
To create and to love is all that she knows.
Fear not your ************ young girl,
You are building the universe,
You are experiencing what it means to be.
And so it is.
And so we are.
© KD
Nov 21, 2023
Nov 21, 2023 at 1:02 PM UTC
Around and around and around we go….
Where CrazyBrain stops nobody knows...
Not even her!
I thought it was only my body he destroyed,
but sadly, while he destroyed my body,
He also destroyed my mind.
And now, every ounce of grey matter
Has been infiltrated with trauma,
Making every thought so distorted,
It is as though it is seen and processed through a carnival mirror.
I still have an above average IQ,
And can speak intelligently much of the time,
But only when it is about logical data
That has no emotional impact on me whatsoever.
Take away the logic, and the statistical data,
And throw in some sort of (ICK) feeling or emotion...
And CrazyBrain takes over and that girl is on a personal mission
To distort and destroy...
And not even kryptonite will stop her!
Around and around and around we go….
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
Hey now
I've forgiven you
But I still don't like you
I think you're disgusting
Quite honestly
A pure sociopath
Which is fine
As long as I don't have to deal with you
And to think
I once considered you a friend.
Ick.
The thought of you
Of your name
Your face
Makes me retch
And hell
We're all human
We've all got our own ****
But you're pretty ****** up
And you make me feel
Exactly what you are.
You make me sick.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
this is how women should spend time with men...
she's lying in a missionary position...
and she's telling you: with eyes closed...
i'm dancing...
you what?!
you're dancing?! **** me... if you're dancing...
i'm riding a ****** horse to the next Mongolian horde
conquest!
that's how nights should look like...
i get th8s plump ass-bitch:
i tell her... i think i dreamed of you...
does it matter?
the one time i tried *********
i wanted one of the girls to not be there...
this first time i tried getting a *** replacement of
****** i was like: fair ******* enough...
we're both moaning without taking...
i'm talking to the night and constellations...
my shadow: i am the shadow... i have no shadow...
this how men should be allowed to live their lives...
i love the scent of a woman on my body...
she might have ****** a thousand ***** before me...
but?! she's the most eager to kiss me!
she even showcased her legs.. barely shaven...
to me... sure... girl... you might require a shave or too...
i don't mind... your lips are candy-sweet to me...
that's why i perfumed my beard for her...
i wanted her sickly sweet dreaming...
my god.. i love a fattened girl!
the more fat on a girl the more... allowance...
pouches of kisses and disagreeable hands
touching pouches that ought not exist!
the excesses of thighs! my god!
i rub my beard i grind my teeth...
these women are alive!
i need more of them! i need them fattened-up!
more hip frenzy and less school-girl no thigh
ick...
i need them fat... i love a fat girls...
with bulging brown eyes...
thank god i washed myself before the encounter...
i spread enough aftershave onto my beard...
i love the scent of a woman on my body...
it's like the Cologne of Cologne...
i love the scent of unwashed hair...
raven... **** i would rather sleep with 100 women
than encounter an exploration of consciousness
with a hallucinogenic drug...
**** me... before she ****** off to Romania:
i'm the "BIGGIE"...
great... now i have a nickname in the brothel...
light-fucking-fantastic...
i'm "BIGGIE"...
she closes her eyes and plays the "violin" with
my ******* and chest hair...
fuck's sake... "BIGGIE"...
call me BAGPIPE from now on in...
BIGGIE...
o.k.: i can stomach that...
i'm BIGGIE.. fair enough... if you want to love as many
as you want to love but not marry: which actually
implies more than one... i can be BIGGIE...
i don't mind... i love prostitutes too much!
Aug 27, 2022
Aug 27, 2022 at 9:40 PM UTC
I wish
I had freckles
on my shoulders that would
t
r
ick
le
down to my blades
and show that
I have tasted the sun
And I wish that my sc
ars
would show
and
not (hide neath my skin and in
my heart’s shadows)
to let you know
that I have
seen
my share
of hurt
and
Overcome.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
In our situations, we need a special name
It's a little less then lovers
But more then just a game
Boy friend seems too simple
Soul mate is overrated
Honey is just ick
And cutie; so outdated
So then what shall I call you?
My love, my darling, my dear
Common, help me out
Commitments nothing to fear
I've finally thought of a few
At least they're just a start
You’re my life, my love, my soul
baby, you’re my heart.
Feb 17, 2010
Feb 17, 2010 at 5:16 PM UTC
click click click.
i love to take pictures.
tick tock tick.
time goes by, the clock reasures.
***** sock sick.
our washer is broken.
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 5:40 PM UTC