"incinerated" poems
Juicy, sweet, hot chocolate skin...black girls are black goddess
**** black girls For guys and men. The most beautiful, attractive, seductive, **** and exciting in African and African-American women is their sweet, juicy, chocolate skin color. Honey caramel mulattoes. Sweet brown chocolate color. And inviting, savoryly pure black-sugar skin color. This is the most delicious, beautiful, sweet candy in the world. You feel like a sweet tooth in a pastry shop when there are a lot of them around you. If you marry one of them and get her children from her, and live with only one of them all your life, and you will be faithful only to her alone. Your life will be the sweetest. Skin of black color and color of dark chocolate are the sweetest, seductive shades of sincere, hot passion. The skin of dark-skinned girls seems to be radiating the heat of *** burning sweet, sensual passion, this color of temptation, attraction. There are drums of ethnic, traditional music, it's the sound of *** . The black skin of a girl with which sweat and moisture is flowing, as if she still radiates ardent, hot, passionate, and a little stuffy *** in the sauna and her sweet moans are heard. This skin color is like a powerful aphrodisiac replacing ******
The skin of black and dark chocolate is the sweetest, seductive shades of sincere, hot passion.
The women of three races are beautiful: the sultry, torrid, hot chocolate of hot passion of the deep passion of black fire of love and *** a paradise oasis of tenderness of the east, and snow-white, sensual pearls.
For guys and men. The most beautiful, attractive, seductive, **** and exciting in African and African-American girls and women is their sweet, juicy, chocolate skin color. Honey caramel mulatto. Sweet brown chocolate color. And alluring, relish pure black sugar color of skin. This is the most delicious, beautiful, cute candy in the world. You feel like a sweet tooth in a candy store when there are a lot of them around you. If you marry one of them and get children from her, and you will live only with one of them all your life, and you will be faithful only to her. Your life will be the sweetest.
Your skin is the color of one hot, unforgettable night, your libido is the word lava in your hot body, burning passion, only your photos can excite me, only your beauty turns off my brains, you have a **** ****** tune in my head, you are like a hot bath after a hard of the day, like an ****** massage, like a soft pillow with sleeping softness.
Dark skin
The black skin of a girl with which sweat and moisture is flowing, as if she still radiates ardent, hot, passionate, and a little stuffy *** in the sauna and her sweet moans are heard. This skin color is like a powerful aphrodisiac replacing ******
The skin is black and the color of dark chocolate are the sweetest, seductive shades of sincere, hot passion.
Dark-skinned beauties are a deep passion of black fire - this is a hot safari, a wild savannah, an exotic havana.
My new love poem, i hope you will like it.
For my dear light brown girls
Captivating honey caramel is like a shining dawn, life with you is like a sweet ****** dream. Juicy sweet fabulous fantasy beautiful. From your sexuality, the glasses of the captured ****** force in your eyes are sweating, this is the amazing magic of charm concealed in them. You are my depraved temptation ***** temptation. The sweet temptation of a tenderly roaring passion is a breathtaking juicy caramel berry, sometimes pouring with a picturesque modulation, tender sensual shades of red sunset, incinerated with the burning heat of passion. From your hottest, sultry beauty, the brain seems to turn off and faint from your sweetest kisses.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 12:56 AM UTC
They call it BPD
A illness that shapes me,
Its the “I don’t fit in” disorder,
The “Your the one who’s out of order.”
Come to terms I now admit,
How hard I felt each near hit.
Always one with the conflict,
feelings of A counterfeit.
There turns A time of no cease,
absence of light is unleashed,
out of the blue from the inside,
this empty form and crowded mind.
A Diagnosis is in ..
The cerebrums burnt,
like third degree skin,
Its now over sensitive to everything.
The cause of the burns,
Is internal fires,
that incinerated mental wires.
Did I change who I am,
for A world i saw to be A sham,
attempting to form A personality,
Ill try them on to see what fits me.
Not afraid to be on my own
yet again, not all alone.
To see the great in everyone
until reminded that Im wrong.
If everything is all black and white,
Right or wrong,
where do I look too belong,
My solitary single handed fight,
To search for release of this plight.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 4:29 PM UTC
Bluto, the world’s strongest man, could tear bread loaf-sized pieces off a steel-belted tractor tire with his bare hands.
But he could not lift a single smithereen of his sensitive Piscean heart when Lily, the luscious, leggy Leo trapeze artist, left him for steely-eyed Arien Karl, the literate and literary lion tamer.
Horoscopic Circus, Act II
She was a Cancer Dragon. Like catnip to the Piscean Tiger, whose feline DNA was his Achilles heel. Especially when she wore heels. And nylons. The end is nylon, he thought. I love you she said. I love you more he affirmed. And firm he soon became. Then being the ringmaster, she opened her mouth and incinerated him -- as only dragons can….
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
I find comfort in the news
Be it typhoons or drones
I feel like a 100 year old Camus
For he was a miserable little raccoon
Or should I say Morrissey?
But the bipolar king is lost at sea!
I think of Sylvia Plath and her oven
Incinerated in a jar or in a coffin?
I will mention roses in a second
But first, wear your veil
May I eat your cheeks?
I’m your psychopath with style
We bathed in herbs together
The pale ******* that shone
A reoccurring dream of two moons
I believe in reincarnation
bosoms, as the lunar eyes of an owl
Stars, rain, coffee, cigarettes and music
Few clichés, I forgot about your roses
One day I’ll strike the balance
between rhymes and passion
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
Like a captive, I capture rapture wrapping around stakes that matter
Joan of Arc battered
Also tattered but, easily dismissive
Refracted from fractured prominent phrases people play with
Distinctly persuasive and evasive, dressed boyishly attractive, lax stature, dawning armor crafted by absence as if asked about it-
I’m drifted
Protection is principle prerequisite, when fire is lit
I sort of implore your aorta before it’s incinerated to ashes
Dethatched as a habit, with swords or hatchets crafted to singe heartstrings that attached it
While I slash slick Rick as a quick fix,
To fend for pretend pretenses or presumed tricks,
I can’t quit
Cause I hit lips against hash spliffs fashioned with dashes of passion all while rationing fireball cinnamon sips
Martyr to avoidance
I gaze at fabled dazed gossipers galvanizing grips on gritty grapevines while licking warning labels through smoke haze on blurred lines
Capably unstable
Other eyes attending scandal circles able to shout lies and rekindle handed arguments on tables with locked smiles stay boxed in
Avidly amiable
Searching for counterparts when combusted or branded
Toying with matches loses meaning when rules reseed
Those vagabonds claim love is some all end hard bent to mend what the same above can’t comprehend.
Breaking boredom, I pillage pillows with night terrors
And ardent arsonists yearn for flames that churn, turn, liquefy and learn learned thoughts and smoldered feelings
Completely complacent
Melting in one another they are completing each other like two candles tryst true at a wedding day
However later the blaze is severed, smoke sears, and charred black wick stands alone for them.
Aggressive and progressive.
As for me never pleading, fire forever fleets to streets between iron bars I built that cage in deep heat and seep dire dreams once desired
Suppose I’m a skeptic
Roasted or disconnected
Just jaded, just met you
Always over it too soon
Burnt but I’m amused.
I’m useful.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
Junk the ancient rules of thought by which our predecessors fought
Their clashing minds did throw a spark that scorched the world and wreaked the dark
Let no science fix our path if only numbers make its math
Our brains will run will surely see on some sweeter philosophy
Until beneath a quite sky atop the rubble we will stand and finally demystify the message in fate's reprimand
Even an atomic blast can't rub the future from the past
If with incinerated grace we still become the human race.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC
The sun is shining and
moonbeams glisten through the air.
Moon, not sun.
While the sun shone
and incinerated the sloshing intestines of
vengeful beasts;
the gentle and forgiving moon
projected from their eyes and
caught the ****** maw of a starving deer.
Suitcases of leather stacked behind us
filled with spruce, pine, elm, oak, cherry.
Ready for induction t
o our paperless society
which consumes the forests of
Hippolyta and Antiope mercilessly.
Burning every leaf
then forgetting to feel
because nothing mattered.
Everything never mattered.
Facts are lie, opinion is truth.
“No one is nothing”
they shriek to the heavens
striving to be limitless
and scorning morality. Embrace death
and all its glory.
Life, while full of happiness
and gorgeous splendor,
refuses to acknowledge the
magnitude of the word. The thing.
Falling and reading and lines
and circles and explosions
and whimpers and screams. Agony suffered
silently, alone; never understood
because how could it?
What could totally encompass
the raging fire that devours the veins
and burns from the inside out
kept in place by the impenetrable
flesh that glints in the forgiving moonlight.
A hostile exterior that
smiles, waves, laughs on cue to
disguise the raging storm
fighting its way through from inside.
The shell which shrinks from the moonbeam
and into the harsh sunlight
that filters beneath the floating clouds.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
Summer struck with the fist of Chicxulub,
incinerated spring in a blinding flash.
Abruptly the pond on Chehalis Trail
was topped with water lilies,
where famished families of water fowl had
festooned the serenity of the surface;
now vanished for cool Canadian climes.
Racoon eyes peered in night shade green,
Foxglove and California Poppy brushed
through blades of overgrown grasses.
Crow song battled with Stellar's Jay,
the morning's true American Idols.
I stirred from slumber to impatient cawing,
chiding --- The best of day's awaiting.
I was off to savor summer's sugar,
lest autumn slip in unannounced
on the coats of Quetzalcoatl.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 12:18 AM UTC
It wasnt long before the baluster flapped somewhere in the distance and Icarus knew how old he had been on the day of his birth. For whatever reason, the snow capped cappuccinos he had willfully destroyed in a heated debate on fiscal policy had him beginning again. Why was there always a beginning where there was an end? Fur traders used to circumnavigate the Hudson's Bay of his humanity when he was young, sharing drinks and fire water whiskey like it was all an H2O ready for the soul search. Sadly, many ended up in Hitlers concentration camps weeks after the **** invasion of Poland, about a month or so before the fall of the Roman Empire. Beginning with a last breath, Icarus strode off the plank with a new-found confidence unnatural in his niceties of long past. It was as if 1 minute and 35 seconds was enough to dish a clamouring populace onto the dinner table before the fat step-father gleefully orders
everyone to 'dig in, everyone!'
Cancelling everyone's appointment with Dr. Pardon meant the gaining of a key participatory certificate in El Dorado, and the gold lingering in dusty sun-beams was sifted for the taking. Some got rich, the rest got miserable. The rest used to imagine the gold, staring at ivory towers and lottery tickets, apple cores lording over old public servant applications near the city hall drain pipes as the modern world collapsed into a flash-mob image of Ronald Reagan.
Icarus was a sliver of duskish light flittering a top distant windowsills, all cupped in an intentional light because happiness was as possible as sadness. Not that considering either would make you either.
Icarus slept as his wings incinerated at the first glimpse of the solar system. He now believed every single proverb the old ***** slumbers had whispered their children as they woke to find themselves adults.
In the beginning he found the beginning beginning again. It made him feel however you wish. Both were just as possible. Both were just as much a jazz configuration as a smooth and easy guitar rift.
Ahha!
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
I slept with her, my rapacious pen, took me in quiet vengeance in
full on conjugation
raken and taken, me,
her overlording me now, her authorship, so long held
in my maledom abeyance,
a kept imprisonment, unleashing at last, a tongue lashing~leashing,
de-spite my un-desirous craven lying supplications,
excuses of innocence and accident, coincidence and conflation,
ashes, ashes, denials incinerated, all fall down
she wrote/stabbed upon my heartless chest,
in the cheap crudités colors of a prisoner’s inking,
“user of words mine, all mine”
gathered up my innards of loose words,
speculative notes & titles yet to be,
born and kept hid in password protected silent back labor files,
now hers, leaving me sputtering, unable to create,
a homeless mute citizen, possession-less,
helplessly hoping her hovering harlequin might relent,
without any shelter, even a glimmering, a single aleph or bet
she celebratory cackled and clawed,
professed her reclamation ownership of all my poems predecessors,
zola j’accusing that I, ripped from her forcibly,
with no granted permission, her womanly touché of my scribing,
warning of no more global warming for my unprivileged hands,
daren’t try for pretenses of stolen legal guardianship,
warning of a new, forced caining inscription,
a tattooing of “thief” upon my 5 knuckled right ******
“plagiarist” boldly inked in back & blue upon my left palm
I, predator,
she, victim,
of my now self-professed, admitted confess,
she, my single victim,
of a decade long serializing criminal coverup
her parting poem a threatening,
herein issued in this very verse,
damning all who would falsely credit themselves,
to suffer shame and an unimaginable curse,
this, the newborn eleventh of ten commandments
parting, she kissing my lips, even my emptied apertures,
with warning bitings,
she knew all my
my numerous noms de guerre,
no dead scrolls caves to hid in, and to be discovered some future day,
and if ever marked as copyrighted,
’twas no tunneling escape,
the exposed truth to be over-stamped
upon all, upon each, in every language,
”copied right from the tongue of a woman!”
and she would be wright...
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 10:10 AM UTC
Just me
No entertainment
No stimulation
Just me
Then you came by
And installed a cable
Sports, politics, comedy, education
You had a very decent package
500 channels to show me the world
I figured I'd stay home for the rest of my life
And enjoy the romComcast upon me
By the advent of your cables
But there was a destructive storm
Power lines were snapped
And our cable went out
As I stood in the ruins
Of a house that once stood majestic
All I worried about was getting our cable re-installed
So I waited
On your ****** service
My age
Became a Time Warner
And severed strings
Were strewn on the steel scattered around me
Now that I've become a satellite in your life
I could provide you with all the same channels
If you'd just look up
But the cumulus clouds you conjure
Block our reception
As I drift out here in space
I can see everybody on Earth
Except for one man
Who's surrounded by a sea of swirling tsunamis
And a crowd of cut cords
And as I approach the chaos for a better view
I'm incinerated entering his atmosphere
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
the LORD & I have been arguing for days
over four small words:
[thy will be done.]
let this be known:
never is there a bigger sacrifice
than compromising the cloth that has woven your soul,
choosing to burn its textile
rather than cling to its strong stitchings & worn-in, familiar pattern,
leaving you in nothing but incinerated rags.
I plea for maintained remains of
this combusted fallacy of joy,
whilst He responds with simply
[I am making all things new.]
please hear this:
there is truly nothing that can mend you here,
nothing that can weave you together &
save your heart from being torn
as a love letter ripped into shreds of its possibilities,
leaving you with nothing but
disintegrated
dreams.
my past is aching to become my present,
& my perceived future has begun to rewind.
my place in this world has become null&void;
without the hope I once held close.
for what happens to a princess
when her earthly prince continues to commit slow suicide?
[peace, My child.]
I can hear my bones screaming to be heard,
as songs on a broken record,
stuck on repeating the same old refrain:
*please please please please please…
[on earth as it is in Heaven.]*
night sweats--
when your mind cannot stop running even whilst you sleep.
shaking limbs—
when your heart trembles & begs to stay alive.
*[plans to prosper you, not harm you;
plans for hope & a future.]*
I’m strung out on all these things that keep me sane
while my mind feels like its going through
withdrawals of the Holy Spirit—
WHERE ARE YOU, GOD
& WHY IS THIS YOUR PLAN?
YOU DO NOT LOVE ME AS YOU ONCE DID.
[those who hope in the LORD renew their strength.]
laying on my bedroom floor
with hymns pouring from my mouth
like tongues of fire & bile
I feel farther from glory
than I ever have.
[He restores my soul.]
LORD
as Christ once begged of you
Take This Cup,
LORD
I plea
for deliverance
for reconciliation
for an exodus from this body that is
full of intoxication
& self-loathing.
[until the very end of the age.]
LET MY SPIRIT RISE FROM THE ASHES
& BE HEALED OF THIS HORROR.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
It’s strange, there was no pain.
The atom moves too fast for that.
It left my shadow on that wall,
There’s nothing else intact.
It’s strange to die so quickly
I had no time for fear.
Swept up, as in a rapture
Less than a leaf, more than a tear.
My conscious self dissolving
Like a sugar dropped in tea.
No body left to bury
You incinerated me.
Elsewhere in the city
They’ll unearth a murdered clock-
It’s hands forever frozen
on the moment I was not.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 8:01 PM UTC
The photo burns
Charcoal baby doll
Man and woman screams
Holding up
That incinerated thing
But it’s just a doll
Black flakes fall
Baby dolls clothing
Turning to dust
I cough it in and out
Choking on the musk
Stark stench of death
Yet they cradle their broken doll
Eyes closer ears ringing
Fears bringing me to edge of insanity
Her screaming seems strange
Her eyes look deranged
The dolls legs have little bones
Calcium protrusion
But it’s just a doll
Scorched skin
Not some porcelain
But it’s just a doll
Please let it be just a doll
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
Caught in the middle of a nuclear warfare,
And we make love beneath the mushroom cloud,
Sparks fly amidst the dust and rubble
From the remnants of our incinerated world.
Hollow hearts like Chernobyl,
Desolate and dilapidated,
Chemicals still lingering deep beneath the soil,
Forbidden to connect and to flourish
With one another.
Veins lined with toxic waste
That spill from our mouths
When we kiss,
Our skin is radioactive
When we touch,
The boiling point
Before we have a total meltdown,
Slowly eroding
Into ash and ruins.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
I would scale the highest
most decrepit radio towers in the world
the rusted metal crumbling against my feet
Risking electrocution and the constant threat of falling
as I rewire the ancient spiderweb of cabling
so I can hear even the faintest transmission of your voice
I'll clutch a stained and faded photograph of us
The only remainder after most everything digital
dies out in flickers of dormant transistors and dissipated binary
I'll protect it from acidic rain and the grit of persistent dust storms
So little resources left in a continent of incinerated cities
yet this picture of you and I is all I will need to keep moving
When I finally find you
I will fight against all impossible odds and potential ends
I'll walk entire burnt out highways with you just to make one last stand
I will carry you across these deserted wastelands and returning forests
To show that even after the bombs drop
My love belongs to you
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
when everything everywhere
whispered in irresistible languages
*hey you there
stop resisting*
i began to surrender
was flowing free
stretching
wings flapping
toward the unknowable
inside
experimented with ditching
body as identification
name as identification
personal history as identification
faded off
mad word searching
explaining justifying
reiterating too much information
i loosened my squeeze grip
on intellectualism
tell-me-how-to-be spiritual books
whatever the famous someone
said once then got bronzed over
i surrendered to universal unity
where i lavishly decorated
my living changing dream
with my own snap choices
i was flowing with fresh
synergetic synthesis
returned outside to pedestrian streets
where angelics mixed in
wore transparent disguises
i began to flow
forgiveness out and in
skipped a light fandango
splashing puddles was
answer to inclement weather
i set wooden faces
to smiling after
i switched my own
i rolled on through
perceived stop signs
of the everlasting no
incinerated all my karma with
nownownow
wonwonwon
made myself
stock still
experienced
yes yes
relaxed awareness
breathed
emptiness
opened all my hands
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
I make my home in the heart of stars
Pulled in by their massive gravity
Fiery furnace burning the core of me
Skin incinerated in a fury of white orange
Quasars spewing my light filled essence
Out in either direction
Pulsars spinning like a lighthouse
Beckoning what’s left of me
Until the black holes gobble up
What remains of my scattered particles
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
Love was made on a level that only the stars above could discern.
My lips ensnaring yours, softly, but, aggressively
as the sweetness of lustful saliva lubricates
embracing you with my arms
I wish to fuse you and I together forever!
The natural expression of divine love that defines
the steamy procession that pursues the rawest display of our reciprocating affections
that moment of rewarding bliss as I enter you.
You, receiving me eagerly with your legs clutching me firmly.
One, we have become under the creator of all.
Early morning sunshine peeks through the window just to greet you,
but, only I can feel you close to me.
The angels have succumb to their envy of me
the celestials I must now fight
oh how they wish to be near you
I cannot lose you.
I love you.
There were those moments that I scoured space and time in search of you.
Breaking the mad tyrant’s gauntlet to confiscate the stones and crawling back to you on my shattered knees to rest at your feet,0
I will give everything that is good to you!
Yes, you!
Only you!
The sun incinerated my hands when I repositioned them to extend our particular solstice.
My reward was a prolonged winter
perpetual so that I could always cuddle with you.
You are God’s beautiful prose
the Creator’s presence is only visible through the essence of you.
You.
Jan 2, 2025
Jan 2, 2025 at 10:21 PM UTC
I sit still
Behind wispy brushes
That cast the gloominess away
Enough to admire the beauty
Of this fragile azure trinket.
I sit still alone,
Behind wispy brushes
That act upon others
As forbidden territory,
As a sanctuary that’s
Mine, and mine alone.
I sit so anxiously
Behind wispy brushes
Observing the trinket.
What I can never grasp,
Dwindles before me;
I have claws
For hands and feet,
And the limelight
Blinds what was meant
To be a humiliating secret
If I get close enough.
If there ever was a day
To be recorded in infamy;
‘Twould be the day where
Stars sought new homes,
Tigers grew coarse and *****
And villagers incinerated
Every fiber of my being
Behind such dapper azure faces
As too, my darling
Dancing wispy brushes
-Juan Carlos Gomez
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 10:18 AM UTC