"inseminated" poems
I ain’t got no intimate, ain’t got no stiletto heels
Ain’t got no Lsd, ain’t got no smack
Ain’t got no partners, ain’t got no drill
Ain’t got no slapstick, ain’t got no hanky—panky
Ain’t got no Lsd, no slot to mount
Ain’t got no castrato, ain’t got no crumpet
Ain’t got no conjoined twins, ain’t got no nuns or eunuchs
Ain’t got no whipcord, ain’t got no adoration
Ain’t got no ******** ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no ******
Ain’t got no oscillation, no shags
No uniform, no parts
No smack, no drill
No partners, no peccadillo
Ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no whipcord, no propagators
No titbits, no intimate
I jabbered, I ain’t got no uniform, no hanky—panky
No peccadillo, ain’t copulated till one is blue in the face to have a funny feeling
And I ain’t got no ******
Oh, but what have I copulated, oh, what have I copulated
Let me tell what I copulated and nobody’s going to enlarge telescopic
I got my ***** on my face
My extra—sensory perceptions, my knobs
My ****** peckers and my ********
I got my stuck—out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** my *******
My thingummies, my cockles of the heart and my posterior
I got my ***********
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got ***** I’ve inseminated cheerleaders
I’ve got bottomgremlins and hacksawhoodoo
And Mephistophelian juggernauts too like you
I got my ***** my pistil
My ESP, my knobs
My vaginas, my peckers and my ********
I got my stuck-out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** and my *******
My ***** my ***** and my posterior
I inseminated my ****** sorbet
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got my ***** I got my slipperiness, my *****
I got *****
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:29 PM UTC
_[northern hemisphere: on a beach above the 50th latitude at the end of winter]_
_(Winter-export)_, the beach frosted by fingers of polar constellations. It’s too cold to walk without huddling, but we do it nonetheless, because we only have one more night together. Your frothy hydro-rhythm spears into pith, irradiance; I breathe again, deeply. _(Thick lips; quick still-hunt.)_ I rivet fronds of dependence into the seams of your boreal palms, never planning to return the floating colony of barnacles I promised I’d throw back; you, never planning to catch the sun bored through salt spray, clasping crisp foreheads, stitching on glistered lips and froze-shut lashes. And on a day when you didn’t rise early enough, I was left out in the water until my chest was steeped deep in ice over the thought of losing you. _(Glimmering isle)_; my hair disheveled in sea-foam. Annular light. You pushed me in, and I relented. My isotherm sent chthonically. But you, in your legendary mantle, adapted my eyes to see the light hidden deep within your belt; such pinks and fuchsias I have never seen before, suddenly inverted. At absolute velocity, I cut my foot on sea-glass, bleeding blueshift, aligning to the colours of the zenith. You take me back to the starry house and we struggle with your parallax, a nadir inseminated on the celestial pole. _(Parsecs quaking.)_ You whisper, I’ll heal you. I’ll heal you, only if you let me. Only if… you let me… Over and over and over until it’s as mundane as the crashing coast, and unrivaled, I concede to everything and wake up deep in redshift, the whole universe escaping, warmth-ribbons suffocating the abyss: without you, alone on the ecliptic at last. In the spring-sinking, you order me a silver sword, sharp in starlight; to remember you. You stand a guardian, beyond the sun, flinging tiny ice-hot rocks _(freighting gemstones)_; King of the Heavens. I submerge myself into the bathic depths, skulking in aestival despair, as you trade the night for day. Little do you know, my resurgence is also in your hands.
_[i watched Orion slip from view every night this spring. No doubt he’ll return next winter... it’s sad losing a friend like that, for so long]_
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
we were not born of blessed stars
we did not rise amidst
feathers scorched
from the burning bush
our mother planted carelessly
inseminated with a yearning
for tiny pretty things
she forgot to keep us whole
and instead dismantled our nucleus
cell by nervous cell
until everything grew into nothing
the skin of our young hearts
filleted as embellishment
for her fine collection
of unhappiness
year after lonely year
our mother became obsessed
with our expected failures
creating dusty bouquets
of abandoned feathers
as a reminder of her sacrifice
a reminder of her love
we were never meant to fly
we were born of sadness
and heavy with regret
we entered this life
choking on her tears
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
you know why i'm not afraid
of plagiarism?
memes...
funny, isn't it,
i don't mind, or, rather,
i started to not mind plagiarism...
because the plagiarists have
been inseminated, ***** even,
i don't know whether i ever
owned a puppet,
but if i'm plagiarised i own a:
cohort...
it's nice...
you can rule by ridicule
rather than be ridiculed
as ruling,
notably the english monarchy...
it's nice to have pawns who
don't even think they aren't
pawns...
but that's the beauty
of intellectual virology -
an idea is like a virus,
and the fact intact remains
signifying:
well: go ahead with it...
i don't mind anonymous
"credit" 4 it...
you think i have
i have any complacency to mind?
rot the gnat and vermin...
i am the one to fuse
plague and language together...
man was
always endowed with a heart
and woman with a heart,
when it came to, politics...
women always, meddle...
how isn't punctuation
important in writing,
given it be necessary that
equate punctuation with rhyme
and consolidate prose with poetics...
punctuation = rhyme -
overseer? yes.
- and why do i not mind plagiarism,
pontius pilate...
the only person worth
being remembered of the new testament...
oops..
why do i not mind
plagiarism... i know they'll mutate,
morph...
but that doesn't matter...
a part of me remains,
and all the better should the plagiarism
be otherwise be defined...
but it's too late:
the innocent seed competes
with the forbidden fruit...
i have my paupers and my
puppets...
for grit and gift of word,
i have my: assembly...
you can plagiarise all you want,
all i ever gain is yet another
puppeteer's string of
limb annexed.
i love the idea of memes & plagiarism...
it means the utmost anonymous
influence being exerted:
how far is the puppeteer away
from the necrophiliac, may i ask?
thank you for a chance to
not prioritise a demand for
a gene chronology on the altar of Cronus,
allowing me, to,
********** my meme,
rather than consecrating my gene
in the ******* of fake white
and...
the agony of what would be to come...
ever wonder the mystery
of autumn, when a southern wind
blows?
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
Luminous Mother inseminated
Cocoa colored hand cradling flower pod
This is the egg
He points
I am amazed at him
He is so smart
AP Biology paid off
The colors of rainbows are streaming down his face
I am tripping and the atmosphere is swallowing us
My wallowing is over with
Because I have become in tune with Mother
And I hear her crying
She says the men and women polluting her cause her dying
She says
Don't pay mind to the media, they are lying
You are all my beautiful children
The media's maligning
None of it is true.
I hear an infant screaming
No, I wasn't dreaming
It was heart-wrenching
I felt the hairs stand up on my skin
I heard a heartless mother scream at her children
and a toddler snide back
Yes,
Just like second hand smoke
Bad attitudes are just as easy to assimilate
You require your children to be respectful and well-kept
But look at yourself,
Look at yourself.
Mother Earth groaning with birth pangs
Will She deliver soon?
And if She is,
What will She be delivering?
Good or bad
Happy or sad
I cannot not tell
I only know it will be life altering.
So Mother,
Rest well,
Continue on with your cycles
Please don't take personally humanity's crimes
Most of us just don't know what the heck we're doing
We're cattle being directed to the slaughter house
And whoever aberrates
Is scorned
Let true love make you enceinte
Birth the result of that love
Dear Mother
We love you
We are just both lost and spellbound in you.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 12:37 AM UTC
Tessellation & Interstices
**”A tessellation or tiling is the covering of a surface,
often a plane, using one or more geometric shapes,
called tiles, with no overlaps and no gaps…In mathematics, tessellation can be generalized to higher dimensions and a variety of geometries.”**
the insistent need to be distinguished
means many are not,
indeed,
this hunger
to be an influencer
and never just an influencé.
creeply creates a linear surface,
a flooring to be trod upon,
a tessellated plane,
were we each fit in
right-tight juxtaposition
and we are noticeable for our
uniformity and
the scuff marks of having been trod upon,
well used.
it is in the chips of irregularities,
the overlaps and the gaps
where we touch and connect
with our individual Ah Ha’s,
where our Venn Diagram Lives
intersect, infect, interfere, inject,
in the tiny
interstices
tween us,
the jagged, irritatingly edgy
rubbings
that the friction of creativity
is comedically inseminated.
I love a good tense sweat,
that invasive, deep boring burring,
that demands
instant creative solutions lest the angst of
an unwritten-in-the-moment-poem
is even more annoying,
before it is annoyingly,
befogged, lost forever.
that is why with old age,
fearsome fast
short term memory loss,
some turn to the speedy freedom of
free verse,
unconstrained by socks
and well fitting shoes,
and the slip on sneakers
of rhyming,
so insistent on perfection,
that the
burr is absorbed,
the irritant rubbing is creamed away,
and that loss of
a pouring of the soul’s *********** of
Done!
is
our exclamatory mutual curse
Mar 23, 2024
Mar 23, 2024 at 10:26 AM UTC
artificially inseminated trees sprout from train tracks
the concrete jungle
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
Early on
My T.V. was controlled
By my mother and older sister
Because of this
I have an immunity
To awful television
Americas Next Top Whatever
Growing up Whatever
The Housewives of Wherever
All the spinoffs
All the three week
Episodic backstory
Specials
Everything
I have found this taste in T.V.
Is engrained in most girls and women
Not all of them mind you
But most
From all of the
Nonsensical story lines
Wooden and awkward acting
Scripted life tragedies
Artificially inseminated arguments
Pointless and pedantic drama
Lifetime movies stick out
They are their own special breed
Because of this
They are beautiful
And I enjoy them immensely
So many meaningless sub plots
Badly framed shots
Ridiculous morals
Awfully choreographed action sequences
That have nothing to do
With the movie at all
In this way
They are their
Own type of pure
I have no shame
Besides
There is no where else
That I can watch an hour and a half
Of a police woman
Being hunted by her surrogate
Who was her best friend
(Before she psychotically fell in love with
The police woman's husband)
While the police woman is
Haunted by the ghost of her
Dead mother who
Gives her advice
From beyond the grave
Finally
With the help of the ghost mother
The police woman
And her misogynistic male partner
(Who is no longer a misogynist
Because she is such a **** fine cop)
Corner the surrogate
Who now has an assault rifle
And they end up having to blow her
Away
Emptying their guns
As she yells out and spins
Too many times into some faceless
Mansion's swimming pool
Ending with a slow motion splash
And no charges pressed anywhere
On anyone
All of this
Played by the up and coming
Talent of yesteryear
And the same six
Recycled actors
Who butcher their lines and roles
So artistically
That tense and awful moments
Make me convulse with laughter
It is surreal
And totally worth the guilt
I feel for enjoying such
Rancidly composed filth
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 12:09 AM UTC
the delicate blossoming
of budding flowers, secretes
poisonous ardor. tainted by
the loving thorns of death,
my veins carry nocuous nectar.
and demeter wails, her garden
polluted and infused with ichor
deadly. and weeds rampage,
absorbing my heart's nutrients.
till inseminated with a plethora
of nightshade and datura.
my body now a mere vessel
of your deathly grove of misery,
delicately blooming dark myrtle.
a lost soul in my fields of mourning.
Dec 9, 2020
Dec 9, 2020 at 11:19 AM UTC
I don't dabble in quotes undeniably fresh I broke ground when I wrote
Fault lines leak from the throat
Deep in the flesh
Scar the soul
But still take the fifth over the ********
I can smell where I sit
Some expressions shouldn't be expressed
Lit some inscents, crack a window
The world ****** me inseminated artificial, so the room reeks of ***
You could of warned me before you came though
I was asked why I don't get a vasectomy, I replied
Why fix what ain't broke?
If a saint was to lie..would that be considered a blessing in disguise?
Pencil pushed in my direction, my mortgage was late
Ain't that something
Too broke to buy myself an alibi
Experience tells me it's coming
But it's not midnight yet
I got a right to reserve the light like my sky was cursed
The dusk set or crept
I forget what broke through first
I wasn't born I was invented in temperature melted steel from a chariot let it carry you you could carry it farther
If I had a father
Had it been different, had I had some kind of appeal
That's a variable
I was a controlled sample
But out of it
Dangerous beyond a point I can compare it to
Vultures circled the intolerance
I was not acknowledged but taught the strength in silence
I never listen, that's the science
In one ear and out the other
My mother the worlds biggest hypocrite
Once said, never ask for more than you can handle
Then failed to commit
And still delivered my crew of baby brothers
She looked me in the eye
She walked away saying I tried
Makes me wonder
If a saint was to lie..would that be considered a blessing in disguise?
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
back muscle spasm
falling into the chasm
like a rapscallion in a holding cell
images phantasm
plasma distorts
springtime fashion
I passionately question
a season of natural ******
babies play in open meadows
birthed with the new sun
bringing fruition
to the one calling
…procreate –
artificially inseminated
Holstein heifers
drop the next generation
still in sack
to the hard unforgiving ground
expectant of an instant jump
and suckle
hard teats secrete a wonderful feat
…..but it is stolen
and fed to innocent humans
to fatten them
and placate them
for a different slaughter
lies upon red and clouded horizon –
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
Each day drifts on like a bag in the wind
Fanatical revolution right outside my window
We inseminated mother Earth with so much artificial filth
yet with her loving embrace she makes it
Beautiful
Just like me.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 4:33 AM UTC
my body betrays me
it wishes to be inseminated by more than
inspiration
and american capitalist ideals
it yearns to create its own masterpiece
but motherhood isnt warm and fuzzy
isnt just a lovely concept
life is hard
instead i impregnate myself with a little piece of metal
swollen ******* mood swings
and a breeding kink to boot
Feb 21, 2024
Feb 21, 2024 at 11:59 PM UTC