"insemination" poems
You and I are going to settle this score
Now that you've abandoned your special snowflake campaign
And overcome your Stockholm Syndrome
A dynasty has been created
The snowball's chance begins to take effect
The short order cook has taken a tall order
A citrus feast for a ship of marauders
To prevent scurvy
The maitre d' disarmed them at the door
And allowed them to infiltrate the dining hall
The captain sat and twiddled his thumbs while his crew cut loose
The first mate drank fire water and shot it out of his nose
The quarter master ordered some fiddlesticks served on door glass
The boatswain ordered the insemination of a cow so he could eat the cow and all of its offspring
It was his first day eating meat again
He remembered his vegan salad days
The carpenter and ****** constructed a shrine of after dinner mints
And conducted a seance to talk to their old crew mate, Black eyed Ollie
He squandered his life searching the sea for a doctor to restore his sight
They planned to revive him and allow his spirit to possess one of them
And sure enough Black eyed Ollie entered the seaman's body and they took turns controlling the fleshy vessel
Black eyed Ollie got every day of the week that ended in "Y" and the seaman got the rest
The filching crew of blighters finished their meal and went on their way
They left quite a tip
"Actions speak louder than words and money talks too
Yet talk is cheap
But time is money
So every burning second counts
Then let's freeze time
Take action and buy all the talk at whole sale price
And sell it at retail price"
So pay up man, I told you working here would be interesting
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
Knocking on wood is cheap
when a fire is close to the surface
so call me a ****
if I don't care for your problems
take a problem make a problem break a few hearts
I had an epiphany
a revelation of sorts
we all have two voices in our head
(at least two)
yin to yang
moon to sun
one of them is overly positive
a naive buffoon talking about lovely flower power
the other
a sarcastic monster
a real *******
chirping in with
"You took that poor fellows order down wrong
you should probably go ahead and **** yourself."
now I know ****** is wrong
but I've been trying to get these two chaps to ****
artificial mental insemination
they haven't quite come to terms with each other yet
but we're getting there
until then,
I guess you could call me
absolutely bonkers
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
Gauge Symmetry
It was an eminent arrival: to awake in a definite
location in time and space, involving the single
***** with more zeal than the rest. But where
am I really? Staring at these thorny lines engraved
in my palm during an hour I should be asleep.
I can’t help but think that the love of a life
should have spared me.
A caption below the photograph in the times reads
It’s an illustration of a tactic employed by Hezbollah
and Hamas to use their own civilians as human shields.
And somewhere else laying on rubble, once road, a blood
smeared newspaper ruffles in the breeze, then violently
unfolds from a burst of wind, never to be read, a stray dog
licking a wound pauses and perks it’s ear.
Earlier, in the library I walked the spiral staircase
and traced my fingers down a dusty spine:
“How
we
became
Post-Human”.
It must have been an artificial insemination.
My skull throbs from an inoperable legion
of fractal thoughts which I developed upon listening
to the sounding tremble in Pathetique, too immature
to know the power of what it heard like that time
I foolishly laid my eyes on a carnivorous
tulip, it spat me out alive.
Moon is no comfort, only an aperture. The day
is overexposed and my eyelids clasp
down like a shutter, I try to fall asleep
to remember where I really am and where
I've always been.
Jul 14, 2011
Jul 14, 2011 at 7:56 AM UTC
Coagulation in the limbic system
The pineal gland commence emission
Insemination within the vision
Clouded by foreign dubbed derision
Fray the edges, fringe incision
Behold the schism, parabolic business
Subtitles for the learning minions
And it is booming like v twin pistons
Streamline slithering tunnel vision
Between the rock and hard resistance
Living the lie, we're deathly hidden
Not just fire but the end decision
Resulting is the pouring human
A sudden break elastic intrusion
The hour spawned upon confusion
Forever running through illusion
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
My metal detector doesn't work. I'm sorry my friend killed you, she has problems with her cerebral cortex. My metal detector broke, and I need to find the treasure buried by old ford himself; my ex said some meth-head said the devil was after him and he stumbled across the treasure covered in CD cases and hypodermic needles. They say he paid for a billboard over 75
Hey here, hey here it is baby
girl; blue shorts, bubble gum
in your hair? Here, here, here
and so I set out to find it. I don't care about my boyfriends other girlfriend; I'm hotter, I write poetry where the devil drinks what he siphones from gas tanks. My metal detector doesn't work. We only found out about the horseshoes in my ****** when he asked about insemination with his fathers ***** he always wanted a sister. I gave the horseshoe to my friend to hang above her front door in exchange for her twenty two year old metal detector. Nothing like the dentist bought me, but it worked. I found the treasure behind the VFW, stuffed into Kodak film bottles: maple leaves, water hemlock, and the keys to a ghost racecar.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
Spirit fooled, my roots are blue now…
a birth insemination façade, it’s all really just a departure station
Blood is overrated like heirlooms now,
my earth interpretation of the Son is really just a miniature statue
From good to bad, popped the lid off by shoplifting,
Coz’ I’m from the hood and glad I can prop what I pulled off by uplifting.
This conniving side, Kundalini said it’s critical…
I remember the pain of discomfort in jail...
Sleeping inside that biting minky next to a Criminal clustered my praying effort to make bail. Spitting fire across with rage, the only love I can feel is from my Mother, so beware of blind fury...My Siblings’ wires are crossed with age, they only love what they can feel from Matter and Affairs , as if bewitched by Muti. I don’t have friends, rather Associates, there’s nothing like a relationship controlled by a timely device. The Real Ones are under the Sand, I call them Appropriates…She was ahead of her Creation ship but opposed by a tide of an untimely demise. Now I’m in solitude on this table surrounded by demons, but Jesu still breaks bread…A Soldier should learn to stay stable even though his bound to say “Yes” to deal with fake Men.
So fasten your seatbelt and countdown the launch sequence
Ready to blast off this sieged land compound, notch the frequence…
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
Partied by a daylight not worth receiving
The lighted archways of judgment
Beam down on your skeletal appearance
Urging a break away from some monumental collapse
A ragged dolls face
Stitched on the body of a human waste receptacle
Your bruises and burn scares
The missteps of your creation
Out of the depths of blackened fornication
Moonlight tones of a memory
An insemination that never happened
Carnal desires blunted at hello
Stitched at the seams
I know those are just beads in your eyes
Blankness recedes from the shore lines
Unveiling to yourself the residue of our indiscretions together
Briefly awarded the rank of general
Now collapsed into what we would not refer to as a person of distinction
Not a person of substance or quality
How would this concoction respond?
This ball of human anti-matter
This forgiven body of curses and regret shoveled
Slowly into some one else’s normal circumstance
Faced with complacency of this evil renunciation
To live another’s life
Pure banality
Pure monotony
Maybe I was bread for this
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 11:34 AM UTC
Aristotle’s arrhythmic articulations
Appeared too apologetic for Aphrodite's amusements
Aroused by antisocial media’s alacritous abundance
Amidst arteriosclerosis and amphibiously obeisant Ophiuchus
Asclepius' ascendance was almost an abortion
Arrested by Apollo’s amorous attempts at aphrodisia
Ambidextrous Artemis’ androgynous appointments
Awakened ancient antipathies accentuating allopathic artifacts
Altercations arose among ambitious acolytes and Athena’s anorexic acidoses
Awkward Adonis actively agonized by alarming aneurysms
Allowed Antigone’s ambivalent armistice an aperture of acceptance
Appointing an ambiguously appealing additive to the Argonauts
An anaerobic Acropolis arose amidst ********** asphyxiations
As Amazonian armpit hair advocates approved artificial insemination
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
I am a dark illumination.
Ficticious realization.
A monotonous mutation of
united segregation.
An evolutionary creation.
A negative affirmation.
Loyal to indifferent dedication.
A fan of natural artificial insemination.
A victim of ignorant education.
A truthful illusion or factual delusion.
Either way this begins my conclusion.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC
The Human dream became the Martian dream as we slept on our Mars-bound voyage. We could see colonies amidst landscapes, burnished pristine, teeming with strange Martian plants discovered post-bloom.
The Martians were adorned with ivory carvings and had surrounded themselves with esoteric paintings of marauding faces. They spoke in strange tongues, switching between Martian and another— almost incomprehensibly clandestine— tongue of barbaric intonation. Although they clutched sharp, ivory spears with a fierce resolve, they remained docile in our presence and told us of the vivid dreams they had engaged in as a group prior to our arrival. These were abstract dreams, tinged with fragmented images of insemination and visitation by the Mars Moth-Man— he who was oil-funded and had been delivering concrete messages to the people of Mars ever since the first settlers had arrived in the distant past.
But, once we had truly set foot upon Mars— from outside the strange realm of dreams which lives solely within our collective mind's eye— we could not have foretold that our shared dream was revealed to be a sprawling wasteland of infertile soil.
Nov 22, 2022
Nov 22, 2022 at 9:16 AM UTC
It's all conspiracy
Idle hands are the Devil's playthings
I told you so
Remove the feeding tube
But not during the gestation period
By after the gastric bypass
And right before the insemination
Put the fault on the horse voiced gentry
And the perpendicular denominations
What's it to you?
You estranged neo-native
Counterfeit piety and disobedient estranged friends unnerve you
You act so factious
Deliberately making everything a joke
Ponder the trajectory of my fist to your glass jaw
And the brass knuckles to your abdomen
You'll want to get an iron lung when we're through
Maybe a respirator and a catheter
Now, go count your toenail clippings as the idle minds cast their votes for this referendum
-Tommy Johnson
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
I’d been reading about boy insemination in the Sambia, Papau New Guinea. As a ritual rite of passage in this war-torn enclave, boys aged 8 to 10 were taken from their mothers to become men. This ritual included things a Westerner couldn’t fathom doing to a child - shoving sugar cane up their noses until they poured blood, forcing them to **** flutes to mimic ******** and ultimately, swallowing “male milk,” their sponsors’ ********* which according to tradition will rid them of their evil mothers’ poison and make them warriors.
Heavy ****
You know the response that happens in your body when you experience the luxury of your food begin too hot? You kind of breath in and out, rapidly, mouth open, until the food cools down? Sitting in the cafeteria, eating a bowl of vegetables and quinoa created in a vegan space certifying no cross-contamination, I found myself making this face. This stupid, ***** “oh no my mouth may feel weird for a day or two” reflex that immediately made me sick.
I decided to close my mouth. To lean into the fleeting, no-more-than-inconvenient pain instead of running from it.
I think it may have changed my life.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
Try along these sacks for proof of feral merriment,
in stilled eyes and on carnal graves. All whose rotting
limbs are well studied in 'ologies of human squander-
Red with laughter, plucked with all caving souls and
anger. Gasping, so, with lewd amusement of the dead
in jest.
Muspelhiem froths forth with cold hearts, lusting of
mortal slaughter. I've seen the men whose vial looks a
barrel‒ whose foaming mouths, birthed-stillborn of
Sheol and all it's unebbing horrors, can't restrain the
joy of culling. Hate creation‒ worship crude insemination,
ravished toward the making of wilful immolation.
But what casket of pleasant delirium, brings deaths to
child's eyes‒ no wars of misfortune must be ******
of a playful kind. Hecatombs, artistic as day‒ homes
like Tophet for children to play. But whose poison
to **** me sooner, under Black Suns and darkened
hearts, as Lucifer capers down the burrow.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 4:32 PM UTC
amidst cavorting delightfully, enjoying thorough
frolicking gingerly, foreign hick hating slo
hip-hopping insouciantly sustaining row
biological status quo
kvetching lamely moreso mother became pro
naturally physically rumbling,
heard all the way in Oslo
supposedly twerking, undulating vivaciously
wantonly x2c wisely yielded – nada no
zona pellucida anchored byte size ******
potent embryonic fetal moe
newlweds nocturnal merriment
moma's ****** marked march 1959
lovingly joyusly, insemination happened ha low
bullseye clenched diploid fertilization
guaranteed germinating heiress
while squaqking lichen Apache at Diablo
ma late mother did should know
upon awakening upon tautly stretched exertion
during dilating ****** which jiggled like jello
three score orbitz round el sol, warmed cockles
and muscled away brutally cold degrees
tab billed an igloo,
or circa six decades
drafted exuberant ho...ho...ho...
cuz, i.e. thencee at 362nd day
baby in belly did fully grow
December first nineteen fifty seven
sanctioned newly minted papa
to sing a capella for he's a jolly good fellow
quintessential nascent
kickstarter heady everflow
though wintry dark,
a “hi” beam illuminated
newborn girl with dayglow
sans, mechanical engine ear
papa (an honorably discharged army vet)
all spit and shine groom,
who wed a bride somewhat callow
first time parents with giddiness did saul fully bellow
Boyce and Harriet Harriet countenance
twas (like an elf on Christmas eve) all aglow.
--------------------------------------------------------
Dear Sis – I knew not what else to do
thus, this poem crafted fur ewe
a doe ting maternal gal – whose time on Earth flew
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 1:09 AM UTC
*Clinton in Harlem, Obama in Dubai... shop at Watergate Mall till you drool on the lives of others! in sequence the N.S.A. archives, meaning you'd be safer off ************ in Siberia than in New York; oi! i'm shooting a documentary with David Attenborough! get your own Jurassic Park of artificial mosquito insemination!*
and with a Nobel prize winner
you'd think the racial tensions
would be left a dying count of
surprises by giving five donkey tails
to five blindfolded children
pinning it on the ***** dozen
of the new testament, starting off
with st. matthew in Ethiopia
and the king's daughter trying ****
in the shadow of the crucifix for
the first time to feel both pleasure and guilt;
hence the lacerations in the Philippines
and would-be philistines when interest rates
came about from chiselling-in faces of people
into raw materials:
write poetry within a canvas of permanent
employment,
otherwise jukebox that ****
come on, let's write mediocre and let's write
without a hint of desperation,
let's fear death... let's fear writing on the fringe,
non-oratory, just there, poetry like
a penny on the pave, a Frank Sinatra sing-along,
raining coppers and dimes...
let's just keep poetry on the knee readied
for the smack for disobedience juggling two
professions, one prog the other pop,
poetry like a penny on the pavement,
rather than an ingredient list for a curry
memorised for a lass a'coming home
for sheer and sweat.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
a tall glass quenching
the thirst of the night
skimming the tops
and bottoms
open to interpretation,
insemination
of the mind
individual perception,
your own,
the only,
one.
with music clowning and bouncing,
feeling and fleeing
the colors separate themselves,
but do they
rejoin?
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 9:51 PM UTC
evolutionary revisionist
screaming about alien DNA
and the Annunaki
teaching ape-men
on the Sumerian plains –
looking at the southern skies
for the coming of Nibiru
sending red horns across the horizon
bringing back the overlord giants
another round of ****
and zero-point energy –
fallen angles look like greys
travelling from heaven
in shiny silver disks
abducting the impoverished
for genetic manipulation
and artificial insemination
attempted creation
of a hybrid nation
my lament is not taken seriously
and I slip further into the fringe –
cattle mutilation no longer garners
a press release
five million people with similar memories
are all discounted as crazy
so the masses can sleep
believing they are alone
and special
in the universe –
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
the birthing goddess
her body preparing for insemination
the richness pooled among her trenches.
bright red and hot. when she can no longer
contain
it explodes out
with a force we are always unprepared for.
She, our mother.
our creator. we molded in the fire of her womb.
She, our mother, fractionally recreates.
She, knows her purpose.
the crimson show is for no weak man,
men struggle to understand the power
in that core. they, too far removed from
their mothers hands. mother's lands remind us,
but we wear shoes for that.
today, I read that we all began as woman.
my body is the predecessor of my sons.
so invested in LOVE and creation,
she
gives up her organs for the balance of our time.
sacrifices the creative womb
to bring forth the solution. the balance.
she knows instinctively that
her womb
is the power of the center of our Earth.
is the power of the rapture of destruction
the force of the creation of LOVE.
she, our Mother.
like with all children, the farther you are from mom,
the less you remember her lessons.
she calls me to her bedside.
I enter the room, confidence birthing
as I near my Mother's side.
she embraces me, touches my soul
through other family members
and through LOVE.
she sacrifices her easy rotation,
her youthful spin, I feel the dizziness too now.
slowing down with conscious effort within
at my Mother's bedside, I shower her with LOVE,
compassion, tears, nutrition, beautiful flowers to smell,
all the things she taught me.
all the things she gives me.
our Mother Earth who LOVES
our fertile Father
our genetics, the subtleties.
the street lights are on…
do you here your Mother's call?
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
I like that
I’m no longer a fantasy
in someone else’s eyes
Not a niche
last item to tick
On an oppressive
obsessive
list of things to conquer
Instead I am primal
But not of any known animal
Not untamed
But a wild refinement
Refracted
As a spectrum
Melded as a prism
Not just a lens
AI
artificial insemination
versus
artful intention
When death is mainstream
procreation
is a fetish
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 11:06 AM UTC
i love how the reaping of modern reward
leaves octavius in peace from
the hysterics of historians, known as augustus,
apathetic, because the scold of such
breadcrumbs know as rewards, are just that,
breadcrumbs, foodstuff additives for rats
that were ignoble enough to jump the ship,
they were, ignoble to guise themselves
in thinking the usage of language
was idiotic enough for them to use it
when using it sparingly, on a spare as ol' cockney
had it. i watched ******* so many ways of speaking
in order that all ways of speaking were sung,
to sing is to have respect for all measures of the tongue,
it does not mean to favour one, it means to accept all,
it does mean intention to state a status quo
but mean a status qua: it does not intend
the state of things going to the same posit of where they
are, but arable i statement asking for the state as being
worth keeping.
why then imagine so much but speak so little?
why then speak so much but imagine so little?
politics vice versus got in the way?
shadowy patron of despotism swerved a legion
of demonic shadows to sway you?
was it a carcass that decided to rekindle life
with puppets for a dynamism of the silken
trade with stringed threads that swayed you
to be kept noble of memory with the next kinship
as entitled prior to me, prior to father,
prior to my father's father?
held sway it did with the nightmare relating,
but you didn't: a nought's worth of a sarcasm
in the night made more uncles for satiation
of hybrids of insemination than it did
relating cousin's mother (1) with cousin's
father (2) to conclude the family tree reserved
an inheritance of king solomon's mines for someone.
then i hid my eyes into lazed lids of blink missing,
and that was that... horror was more welcome
than comedy with all genre choices freely apparent.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
Silvery, essentially base gray, with a light it's own…
reflectively, moon bounced sun light, becomes
the moon's own light, so,
with a light of it's own, akin to a gleam in an eye.
"Beans, ear beans, gitcher ear beans renewed,
booster ego. Umph your trial,
trade the beans you grow with these
for a grieving
Moo cow, and your future is secure."
{the beings who heard Sarai laugh,
those were fed the milchfed calf.}
Moo cow,
eyes, mournful, udders about to burst,
makes you wonder what in hell,
could cause so strange
a mind, cow conscience wise
holy private Brahma
meeting, minds in rumination,
shifting sacks of cellulose being processed
for a few with the guts to get passed through.
What would you think, my friend, if I were
to say I know
life, the whole, life, per se, life, itself, you know,
produced from
the standalone tree, that, as it hapt,
could not hold it's own standing,
so, it spread wide, clinging snotwise,
pre-mucus, ever ago, in the billions of years,
too long to imagine, so, take it by faith,
scientists built the James Webb, and
placed it,
right there, where the utterly invisible force
that holds the sun in place,
holds our distance compression device, right there
at a perrenial loop around the hoop
around the belly of the earth, so
we may see, how utterly cosmic life is,
with us,
here, between the extremes of infinity, just
in time.
--------- Paid for
by anonymous bulls opposed
to artificial insemination, in
Consideration for Carnation Cows contentedness,
which has waned after science convinced us,
the holy cow failed
to hurdle the moon, thus halting a travesty,
regarding the dish and spoon escape diversion,
it did not work,
thus the dish and spoon, did not spawn,
and sporks did not happen on this time line.
Jan 26, 2023
Jan 26, 2023 at 6:20 PM UTC