"jiggling" poems
S • Skin tight, skeletal cage
both ribs and mind.
K • Keep a strict diet, never break it, always hide it from those who would disapprove, so I learned to suffered in silence.
I • Internally a growl would emit, I reveled in the power I would get from it. To know I was structured, I wasnt a jumbled mess. Like the mass jiggling, clingling to this withering carcass.
N • Never could the fat girl come back out. carve her, choke her, starve her till she lost the will to shout. Shout for help, shout for freedom, shout for love in this life. Useless, everybody knows only fit people have that right.
N • Nobody would believe if I told a soul my struggle. "You are huge, big blue
whale how can someone like you have a disorder?
Y• Yell, scream "I WANT TO BE ME"
But I can't because of our society
deeming people like me are wrong,
why should my weight define wether or not I belong?
But because it does I hate myself.
I live this life with a wish to die,
all because my body is not
S•K•I•N•N•Y
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
I refuse to be thin.
It isn't where I belong.
I would be different, unhappy,
Focused on the image of me.
Now, with my wide thighs
Jiggling belly...
Others see me, and I don't care.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
I cried at the breakfast table this morning
my father carefully explained,
"wives must be submissive to their husbands"
"housecleaning is the domain of the woman"
"God created woman because man asked for a partner"
This past semester I wrote two papers
One, a fire and brimstone sermon
I quoted Anais Nin
sending the creators of sexist commercials to eternal suffering
**** them!" I said. "May they burn in hell."
For the women they portrayed were doormats
Misconceptions
Monsters
The other, the role of women in the 1920s,
No longer confined to the kitchen
they dropped ballots with their new freedom
they wore short dresses and short tresses
fingers wrapped around cigs
they quoted Wilde instead of Alcott
they danced until their feet hurt
I read of Anais Nin's "new woman,"
her partnership, not submission to man,
I craved a room of my own, neigh demanded it
For sheep stayed in the kitchen,
The Woolf had a study.
I read poetry
Sexton,
Plath,
I wept for their starved, depressed selves
caged, suffocating inside the clasped hands of a man.
Loved like rib-cage jails.
Adrienne Rich made me angry,
her daughter-in-law
forever trying to fit into a box
she was always too big for, spilling
at the edges, her shaved
legs like "white mammoth tusks"
I was finally
happy with my womanhood.
****** ****** ***** ********
they are mine.
******* free to move unrestrained,
jiggling under my shirt.
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
they are mine.
mine.
I am not ashamed of what I am
because there is no shame.
I am woman,
I am girl,
I am lady.
I am a creature
with a voice
a mind.
a creature who endured much abuse,
continue to endure.
I am woman
and I don't have to be wife or mother
unless I want to be.
I was not created for man;
I was created for the same reason he was,
to serve the same great purpose on this tiny blue dot.
I am not rib.
I am ****** ****** ***** ********
******* free, unrestrained,
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
I am a per.
I am a wo.
I am a hu.
Man and son need to back down,
collaborate not dominate,
speak not command,
for when less are forced into silence,
the maddening scream
hidden inside skin and bones and muscle-meat
becomes song.
this world of car horns and tire screeches
crying and wailing from raw throats
angry protests of indignation
could use a little music.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
I am jiggling on that stage.
The egoless strut.
The humorous tap.
The spectacular trip.
Fall over,
over. and
Over
again.
Get up,
find a ballroom
Dancer.
Find a hand holding
Partner.
Play "Spice Up Your Life".
Spice Girls,
listen to the bridge.
tells you to Salsa.
Watch that scene.
Billy Elliot,
With the pianist.
Dancing Billy.
He loves it.
Just do it,
you love it too.
Cheesy pop,
You don't need to
embellish yourself.
No grace notes.
No flat 7th.
You don't need
to sugarcoat,
the truth.
Let loose to riddims.
live on the dancefloor.
Feel the *****
and the reggae.
Feel the triplets.
Rocksteady your way.
Dancehall to sounds.
Bounce and echo.
Side to side.
Left to right.
And we'll slow it
right
down.
The ballad starts.
Your beautiful structure on the left of your head,
the one called the ear.
The that ear controls aural empathy.
Let love be the choreographer to your moves,
Play the concept album, your heart.
Place it onto the record player and watch it spin
Start the track track with an International groove.
End. Replay.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
Have you ever heard the tale
about the hedgehog with no spikes,
such a sweet little boy
who all the other’s didn’t like?
A case of alopecia,
there was nothing they could do,
such a sad little hedgehog
who cried and cried, “Boo-Hoo”.
But soon the lad grew older,
he wanted to look more lush
so onto his back he tied himself
a little scrubbing brush.
His friends, well they just laughed at him
and bullied him all the more,
until one day, he'd had enough
and walked out through the door.
For years not much was heard of him,
his mother, she did fret
for she’d heard about the busy roads
and trouble, in which, he could get.
But life had turned out fine for him
and soon he’d found a place
where he could earn a little living
and put smiles on many a face.
Within the railway station
with his brush upon his back,
a jumping and a jiggling till
the queue would start to clap.
People travelled from miles around
just to come and watch the show,
their trips no longer boring
they would leave with faces aglow.
But what’s the hedgehog doing
to make the people come to see?
What makes them laugh and cheer
and fills their hearts with so much glee?
You've never seen a shoe shine stall
with such a special knack,
for the owner was a dancing hedgehog
with a brush upon his back!
*
Written by Darren Scanlon, 3rd January 2014
Revised 26th August 2015.
Artwork by Angie Caira.
© 2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
punto / contrappunto (patty m /nat)
(on the why of messaging, on the Underground HP)
none can fly, all can fly
except in words, in deeds, indeed,
yet others turn those who believe turn
lead into gold, golden faerie dreams real,
penciled in the salvation hints inked upon the skin
of the host, the blessing are the blessings of the host,
of solving great puzzles. deeds of salvation solutions.
Yet unbeknownst for many. known to all
its jiggling all the quarks, the clashing of the neutrons
spinning electrons that within all of our protein protons
affect many, effected upon each,
invisible all is hidden. where all was hidden, now visible
the message that isn't let our acts speak ever louder
transmitted, realized,
holds no power, yet it a time for action
remains a black screen for each message, now an action
in the catacombs in the clarity of daylight
waiting, waiting there, no longer waiting,
millions of little pieces each action a deed
when finally viewed the summation total
grows gargantuan
funneling radiation
from the sun.
Climbing roofs, to the streets leaping
sliding down drainpipes knocking to open all doors
to the street, filling the stadiums & squares
I'll wait with you, no laggards, all in attendence
**they will come,
poet after poet,
spreading the word,
words to deeds, each of us
a messenger and a conductor,
orchestrating the symphony
of revelation.**
Patty m. Nat
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
.
I'm so proud !
::::
Now here's how it came down
//
A whole lotta girls at our high school
Come up with a new *** craze
Literally
Getting ****** up the *** by a billy goat !
In and of itself
This is hardly noteworthy
But (!)
They took it too a new level by filming themselves
Doing it
While also ************ with one hand
And jiggling their **** with the other
And basically turning it into
A sort of ***** dance competition.
//
Now this caught on real big
And the high schools in the area each got
Together competitive teams
And then a city wide league
Where the teams are judged on form
And
Creativity
And synchronization of *******
And mutuality of masturbatory modalities
( like oral *** )
//
It is a huge money maker for the schools //
Drawing 1000 of fans
Who basically
**** and **** off all night
In the stands !
//
At first the Christians of the town
Objected
But
Eventually it proved to be that
Not having to pay taxes is a higher CHRISTIAN precept
Than ****** purity !
//
Everyone here is having a good time
and maybe some of your towns
Might get something going
//
Some schools I know of
Are trying to include
Cutting oneself and menstrual blood
Into the completion
Hopefully new ideas will occur
And the sport will grow
.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
He puts it out there, the Schrödinger’s cat of invitations.
Now, I’m irritated. “I TOLD you I don’t have time for.. involvement.”
“But you have to eat - so eat with ME,” he shrugs. “You can build a friendship with someone and still have freedom.” His observation was casual, as though it were unrelated to anything between us. He seemed to have the intuition that I’d balk if pressed.
“You’re subversive.” I said. “Why me? There are prettier girls, more agreeable, fun girls. I feel like I’m on the edge here,” I look around to indicate the room, the environment, the university. “And I can be a complete as-hole.”
He looked a little offended, “You’re interesting, I like what I know about you and, yeah, we can all be as-holes - we’re in a pool of “A” types, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“What do you KNOW about me?” I ask.
“I’ve read some of your writings,” he looked thoughtful, “I may know a little about how you think, It’s unusual.. interesting.”
I’m shocked and I squirm, “You looked me up?”
“I looked you up.” he nodded, “to be sure you’re not an axe murderer.”
“How much did you read?” I asked, wheedling, my inner-writer engaging.
“Tell you at dinner - YOU name the date and time,” he smiled.
“My idea of “dinner” is walking to a dining hall, picking up a bag of food, bringing it back here and taking ten minutes to eat it between chapters,” I warned.
“I have a meal card,” he says, jiggling his student lanyard.
“We’ll see.” I said. “Have you talked to anyone else about my writing?”
“No,” he answered, “Why?”
“Please don’t, I have to think about it.” I say. As far as I know, no one I know in RL has read me - it’s an odd feeling - like maybe he got ahold of my diary. I haven’t worried over the fact that someone I’m in physical proximity to could look me up. That all this stuff is actually out there.
“Don’t think my misgivings can be cajoled away,” I say, “no more talking.”
He chucked but we got back to studying.
Nov 16, 2021
Nov 16, 2021 at 10:21 PM UTC
Billy's hand lay on his hips,
Little honey swaying,
Twirling his string of pearls, puckering his lips,
Winking for blue jeans on James Dean,
Stomping in his neon green pumps,
Giggling, jiggling his belly lumps,
Chelsea Hotel #2 playing ov'r Old Gran's radio,
Over the rain outside.
Little honey swaying,
All drssed up,
Sweetly, innocently, wonderfully distracted,
From careful; from fear.
Billy was alone, and this is what happens,
Except for this one time, Daddy came home,
Afflicted by *****
Saw Billy and screamed,
Squeezed his very bones,
Dragged him down the stairs,
His missing strap he mourned,
Knuckles rejoice; curses slurred.
Billy was ****** and crumpled in a corner,
Daddy passed out over the hall toilet,
*** staining his pants,
When momma came home.
She saw her boy, her little ***** baby and screamed,
Mother ran outside,
Rain adorning her skin,
As her mind facing every sin.
Billy could no longer cry,
He now wanders as another,
All but his true self, his heart is dry.
It hurts, it tears, it bleeds,
Once was enough,
Was all it took.
Masks! Liars! Liars! Fools.....
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
Now I've been sitting on this piece for a bit of time
Because sometimes it's hard to organize exactly what's crossed your mind
But that's fine because good rhymes take time to piece together like rays of sunshine
And I find that in my mind thickness is simply divine
Those stretch marks that you hide are tiger stripes in my eyes
Those jiggling thighs, made of thunder that could split the skies are visions of perfection that are simply sublime
Your belly that you think is what drives them away is more than enough to make anyone stay...
Sep 19, 2024
Sep 19, 2024 at 4:24 PM UTC
****lovely Saturday morning....
might we dance a bit today
to ease off some sadness?****
DANCE
(A repost...some editing done)
The neighbor's stereo was playing tango music
too loud, it made me look at my red painted toes...
i realized, my feet hadn't even swayed
for so long now,
they've grown timid...and wary
All i want is to dance,
to be safe, warm,
close to one, as close as
cheek to cheek,
go left, then right,
lean, cling, then hold hands,
be held on the waist,
dip, then circle gracefully,
and step, a stretched arm away,
be brought closer once again,
hearing clearly the sighs
as the music reaches a high.
But, it was a chicken dance i had joined then,
the shaking and jiggling were so
repulsive...convulsive...confusing.
it mattered not who fell out of the beat
the desire waned,
fires die,
fires died, alright.
My feet are raring to swing back,
to be alive once more
on life's dance floor
no more falls, trips or missteps this time
just steps with a slower beat
with more grace now,
who knows,
this could be my best dance
ever!
This has got to feed my jazzy mood
play my chosen music
maybe do the shimmy for a while,
then shift to the bossa nova,
swing to its cool, hip-py rhythm.
Whatever the beat may be,
my partner and i,
we shall blend in while we do the mambo,
the rumba, cha-cha, even tap dance,
to celebrate this new chance on life.
I only wish that on our first dance together,
we may dance the samba on the wide floor,
let the hours fly by.
Then, with a waltz, we'll take it easy
until we finally get weary,
until we decide....to slow drag
the night away.
************
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
we mortgage the unspeakable. we fit small bowls into big ones and speak on misdeeds
that rhyme with chrysanthemum without the letter ' M '.
from an upside-down star
weaving cauldrons of unguarded hope
jiggling in the gelatinous yammering
of a misguided baby god's night terrors
and you still gotta go to work in the morning.
and for sleep. what's that ?
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 3:50 AM UTC
A spider web of support is forming around me.
All sticky
I'm part of it too.
A strand or two
Joined to other crazy amazing strands
I wonder who the spider is
I hope it's not trying to spell
I hope it's binding us with its strongest of web
We hold each other.
We hurt each other:
But we nurse it back
We pull the pieces together
And lift each other up
Shine shine shine
I have an abundance
Friends, creativity, excitement,
Jiggling beside me there is joy
And sorrow
And today I woke up feeling happier
So maybe things are on the rise
There is hope.
There is something.
All the bugs
That attack this web
Spoiling our architectural brilliance
Will be eaten in pay-back
And cruel resentment
And we shall carry-a-on
A spinning along
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
(Read in your best British accent)
Well what can’t I say
Of the so called Baylo Brits
Their weird, crazy, and wild
Smoking herb, and jiggling ****
They giggle and laugh
Acting all so very pip
They’re ****** wankas they are
Especially Fritz and Kip
Not from England
Though they do have a friend named Jack
Witty as hell the blokes really be
Its just sanity they seem to lack
First Hannah said **** off
She’s a lovely poppet of a girl
And all this first came about
As they passed around, a pearl
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
mounds profounds
deep thoughts of your *******
the big ones, the best ones
but never itty-bitties.
a handful, a mouthful
i love to touch.
all day, every day
is never too much.
pleading and pleading
don't tell me no.
pleasing and pleasing
rub fast and rub slow.
your ***** your bust
your ****** your ****
the jiggling and wiggling
is always a treat.
your front, your fun-pillows
your melons, your chest.
the shaking and quaking
is always the best.
you are causing a tremor
an earthquake in my pants.
come a little closer
because mr. happy needs a chance.
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 6:43 PM UTC
Dance
The neighbor's stereo was playing tango music
too loud, it made me look at my red painted toes.
I realized, my feet have not even swayed
for so long now,
they've grown timid and wary
of making the wrong step.
All i want is to dance,
to be safe, warm,
close to one, as close as
cheek to cheek,
go left, then right,
lean, cling, then hold hands,
be held on the waist,
dip, then circle gracefully,
and step, a stretched arm away,
be brought closer once again,
hearing clearly the sighs
as the music reaches a high.
But, it was a chicken dance i had joined then,
the shaking and jiggling were so
repulsive...convulsive
confusing.
it mattered not who fell out of the tempo.
the desire waned,
fires die,
fires died, alright.
My feet are raring to swing back
to be alive once more
on life's dance floor
no more falls, trips or missteps this time
i'd like to dance with a slower beat
with more grace now
who knows,
this could be my best dance
ever!
This has got to feed my jazzy mood
play my chosen music
maybe do the shimmy for a while,
then shift to the bossa nova,
swing to its cool, hip-py rhythm.
Whatever the beat may be,
my partner and i...
we shall blend in......be it mambo,
the rumba, cha-cha, even tap dance,
to celebrate this new chance on life.
Together,
we shall dance the samba on the wide floor,
let the hours fly by.
Then, with a waltz, we'll take it easy
until we finally get weary,
until we decide
to slow drag
the night
away.
*************
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
words.
i just
love
them.
big ones,
little ones.
just love them
they are like
honey on my lips,
poprockz candy to my
brain.
they crackle and fizz:
igniting,
exciting,
vibrating,
reawakening...
synapses too quiescent;
jiggling,
wiggling,
slapping,
trappin,
thoughts....
caught snoozin and napping;
flip flopping
flim flam-ing
photograph
framing...
opinion only halfway dressed;
jitterbuggin,
jiving,
striving
sometimes conniving....
fighting for a voice;
half formed,
brainstormed,
uninformed,
spoken on a baited breathe,
giggle, gaggle,
gobbledegook...
given egress;
hornswoggle,
bing bang boggle,
lolloping through....
galumping,
triumphing,
tree stumping....
both
me
and
yoohoo
too!!!
zip
it,
zinger
coming
on
thru.
my
mind
a
veritable
word
zoo
where i
graze
and nibble
and
nab
a
theasuarus
or
2
.....
words.
i just
love
them.
.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
My whirligig giggling and jiggling in an ever gyroscopic balancing act of spotting the to and fro, does sometimes wobble recklessly, even falls down. Revealing, revolving, evolving windy patterns and magnetism that spin pointedly upon an axis of gender nonspecific intention, it gets back up and twirls again. Whirls again, girls again, boys again, toys again, an accelerator from beginning to end, how can I be propellant and then, marry, tie it down? Letting loose these inhibitions of how such a perfect plaything may be too perfect, too divine a contraption is scary whirlwind to put my head around. Yet, this desire to go with it, oscillate and make rounds seems truer than any boxed in version of wooden wouldn't I rathers. So there it is, to grace a pirouette with stable partner, might be a portion of the dance, picturesque, but more ensemble pieces may follow. These too add to the brilliant ballet, and we are in it together.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
Life is about the little things
Sometimes we forget the simple joys;
Seeing strangers laughing strangely,
birthday drinks, the beauty of wings;
Doors that creak, trinkets and toys,
Separating the laundry piles,
Umbrellas blown inside out,
Little girls running from little boys;
Cloudless skies that stretch for miles,
Captive ears when a choir sings,
Jiggling the handle before a flush,
Summer sprinklers, produce aisles;
Who we are is how it brings
Us closer to the little things
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
Void
No earth
no space
no form
no shape
but sound
Words cracking the darkness of emptiness’s marshes
leaving foamed streaks of white lashes blazing eternity
And those streaks were the evidence of supreme thought
evaporating like the water that came to be
at the sound
The sound that occurs when one speaks
I was present then
at the disappearance of nothingness
I was in the afterthought of the brown
the green
the blue
the light
If you listened intently you could hear me
fastly approaching
following the sight
of
gray fins
magenta feathers
tan tails
swarthy scales
salmon snouts
ivory tusks
The air felt the dirt rumbling
I was coming at the speed of the hooves
of a thousand bucks
and with the loosened clay from the earth that was displaced
Abba formed a great face
a body of perfection
I was there
I was seed enveloped in water nets of life
free styling a red dance
that would cause the day’s synchronized swimmers to cease
Nothing like a case of the green eyed monster
to take away the memory to breathe
My head was pointed ahead
Body wagging
Jiggling
Shaking
Convulsing
Smelling the musk of the incubator that would grow me
And during the eons of patience
the rise and fall of great nations
a period of tribulation
as those who preceded me are innumerable
there finally came a suited portal
And only her sound
of agreement
to remain committed
find nourishment from only his *****
enabled my form
Though I was already adorned with equipment
to live with
to move
and with the authority of Abba
to speak a sound that
changes atmospheric existence
She was needed
to birth me
nurse me
nurture me
Love me enough to give me back to the One
that knew me before
Before
Before is void
It is no earth
no space
no form
no shape
but sound
Words cracking the darkness of emptiness’s marshes
leaving foamed streaks of white lashes blazing eternity
And those streaks were the evidence of supreme thought
evaporating like the water that came to be
at the sound
The sound that occurs when one speaks
I am from the sound
Let
There
Be
ME.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 9:46 PM UTC
one crisp morning commute
driving down Rodeo Blvd.
I came across a cloud of leaves
a city block long
hovering like hummingbirds in the street
jiggling to the beat
of each passing vehicle
caught up in the car's drafts
rush hour traffic
would not allow them to fall
hundreds of small green and yellow dots
standing at attention
waving like beauty queens
twirling like dervishes
leaping and spinning in pirouettes
doing cartwheels and somersaults
each tumble tickling my delight
as playful patterns emerged
you could see their musicality
fallen foliage dancing to a silent symphony
suspended in mid air
out of sync with reality
as I, in turn, drove through in slow motion
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 1:46 PM UTC
when I drink
whisky, gin, beer
the naked rear ends
of women
fill my mind
jiggling and wiggling
enticing my half
asleep, half *****
body to do more
than it’s capable
every glance in
my direction from
eye shadowed
lipsticked faces
is a knowing look,
a wanting look,
every wriggle
and flash of skin
directed towards me
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 12:12 PM UTC
The jelly-jiggling slop first had to flop
before it could waddle
ashore into this muddle of last gasps
and becoming
where middling deaths swaddled in gauzy breaths
emit a consonant-rich sussuro:
*If you don’t recall the swirl-swept depths
where we furled it,
can you keep that promise in shallows pocketed?*
So we began, and with the begetting
a rosy cloud plumed forth from our two
terraformed lips,
its delicately distinct petals mushrooming out
with a thorn-less, serif-soft voice
to bestow this frothy font of atomic confusion:
*Let the forgetful sea rinse over now-handy fins
to hard-edge etch
their starfish straight lines in a slurp of soggy sand.*
The mothering molecules haven’t lost
their smothering ache to forgive
our thickened skins
and they still cling to us, cooing about a lulled drift
past bye when we’ll climb the thinning links
back to homes cloaked in a sifted light:
*The loves of your heart-filled heads, no matter
how starkly pled,
all waste away to join us in our timeless waiting.*
Jan 7, 2011
Jan 7, 2011 at 7:56 AM UTC
"The little girl could not sleep, for her thoughts where way to deep. The little girl, gone for a stroll, had fallen down the rabbit hole..."
Further and further, the girl screamed as she fell, till she finally landed, in what appeared to be the bottom of a well.
the little girl, clutching her shall, felt along the muddy wall. Keeping calm, occupied by her thoughts, found a door, of course, its locked.
No. She did not kick, she did not cry, for her mind led her to wonder why..
Why is it locked?
What things lay inside?
Is it a way out?
Is it where the wild things hide?
Feeling her hair, she felt for a pin.
In it went, jiggling the lock, till it let her in.
So, if your mind runs wild too, be wary where it wanders too, for the hole is still here today, and is where the now not so little me plays....
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC