"lactating" poems
It was a cold, wintry December day.
I was at home,
sitting by the fire.
The fire was hot,
but from where I sat,
it felt like a warm blanket.
Suddenly,
my ******* started to lactate,
uncontrollably.
I did not know what was going on.
I lifted up my soaking wet shirt,
and put my hands over my *******
in an attempt to stop the lactating,
but it did not work.
And then,
it stopped.
I squeezed my *******
to see if they would lactate again,
but nothing happened.
I went to bed,
hoping this nightmare would be over in the morning.
But it wasn't.
When I woke up,
I went into the bathroom to perform my daily morning activities,
when I realized something on my chest.
A third ******
I tried to rip it off,
but I couldn't.
Later that day,
at dinner,
I was eating a juicy, tender steak,
when suddenly,
all three of my ******* began to lactate!
I tried to stop them,
for they were lactating all over my steak.
Then, like before,
it stopped.
This proceeded for many days.
Everyday,
I woke up with another ******
and everyday around six o'clock,
they would all lactate,
until one day,
the unthinkable happened.
I woke up.
I could not move.
I had no legs.
No arms.
I was a giant ******
"NO!" I screamed.
Then,
as usual,
I began to lactate,
violently,
and then I exploded.
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 7:20 AM UTC
the snow swirled around
like the carousel of her dreams
unmentionable
attainable
covered in frost
dusty frost
and all she needed was a hammer
to crack open the frightening lock
but she giggled
and her friend giggled
and the snow swirled ‘round
and they found themselves buried
gone
but they could see more
for what surrounded them was
transparency
clear as beaming sunlight
sunlight that shone light on their cheeks
and snow that filled their throats
with pain
under a lactating sunset
and the snow and the snow and the snow
which grew
which perspired
which hardened
which schemed
which never
ever
melted
so that deer tongues--
those sweet animals--
were the only products of fruitless searches
that locked the friends
together
under the brilliance of a muzzled rainbow
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 8:26 PM UTC
~
*In the days of Jupiter
during the age of
lovely intimate things
the abundant rain giving life
to a lactating mother
bloodletting
cloudburst
her magic ocean
and incipient seabright moon
together at the center of creation*
~
Mar 10, 2024
Mar 10, 2024 at 2:44 PM UTC
lactating in the shower naturally but lactating from the mouth
your whips and your chains act as inadvertent maps of the sky
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:12 AM UTC
It is copyright © Leonard Cohen 2006 and Jacket magazine 2007.
Takanawa Prince Hotel Bar
Slipping down into the Pure Land
into the Awakened State of Drunk
into the furnance blue Heart of the
one one one true Allah the Beloved
Companion of Dangerous Moods–
Slipping down into the 27 Hells
of my own religion my own sweet
dark religion of drunk religion
my bended knee of Poetry my robes
my bowl my scourge of Poetry
my final circumcision after
the circumcision of the flesh
and the circumcision of the heart
and the circumcision of the yearning
to Return to be Redeemed
to be Washed to be Forgiven Again
the Final Circumcision the Final
and Great Circumcision–
Broken down awhile
and cowarding
in the blasting rays
of Hideous Enlightenment
but now finally surrendered to the Great
Resignation of Poetry
and not the kind of Wise Experience
or the false kisses of Competitive
Insight, but my own sweet dark
religion of Poetry my ***** prize
my sandals and my shameful prayer
my invisible Mexican candle
my useless oils to clean the house
and remove my rival’s spell
on my girlfriend’s memory–
O Poetry my Final Circumcision:
All the pain was in fearing
and ignoring the girl’s voice
and the girl’s touch and the girl’s
fragrant humbling girlishness
which was lost three wars ago–
And O my love I love you again
I am your dog your cat
your Cleopatran snake
I am bleeding painlessly
from the Final Formless Circumcision
as I push up your dress a little way
and kiss your miraculously
lactating knee
And may all of you who watch
and G-d forbid!
are in a suffering predicament
as I go sliding down to Love–
may you speedily be embraced by
the girlishness of your own
dark girlish religion
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 12:46 PM UTC
A mere few days without you,
and a strong itching manifests inside.
My thoughts feel dry - lack of oxygen.
My mind feels sore from resistance.
My soul, far from content.
My heart, like a lactating mother
with no infant to feed.
Like milk-filled *******
it feels heavy,
with only wet cheeks for company.
I need my fix, it tells me.
A spoonful of you will do.
It revels in denial but
it knows this love is true.
The first step to de-addiction
is acceptance, as they say.
Well, acceptance be ******
I’ll embrace it.
Celebrate it.
Host a party and cut a cake for it.
I will squeal with ****** saying
Yes! Yes! Oh yes!
I’m addicted to you.
They were right, I guess.
Love is a drug.
It messes with my head to no end.
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 6:41 AM UTC
Two protruding supple *******
on much toned down
lactating, tender *******
swollen, in anticipation
of thirst, awaiting open mouthed,
---are gently pushed in between
pursed, eager, fumbling lips,
of the newborn, who in no way knows,
what happens, in this world of strangers.
When milk in one is fully drained, as if by prompt,
it's the turn of the other full one, he knows.
Each one is avariciously taken in
by saliva dripping cute baby lips,
instinctively discerns it as "Mama dear"
even without opening tired eyes
that fear the rushing, hurting light.
Motherly warmth, the distinct scent,his nose smells first
the bonding felt, when held close to her warm *******
incessant flow of lukewarm milk of love;
aren't these enough to make her presence felt
in the baby's nascent mind, that craves for a mom?
This is the precise moment, of the 'new born mother'
Mother, the flowing milk of life, protector, care giver.
As if in a dream just began to unfold,
the new born, like a bloom disarmingly smiles!
Closing her eyes as if to join in the baby's dream,
the mother suckles the infant in self oblivion.
The meaning of the pride written on her face
in hues of crimson, only a mother could fully discern.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 6:53 AM UTC
the type writer fills the nonsense
letting go of bloodshot canvas
flustered tongues
bedding the wise
this room smells like ink
your hair smells like ink
your arms smell like ink
your body tastes like it
there is no more room for sensual
broken glass
hindered
smile
it was so precise
incision inside right blue vein
hardened in sun, molded into beastly atoms
drained come loathing
breathing forbade me from looking
in the pale direction of ruby sonnets
hanging off the tip of shoulders
scratching thunder
moonlight sonata
dance, eyes pierced into the dark blue above
fingers settled like spiritual natives on blushed cheeks
smile when I speak
grow tall, infinite, strong
highways fall like clouds in my vision
they all have become a blur
exits off the roads and the furthest away from
temptation of fruitful chaos
mourned with lactating *******
children's laughter
angry fathers chest
head spins
black and warming winds
cool spins
welcoming grins
nobody ever wins
Apr 14, 2011
Apr 14, 2011 at 7:20 PM UTC
i could have been a field medic,
you suggested, with my gentle touch
running down the thin skin
of your spinal notches. i bite my
nails but i still could pinch glass
out of your pores and press my hand
so red would fill my palm lines.
the version of i, completed with you,
is a war vet’s firework dream
of what grandeur really is.
you’d talk of lactating with
your closed wounds, we’d retire
to a wheat farm, and i’d plant your
stomach into the garden. maybe the
baby’s blood cells pump forsythia.
our favorite, but really, yours.
i could still be a field medic, you
suggest, but not the only one.
i’d stitch slits when, if ever,
rain comes down on bare you
planted & abandoned
in the flower bed. you’d
still lactate, just wouldn’t
bleed. and the planted baby
would know me as a father
or a gardener but i’ll only
ever be a medic. the
statue i once was,
imperfections cleared,
is crushed marble on
a mausoleum floor.
medic can’t recover with
no bones to heal.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 6:44 PM UTC
white lilies and
lactating cows...
time lapse
fields.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 1:36 AM UTC
*"Even for a fraction of a second
You, I don't want to miss!
In dancing attendance on you
I will never be remiss!"*
This was your pledge
When in an eye-opener
Romance we were on
The same page.
Also it was your
Wont uttering
*"Allow me please,
Now and then,
On your dainty lips
To plant a kiss!"*
Putting at risk my health
Passing through
The valley of death
I gave you an offspring
Which we found
A miraculous
And strange thing!
When fantasies
To responsibility
Ceded place
You made a habit
Driving me
To the end of
My patience!
You drop to a pub
For quick once
With your bachelor friends,
Who affectation-packed affection
On you dance!
I don't think
You will lack
*"Quick you have
To get back on track!"*
Standing firm
And close by a lactating spouse
In the teeth of responsibility
Also adversity
Is the acid test of
Love's intensity!
You must not jump ship
The cream of the cake
After you did sip!
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 9:43 AM UTC
i dance with this one
until sweat on temples
heart doubles its drum
i dance with this one
swinging, swaying
shooshing, smiling
singing only the lines
i know
mumble the rest
i dance with this one
father's choreography
not quite ready for
broadway
i dance with this one
in lieu of lactating *******
a sing song blue eyed mother
who can only enchant
i dance and jib and jive
and bounce and slide
to dam the rainy river, to
ebb the tide
i dance for you
my ophelia
my daughter of movement
and song
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 3:16 AM UTC
protesting Trump
you really are
protesting
the impunity of whiteness
invented to exploit
oppression from the beginning
finally in the open
blackness has been this protest
since being scientifically packaged
on slave ships
packaging what to tell humans
to make them think they are
better with whiteness
he should be scared to leave his office
it should be unsafe
even within the oval office
trips and slams chins on desk
hard mahogany imported
from the fear of Africa
from the fear of birth
the fear of evolution
no one noticed
he rotted in his office for weeks
the residue of obsolete whiteness
America
is only as good as it
it recognizes
and assimilates
into the free steps
of the black woman
marching with lactating *******
social scars
soreness
from fleeing the evil of whiteness
lifetimes through
thick words
thick voluptuous developed mind
dressed in dazzling resilience
in love with freedom
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 1:13 PM UTC
(smc)
You must be a mean
old queen-hen
laying on someone else's eggs
lactating your stolen eggs
and a beggar in the nest
that belongs to someone else.
L
O
L
~~~
Copy Rights Karijinbba.
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 8:47 PM UTC
Looking into a blank page is one of the most harrowing experiences you can undertake
The whole thing changes with every line you write, every brushstroke you make
Every risk you take on the page may not always be indelible
They can be erased from the paper but not the mind, aside from intervention that happens to be divine
But the mind twins spins twists and does the splits for the creative... maybe it needs to rest once in awhile as it spills like lactating... even though mine is far from the best.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
Waiting for death
akimbo, prattling to
imaginal friends about
being weaned off the milk
of paradise, lactating domes
as far as the eye can see.
Starving at the chain for the
for the affection of freedom,
we smother one another with
assurances we've chosen wisely.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
I had a wet dream but woke up dry, feeling shy that my seed to the cosmos did fly, I sighed and tried to recollect what she said, and
She said:
He whispered in my ear
Spoke softly so a song I could hear
His words meandered and manoevred jeers
He said I should face all my fears
Because there is a progress here
He dissected his message so I could read it clear
And all it read was: I love you dear.
His feelings seemed honestly sincere
I looked into his eyes and there was a friction of frequency as he grabbed me near
He said I didn't need to shed a tear
Because happiness is shaped like pear
A music note, a quaver played by snare
So we would dance to a rhythm of rhyming sheer
I calculate that our bodies will collocate as our bodies dare
I barely know him but such a strong bond we share
I close my eyes, dream of a future and it's him there
Before I could find my senses my feet were in the air
He pulsed with some Don Juan flair
But I felt like I was the only lady in his lair
There was some sensation of inculcating velocity as he was lactating and I formed coils with my hair
It was like private-part-hockey as he gave me an aimer's stare
Like feathers fair we climaxed to heaven's crescendo sphere
And he will wake up and not know where I did disappear.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 1:30 PM UTC
Fornever howl amongstest darkless how that makes one grasp
Upsides down when down has been a view for too long when
Reconizating it in anothers view
Let's say their red ****** swooled
Eggs aside
A grizzly nose a burbank chin a long since washed smell
How that makes a view
Of septic wonder realitating
Obfuckscuating
The governed publicity ***********
On a hot day June year unknown middle of somewhere wishing it were Woodstock again hearing echoes of
God only knows these kinds of sink swim knee on neck sarcasm and violence lying loudly from every space time capsule
As
They walk wildly
Around
Lactating drooled *********** genetic mutants
Robots
I'll just take a hit
Now
Thanks
Sit here
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 2:42 AM UTC