"lathered" poems
Pimple popping
Lathered deodorant
Awkward tampons
Hair in unwanted places
Drunken nights
Failed hangover cures
Flunked classes
Broken hearts
First kisses and first times
Rebounds
Hookups
Hickeys
Rushes of frustration
These are all
unglamorous occasions
Of a not so florescent
Adolescence
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
i felt like talking that night
reciting poetry to your big blue eyes
and raw pink mouth smiling
high as a wind whipped kite
discussing
art, ontology, and existentialism
sitting like lotus
at the
Cafe Figaro on McDougall st
in the west village
belly of a ghost
lost in a vagrant memory
afterwards
we went to a
little one bedroom flat in the east village
haunted by the vapors of its history
a slight stench of ****
and dingo tongue
dripping toilet
all peeling walls
intimating births, cheer and squalor
after a hot bath
of lathered torsos
we followrd each other naked
winding around a table
into a swaying bed
that beckoned
**** here my darlings
and i licked and drank out of your drenched
rose red blossom for hours
it licking back
I salvaged the loneliness
of my soul between your thighs
like a desolate dog whimpering
thanking God with every graze and ******
of your all supple shifting limbs
your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company
in moon rise
summer balm
we looked in the mirror
reflecting on my glistening face
all red raspberry
my lips like blood hydras
laughing our ***** off at how artsy we looked
smeared
with your rouge painted thighs
appearing as if half eaten
you growled swallowed and
licked big butter piggy
till your nose ran like the Ganges
gagging
eyes bloodshot pools of fire
cooing and oowing
driving me maniacal
with every ****** of your wild flicking tongue
we poured our selves into each other
viscous creels gushing
coursing like slime silver
radiating
and finally used to the marrow
we found ourselves drooping sails
our eyelids leaden
the night mist fell upon us
muttering shadows
and our *** shriveled
like cast-off umbilici
and we fell to sleep
steep steep
buoyant
like two buttermilk clouds
adrift
your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company
in moon rise
summer balm
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 1:50 PM UTC
The boy haden't bathed in over a month
His **** crack was itching and burning
His underpants were soaked in slimy, wet muck
And his toes a thick jam were churning
His armpits stank worse than a fat pigs raw ***
His breath smelled like rancid fish
His hair was so oily, matted to his head
His own mother wouldn't give him a kiss
"Enough!" he cried as a passing fly died
When he raised his arm to exclaim.
"I must bathe right away! I am long overdue!"
"I sure hope the washcloths are brave."
"To the bathroom man!" He shouted as he ran
And his underpants sloppily squished
"I will remove this filth and brush my green teeth"
"And my mother I will kiss!"
"The closet's ahead!" He said as he sped.
And he stopped there to get some stuff.
Some soap, some shampoo and a towel or two.
But he knew that it wasn't enough.
Look though he might, to his horror and fright,
Not a single washcloth could he find.
Then panic set in 'cause the stink of his skin
Was driving him out of his mind.
He looked yet again but to his chagrin
The washcloth shelf was bare.
The washcloths had run off
For they would not wash
So filthy a boy on a dare
"Oh what will I do!" "Boo-hoo, boo-hoo!"
The boy cried as flies swarmed his head.
"I'd **** myself but I already smell"
"Far worse than anything dead!"
Then one washcloth came back
Holding it's nose and a sack
Of bath salts that smelled like dill.
It said to the boy "Go pickle yourself!"
"And give me a nausea pill!"
So the boy rejoiced and filled the tub
With water, hot as he could stand.
And using the bath salts, he jumped right in
And the pickling began.
He lathered the washcloth with water and soap
And scrubbed with all of his might.
Away he washed all of the filth
'Til none was left in sight.
He washed his hair and brushed his teeth
And dried and dressed himself well.
And the washcloth exclaimed as it hung on the tub
"Holy crap! that was pure hell!"
So the boy now clean ran to be seen
By his mother he loved so much.
And she gave him a kiss and said "This is pure bliss!"
"I can kiss you and keep down my lunch!"
The moral I'll tell you and true I will be
So no one will say that I lied.
Don't wait a whole month to take a bath
Or you washcloths may run and hide.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:53 AM UTC
Roses are red, violets are blue
A dinner you promised, just me and you.
Reproving winds lectured me in bites
For my barely-there skirt, and lustful eyes.
Sour cream lathered that oily exterior.
The aftertaste lingered, creating a barrier
Of which soft lips could not break through
Nor embellished flowers or chocolate fondue.
With our stomachs full, with more than just food
You brought me back home with beer-stained shoes.
My mind a fog. The Lamb now waits to be skinned
For the Wolf that set the ****** trap to finally begin.
Virginal blush, tinged with her bruises all blue
A dinner you had promised, just me and you.
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 3:39 AM UTC
The little kids we used to be,
still play like the kids we were,
but now it’s graveyards instead of a playground.
Instead of dress-up costumes,
it’s makeup lathered to our faces,
we must be like those perfect pictures in magazines.
We play boyfriends and girlfriends instead of hopscotch,
anorexia instead of basketball.
Instead of storybooks, it’s facebook posts telling us
we don’t deserve to live.
We used to wear those colorful sillybandz,
and trade them with each other,
but now it’s scars from a razor
we wish we could take off.
It was always begging for seconds of ice cream,
but now it’s sneaking away to throw up the
little amount of food they make you eat.
Instead of staring at a summer campfire
waiting to roast marshmallows,
we stare at the fire waiting to burn ourselves.
Instead of angry first graders getting into a fistfight,
the anger now directs the punch to ourselves.
We used to sneak Halloween candy,
trying to stuff ourselves,
but now you sneak pills,
trying to overdose and hoping for death.
We used to play so freely,
we thought it’d always be like that.
But now we run among graveyards,
the bones of the ones we left behind
clutter the passages.
And we’re still children playing games
with the worlds, but the stakes are higher,
we wonder if we’ll make it.
It’s just a roll of the dice on this graveyard
playground.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
Marinate me in sterling serendipity;
a lace handkerchief blowing in electric blue
Chinook.
Howl and twist your obsidian spit down
her leather throat until she reproduces
glass golem.
Clang & the brass of the thunder,
muffled underneath a Reith that was last
lathered
in hathgraven gatherings.
**** him with your sour tongue
&
rag water whistle .
Cut him down from that arugula suspension
&
let gravity fold into him,
like an aluminum foil gargoyle,
crush to the core.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
Cold, still clouds of blood rain,
Thick drops of agony
Fell on your lips.
I have defied the Life
By controlling his destiny
Oh, my Holy Puppet,
Curiouser and curiouser I was to ask,
What were your thoughts?
Did you always know?
Were you thinking, why?
Captivated by darkness,
I lathered the lotion of fellowship on my skin
To hide my true intentions.
Sweats trickled from your brow
When I pressed my lips against your cheeks.
A rushing stream of adrenaline ran through my heart
Upon my poisonous kiss.
Pieces of silver told me of your Sadism,
Of how you took away the sweetness of the
Vanilla extracts of my life.
My desires you denied!
Now die in shock, and let your last breath
Be nothing but a seeping gasp of silence.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
viewing naked body in mirror
as if, its not my own; at my
age I sometimes wonder, am
I still desirable in his eyes?
breast are firm, buttocks
tight, shapely legs; thigh
to ankle toned to wrap
around his sinewy waist.
belly flat, waist trim, he
sneaks up behind; warm lips
to nape, his subtle bait to
taste me, it's never to late.
tongue between breast, I
know now as I gaze into
those baby browns, I've
found my answer.
*** appeal is still renown,
it shows in his eyes; as I
sigh from his touch, ummm!!
his lovings never too much.
******* taut from his touch,
tongue upon belly and navel;
laying on the table, flickers
my jewel; making me mewl.
purring like a kitten, lapping
up my milk; tongue feels like
silk, in and out licking; love
how he keeps me ticking...yes!!!
parting lips; warmly I dip, lightly
I sip upon blooming mushroom;
pulsating in reddened abloom,
spillage slowly from his plume...sweet
finger tracing veins poppin',
allowing throb to easily drop in;
nice and slow watching manhood
grow like a framed Van Gogh...he flows
****** self-confidence I'm convinced
watching him grow long and dense;
taking in every inch, winching in
delicious pleasure; his desired
measure...sexually self-confident
soaped and lathered in wetness
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 2:55 AM UTC
my magnificent mind
has always been a gift
i am in a mystic world
filled with
lively green plants
coated with flower petals
it rained today
mother nature was sad
her and i always feel the same
a twisted funnel in our thick vines
of hair
heartache
because our earth was neglected
the wicked oder from the ocean stamps
our noses with the ink of the
red tide
an ocean of fear
the wave caps curl and burry the dead
pure envy
death is not a place
death is other people
a shoreline of psychedelic tragedy
sand castle graves
lathered in sea salt lotion
overstimulated side effects
my mother gave me the buried treasure
a chest filled with another dimension
built by her daughter
secret garden goddess
of dreams and spirituality
she gave me the key to her soul
threw the honor of mother natures
name and plant aroma
a throne of
leafs and seashell gems
skin of the earth
healing hands of garden therapy
i am my mothers daughter
i will kiss her with
cactus goo lips
as she fills my soul
with mother natures
aura
for
amara
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 7:40 PM UTC
Fenola watched
as Eileen bathed.
She took in
the hand
moving
the lathered sponge
over the contours
of the body,
moving between ****
like some
venture ship of old,
moving down
the belly,
beneath the soapy water
to the pleasure dome,
then out again
around the neck
and under chin,
then whole body
over once again.
She knew that body well,
each inch of flesh,
each orifice,
each smell,
each loving touch.
Even the thought
pleased her
overmuch.
Eileen looked over
where Fenola sat,
on stool,
in bathrobe,
with feet
on mat.
Come on in,
she said,
room enough for two,
you rub my back,
I’ll rub yours
and other places too.
Fenola thought awhile,
took in her eyes
that gazed,
the smile
that spread,
the memory
of the afternoon
in bed,
the positions held
and played,
the *** ensuing.
Eileen pointed
to the soapy bath,
come in,
she said
with **** laugh.
Fenola stood up
from the stool,
disrobed,
set it aside,
stepped in the bath
and sat down,
the water engulfing.
Somewhere
from the other room,
Ravel played
from hifi speakers,
Bolero
or some such piece,
the sound touching
the bathroom walls
with steam and scent.
The girls rubbed
and scrubbed
and laughed
in soapy water,
each one
like a siren
of the sea
or Neptune’s daughter.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 3:42 PM UTC
Ray Lewis, your spokesman
is ripped and he's lean.
He's built like Adonis
and, by rep, very mean.
If I use "old Spice" body wash
as per his advice.
The ladies will swoon
as I'll smell so **** nice.
I'm short fat and Jewish-
a Nebbish at heart.
In intimate settings
I'm quite prone to ****
So I bought "Old Spice" body wash
and lathered it on.
Then I entered the bedroom
and said "Babe, bring it on!"
Olive, my lover of many a year
was less than impressed
when I deigned to appear.
A giggle, a chuckle and then a guffaw
My confidence sagged
like my double chinned jaw.
"Darling, it may be you smell like Ray Lewis
but when my eyes open
You're short fat and Jewish."
The ad was misleading
and I feel like a fool
Not a mensch, more a reject
from a shallow gene pool.
Bad enough that the store
on my refund is reneging.
foreplay now requires
two hours of begging.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
Thunder and lightning and glass on the beach
I covered my ears with lace, put shoes on my feet
I walked out into the ocean with my heart in my hand
And cried for a tornado to scoop up the sand
I buried my locket in an old leather case
Hoping that time and water could erase
All of the engraving you chiseled through my veins
And that you can feel the lightening each time it rains
But no one would fear me, no hermit or fish
Came out of hiding to hear my soft wish
So I drowned my sorrows in a green bottle of sin
And cursed out the devil as he laughed at his win.
Almost vividly, could I see your face
Almost surely, did you begin to escape.
With salt and seashells, I lathered my veil
That I found in the tummy of a large ocean whale
Who ate out my innards and spit me back on the ground
So I could be rescued, if I ever was found.
But no help came the night that I died
So I finally threw out the pain and from here, I flied.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
Your reluctance to greet
the loudmouths who've come
to silence themselves with a
combo, pulled from a grease lathered iron shelf
is palpable, even with
the smoke pouring in
from the hissing grill.
I can't resist to wonder,
behind this façade of yours, what is felt
in the hours you ****
Is your mind content
idly whistling to the tune
of a humdrum existence?
If these inquiries parted from
my incessant curiosity
are met with your resistance,
I insist you breathe in,
breath out.
& either
a) find virtue in persistence
or
b) leap into clamor, run out those familiar doors, with no doubt
that this is the end
& the beginning.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
Incontinence of Pseudo-emotion has engulfed us from the 3rd grade.
It festered dormant for a little under a decade before it’s vessel popped.
A pore filled with ***** media which dehumanizes and objectives human beings
While making a spectacle and esteem of being promiscuous.
All that Dirt
Lathered in an oil of misdirection. A misunderstanding of affection, empathy and apathy.
Those who contrive the most emotion are perceived as actually possessing the most emotion.
Nothing can be farther from the truth.
This is the death of morality. A birth of Nihilism.
The miasma of the rotting corpse of ethos and emotional connection.
Is one that sits in the stomach and contracts illness not curable due to our understanding.
We have been taught that promiscuity will bring us happiness, and yet it is the most depressing.
Without understanding of that we are incurable from this ugly affliction.
Momentary bursts of relief chafe the most sensitive areas of our skin. Without treatment.
We will be encased in our handmade carapace which will indefinitely block us from emotion.
Luckily someone invented lotion, soft tissues, and silicone.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 11:29 PM UTC
I lathered my hands gently,
My skin drinks the lotion.
Feeling rather useless after a "good ****
Free from minuscule flaws,
My rough nails distract you.
I lose your interest, once again...
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 10:39 AM UTC
Look!
I'm super ******* clean!
I stepped into the falling water
and inched my way toward total
submersion. It was steaming hot
and my skin had yet to acclimate.
Upon said acclimation I lathered
up a palmful of smell-good gel
and got to work on my armpits
and my torso. I washed my way
down to my belly button and then
I retrieved another handful of body
wash. As I worked it into my hair
then my beard, and I used the excess
suds to scrub my **** and my nuts.
From there I covered my thighs and
worked down my legs. I turned away
from the showerhead and scrubbed
my ******* clean with one more dollop
of Old Spice. I stepped into the burning
streams of water and rid myself of the
day's sweat and grime in one big,
dark puddle swirling down the drain.
I took one more dab of soap and
worked it into a foam.
But I hesitated before I washed my face,
because I realized that I had just
*scrubbed my *******
with the same hands I use to
*wash my ******* face** with.*
But I then sighed and did it anyway.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
I've ran my hands across the bones of teachers
Buried between the bricks of The Great Wall
I heard them whisper grumbles of their true worth
Beneath the crack of the overseer's whip
I've felt the shivers of their shame
As they ground the bones of their colleagues into a paste
And lathered the human mortar among the sections of rock
I spit on the ground before me
When I tasted the words of imperial edicts blasted from uniformed men
I stood upon a guard tower at The Great Wall of China
And saw in all directions the nothing for miles
Felt the hollow loneliness of the soldiers, teachers, slaves
Men thousands of miles from their homes
Bitterly building defenses for a collection of villages
One man called his nation
I ran my hand along the edge of The Wall and got a splinter
Studied the protrusion
Wondered if it was stone, dirt, stick, or bone
A tourist took a picture
A jogger ran by
Father told me they could see this monument from space
I saw a drop of blood on my little finger
Wondered if it was mine or the walls
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC
The water droplets on your back glisten like diamonds.
How can I not want you?
Your hair is slicked back with shampoo lathered in your dark waves.
How can I not desire you?
You ever so carefully take the soap and cascade it down your arms and legs.
What could be better than this?
You look at me,
Standing under the water,
With my curls falling down on my shoulders.
You touch my cheek, ever so gently, and
You smile.
What could ever compare to this moment?
You pull me closer to you;
You wrap your arms around me.
Just you and I, under the hot water, with steam clouding in the air. (With the occasional bubble)
***** as ever,
And still, I have never felt so clean.
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 10:25 AM UTC
I was at the doctors,
in the waiting room,
when the man next to me started to make out with his hand.
He lathered his hand in saliva,
to the point were it was dripping onto his lap.
He slowly rubbed his tongue up and down his wet, juicy hand.
He seemed to find much pleasure in making out with his hand.
So I joined him.
I liked it.
So did my hand.
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 3:26 PM UTC
The roughness of unshaven sandstone,
dark from the morning's early growth,
jutting its chin estuarywards,
cold until lathered in the midday sun.
A platform for he who would rule
all Merseyside for an instant,
taking in deep breaths of fantasy
for his private meditation.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 11:19 AM UTC
He runs out of the bathroom after a 20 minute shower
leaving puddles of warm water trailing through our home.
"Smell me!" he says as he pushes his head under my nose.
"Smell me. I smell great!" I do and he does.
"I used everything in the shower. EVERYTHING!" He is so proud.
Later that night, as I take my shower I find:
all 5 bars of soap still partially lathered,
every shampoo and conditioner bottle opened and askew,
and all of my sample envelopes ranging from Healthy HooHoo to acne cleansers, botanical shampoos to magnetic hair rejuvenation creams,
all tore open and empty.
For this, I fall in love all over again with a 12 year old kid.
And he smells great!
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 2:52 AM UTC
Some just think
It's cool
It's fun
It's right
To hide behind masks
Of leather and paper
Of plastic and lacquer
The ceramic and glass
Of half woven veils
Across their faces draped.
Bald lies, averted eyes, in disguise.
Core of apple rotten
Loyalty all but forgotten
Maggot of doubt
Seed of betrayal
Lips loose like lathered leaves
Shamefully still, do secrets drip
Like the dewfall.
Hearts painted with
The pain, the agony which
When caused to others, you relish.
Go then,
Go away
Go back to your little game
Of showing off your masquerade
How you hide your blackened face
Behind a gently painted facade.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
It has kindled all by the force of its immeasurable depth
Leaving friendly feet lathered with foam
Never losing a single breath
On the sandy beaches
Where it roams
You can hear it speak in the sound of crashing joy
A thousand thoughts rushing your way
Endurance so alive and beautiful
In an accent understood
As displayed
A voice, which woos winged creatures to dip and dive
Bravely leave their mother’s side
Traces of murmurs of harm
All leave their hearts
As they glide
What wonderful treasures lie beneath this force I see
All those secrets vehemently call out to be heard
Time stands still in my fast running day
As I am charmed by this voice
Crashing out to me
I thrill at the hope of time never passing away again
To always, behold these sights and sounds
My friendly feet lathered in the foam
Of this immeasurable force
I have found
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 9:43 AM UTC
Escape of dreaming with a broken heart. And dwelling with the feeling of waking up.
Sleeping becomes addicting .
So the 3 hours past noon creeps up on me. I can not bare it no longer. I'm a coward.
I'm sinking. Will you save me?
My sober thoughts eat my soul bit by bit. Feening just that one sip.
Falling for the same **** tricks.
Clueless.
The idiot.
Like being left here to burn in the place's you've standed. Gone. ****** Stranded.
So its time for my daily cleansing with my buddy jack. Everything is beyond blurry.
Skeptical thinking but you start swirving.
I'll always Slur on words you'll never say. Clever little girl I know your games.
So far gone from reailty, how the numb senile feeling reacts so smooth.
I would try again with hope but then again that'd be the *****
So I'll celebrate in your honor on this wretched night.
Lathered in my own shame.
Slowly loosing my composhere step by step. I'm crippled and running out of legs to stand on . im a mess.
But my sweetheart your the closest to hell I'll ever be.
My Eyes glazing blood red. hatred. Torn to the seems.
But my darling wasn't this what you wanted me to be? Or was it how you've always been good at dropping to your knees?
Hell who knows. Forget my name .
You always have your own way ,
blinded by the greed of lust and waist low pleasure.
Seems your the one shipwrecked and lost.
I'm so far gone.
But jack my buddy, one more drink
And I'll move on.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC