"licensed" poems
Tendrils of Alien Anime Lunge
Wide Eyed Innocent gets plunged
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Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 5:15 AM UTC
The Sight of Black Stockings on Pale white Legs
Framing and showing off the Thigh, That Begs
Softly to be touched, in gentle Admiration
Women in Silk, Lace, and Satin for Excitation
Camisoles of Lace, Garters and Penoirs
Corsets Laced up, and Short Babydolls
*Lace Demi Cup Bras, with ******* Adorned*
Without the Pleasure of this, life is Forlorn
*There is a Certain ****** Passion*
For these Fine Lingerie Fashions
Lust and Loved for Centuries
*It Brings forth ***** Sensuality*
Curve and Crevices tease the Eyes
Releasing ever Passionete Sighs
Until Entwined they Finally Find
The unyeildings of Motions Devine
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
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Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
[Verse]
Tell these ******* I’m queen, tell these ******* I’m gold
If you been where I’ve been, then you’d probably turn cold
I give a **** ‘bout you ******* who got a problem with me
I do **** for myself, nobody got it for me
You got an issue with me, but you ain’t licensed to speak
‘Cause I be feedin’ the streets, your *** is nothin’ to me
I’ve been hot with the lyrics and I’ve been dope with the fashion
I said I want it I need, I done spoke, I take action
And when you talkin’ I’m workin’, I’m gettin’ things I’m deservin’
But at a point I was hurtin’ and gettin’ nothin’ like virgins
I be takin’ my time, I’m only twenty years old
Nobody ****** with Coca, I tell them suckers “go home”
***** I’m hype ‘cause I’m certified, all my ******* qualified
****** with my team, finna get your face modified
What you comin’ for me? I ain’t scared, fam’
I eat them J’s off your feet with my bare hands
Stupid-ass ***** just stop
‘Cause I ain’t finna tolerate this **** you talk
Unless the ***** a boss she gettin’ boxed
They said Coca been on, and ***** you not
I be ‘bout it but I ain’t the type to start ****
Asian ***** never a fool, always some smart ****
Who you playin’? I done learned the game
Nobody teachin’ me **** ‘cause me and you not the same
So get to suckin’ ***** you talk too much
You get a bit of ****** fame, think you popular
You twerkin’ for a name, ****** bought you stuff
I make my own **** money, and I shop enough
They say I lie about the **** I do
Now you flexin’ ‘cause Coca ain’t ****** with you
***** swerve – I make moves, it’s the truth
This the mafia, ***** – who you?
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
A Pickle is Many Things
A Kosher Dill, A Gherkin
You can Pickle Beets and
You can pickle pigs feet
Pickles for Bread and Butter
Sweet Pickles Canned by Mother
Pickled Herring can be found or
Pickled Eggs that are so round
A Pickle's a fine thing to be
But...don't get yourself in a Pickle
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
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Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
Caesar Has No Authority Over The Grammarians
(Caesar non supra grammaticos)
I am licensed to drive.
I am licensed to broke.
I am licensed to be birthed.
I am licensed to marry, divorce and someday I will be
coroner-permission"end" to die.
If I so choose, I can be state approved to cut your hair,
have my own business, weld, own a dog, panhandle, play tennis in Central Park, dance in my own cabaret, even commit suicide legally.
These United States were a refuge for my foreign born parents,
Bless you both for privileging me such,
you gifted me a country where my voice, clear and unashamedly,
unguarded can speak here unafraid, for our
Caesar has no authority over the grammarians.
Tho the IRS gonna come after me, and king phony Barack,
Gonna eavesdrop on my privacy,
As long as I can write my poetry free and clear, untaxed,
won't ever mortgage my soul to any government hack
I will carry my U.S. passport in my left pocket over my heart,
Till they take my freedom to speak away.
Then I will get a gun for free speech is worth dying for...
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
Clay Formed and Molded.
Spun in the cycle of life
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
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Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
They're dividing up my grandmother's jewelry,
An act that feels more final than death.
I like to think she rests easy as she watches
The women she loves wear what was once hers.
They ask me to choose my top 3 pieces,
And how do I?
How do I choose which pieces of her I want to wear on my body
Like armor, like memories of made of gold or silver?
How do I choose between her trip to the Met Museum
Or the pin with the propeller signalling she was the
First licensed female pilot in the state of Kentucky?
What does it say about me this is the one time I wish she hadn't gotten her wings?
I want to wear her artist spirit.
I already have her poet's blood running through me.
This woman, in all her fiery, tender ways
Touches my life.
I hope she'd be proud I'm wearing her jewelry.
So many decisions to make.
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 9:13 PM UTC
I am barely a mineral now, not yet a woman in the ground,
not yet growing gardens and begging people to cook my peppers.
My home is dizzy from my constant re-entry, which helps me to cheat,
in life I am looking for the harvest in people. I am a thread of cotton pulling
every word like it is more porous than the next, which helps me.
I summersault through conversations rather read in sharpie,
on the last corner white space of bathroom stalls,
alone and blushed. I remember love like a tagline inviting a smile
and messages to strangers. When I look in the mirror I am always inhaling,
my mouth says O, O I am out of excuses. I tell everyone I’m tired of working,
which helps me to hide in my comet ways. I am tight-lined,
which is to say I feel love on the hairs of my arms, the wind,
the blades of fans speak to me at night when I have nothing left to say.
I am licensed to moving. In the dark in the cities public spaces and
also in alleyways I am soft like a moonbeam. I am convinced the world is a sewer,
which helps me to explain the exchange of waste and skin and the secrets hidden
in tunnels of shadows. When I move the world blurs with me like a heartbeat.
I am underground like the sewer, rotten in negative spaces, which helps me,
to hear the echo ripple swish of every piece of trash call my name.
I have no response. Some days the world is too ***** One day I will learn
to quilt and stitch together every important face, which will help me
to remember my grandmother and how she loved to balloon to the sky.
I dream she is a large magellanic cloud beaming out of the universe, the force
of believing is the word Hallelujah sung from the lips of Leonard Cohen.
It is midnight. It is noon. I close my eyes for a second and I see myself as miles
from the moon. I am running every day now and there is nothing left to see. My heart
is a kitchen door swinging and it does not want to stop.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:30 AM UTC
Pity you didn’t stay away
Shame you came and didn’t stay
Pain, a boomerang, it goes both ways
You’re gonna have to learn today
I told you to run
Away from the sun
Pity you had to lose it all
Shame no one picked up your call
Painful desire to drop the ball
You’re gonna have to take the fall
I told you to run
I’m not the one
Pity you didn’t fear the flames
Shame you hadn’t learned my name
Paintings of every life I’ve claimed
You’re gonna have to lose this game
I told you to run
A girl is a gun
-
A Girl Is A Gun by Ines Rose is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
Most people don’t know
That two halves don’t necessarily make a whole
Half a shoe plus half a butter knife makes something
infinitely more useless than either halves alone.
Or it makes something much more interesting
But still, whatever it is—it is not whole.
Most people want more
Than only half of things
I wonder: is it greed or just a desire for completion
And if something is complete, is it also whole?
And if someone were to search for long enough,
would they find the missing half to everything?
Unstructured Musings by Nicola Em is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 12:31 PM UTC
Colored Lights flashing
Yellow Red and Blue in the Night
In a Kaleidoscope of Fun
The Smell of Carmel Corn
Mixed With Hot Dog on a Bun
And Pink Cotton Candy
Octopus, Tilt-a-Whirl
Accompanied by Laughs
Of Boys and Screams of Girls
You sit on the Outside so she
Slides towards you 'til you reel
Just to feel her pressed against you
Sounds of Rifles and Bells With
Treasure Cranes, Ring Bounce
And free Music at the Band Stand
Finally the end of the Night of Lights
After too Much Root Beer and Donuts
Smiling, day is done after So Much Fun
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
I pried the Words off the Wall
Rearranged and used them All
Stacked upon each other in
A sentence Said with Style
Coco Chanel And Ert'e Flaunt
Lesbian Fashion In chic Paris Haunts,
In the 1920s, While Albert Camus
Late Night Parties Extistentialist Claims
*Amid ****** and Champage*
Django Rienhardt Played Jazz Guitar
To the West Bank Artists in Bars,
Toulouse Lautrec had Drank
With Prostitutes, in Art Deco
Frank Loyd Wright Praised
In Architect Circles
How He has Designed
The Unfolding of the Future
The Camera Has Brought
Sharp Images to see
While emergence of Psychology
Has driven Art into the Abstract
Paris in the 20's scent of
Hedonist Creativity
Cultural Gravity
To the Inclined
De rien, entre amis
Prende un jour a la fois
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
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Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
out side my window is a willow tree
windy days, if I set quiet, it whispers to me
some days it talks of life, and last chances
some days it talks of love, and romances
another day it whispers of just, this and that
there are days by myself its nice for a chat
on days I am feeling bad, it whispers sad
and it tells me that things will be alright
it whispers in the day, it whispers in the night
I listen often in bed as my head lays on the pillow
happy that I have, a whispering willow...JMF
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
lessons of life's sanctity,
clarity of reason
and chastity
elude
the sociopath unglued;
clouded lens
filtering threads
of sense
common from extreme,
relishing shreds of conspiracies
unfounded...
tying the falling dow and twin-towers...
to call of duty and
the man....
in the slick blue suit
with the funny last name
sticking it to us,
stripping us of our inalienable rights,
god-given,
taking our bibles and guns away
to mombasa
spiraling memes of dysfunction
programmed to propagate fallacies
in minds unhinged
on the fringes of reality...
like paranoiacs
sipping green tea
or a.m. fanatics
fueling the frenzy
of sociopaths unglued,
licensed to spill
sacred blood
of the masses
at a crowded school
or movie theater
near you
now previewing:
*~ mass homicide XII
&
~ teenage terrorist in black - the sequel*
home-grown
&
fully-loaded...
~ P (Pablo)
(8/5/2013)
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
(Authors note: I realize this is more short story than poem. I hope you find it poetic as well. Apologies in advance if this is not an appropriate forum.)
Have You Seen This Girl ?
I sat sleepy eyed one morning enduring yet another cardboard and treebark bran flavored bowl of breakfast with milk, 2 percent of course, and I stared at the carton.
First I reviewed the measures of various fat content, and nutritional values listed as a matter of law. And as usual, I thought of you. This time by way of pondering the plight of the American Dairy Farmer and remembering it was the “corporatizing” of the independent dairy farms which led your family to other uses for the land they had raised dairy cows on for over a century. And I missed you terribly.
To quickly shake the associated feelings of loneliness, and your face from my mind, I was drawn to the deep dark eyes of the child who was missing and apparently exploited on the other side of the carton. She had innocent, kind eyes that indicated she wouldn't even harm an insect. Curious eyes that would watch an insect for hours as it munched on grasses and leaves she fed it.
She would be two years grown and two years older since last seen in blue jeans and a t-shirt in Amarillo, Texas, in the company of her biological father who was possibly armed, dangerous, and driving a pickup truck towards Mexico. Or Canada.
And it struck me. You needed to be on the side of a milk carton. 2 percent of course. At some point in our life together, you had been kidnapped. Whoever was responsible had gone to a lot of trouble to replace you, to carefully drop you right back into my life. It was a great attempt but finally my belief that the real you would never do the things you did to me were validated. You had the misfortune of actually having an “evil twin” and corporatized or not, it seemed only the Dairy Council could help, since there is no Center For Missing and Exploited Adults.
Big red letters screaming “Have You Seen This Girl ? ” were what we needed now. God knows I had recent photos, and could describe all of your features-distinguishing or not.
I think tomorrow, I'll have French Toast.
Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Based on my work at www.emotionalorphan.net.
Dec 11, 2009
Dec 11, 2009 at 9:13 PM UTC
I just saw a Man Who's Ego World Dwarf
All the Republicans who Have put forth
There announcement to run for the POTUS
And the Wisdom he Espised from the podium
Was shellacked with self spun bravada
His Claim to Fame in God's Name as
The Worlds Greatest Job Provider
Should in the Face of the Coming Race
Provide such Political Fodder
America he Said from his Enormous Head
Was nothing but a Nation of Stupid losers
The only safe Haven and path to the future
Was Guarded by a Caped Hero of the Dollar
In tights with a Diamond and T on his Chest
Red white and Blue Cape He Knew what's Best
He'd thru his vision change the Face of the World
And as he comes up with one, his plan will unfurl
As I watched CNN with a Chortle and a Laugh
If we Elect TRUMP for President its our own Gaff
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Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
Hey, baby
sing me a tongue lullaby
I’ll dance for you if you would like that.
Twirling along the lilt of your sounds
as you utter them syllable by syllable.
I find you in the darkness created
by the infinity of
whatever it is we feel and you sweep me
off my feet—literally—and fly with me
away inside the music you created.
By then it’s only you and me,
although it has been all along
and it’s your body
and it’s nobody; my body
Entwined in the kasbahs of eternity.
An Adaptation of a (Love?) Poem by Nicola Em is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 12:35 PM UTC
i’m figuring out my sway
how to center night and day
like the first steps of a trembling fawn
or the breaking of the dawn
i’m testing out my bpm
counting my minutes for Them
i’m getting licensed now
it’s the only way we know how
i’m deepening my roots
putting nicks in my new boots
i’m feeding from the gem
sacrificing zero femme
i’m reaching harvest soon
just in time for harvest moon
sweetest peaches tell
Him how to understand my spell
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 10:04 PM UTC