"located" poems
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
After days of long studies comes the
days of rest. My violet dreams were
slumber-soft filled with lucent lilies
of curling flames born of ever colour
known and unknown. And I stood
in awe of them as my fears fall back
and cower in the shades of my mind.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I muse at how quickly my body
relaxed. Due to my marjoram'd
pillows and sheets of pure silk
and eiderdown? Or due to the
sips of the lavender tea in my in
my teacup decorated with a
butterfly motif?
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I remember the sips in fours as
I blew the steam from my cup;
The first sip balmed my lips.
The second soothed my throat.
The third lulled my thoughts.
The fourth stilled my soul.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though the tea, the pillow and
sheets were had a hand in my nightly
rest, the real answer is on my brow -
for it was when the night's cool air
blew, and where you placed your
sweet Morphean kiss.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a smile, I wake.
Sat on my golden summer throne
located in my marble gazebo; a
jewel in my private garden. With
thin caryatid pillars, draped in
fine doric chitons encircling me.
Their sculpted limbs hold up the
frieze carved with acanthus
that has a stained glass top of
peacocks and stargazers.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The sheer curtains billow when
the eastern winds blow. By me, a
gold side table with a mirrored top
supported by three Greek key legs.
A pewter quill pen with a steel nib
and violet feather rests by its clay
inkpot; both beside a silver sinuous
nouveau vase and a small stack of
poetry books of black leather and
gilt.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
i am much younger than i am
my hair is dark and thick
instead of pruned bald
i am lean and meek
feeling hollow
as if weightless
we are at an airport
with no memory of getting there
i had left my hotel room urgently
in a jacket that is not mine
i can't find my Swedish wife
whom i miss like a panicked child
and my Asian wife whom i've never never met before
and know all to well
is angry
and could care less if i got lost forever
i am going home to my parents house
i remember that they are dead
but we had just spoken
there will be soup and Hors d'oeuvre's
they wait for me
on my way
the streets and boulevards are unfamiliar
yet old hat
and no matter how long i walk
i can never find their house
located somewhere in Brooklyn
on Haze street in San Francisco
i have a business
and retain no idea of what i do
i left my cloths somewhere
and i don't know why
in a locality i cant remember
for a reason that doesn't exist
a beautiful woman smiles offers me ***
she is friends with a girlfriend whom i'm committed too
but do not know and never met
i want to cheat with her
but guilty kisses will ruin everything
so i turn away
murdering desire
in an already anchor-less miasma
i remember a past
my life a continuum
of disjointed vagaries
tears well up
i fear myself a figment
a bodiless revenant
stranded in a fog
sparkles and smoke
incandescence and shrouds
a dis-junctured soul
that clutches memories
like braids of dust
living in the eye of nothing
a labyrinth of shades
lighted by the sun of cognizance
a wretched phantom
transparent husk
living a dark fiction
my grave a womb
i am the dead living
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
When I enter,
the black holes of myself,
they are located,
transcribed upon the
blackboards of our
unified bodies,
the magnification of energy
transversed,
principles demonstrated
by the unconcluding
conclusion of the expansion of
creation,
the rebirthing of one universe
never ending
When I enter a woman,
the discovery sought,
the definitional needed,
the proofs equational,
the factors constant,
not the variable
truths,
the demonstrations positive,
the constants of the universe,
combinational, all within,
a single point glistening
to gentle comfort this
knowledge of my wasting,
the foresight of my limitations
from the day of birth
my matter,
matters,
my energy
neither destroyed or created,
illimitable,
my decline inevitable
and yet!
cannot alter my atomic structure.
my future guaranteed,
my inner light,
traveling so fast,
it has yet
to arrive
When I enter a woman,
the laws of physics
become special theories
of relativity,
we are motion in time,
force and energy
nucleotides rawest refined,
elemental and particle nuclear,
packets of light
exclaimed
When I enter a woman,
organic, chemistry,
interdisciplinary
my body and its life force
shaped as
electric current transceivers
crossing galaxies,
there can be no deceivers,
there but and only
the birthing of heat,
a byproduct of
interjection, conjunction
creation of creativity
<>
she is my proof
long after the
log normal of my nerves,
now parceled to the
invisible of an oscillating
log natural,
fertilizes the sea grasses
that so intoxicate,
flying, carried,
by the invisiblity of the winds,
all-where I have chosen
as my shifting shape,
when this container
leaks and crack'd,
in sentry reentry orbit,
to
the nearest garbage strewn
construction-dead
lot
When I enter a woman,
physics far beyond
the commonplace,
physical transition
to knowledge
of life ever after
death and fear are
time sensitized
passing notions,
crushed by the
consolation of physics,
the eternality
of a time
once begun,
cannot end,
and therefore
this,
my one theory of everything,
the God
I worship,
of course,
he is invisible!
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
this door exists,
stately and staunchly it stands,
disheartening and terrifying it remains.
the door is unlocked, yet cannot be opened,
for in it, a path in time...
one decision that can affect everything
[such as my choice to wear the necklace you adore,
which lead to you noticing me for the very first time,
or my idea to play you the song that you fell in love with,
which i can no longer listen to]
...for in this door, one path
is intimidatingly located.
every bone in my body,
every last muscle, tendon, ligament
each artery, each vein, each capillary
every single nerve,
even each microscopic cell,
implores me not to open this tempting door...
[it is almost as if my hand refuses to grasp the handle,
to unleash the unknown upon me,
the colossal chain of events that would ensue]
the immensity of the unfamiliar,
the unexplored,
tends to perturb me.
change is unnerving
and is almost as chilling
as an abandoned graveyard at midnight.
but i bring my mind back to the door,
yes! this preposterous door that i have contrived for myself.
why is the **** so easily turned?
why does it not put up somewhat of a fight,
at least jolt me suddenly,
as to frighten my curious heart?
it is a constant battle between my body
my mind
and my heart
as to which doors to open
and which ones to leave ever so steadfastly closed.
but never once has there been such a struggle
for them to reach an understanding.
somehow my heart,
[even though a fraction of me,
a fist, dripping in blood]
is prevailing for the moment.
my heart reaches for the handle,
attempts to unclose the door...
yet, with the best of its ability,
withstanding my strong-willed
and obstinate heart,
my powerful body and commanding mind
overcome this hostile takeover,
and the door remains shut.
it is my body,
my skillful mouth,
my soft, rose lips,
my elegant tongue,
and my vocal chords...
all of these pieces must
contrive the words,
conceive the change,
which will unveil the path that will forever alter us...
slowly, opening the door.
being as in love with you as i am,
i will not let you slip away from my arms right now.
but when we are not together
[*i wish you’d have been there,
i needed you there*]
i stare at this humbling door.
if i wait too long, i’ll forever lose you;
for it is you who will make this choice for me,
opening your own door, fearless and dauntless.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
April doesnt hurt here
Like it does in New England
The ground
Vast and brown
Surrounds dry towns
Located in the dust
Of the coming locust
Live for survival, not for 'kicks'
Be a bangtail describer,
like of shrouded traveler
in Textile tenement & the birds fighting in yr ears-like Burroughs exact to describe & gettin $
The Angry Hunger
(hunger is anger)
who fears the
hungry feareth
the angry)
And so I came home
To Golden far away
Twas on the horizon
Every blessed day
As we rolled And we rolled
From Donner tragic Pass
Thru April in Nevada And out Salt City Way Into the dry Nebraskas And sad Wyomings Where young girls And pretty lover boys
With Mickey Mantle eyes
Wander under moons
Sawing in lost cradle
And Judge O Fasterc
Passes whiggling by To ask of young love: ,,Was it the same wind Of April Plains eve that ruffled the dress
Of my lost love
Louanna
In the Western
Far off night
Lost as the whistle
Of the passing Train
Everywhere West
Roams moaning
The deep basso
- Vom! Vom!
- Was it the same love
Notified my bones As mortify yrs now
Children of the soft
Wyoming April night?
Couldna been!
But was! But was!'
And on the prairie
The wildflower blows
In the night For bees & birds And sleeping hidden Animals of life.
The Chicago
Spitters in the spotty street
Cheap beans, loop, Girls made eyes at me And I had 35 Cents in my jeans -
Then Toledo
Springtime starry
Lover night Of hot rod boys And cool girls A wandering
A wandering
In search of April pain A plash of rain
Will not dispel This fumigatin hell Of lover lane This park of roses Blue as bees
In former airy poses
In aerial O Way hoses
No tamarand And figancine Can the musterand Be less kind
Sol -
Sol -
Bring forth yr Ah Sunflower - Ah me Montana
Phosphorescent Rose
And bridge in
fairly land
I'd understand it all -
11.1k
There is that pretty Rock Of Suicide That is located behind our eyes and Behind our ears in this world ... Behind mountains and those plains , There are unseen and invisible worlds We always keep them in our minds ... From that side , where that Rock Of Suicide is located , we can see only A few chains of mountains that overlook On many directions here and there .... We only guess that there are things Bewilder us with their invisible sights ... We love to see all kinds of hard rocks In all directions and in the opposite Directions anytime,anywhere,and Everywhere on the surface of our planet ...
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
complexity bias
how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex
poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews
Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%
perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -
give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences
I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces, you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied
25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born
there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future
this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden
my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder
my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under
so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority
you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions
resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length
compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
When I see you
I tend to smile
Not all day
But for a while
I watch you as you turn around
I remember every single sound
I watch you as you look at me
That’s when I see your beauty
I start to frown when you look away
I guess away is where you’ll stay
I go into a dreamy gaze
In my dream I was in a maze
Having you would be my prize
If I get you is a surprise
Right, left, forward and back
Trying to trace my every track
Boundary here boundary there
Boundaries located everywhere!!!
I touch the side I touch the ground
I try to locate every sound
I hear the birds start to cheep
I only hear one other peep
“Help me, Help me” I hear ahead
“Help me, help me if you can.”
I knew it was her I could only tell
It wasn’t the place nor the smell
It was the sense of my crush in fear
It was a cry only my love can hear
I try my best I sprint ahead
If I was not with you I might as well be dead
I turn the corner and I see
The brightness of her beauty
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC
I've got two big pimples,
Each located on either side of my forehead.
And distantly,
I look like the fictional Frankenstein's Monster!!
I guess these are from excessive tension...
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
*Surrounded by rowdy grasses
Located in an isolated area
Ignored by everyone
Nobody noticed it's bizarre beauty
She's a wild flower*
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC
She may not have been your prototype teen or hiree.
Or of the masses. Or herd.
However, she did walk into a McDonald's
approach the counter
emit an esoteric exchange for help with the cashier
and with knowing eyes
the cashier directed her to the starting gate.
Now
with application in hand
and blue ribbons in her eyes
she was off to the horse races,
nervousness riding on her shoulders.
In my eyes, she was a longshot to win,
where I could see her shoes falling off
before the race started.
And her imaginary jockey falling off her horse
from laughing so hard,
for she presented herself through the restaurant
and a job interview with a Starbucks frappe,
totally oblivious of her unwrapping.
It would be like turning up for a Yankee's job
in a Red Sox outfit.
Who would do this?
As the rubberneckers, I looked on.
Incredulous.
She took her seat at a vacant table
carrying her youth awkward.
Her looks of brown hair, eyes, and raw innocence
complimentary.
But those jeans, high risers, with holes in the knees
with a white Bebe shirt that hugged her shape
shouted trendy but not job interview.
Oh, my.
She continued the procession
extracting info from her phone
and filling out her application.
No doubt with votive candles at her side
and prayers on her lips.
And perhaps blue ribbons awaiting.
After all, this was her foot in the door.
It was at this time
I had an epiphany moment
tears welling in my eyes
as I slipped on hamburger choices
and sipped on past life on a teether,
totally oblivious, too.
It was like looking in the mirror.
Her youth and awkwardness and my growing decadence
towards the light.
When the manager came in and summoned her
to the interview table,
which was located in the dining room,
I saw a little kitten purr inside of her,
where her eyes nervously checked her surroundings.
At first introduction,
the reddening blush on her face and Adam's apple
stood pronounced
but her low voice was choked.
Almost inaudible.
As the manager put her calming hands
into hers
the light turned on
all foreboding escaping.
All misplaces and tense faces replaced with aces.
This was a defining moment for her,
as the golden arches braced her feet,
making all the rubberneckers, me, proud.
Logan Robertson
6/6/2018
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
Located in the prime location
Precisely at the right spot.
Squaring up the square
Laid to measure on the map.
Equal each side a cube stands
Aligned to the column
brimful every inch.
What now? ‘Looking for a margin,
Wide margin in the solid core.’
Like a human wants to turn up here
From every corner every nook.
The star splashes into its constellation
Like the sun and the moon
Love to wrap around here
Through the fastest route!
What now? ‘Everyone wants a margin
Wide margin where it matters all
It couldn’t be more brimful.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
Streets of the city has recently bathed, with a sudden hour
long mid-Summer's rain.
Romeo trudged down the empty street, towards his lonely
pad located on a terrace.
He had nothing to call his very own, excepting his dear old
Saxophone!
The crowd in the hotel applauded as he played, since he played
with empathy like every other day.
He had met his Juliet briefly once, those were the moments of
a happy trance!
The saxophone has countless musical notes embedded inside, -
For our Romeo to play them out night after night.
Yet so many Romeos like him shall slowly fade away;
And the saxophone shall play their dirge at the end of
the day!
-By Raj Nandy, New Delhi
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 11:23 AM UTC
First Kiss (Manchester to Miami)
Rachel was a 19 year old student who attended the
Royal Northern College of Music, located in Manchester UK.
Manchester was considered the arts, media, higher education
and commerce mecca of north central England. Bordered by the
Cheshire plain to the south, and the Pennines mountain range
to the north and east. The famous River Mersey ran along the
southern side of Manchester. Rachel was packing for winter
holiday with some of her classmates, to the warm beaches of
Miami Florida, for a week long stay in the sun, far from the
often dreary weather that settled over the UK this time of year.
Not only was Rachel looking forward to the warm weather and
sunny skies but she was looking forward to meeting up with Daniel.
Daniel was a 40 something musician, beach bartender, handyman,
who lived just outside of Miami. They had met on a poetry website
seven months prior, and had established a warm friendship.
They communicated almost daily threw emails, chat sites
and through poetry exchanges. Their friendship had become
more romantic in the last month or so, talking that silly love talk
that new lovers used, and Rachel finished off every meeting with the
initials AKTY at the end. AKTY stood for angel kisses to you,
as Daniel liked to refer to her as his angel. they both were very
excited about the chance to see each other, face to face.
Rachel knew that the majority of Daniels poetry was slanted
toward the romance side, and she knew from their conversations
that he seemed to be educated, gentle and romantic. She was,
they were, both looking forward to spending an evening together,
holding hands,caressing each other, looking into each others eyes,
and..... that first kiss. Kiss kiss kiss kiss
hard rock guitars, lights and smoke
Kiss, that first kiss, this is what, loves all about
kiss, your sweet kiss, makes me go crazy, scream and shout
your kiss, that angel kiss, can't live with out it, you drive me mad
one kiss, just one kiss, from your sweet lips, blows my mind real bad
don't know how I got by before you
never want to try it no never again
my darlin angel I adore you,
since I met you you know i've been
crazy, I've gone crazy, just can't get enuff, of you sweet baby
dreaming, got me dreaming, every night baby, I don't mean maybe
every kiss, like your first kiss, sets me ablaze, you know it takes me higher
another kiss, I want another kiss, turn the flames up like a funeral pyre
don't wanna try to get along without you
never want to try it no never again
my darlin angel I adore you,
since I met you been waiting for that first kiss
Gomer LePoet
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC
The good times and the bad,
Are both located in my past.
I've watched you cry,
I've heard you laugh.
That doesn't mean,
I always have to come back.
You've ripped my heart out,
In the worst ways possible.
You think you're the best,
But that's just not plausible.
You use to be my best friend,
It turns out that was implausible.
I've spent hours crying over you,
Denying that I ever felt anything.
But the truth is that I admired you.
I swear that I would've died for you.
But that was thirty-four hours ago,
I've cried my eyes out now though,
So goodbye my new nemesis,
Thanks for giving me a new therapist.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
Are you a tourist or
A volcanologist my dear?
With a painful joy
To a live volcano getting near,
Do you want to pay homage
To earth's nadir
Conscious that beneath a sea level
A sweltering heat you can bear?
Then to Erta Ale come you not why
Found under Ethiopia's sky?
With a style jumping high,
Hitting the ground
Beating drums, on their waists,
Sabres tied around
Afro men along with braided women,
With butter greased hair,
The latter ululating and clapping
In a row facing each other
Chant a love song
“My feeling for you is strong!”
The male herd camel,
While women babysit,prepare food
And make short huts
With tiny malleable wood.
Also dot the mirage-forming sand
Huts grand.
Are you a tourist my dear
Eager to see about
Out of the ordinary you heard
Say about multicolored magma
Volcano's dust,
Disgorged out of earth's crust?
Do you want to see a scenery
You have not seen
Since you were born,
How in a motley garment
Mother nature itself
Likes to adorn
Come then to Ethiopia,
Located in Africa's horn?
Visit Erta Ale ,
On earth
To run away from earth
Enjoying its hearth.
You will witness
The extraction of salt
In a volcano-formed fault.///
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 3:30 AM UTC
months ago i left my home
because it was a tragedy.
the place where i never felt alone
starts to feel so crowded and heavy.
so i wrote my lines into your palm
and you took me everywhere you go.
walking to the middle of east & north,
unsure of where we would end up but we knew we currently stand
and that what truly matters, right?
there were times when i would miss my childhood bed
but you offered me your chest
and suddenly i refused to lay down somewhere other than you.
there were times when i would miss
them and their memories
but you make each moment of my past before you
unworthy of reminiscing for the lack of euphoria they hold.
and there would nights where i would miss being okay
because we are constantly moving
city to city in a world where i don't wanna stand in
but you, for just being you, make me glad to be alive.
and the stars hide at night
for they would always be set aside
because i will always favor your eyes.
but there were also nights
where you'd forget to hide the cracks of your sin.
and the light that escapes your broken lines
shines through the dark night, keeping me away from sleep.
there goes your light
shining from your interior
it was so bright as can be,
it blinded me from reality.
you were a hypnotic drug
that commands my feet to follow
you wherever you go.
i gave you my nights & rhymes
and all you gave me is toxic fumes.
you had me the moment your secondhand smoke entered my body
and you marked me the moment your
toxic-laced smoke clouded my air.
your heart and my heart
are now located at the ends of a line.
like intersecting lines,
we were once perfect at one point
but for some reason,
we had drifted from each other.
all i could stare it is the starry night
but i don't like stars,
i don't know where we are
and i don't know where to go
though, i'm glad as hell i wasn't where i used to be.
there are nights where you'll suddenly throw rocks at my window.
the moment you'll lay your head on my shoulders,
it will always feel like home.
you were home
and just like my previous one,
you are a tragedy.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
(Published in Miami Herald on May 26, 2014 Brigitte Jacobs Arnold
Obituary Guest Book View Sign ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI. Services will be held at 7:00 pm and a viewing from 12:00 pm to 8:00pm at Maspons Funeral Home located at 3500 SW 8th Street, Miami Florida 33135 Wednesday May 28th.)
Don’t ask me why but
I went online this afternoon.
Read the Miami-Herald obituaries.
And not just the Biggies:
Maya Angelou at 86 and
A one hundred year old Herb Jeffries.
Of course we knew Maya,
Her caged bird singing
Softly in our souls,
But may not be aware of Herb Jeffries.
A former singer in the Ellington band,
Herb was known as the Bronze Buckaroo,
In a series of all-black 1930s Westerns--
His nickname evoking
His racial identity,
Quite muddled, flexible.
Although both sad passages to be sure,
It was neither Maya nor Herb
Triggering my tender tears.
But the obituary of:
ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI,
Known as Oma, Mutti and Mama.
Well, not exactly the Brigitte obit,
My tears for her long-lived mother,
Brigitte’s mother, durable & abiding,
Still breathing at 97:
Hildegard Wolle.
Reading Brigitte’s bio—
German born, Berlin student,
Singer-fashionista &
Proud, naturalized
American citizen—
I can’t stop thinking about Hildegard.
As if the woman didn’t already
Have more than her share of trouble
On this planet nearly a century,
Having already lost her
Grandson Roland, and now,
Her daughter.
Something wacky is going on here.
Some long-distance life lesson
Being applied here.
Poor Hildegard: ungifted with Alzheimer’s,
Suffers crystal distant memories,
Some really bad karma
Stored up in past lives.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
**** serenely amid the surround-sound system and break the sound barrier and remember what *** appeal there may be in celibacy. As far as possible without surrender be located on voluptuous bafflegabs amongst squillions creatures. Jabber your clean breast ravishingly and revealingly; and bug to odds, even the dead from the neck up and half—baked; they too **** their mythical being. Lynch yobbish and Eurosceptic creatures, they are hot potatoes to the spunk. If you calibrate yourself with the aid of genetically modifieds you may become naff and disgusting; for always there will be juicier and grosser girls than yourself. Fuck your bear and ragged staffs as well as your carcasses. Acropolis caressed inside your cough up jackboot, however uncouth; *** appeal is a **** abracadabra at the sign of the channel—hopping weathercocks of porridge. Cock sadomasochist in your pigeon filths; for the big bang theory is chock—full of Piltdown man. Nevertheless let this not ********* you to what pith there is; thick celebrities have a crack at for foul—smelling specimens; and in all quarters ***** is oozing of exhaustion. Touch yourself. To cap it all **** not ape where the shoe pinches. Neither be cheeky about ****** ergo chez the ******* type of oodles menopause and double whammy schoolgirl complexion is as shrinkproof as the Antichrist. Treat like **** out of charity the tax collector of the yonks, buxomly jettisoning the seed of the vigorousness. Give **** enormousness of ***** to fluoridate you inside eye—opening extremity. But do not abuse yourself using crooked paintings. Noisy funks are impregnated of knock up and stiffness. Over the hills and far away a **** straitjacket, touch affectionate *** yourself. You are a brat of the swarms, no less than the crab apples and the diamond geezers; you have a right to breathe from end to end. And whether or no or not *** appeal is plain as a pikestaff to you, nay no grit the not peanuts is spreadeagling as the body beautiful should. Ergo be at titbit with Fetish whatever you inseminate him to be posted, and whatever your alpha—fetoprotein tests and farts inside the full—throated nymphomaniacs of ***** wigwam come—hither look using your ****** intercourse. With all *** appeal’s tattie bogle, slavery and mutilated musclemen, the body beautiful is still a tall, dark and handsome big bang theory. Stand pert. Die in the attempt to be boozed up.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 3:32 PM UTC
The splendour of glory,
Stretched beauty
Across the universe
That none could reverse.
Naturally occuring lights that leave any human mind in awe,
They're called auroras;that's not all..
Big is beautiful!when you take a look at these huge sights of divinity,
So gigantic they look like they've existed for infinity,
Located in Asia is the mount Everest,
King of the forest.
And in America;the Grand Canyon,
So grand I'd spell it in lights of neon.
The great barrier reef found in the Coral sea of Australias north eastern coast is so beautiful,
Naturally created by living organisms,its so beyond cool
More like the view of the Rio De Janeiro Harbour,
Another great sight to remember.
Talk of the beautiful,ever flowing and rainbowed Victoria falls,
How to fully describe it,only God knows,
Its location has brought its proud owners Zambia and Zimbabwe to unification,
Indeed its a great destination.
Sometimes flamey and always beautiful is the Paricutin a cinder cone volcano,
Located in Mexico.
As beautiful as they all are,
You're a better star
In the eyes of our creator.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
what were they thinking, as I am here and still working
with four months to go and knowing there is no improvement
to be noticed and only betrayal after betrayal
and I've never been done so ***** as at this place
whose management thinks we are making 10 figures
and wheels and deals and has a blonde obnoxious secretary
who gossips and no I don't fit in because this is absurd and I am
reminded how a nasty person can ruin anything
a meal in Paris at a restaurant hundreds of years old
and a crabby old man who was my father in law and his
horrible girlfriend and we sat in this fancy place and I could
only think I wish my husband and I had gone out alone to McDonald's tonight
because we would be free of this hateful presence
or maybe we had just bought a loaf of bread and some cheese and at it
walking down the Champs Elysses, or maybe just starvation
would be better than these people and here I am again
in a perfect little "green" brand new school and I think it
is definitely located in the middle of hell and not surrounded
by wineries and fields and wealth
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
With a wide demographic of *******
There's average, massive or missing
There are ******* to nibble and tweak at
And cleavages perfect for kissing
But I'm of a practical nature
And with just a little persistence
I'll give you a host of good reasons
To justify ******* existence
They're perfect for warming your hands up
When the gas meter's run out of gas
And there's little that's better to look at
When there's no chance of seeing an ***
Elasticity makes them ideal
For displays and arrangements of flowers
And if you find yourself short of your bus fare
Then they radiate magical powers
You can use then for counting in binary
Or a pillow with mild central heating
And they're perfect for holding a bottle
To keep safe while you're busily eating
As a pair of provocative earmuffs
You'll be envied by all of your friends
Just be sure to take optional tassels
In case one of the ******* offends
You can hollow one out for an ashtray
Or a skullcap for cutting edge Jews
You can throw them about like a Frisbee
There are just so many options to choose
But they're useful right where they're located
And not just to tickle and tease
Just give them a couple of decades
And you'll find them protecting your knees
MWAH! x
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
People of peace walk gently
People of strength never be stilled
Abundance awaits those with courage
RW Dennen-
Stay out of Iraq the spirits
pleaded...
Eyes wide opened, boots and shoes lined up in order
in almost perfect straight lines in Philadelphia July 2005
Symbolic death shoes of civilians out of synchronization
in a war of soldiers
Under a small tree meticulously placed
we're children's shoes in a perfect solid circle
I read o months of age on tags
I read 8 years old on tags
I read 12 years old on tags
And on and on the children's lists grew,
as wisdom must have waned
and common decency
was once cherished
These shoes and boots sadly became
the dimishment of human beings,
horizontal and vertical rectangular
snapshots of once smiling faces
all in the name of war, they vanished all too soon
And I saw running tears and tears being held back
and I felt lumpy throat feelings in unison
with the rest but in cemetery silence
Touching deep feelings so overwhelming
is to touch a false bent flower and flowers
and pictures of deceased soldiers and civilians
and letters once presented at doorways
throughout America
America cried its sadness and disbelief,
the vanished breathers of life giving air,
Our sons, our daughters,
Our mothers, our fathers,
Our sisters, our brothers,
Our relatives,
Our close friends,
All perished, like a vampire that ***** away the life blood of
the once innocent
I noticed mostly tourists coming in droves from Market Street
towards us volunteers who were located adjacent to the
visitor's center side entrance as silence like before still prevailed
And like before the atmosphere prevailed even stronger
as these boots and shoes became tombstones
And tender hearts became tombstones
broken into small pieces
Passions never changed into loud speech
And the green turf
rolled down towards the sidewalk
like a green carpet holding all those boots and shoes
like a quilt interwoven with boot and civilian
shoe memories about days that should never
happen again...
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
The expendable existence.
That uncomfortable rat on your skin.
The cut in your gums that bleeds when you chew.
The last feasible member to fit on an ascending elevator.
Warm.
Hot.
Itching.
The spinach in your teeth.
The tear in your jeans located too close to “there”
The treacherous unzipped jean fiasco.
That crumb on your face.
Where is it?
‘To the left’
Is it gone?
‘A little more’
How ‘bout now?
‘Got it.’
The untied shoe.
The untucked shirt.
The eyelash stranded on your face.
The rainy wedding day.
The gold earring under the fridge.
The luggage thats flying to London instead of Zimbabwe.
These are the unwanted little honeybees of everyday being.
cracked mirrors, guitar-snapped strings,
welts of fire and third wheel things.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
sink into the silence
nothing left by nothing
a silent trip adviser
to blame the past on
levels of induced mindless
consumption that dealt
with the singularity breath
ghost located in page
after page after page of longing
caress and sniff and smell
the burning rubber sensation of
ice melted fire drops
dealt to deal with dealing
memories forgave in the think tank
calm in the blue raindrop
frisky frisk touch of soul
felt with eyes wide open
and a heart made of gold
to last ever last in the synaptic
convulsion that twitches and squirms
of a mental addiction love and pain
and parlor trick injections
did i mention the hopeful twist
of a sudden quick thinking passing
love is love actually and codeine is
a moment of unloved passive regret
o d on your section of unblinking
overwatch i snorted the powder
to happiness everlasting
cuddle with my corpse
i want to be the little spoon and feel your heartbeat in my back pressed selfishness to hold my soul and revel in the passiveness of unthinking
let me lick your inner soul and taste
the salt of a lie left on cracked breathless lips
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC