"lube" poems
We've been texting and calling for six months
and now it's reached its culmination
when you surprised me one day
you're coming here for vacation
I ran out to the store immediately
bought condoms, **** n toys
I also warned the neighbors
because we were gonna Make lots of noise,
I met you at the airport
you're even more beautiful in person
we talked on the way to my apartment
you wouldn't forget this I'd be certain
when we finally arrived you saw I lit some candles and laid some flowers on my bed
we kissed caught up with the moment
and lust flowing through our heads
I laid down below you because you wanted to be in charge
we kissed again while between your legs
I got ever so hard
You slid my shaft out of its pocket
and bounced on me without hesitation
As we got caught up in all the passion
you screamed MY GOD WHAT A VACATION!
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
Canoodling his significant other,
Our man Henry was loathe to discover:
The **** had run dry,
But rather than cry,
He decided to go get the butter.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
I could have gone to the cemetery,
or back to my high school lab,
find him lecturing from a podium,
bony finger raised,
demagogue of the dead.
I could break him down piece by piece,
cram him in a duffle,
a femur jutting the zipper.
Ignore the groan-
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
Instead I found myself
in the carnival lot,
The dog was long dead,
the sign kept guard.
Rusty rides slouched like tumbleweeds.
Cotton candy in memory-
blue tack crunching my teeth.
Lewd.
Skeletons fixed on poles,
spiked up through pelvis and spine.
Use ****
Grip shoulders. twist. lift.
When one slid free,
he collapsed into my arms
all bone-light, lovely,
mine at last.
I just brought him home.
Sat at the kitchen table.
Named him Curly.
Zoom howled: WAG’s gone weird!
What’s his name? What’s his name?
His name is Curly,
I said, but I knew
his name was You.
We drink wine by the pool.
He never sips.
Sometimes I pour a second glass for the glint.
Sometimes he tells me Danny Elfman
wants to play his ribs like a xylophone.
Sometimes he sighs,
he hates Oingo Boingo.
I laugh. Obliging.
So do I.
When the wind kicks up
he smells of sugar and rust.
Sometimes he rattles the glassware.
Sometimes he won’t sit still.
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 12:11 PM UTC
greyhound station
quarter to three am
in the rain
she is sitting on the bags
playing a vampire movie on the kindle
the screen lights her up
as she leans in close for the big wedding scene
run my hand along her dreadlocks
stopping to eye a new bead
thats her...a new little treasure for my heart each day
she leans on my shoulder as we
sit in the very back of the bus
bare to the warm night air
while dave matthew's sings to us
a little ditty from his long ago
has such a style don't he
she whispers a kiss onto my cheek
slips into dreamin
miles run past breathlessly
just an ebb and flow of u-gas and jiffy ****
just a parade of kids playing by an endless river
right outside this dim window
shes sleepin softly
i'm so awake to how i feel
to how much she means to me
where ya going mister
where ya headed
i point ..."thata way to the bright future"
so full of promise
so full of joys
with her at my side i can do anything
with her i am superman
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 8:08 AM UTC
I appreciate now, I'm getting old
It's not just me, I have been told,
It isn't discovering your first grey ****
Buying wrinkle cream or using ****
A simple thought came to me, its true,
My back goes out more, than I now do!
Even my wheelie bins, I think,
Go out each and every week,
I used to party night and day,
But now by 10, I've hit the hay,
The hardest thing, makes my skin crawl,
I no longer fall over, I ' have a fall '
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
All alone laying in wait, for your dreams to come true, the dreams of your Daddy, to come and take you to a new place.
As I enter your room, the darkness is erased, my power you feel as reach for your hand, bring you to your feet look at my face.
Quickly, I wrap my ropes around you, encasing my body in an elaborate web, criss crossing the rope no more mobility.
Arms tight behind you elbows together, I lay you gently down as I stand above you, admiring my work and my ability.
Laying on your back fully pinned down your legs spread wide exposing my very special kitty in all of its naked glory
I begin to finger you as I kiss and **** on my **** two fingers in you making you nice and wet, I look up with no worry.
My lips **** up your wetness, I come to you and share your taste, you lick my lips before I take you and kiss you deep.
Your lolli is hard, ready to pounce, but I will have to wait, your pleasure is my only concern, even though it starts to seep.
**** galore spread all in you, I press down gently on your ***** bone, as I enter a third finger which is nice and tight.
You gasp as you adjust to the size, dilation begins you are opening up. Wider for daddy as he makes you feel right.
Kissing you softly stroking my kitty, look in your eyes, blue on blue, lost and in your gaze, ready to give you some more.
Slide gently the last finger in, slowly my kitty begins to expand, I wait a bit longer as I give you all of my four.
Twist my hand, slightly to the side, as I tuck my thumb under my fingers and begin to slowly press up in to my hole.
I stop for a moment as you whimper for the discomfort, I ease your mind, your pleasure is my only true goal.
Relaxed you now become as I get my hand fully in you, My first is buried as I massage your spot, you try to buck.
Bucking against my hand you are bound too tight, my hands is in you, beyond my wrist, now baby girl I will ****
I **** you hard in and out, you start to scream in pleasure and delight, as I re position myself to give you a salty treat.
My **** placed deep in your throat, ****** starts filling you full, don’t lose a drop, or suffer you will, no more defeat.
My kitty tightens down on my hand, I feel it pulsate, it clamps my hand, my hand aches, i pound harder, deeper inside.
You scream out wanting more, I push harder as you bite down on the pillow, you are for sure daddy’s pride.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
Spank it, **** it,pull it hard, call it a Name,
Make it hard, just us those palm muscles
That have been working over time on this
Single person and their knackered hand.
****** it, shout at it, **** this doesn't usually
Happen, dam why are you not going hard.
Put **** on it make it wet, like in a *****
Just imagine two wet lips legs nicely spread
Apart, just pam and her five sisters and a
Lonely curved palm.
Use your imagination so it,ll stay hopefully
Hard, my god my hands going dead this is
To much like hard work.
Tug in silence or moan out loud, over a magazine
Or over **** on TV, sound turned down don't
Want other to know, what ever floats the boat just
To get to that point that you need to ooze it all out.
But for the love of god make sure your door is locked,
To have your mother or wife walk in saying,
**"WHAT THE ****
You'll be limp in a second, and lost for a good excuse.
Of why you got **** toilet roll and hand spanking
While shouting filthy ***** words out.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
We can talk all we want. But til we do something about us being **** ******* by big brother. We're gonna keep getting **** plugged without the vasoline
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
The apartment hasn’t been cleaned for so long and has housed a depressive in it for the same length of time so that there is a glaze of slime-dirt on the floor, made of dried coffee, hot chocolate, maybe some **** or some spillage from a tube of steroid cream to treat an inflammation that never really goes. The rate of ooze changes?. Clean textiles are piled up on the floor, never having been folded, and mix here and there with ***** practical fatpants that make me look like a geologist and white-white cotton blankets that can be washed on HOT with lots of bleach that I purloined from some mentalhealthfacility. The inbox is full of—is bristling with—remonstrances from Programs for the Nondoer—you haven’t filed, haven’t turnstiled, haven’t had your hologram chip assessed by central CENTRAL intelligence, what is wrong with you. Upon stepping outside there is a beat during which I think maybe somewonder might swirl and buoy but no, just wethumid and ***** sidewalks cruddy and Haitians and quasi-Haitians muttering “taxitaxitaxi” in front of their Gypsy conveyances with their dubious certifications. I should go for a ride in one, a dubious passenger for a dubious palanquin. I tried the library but it was too hot and decrepit and too filled with Books For African-Americans, which always ****** me off; are only African-Americans going to read Wright or Douglass or Brooks? Everyone is overrated, anyway, movies and theater and the moribund beat of commerce, and as the dangerous autos pass, sometimes not running you over, you can see morechange in the pockets of the shareholders of BeePee and Iacocca Coach-Wirx. Any friendliness exhibited seems to contain an underovertone of You’re Not Included Whiteboy White ****** Ghost ***** all archaic names I’ve been almost astounded to be called usually while balancing on tiptoe on some lurching, roaring dieselbus, grinding past off-off-off brand groceries that do a dubious business. While making my police report I wink at a sevenyearold boy and I get a lustrous wink back butalas this is not enough to beat back those slurrycolored brainfazes.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
i cannot write anything
it's all in my head
and i can see it but
it won't come out
no matter how hard i push
my mind is constipated
and laxatives aren't helping
i'm not sure what to do
i can write ******** and
tell myself that's good enough
but it's not and it's so
******* frustrating
and depressing how
unhappy i am with my creative self
i am not creating enough
and i feel stagnant and stuck
no matter how much **** i use
my mind is still a dry desert
and it's painful to keep trying
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 6:35 PM UTC
Vile = Veil = Evil = Levi = Live
Lust = ****
Hate = Heat
God = Dog
Art = Rat = Tar
Slow = Owls = Lows
Life = File
Blue = ****
Fire = Rife
Psalm =Palms
Words = Sword
Ram = Arm
Stone = Notes
Time = Emit = Mite
One = Neo
Seven = Evens
Raw = War
Salt = Last
Door = Odor
Read = Dear = Dare
Snake = Sneak
Star = Arts = Rats
Ear = Are = Era
Leap = Plea
Low = Owl
Heart = Earth = Retha
No = On
Hatred = Red Hat
Dad = Add
Robe = Orbe
Verse = Serve = Sever
Dan = And
Cool = Loco
Mary = Army
Baby = Abby
Stain = Saint
Name = Mean
Tea = Eat = Ate
Male = Lame
Car = Arc
How = Who
Meat = Team = Mate = Tame
Stare = Tears
Teacher = Cheater
What = Thaw
Part = Trap
State = Taste
Scared =sacred
Written by Keith Edward Baucum
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC
She sets down
her very large glass of Malbec
sighs and lights
a poorly rolled
tampon-like cigarette
the look on her face
bothers me deeply
I open my mouth
with good intentions
and probably should have
said something like
"Are you ok?"
but what came out
went something like
You are nothing to me
just an **** potato
there's almost nothing
that you could provoke
within anyone
except for the cats
Yeah,
I'd bet you could start
the feline revolution
with your poisoned toenails
and mashed carrots
not even seventeen vats of ****
could make you more slippery
No,
I don't want your wet cake
just bees,
endless mayonnaise
and cherry flavoured toxic yoghurt
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 11:41 AM UTC
You find a new way to make it socially acceptable
What you're doing to me..
So that you we just see it as how it is..
so let me make it easy..
Let me just bend over for you world...
Just like my blood before
Because you keep forcing yourself upon me..
******* me...Fucking me....
so rough like ******** brazzers...
Like a flick on Punishtube...
With no ****
thank you money for hold me down..
while you watch big brother
have his way...
maybe if I was a woman I could reproduce..
But My **** just goes lump so fast...
while life repeatedly ***** me in the ***
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
This is so much more than a love song that there is no music to keep your heart bouncing along with my tune. Never could’a anyway. I speak so fast sometimes you know just to nod your head and say, “yeah”. Can hear it in the way that my tongue cracks against my teeth. Sounds like *** sometimes. Not the good kind either. It’s the kind you never really walk away from. **** you like a bass drum. Feel it puttin pressure on your heart. But that’s fine with you. Knew I never really had a beat. Never really had a song. Too tone deaf for something as smooth as that. No. I just say **** Like now. Puttin fingers in all your wrong places. This is more than just a love poem. It’s a *** poem. It’s a ******* revolution of quivers. Tryin to shiver ourselves to fit like shaking will rub away the edges. Rounding out the bad spots till our bodies make sense. No **** necessary. Not this time. As for me. I’m a poet. ***** talk is as natural as breathing. Forgive me for the freestyle I played on your money spot. Too classy for a money shot. Too ***** not to do it right. I’d trade my arms for flight. Gust away your sweat with more than just my breath. Know that you’ll never really tell me to stop. This is more than just a *** poem. More than the revolution of quivers that finally made sense of the sporadic tone to my heart drum. This is freedom. Breakin’ away the chaos, and the bad habits, and all the **** that scares me. Getting lost in the action of it. This is for every lonely bedroom, and bathroom, and pool, and for the backseat of every car that’s held the momentary refuge that keeps me from finally breakin down. This is for you. And all the ***** things I wanna do.
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 9:40 PM UTC
I have them in my mind, a place for me to use and abuse,
when alone and where no one can see.
I visualise what I need, those lovely ladies recorded
in thoughts used by me.
My neighbour she's as hot as could be,
but after to many usesshe has become a bore.
What once went hard with a thought,
now my cheese stick slumps not content,
new **** bank material is needed so on goes the TV
O ye this is good, weather girls low cut tops
in the bank they go for use later for me.
But I need that girl to light the meat, to get me well hard,
so I see one woman in the bank ready for me.
I test drive her not as good as could be,
so I swap parts saved in the file, now perfect for lonely fun.
The thought of her **** and me.
All men and woman are nearly the same,
they have a **** bank for those times when lonely.
Be it butts,legs, ******* or meat hanging or the
slit between the legs.
We all have that special some one that is with
us when are fingers and palms get happy...
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
Smoking after ***
makes me think
I need more ****
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
Stuck in skirmish of working this
retail
I'm intricately plotting my escape with detail
Now see well
it's time for an alternative path
One that I believe, achieve then kick ***
This ***** whack
working hourly wages
I'm Turning time into sand,
with people who won't make it
Reality is a series of obstacles
Let's face it
My sanity is slipping like
Like **** on black latex
How can I ******* break this
I've become a statistic
a realistic typical stereotype
I fantasize on the daily
wishing I can take Ariel flight
How can I steer clear of these mundane communications
slab-faced coworkers &
there basic conversations
I'm tired of it, I'm tired of it
I'm done with it...
No more giving a ****
Now it's time to resist
These urges of being someone
Who settles & simply quits
I seek to strive for more
My motivation is too legit
My skills are beyond eons
I will conquer with fist
No more being a peon
Dance then do a flip
Celebrate like I'm Deion
For this year will test
my patience & true potential
to many years guiding this pencil
Into oblivion
Blank spaces and synonyms
Wordplay over wordplay
Metaphors for my residents
Letters create earthquakes
Echoes create resonance
I from art in sentences
This residue is my evidence
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
**** me until i see god
**** me i'm falling apart
**** me i'm a prophet in a hiding place closet
**** me like we've got no place to go
**** me until the curtains fall down and collect dust
**** me sticky in a cloud of glitter
**** me and use the tears of angels as ****
**** me broken like a key and lock
**** me breathing on the freedom of a mountain
**** me with your shoes still on
**** me i'm crazy until i go blind
**** me under the powerful moon
**** me crying and laughing at the same time
**** me constant like a leaking faucet in the cold kitchen
**** me like a queen ***** her king
**** me weak on the stairs
**** me in the middle of a flower
**** me on a fault line shattering california
**** me always and even after that
**** me i'm
melting
like tupperware in the micro wave of your
*****
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
walking through the big flea market
off of highway 19 north of Tampa
looking for whatever and something
curious and kitsch or campy
merchants selling in the parking lot
used blenders and old cameras
burnt out or faulty devices
DVD cases and game cartridges
old rednecks shout out opinions
in a cacophony of drawled signifiers
representing visions of despotic rulers
reigning a tyranny of taxes and decline
old glass containers and windshields shine
scattering high afternoon sunlight in the Sunday sky
sitting and resting used and content waiting
waiting for the wear and reduction of time
the market continues into indoor aisles
criss-crossing within a ramshackle structure
plywood walls supporting sheet metal roofing
an aroma of every greasy food wafting into one
people wrapped in worn fashions
whites in Ts and denim
muslim women in headscarves
a black deputy strapped down in uniform
the deputy enforces commerce laws
around the alternative marketplace
a variety of commodities are still available
bongs and e-cigs and incense and **** ****
parakeets cry out down one aisle
a stack of blue aquariums drone a bubbling hum
the stench of cedar and rat **** and hamsters
reptiles basking in the arid glow of heat lamps
all is right in America’s America
the flea market is the floorboard of that promise
an opportunity for anyone to begin
or start again and over and over
a liberal conservatism can be guarded well
with rifles or tazers at bargain rates
a conservative liberalism is applied openly
in the atmosphere of everyone for anything and everything
the dream of the flea market
a black market and a carnival
all of America’s cheap art on display
its people swirled into one
equal in their struggles and desires
reaching for resources and derivatives
buying low and selling higher
stealing and selling short
walking through the big flea market
on a hot and cloudless Sunday afternoon
looking for whatever or something
it’s a fun thing to do
originally posted to my blog https://sublimeobscenities.wordpress.com on 4/27/2014
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
with the lust
of a 14 year old ***** boy
playing hooky
eyes blink orbs
riding the bumpy
**** grind yields
a mental representation
*her ***
a Coney Island ride
reciprocity of tongue and groove
a big dipper
and a hot dog
in a bun eating contest
i eye the shape of her legs
brahmana of form
**** cake butter scallops
with a prune skin ****
***** dark little sister
going along for the ride
with hidden talents
*om shakti om
holy donut with a zit*
rubbing myself
a peripatetic command
like I had the junkies itch
in a bearded clam sea
of black nail claws
like musical notes
that tear flesh
hegemony of *** art
*make me bleed *****
Tangula The Exotic Shake Dancer
moves infallible hips
and dancing hands like octopi
tickling bloated *****
ta-ting go the finger cymbals
smiling she called pip squeak
colossus of her dreams
flick tongues the meringue
licking the
shimmering tantra pistol
finger up the **** hole
brings a prostate exclamation point
and a throat gag lyric
for a wagon train
of wrap around lips
zooming spit and spray
wet like scungelli
her *******
like cloud cookies
****** my mouth
gasper boy
chokes on
a marshmallow fire
i kiss her feet
and work my way up
the slippery slope
a starved dog
…
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 8:54 PM UTC
I used to have a lot of bartender friends.
Even tipped them when I could.
Then I stopped missing her.
That girl I thought I had met in a former life.
That line works great by the way.
I used to know a lot of drug dealers on a first name basis.
Still do, I guess.
But I haven't memorized their numbers.
Everything's a distraction.
Still I prefer to hang around chefs.
Get in with them and you're set.
My ex used to say, "a good meal can be better than ***
I'd have to agree with her there.
In the long run,
if you calculate the cost of dinner,
***** endless packs of cigarettes,
diapers, engagement rings,
plan b pills, condoms, apology flowers,
razor blades, caffeine, kitty litter,
mortgage payments, and ****
doing the party's dishes
after gorging on some homemade
hueso de chuleton al chimichurri
is a lot cheaper.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 5:05 AM UTC
I bury into the memory foam with a
Strange boy's finger up my ****
Stubby white soldier,
Cherry ****
Phone off.
Lily- pads wind their way towards the bathroom
(pizza boxes, six pizza boxes)
"skip carefully towards the ****** stash
or else you'll sink...
they're under the sink
...uh, uhhh, come back and
sink your way in"
Welcome to the Bad Life Bingo!
Every hour is the end of the world,
There's nothing to play for
and no time to play it in...
...I am shaking off this dry truth
with a flannel that has seen better days.
My english tan is coming off
and nothing works.
He tries to light a joint in my bed
the zippo strikes three -
click - fzzzz
click - fzzzz
click - fzzzz
and you're out .
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
The invisible hand of supply and demand
Penetrated the ****** of every woman and man
No gloves, no **** no mercy, quite crude
Gracious for more 'cause it's for our own good
I looked back and noticed, despite myself
That it's not invisible, just invisibly manned
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
Since I became paralysed I've lost the will to use it
My instinct, my never say never, my last minute don't give a ****
now just a gurgle in a draining sink
I'd say to the wife, let's stay here, book a room, a night of passion,
not a care in the drop of a beat
Now I must pre-book, distinctly decide,
accessible doors and not to forget the supps, the **** and an inco sheet
The cage maybe open but the beast is still asleep,
only awoken by a blue pill for the night
A reliance now dependant on who signs the scribble,
paid for by the NHS and who's not feeling to tight
Are there steps and is it really going to be worth it
the struggle, the helping out and sometimes feeling like a useless ***
OK, so its not really that bad
I just emphasis the crap points that sometimes make me sad
But its a new way of life you really had better believe
to have back what I had before, yes I often do grieve
but there is no going back as it is what it is
keep your head up,
keep your heart strong and try and regain that lost fizz
JJB
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
I kissed someone's wife today.
It felt better than I wanted it to.
In my tiny bedroom,
the walls looked more beige than usual.
Martha laid beside me -- her idea.
Frames.
I didn't have frames on a couple posters.
Martha rested her head on my shoulder -- her idea.
Instead of putting up my clean laundry,
an **** of boxers, button-downs, and jeans took place on the floor.
Martha told me she liked her hair played with -- I didn't ask.
I left my cigarettes in plain sight
on top of a face down picture frame.
She slid my arm under her neck -- I couldn't be rude.
While she spoke of her husband watching cartoons,
I noticed **** (used during last week's *** with an ex) lying behind a couple beer bottles.
I put my right leg between her legs -- I can't help it if I'm a curious man.
When Martha pulled the blanket over our heads,
I hoped she couldn't smell my ex's perfume.
She let me run my fingers along her waistline -- she didn't tell me to stop until the fourth kiss.
Tributaries of mascara ran down her face.
Rivers of regret rushed out of her mouth.
I played out what would have happened -- had I not grabbed her, pressed my lips harder on the fourth.
"I'm not this kind of girl."
I told her things would be better with her husband.
Handing her a clean rag off the floor, she said -- "My life wasn't supposed to turn out this way."
I broke up the **** of clothes, grabbed an armful; made a beeline for the closet.
With a beautiful sound, a beer bottle broke as I passed by.
Martha's teary eyes saw the **** -- "What the hell were you planning to do?"
She slammed the door.
One of my unframed posters peeled itself off the wall and feathered to the ground.
Most of me felt cloudy, but I knew one thing -- she's got a good 50 years of marriage to go to spite me.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 1:51 AM UTC