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Judgson blessing Jun 2015
king Cophetua and Beggar Maid is inspired of the painting of Sir Edward Burne-Jones (1884 , England ) the painting run about an old legend of king that found that his love for Beggar Maid was greater than anything his possess : wealth and power . In that painting of Burne-Jones , the king Cophetua was moon stroke of the beauty of a Beggar Maid ,instead of her naked appearance in regard to this earthing consideration  , though he was allured by her state and deemed the Beggar Maid  would trade her natural beauty upon worldly elevation .But anemones was thrown about around the Beggar Maid standing . Anemone is the sign of refused love , to the king most astonishment and great deceit .Here lain the elevation of love above all thing consideration ; wealth , power and others .the painting also ran another significant meaning to Sir Edward Burne-Jones : its an undercurrent self resentments about chaos upon Frances Graham , a lady he was so devoted that got married one year earlier the painting .


What beauty , did behold a lady .
for what a fame completely shadowy.
lo, in dim recess of England a lady did dwell .
from head to toe a feature exquisitely so well .
her face is the panorama of crimson hue .
with dimple and frown so divinely imbue .
she is effigy of the culmination of word beauty .
peeping her through day long ; you will never feel thirsty.
all her face is settled in heavenly attire of smile .
for her possession of beauty is unique worldly simile .
her body had the mark of excellent work of art .
no nymph , no fairy could possess her frame impart .
princess of heaven ,celestial beauty of holy attire .
for your rendition of beauty a painter worship at your retire .
a smile ; radiant and blatant a devotion of all thing heavenly .
a couple of lips very in regular design , most delicate  work of father holy.
the short up turn of the upper golden lip in rosy glow .
with lower lip so justly fitted as lid and bowl .
nay it deemed the most work of legendary painter hand .
but now what a glorious gait of cadence did withstand .
where in remotest antique could we withheld such beauty ?
from head to toe all the feature luridly in unity .
little upwards the average height with magnificent bearing .
her arms and legs proportionally fitted in good caring .
the neck is culmination of adjusted rings darting as snake .
when she depart all her part spring like a dance at music .
slim and fitted with fitting body as a young mutated snake .
but i warrant all thing upon her hip jingling spring like .
her look naked you and everything with impure world .
well begrounded as reflex through giant mirror .
meeting with her personality is a kind of celestial discovery.
like discovery of a gold pit or gas gush in desert of misery .
she betoken of kind of aura that prevails peace .
but Beggar she was at her secluded place .
with a smile she attracts but beg worldly sympathy .
not a corrupted heart or soul she believe in the holy trinity .
what a beauty to wasted but in shameful mendicancy .
the sagacious spirited dimly alluded with grin .
for all the hole tandem dwelt but in rich lustrine .
the quantity is the mother of all pain and sin .
but chastity is holy devotion all in pure spiriting .
oh, what good for us if we just live in nothing but lust .
money, fame and other elevations are vile and endless lost .
pure beauty you behold with pure noble spirit .
rich or poor do only one thing :run away from ignominy .
the Beggar Maid was sitting upon her recess and shadowy .
lo, trodden king Cophetua back of horse of finely white garb .
and riding sat majestically ***** like state pole in richly parade.
perfume and the richness of articulation stole through and filled the momentum .
with guards and valet finely polite and alerted at the extremum .
what a cadence ! what a sight ! as heaven trotting herd .
but lulled in mostly attire and paraded mostly in gold .
with a look the purest radiant and the noblest ever been .
nothing but a grandeur and riches were what to be seen .
settled on horse so holy that was moved as not touching the soil .
king Cophetua trotted and commanded but with moderate majestic control .
beheld with the Beggar Maid that beauty was a heavenly allure .
halt he made and laid his feet on ground with real frantic gesture .
in obsequious and excess real gesture drove to his knees .
and held altogether ***** airy and up tall .
upon the King procession on his knees the Maid took on in respect.
with stature all slanted flat across the ground all beaming in light .
what grandeur or glory fitted before the Maid most alluring ?
nay,fame ,riches ,noble , power ,cunning nor learning .
all but are subjected and tamed ,transformed into nothing.
king Cophetua is a glory ,but pure beauty is holy not a thing stand pure beauty.
for the worship of our splendor is the betoken kind spiritually .
the Beggar Maid is a right down deprived and seemed a cursed sin .
but pure beauty beholds with pure resplendent holy garden .
what life led you through ?behold there is no wealth down here more your soul .
and you are diving in filthy abode and lamenting your spirit in foul .
nay, beauty keep out of lust and covetousness and preserve your spirit .
cause none ,but only you will stand when is the last verdict .

the maid garbed in silken attire float so soft and dainty .
king Cophetua in his mighty clad covered with gold is holy .
i seen you are a beauty , entreated he in lowest musical resonant voice .
and i deemed make you you the praise of my ever unique choice .
yet before God and before mortal i would worship you as holy throne .
the Maid as voice as lute and lyre sang but in sweet musical tune .
my King im as much obliged though unworthy servant of your kingdom .
all the honor is for me ,and upon my foil state is for me a bloom .
my honor is regardless said he ,i fain treat you as an equal .
now deign tell me what can i do to you cause i feel towards you loyal .
glory be to Lord !for you philanthropic reverence my Lord .
for i need nothing more but, 'give me today my daily bread '.
appalled but aghast upon the Maid humble and unequivocal demand .
he stretched ***** in mournful and sad air of command .
and took quite survey of the Maid that is nothing but pretty creature .
for his wildness dreams he never seen such purity upon his pasture .
yet abashed with the Maid demand ,a lesson of life of great enormity .
something somehow weird and unusual stroke him about the Maid personality.
but he restated once more i feel hearty and  kind towards you then .
you might tell me that you need in life now and then .
and sat ***** fancying himself of new pleasant answer .
oh King retorted the latter i had formulated my need .
for faith under and heaven above i have no greed .
nettled he settled his curled hair back thrown .
and so should it be as you but did deem .
and nothing but here receive a dime .
George C Jun 2013
It seems as if,
You only witness the death of time,
And fail to experience it

Making this mistake is horrid,
Watching death as it luridly kills
Everything,

No, Please

Encounter me
Black and white photo of horror in color
From a safe distance of many years
I luridly recall your details.

At the airport, I see your fearsome construction
I marvel at how it came together
And struggle to understand how and why, because
I couldn’t help then and I failed to help now.
Regret draws me closer.

Trespassing through a farm, stealing the earth
Late for work and malicious at birth
A hungry wind with a green sky calling card.
Darkening danger almost on top of us,
as dad watches from the garage
and we play in the front yard.
“Open the windows. . . get in the car!”

Only a few seconds to gain enough distance.

Our school, our home, our hands and voices
Couldn’t hold on or offer enough resistance
against the finger of God.

I couldn’t help then and what am I doing now?
Regret sweeps me away.
F5 tornadoes are sometimes referred to as the "Finger of God".  This emerged from research I did of the F5 tornado that struck Ruskin Heights (near Kansas City) in 1957.  I usually write these based on images of those storms -- to see that version, go to http://15038g62.blogspot.com/2011/09/finger-of-god.html
Susie Nuttall Apr 2013
No more time for pain.
Tear stains.
Or sobs.
Shrieks at the top of your lungs!
Frustrated fidgeting,
Or furious dialect.
The true depths of sorrow,
unreached yet,
Shall remain unexplored.

The heights of fury and rage,
Shall be another days venture.
(Or hopefully never).

Visions of disliked visages,
Traitorous touches torturing the thoughts,
Lustily leaving lover and friend
Twitching,
Writhing,
Boiling,
Melting,
Rotting,
And congealing into a puddle of humanity
at the knowledge of their philandering.  

Numbness sinks through the dermis,
Hiding hints of heartbeats,
Silencing skins sweet sensations.
Breathing,
But barely.

No time for sensation,
Emotion,
Expression,
Interest,
Thought,
Muttering,
Mentioning,
M­urmuring,
Meditating.

Reform some semblance of humanity.
No time for languishing,
Luridly,
Lethargically,
Liquefying.

Only enough time for a little poetry.
And then,
Hopefully,
Life.
Max Neumann Sep 2020
i live inside a bubble, fly with me into this bubble
life used to be a hustle, but it ain't anymore
gotta make summin' or gotta take summin'
come fly with me, my cubies are shining whitely

i reside on a planet which is full of whole ones
re'in up for all the phantoms, their fandoms
art nouveau balcony, bluely shimmering rooms,
you enter the hallway like dreams, embers in ya eyes

brother, i am all-night like owls, heavily religious
by the end of the day, i will be ******* the devil
we call that fly night, for everyone staying on it
luridly white marbles, everybody trippin', trippin'

our bubble is like frippin: frippin freely
and i'm skating through the garden, jeezy
today's my birthday: 500 peace of cake
my heart's racing, amg, i'll be waiting in the snow

fly with me, into this bubble, bubble
i wanna be higher than ever, higher
with me, there is no struggle, struggle
i'll take you with me, bubble, bubble, bubble

i'm praying, while i'm driving, and when 'm praying
i am thinking and i talk myself into a coma
raising in a 911, our bubble, bubble
stay with me inside that bubble, bubble

i am trustworthiy, since i been dealing with souls
but sometimes i freak out and jump out of my window
cause i read my palm lines and learned, when i'll die
so i grew myself a plumage, like birds, for our bubble

don't come lookin' for me, i'll be waiting in the snow
or under miami's sunset, nuns will be sinning
dem lyrics are for dogz, dem lyrics are for sinners
i want to come right now, just like a coup d'etat

cubies filled with magic, come into my bubble
the crowd is filling the castle and stars
are raining down, you close your eyes
you close your eyes, escaping into the night

fly with me, into this bubble, bubble
i wanna be higher than ever, higher
with me, there is no struggle, struggle
i'll take you with me, bubble, bubble, bubble
( I have posted this poem of mine on several different international poetry sites everytime there is a school shooting in the U.S as I care about all children deeply and feel for innocent lives lost.
This time in Uvalde, Texas, USA)

https://youtu.be/40KtlqpCN0I

TELLY TROUBLE AND DANGERS
What kids are watching on telly
are crimes and crimes in all variety!
Crimes of hate
crimes of passion
acting it out at shocking rate
thinking in some wild fashion
then ending up cell mates
TV can **** their compassion
Their coffins enter cemetery gates

When kids watch their movie heroes
shoot down people with the gun
they are incited to do the same
to achieve some thrill and fun.

When they see their very film star
slash someone's throat in a fit of anger
they think well of crimes of rage
and plunge everybody else into danger.

The tendency to portray the violent scene
luridly and shockingly on the Big Screen
Ah, even for the small screen, tis the gory
that makes for the dark and thrilling story.

Now that technology's long opened
this wily pandora's box,
the dispersal of amplified social ills
just ain't no hoax

The rowdy hoodlums and reckless gangsters
are simply by-products of Tv influences
The world watches the thriving of the bully-boy pranksters
passively in helpless terror of their offences.

It's all portrayal of the ******, the obscene
by that devious Silver Screen
And the horror movie
though it may seem groovy
begets the horrendous
and drills evil thoughts subliminally
into the subconscious!

Viewing those gruesome swashbuckling films
gives rise to morbid sadistic whims
Flipping through the TV channels just ponder
if the telly's the perfect channel
of information is it a proper panel?

Dad always tells me, 'fear ye the roaches' flicking antennae?
While you oughtta fear the influence of 'em' flickering images by dish antennae'.

It's an unrestrained dark faking
of real life reality exaggerating
Whether it's Bollywood in the East
or it's Hollywood in the West
they don't merely impart tactics of defence
but rather those of aggressive offence

Just verbal tougher gun laws couldn't halt
even underage shooting sprees
Rather it's stringent scanning of Tv content
and banning citizens from acquiring guns
that might make it forever cease

Parental supervision too tis gravely essential
should've been of parental code quintessential
So the next time you catch your youth or teen
absorbed and engrossed while glued to the screen
Just sleuth a bit just to make sure
that for the ******* he's not too keen!

Only a mere single merit that I dug
as I drank cappucino in my mug
that atleast one couldn't live in a bubble
daily watching this bubblebug.
https://youtu.be/MttSW45ren8
Lorenzo Soldera May 2014
There is a path.
Its rickety bridges dangle you over the jaws of despair;
I welcome the jagged teeth with pursed lips.
A planet does not choose its sun.
This diminutive island orbits obediently, tracing an oblong avenue
Around a heavenly beacon which burns at close range,
But protects from the uncharted perils of a frozen infinity
Beyond the horizons of our understanding.

Books.
Here they are seemingly as plentiful as stars in the great expanse.
For every one I read, there are a thousand more
That could pour out of my fingertips without warning.
Here on these shelves (and in my hands) are words –
Legions of ideas, cries for help, and declarations of the self –
Collecting dust to pass the time.
Bound by a spine, each page is a painting,
Or a singular brush stroke;
It depends where on the museum’s crisscrossing paths
We place it.
I am allowed to manipulate
These likenesses with my own unkempt paws.
I sift through each layer with great care.
Poised above my isolated figure is a cloud of silence.
Luridly dark, it threatens to immerse every shelf in its corrupting solitude.
My fascination decays into sorrow.
Curators grow weary.
Thick lenses become damp with labored breath.
A tomb of these words encases the regenerative key
Our depleted cityscape so desperately needs.
But the museum has not received enough submissions; funding is being cut.
Fingers spanning a soiled palm have grown tired of the dirt.
Limp breezes are now strong
Enough to disconnect them
Permanently
From the words that burn at close range.
They allow themselves to drift, because it’s easier.
It is cleaner, more “cost-efficient”.
Straying from the museums, we drift from realization (from reality, even)
Into delusions of creation and achievement.
Lo! How accomplished we are!
We, the Cash-Rich People of the Thought-Poor States,
In order to form a more synergized union,
Do downsize the words that disseminate from our digits,
Dutifully drowning them out with more rambunctious
Gurgles from our gullets.


Curators warned and a generation of disobedient phalanges paid no mind.
My feeble hands mold a clay cadaver, grooving oily prints into its hull.
This incoherent signature will fall perpetually unnoticed between the cracks.
No one is looking.
6 May 2014.

the fourth poem from the "Disclaimer" series.

© 2014 by Lorenzo Soldera. All rights reserved.
Butch Decatoria Nov 2016
He conjures conscience
constable of contrived control
pontiff in a pool of dogmas
commanding total touch
filigree lover, a shadow-figure
poses in folds of his focus
I am flush
He is the fury
Two isotopes fashioned for synergy's
ping-pong pleasing poetry
The poise
that invokes,
magic... Sticks and midnight
Strokes.

Magnanimously.

I try to bring love
as if it were the last remedy
in this, our irrelevant reluctance of relish,
our satin satire,

when we swell, swirl, swish
somehow we understand
kindled by this kink
kissed by kismet's lending allure
Luridly
He is the murk
Once I was the pure...

He stirs manx and mesh
a mint-tingle on my flesh
an open oyster
which offers black pearls
And quicksilver hush
Wrapped in a maddening shell
he is my guilty blush
I am his kiss and tell...
Rewritten from 2007 original.
Annie Jul 2017
Each heart
Is a spinneret
Her threads
Woven
Into an aortal retinue
    A glistening floss
    Iced white by the sun.

And each soul
A strand
And each strand
A connection
And each connection
Luridly stretching for miles.

No trowel can break
This web
And though the stands are different
Between your web and mine
They were spun by love
And because I love you
What is dear to your heart
Is dear to mine.
LuLu Jun 2012
Alone in my mind, heart and soul.........


Your name echoes
Through the streets
Dark and desolate
This is my mind

Your beautiful face
Resonates through pain
In an obscure fantasy
This is my mind

Your smile delights
The bleakest stairways
Secluded in fear
This is my mind

Your touch silently
Roams unnoticed
In the frozen corridors
This is my mind

I am oppressively tired
I have walked miles
Empty chambers of darkness
This is my heart

I am frigidly alone
Emptiness has stripped me
I am naked and feeble
This is my heart

I am emotionally frail
Pathetically opaque
Judgement has died
This is my heart

I am morbidly desolate
Exhausted and depleted
All feelings destroyed
This is my soul

I am luridly forsaken
By pain ravishing inside
Leaving nothing but darkness
This is my soul
Auntie Hosebag Jan 2017
Why did I do that?

Ego.  Lust.  Mystery.  Opportunity.
The lure of something new and untapped;
a scent unregistered, voice un-memorized;
inside jokes yet to be born.

Such a heady dervish dancing,
spinning, surrounding all that tiny life
I perceived as quite the opposite;
set in motion not so much by

the haunted eyes of the widow lady—
weaving once again well-worn epics
of her-story for an adoring audience,
luridly exploiting tragedy
for various personal gains—

but maybe by the way she stroked
that beer bottle while she spoke?

Without doubt, there were
other factors, but you were
never one of them.

I plead stupid.
Vain.
Shallow.
Self-absorbed.
Short-sighted.
Ridiculous.
­Unforgiveable.
Twenty-one.

For many years
I claimed, “If I make my mistakes
big enough I just might learn something”.

When I learned
there are no mistakes, recognized
my arrogance, gave up
to the universe, threw up
my hands and succumbed to the ride,
embracing my own sky...
all those times I’d thought of you
turned into stars raining
like tears of brilliant joy onto a black canvas,
formed overlapping constellations, and shone
like a *******.

Stars to wish on, stars
to navigate by, stars
to name on a starry night,
stars to twist into animal shapes
like a clown with long balloons—
and all those stars,
and there are more
than I can count—
settled forever in my heart
and cannot be dislodged.

Here I Iay on my virtual back,
atop my personal Alaska
dream mountain, on a summer
night deep as sin;
imagining you
laying beside me,
pointing out the brightest ones,
recounting the stories I’ve forgotten;
all those connections to you
twinkling overhead—
and I savor the
blessing of your
big bang smile
They loosed the moorings from Cala Cogone prematurely, when the tide seemed to be lifting over the separate lumps in the dews of the hailstorms, and on the head of the Cyclops distancing itself from its corporeal organism. On a lavish and romantic day, they went to Genoa, to continue with their travel logistics to Piacenza. During the displacement Etréstles was contemptuous in the prow under the Shemesh that seemed to be a fearsome specimen, before an embroidered intestinal being stirred in his own dream, perhaps more longed for than a dual itinerary. While they slept, at the helm Etréstles argued ringing dressed in his black cyclamen tunic, the comrades were also sleeping with their rhapsodic physiognomic dreams, coloring mutinous gestural jaspers, on some faded signs that were deteriorating.

A chimera of Etréstles: “His off-center memory of him ..., was still in Izzana, the capers rumbed through the pathetic clouds over the gray tulles, and the layers of the sky tried to stop being a reign emeritus for a prince without a crown. The paradisiacal layer "kyklámino stémma", was glimpsed melted in the scattered limestone Nuraxis, turning into sticky aeroliths agglutinated in the deployment of the Conjuration, laying the rye species in the jaws, and on the head of Vernarth himself. As they continued with their abstract journey, they remained to parade with the legal aid in his own mirage. He tells her that: "I see them beyond from where their ceremonies collide, they cross eroding the vanished reason of their itinerancy." They get up and take the ship's moorings and attach them to the neck. Then they all cooperate to walk along the edge of a tracontero's sooty ship, moving them all barefoot…, waking up at once! Vernarth, try to wake them up, shake them off, but they don't wake up. And when he tried to evade him from sleep, he saw that he had the ropes on his neck, along with two Unicorns who were escorting him and looking at the infinity of the uni-****** between them tied to infinity itself, supporting that Genoa was already coming in front of its antlers. The others began to wake up and ate reclined, almost without any desire to rasp the cover full of self-sliding and unctuous linen, which allowed them to pass each one their own aperitif from Apollo's head, surrounding them in their cohorts inclusively, being semi dissipated and rolling down the hatch cover. Etréstles transferred the dream to Vernarth, once he went to his bedroom to rest before they touched the roadstead. At the foot of the homonymous promontory, 36 km from Genoa; Portofino could be seen, close to some spiral planks that floated in their hydro form, with Apollo's eyes narrowed and circumscribed in the radius of his orbital process, with submerged herrings that frolicked from Apollo's zygomatic, and in the regional natural garden of Portofino. They found different entrance gates through San Rocco, Portofino Vetta, and Nozaregoino, entering with the agaves on the way with different levels of accessibility and auriferous perspective escape. The path traveled from northwest to southwest on the same promontory that was hidden, communing with all beauty the Mediterranean vegetation, with its beautiful pine forests, and bluish scrubs in the waters of the Mediterranean, filling them with itching lungs, and especially in the offshoots of the Kardiá , silencing the peaceful companions by the suggestive Natural adonis in the indigo abyssal eyes.

Vernarth wraps himself in two linen cloaks and a spárgana for Etréstles, then intervenes, eclipsing each of the Unicorns from his uni-******. They frank him with their antlers on their pectoral, loving him with the subtle hint of attachment that is born from a primal genesis. His gesture softened the expectation that crowned the Empire of his cohort, with the impetus of Arbela, and in the semi-precious Onyx Crowns in chalcedony ..., lightening the gavels of the semi-precious sleep that awakened them before reaching the shores of Genoa. The land in Genoa, all descend in separate fractions and say goodbye, distantly gesturing their signs and making retro gestures with their hands dressed in the mineral encrusted with their rapacity. The ramblings showed on multiplex-rays at the levels of a growling aura, which instigated them to the enclave's inn among the algae that levitated on the ear tags of the ducks, and of some ruminant bluish unicorns, to reinsert themselves into the world of the adjacent daily chores of the cornucopia. The ship luridly hovered in the indigo bay, where it spurred on the Unicorns that were returning back to Sardinia, positioning itself in the bow bulb and in the stern the other to lighten the sails and return to Izzana.

The Scarabaeidae sing: “The Vernarthian tenor of Kaitelka carried them behind her with another Ballenid, this one carried the Demiurge Ezpatkul, with his prominent Augrum or Gold teeth that turned on the backs of all the borer beetles, delimiting towards a dialectic, and paraphrase of a qualitative satirical, especially in the form of Vernarth's sub-mythological genre. The sacredness of the unicorns was the winner of all the dull fantasies, pretending to raise the rainbow over their senses, delegating them remnant spatiality from the growing infinity. To praise the hypothesis of this whale, she sang native arias and cephalization ultrasounds in Genova, where she continued to harmonize the media in her cranial cavity, and in the muzzles that reached the larger fins, transmitting waves of parapsychological regression towards Vernarth.
Codex XXI - Ultramundis Hegira to Patmos
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2019
higher crimes and misdemeanors,
the accusations are long and detailed
just like the poems I write

the sentencing, sneeringly sententious and luridly sensational,
your vocabulary confiscated
and imposed upon you a concision (ouch)
write only poetic-succinctly

when I cried out from the dock,
“innocent!
the words own me, not I them,”
the words, my jurors, snickered,
the fix was in,
and the sentence of hard labor,
a bad rap time indeterminate,
spent in a cruel and unusual
panopticon,
a punishment to fit the crime


no, won’t tell you what it means,

a private verbalist’s hell
3-31-2019
I want movies of Ava Cherry with no clothes on, lounging softly &
luridly, pulling me with Afro curly-cues on a **** trimmed torridly
as cool chick Sita Chan flies over a Hong Kong bridge discordantly
Walter Alter Aug 2023
Act 1
a notarized copy of this testament
is on file with my attorney
in case of my untimely earthing
by the invisible x-ray background
driving another stake through my bleeding heart
but back to our semiotically comatose narrative
The Eel king rips off Bobby's latex facade
at last I have you captive Bandwidth
Eel's eyes narrow a smile edges his mandible
Bobby's eyes gone wide with no exit
prepared to submit to his conspicuous doom
humid vistas from the Matto Grosso
panned luridly before his convulsing eyes
ars pharmacopia little muffin went Eel
the time has come for your loving torment
Bobby was dragged to the Cistern of Woe
by a busload of nuns from Santa Pudenda
and tied into one of Escher's inhibition pretzels
above a pit of staring human eyeballs
Bobby had a plan murky at first
but with a blurred urgency that unveiled
his guardian cosmetician's skin graft
from the last 3 alarm conflagration epic
it had finally healed abused and maligned
tho still on oxygen or was it toxigen
no one knew much less the narrator
too harried by Fate for detail work
but I digress to a distressing degree
Bobby stared into the cesspool of his mind
illumined now by a wan spark of hope
he would gambit judiciously
the ancient and terrible pherome defense
as the squish of rain forest footsteps
and little gasps of manual stimulation
graced with wanton overtones came closer
it was LeMona the Eel King's daughter
a beauty that all the aniline dyes in the jungle
could not extinguish in a waterfall's fog
marched with retinue straight up to Bobby
he was instantly and cleanly detrousered by
her wheezing steam engine of debauchery
within microseconds seconds her tongue
was down his throat to the car park
he heard the bell in her navel ringing
and went limp like a doomed weasel
in the talons of a swooping Mongolian bercut
the Eel King became visibly ill humored
contain your infantile carnality
mischievously insistent pride of my *****
(to be continued)

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon
Travis Green Feb 2023
I wanna feel his blissful irresistible heat
Feel his immaculate savvy mantasticness
His badass smashing attractiveness
Fold me in his confident, charming arms
Let me touch his lush self-made chest
His crash-hot glossy abs
His statuesque strapping biceps and triceps

Wrapped up in his rare thrashing magicalness
Such ecstatic systematic ravishment
How he sweeps me off my feet
And fills me with rich unequivocal passion
Carry me to the most exalted paradise
Allow me to delight in his deliciously
Idyllic and intriguing invitingness

So strong, so unconquered, so lucid and true-blue
Inconceivably bewitching masculinity
I fall hard into his flaming red machoness
Gawk into his coffee-brown eyes
How they send me into distant transcendent lands
Where his sensually refreshing manliness
Has me bound to his **** treasured manliness

I am so weak in his mercilessly tenacious grip
When our sweet sleek physiques meet
When he controls me with his impressive robust muscularity
I feel so intoxicated when he embraces me
When he takes me down effortlessly
Make me feel the moistness of his luridly luscious form
Make me moan his name over and over again
No matter yours truly
(potential rising star -
analogous to ascending yeast)
bred for easy street
life of po' witless
mendicant nimbly,

pointlessly, and rhythmically
shuffles (think *****)
along his poetic little feet
garden variety beastie boy
aimlessly, fortuitously, halfheartedly,
and mindlessly follows

one after another backstreet
revisiting, reminiscing, and relegating
lofty mollycoddled station bittersweet
birthright fame and fortune
teasingly did greet

finding twenty first century hobo
shack hulled with poverty
(think dirt poor),
I shoe cannot defeat,
which accursed fate socked yours truly,

where one after another failure did beat
once unassailable esprit de corps
near ready and willing to meet
exalted, fabled, gilded... seat
but woeful naiveté tricked with deceit

mine childlike innocence dripping effete
characteristics easily swindled for Pete
sakes since... young manhood, now wizened
old looking schnorrer marveling,
imagining, envisioning aggregating riches

coaxing, forming, hatching...
liaisons particularly romantically discrete
lavishing untold money during heat
of passion oblivious,
how ingénues with sweet
enticingly, ineluctably, luridly, beckoned

eventually no exit and other ploys
playfully blindsiding me with
one after another promiscuous tweet
barricades no exit wrought
with razor wire and concrete.
Travis Green Aug 2022
Flamboyantly freshalicious fella
I dig your big sick stick
So deliciously gripping
So phenomenally jaw-dropping
Possessing great unadulterated captivatingness
Brand your elegantly effervescent manfulness in my mind

Overpower my strikingly sublime slight
Devour my force of life
With your contagious breathtaking embrace
Let your hands hunt down every sparkling soft spot
On my lithe warm body
Part out my luminous translucent frame

Make me concede to your mad steezy litness
Feel and seize my moistened concealed center
Pour your fiery inviting machoness into my body
Stretch the walls of my structural singular geometry
Electrically excitable divineness
Leave me thirsting for more
Of your luridly undestroyable glory

Deliver consciousness-expanding sensations
To my submerged mind
Push your bulletproof pumping pulchritude
In my bag of luscious goodies
Let me taste your majestic, supple lovingness
Drift into your mystical elliptical expanse
Of intriguing ****-hot bewitchery
Travis Green Feb 2023
I wanna settle down
In his powerful, towering mantuary
Serve his flashy spectacular rareness
Comply with his wicked system
Of erotically red-hot laws

Marvel at his blossoming
And eye-popping body
How his slick, brick-solid pecs steal the show
My dramatic jacked lad
I wanna grove on his smoothness

Let my hands peruse the sensual surface
Of his bold noteworthy abs
Stroke his raw, macho backside
Taste his sweet tight manhole
Massage his jaw-droppingly enthralling walls
With my long, skilled fingers

Drown in his bright, appetizing delights
Devour his warm, mesmerizing insides
Listen to his wild enticing moans
The more I conquer his tightness
Spread his *** cheeks

Open him up more and more
Take my time to tantalize
His dreamy manly entrance
Romance him to perfection
Undress his submerged mind

Make relentless supreme love
To his remarkably overarching machoness
Smoke his emotions
Travel deep into his luridly alluring forest
Of marvelous, mysterious magicalness

Worship his eatable irresistible treats
Make it my top priority to seize
And please his creamy concealed secrets
Make him grit his teeth and bear it
Slobber all over it, lick it like scrumptious whipped cream

Inhale his sagacious salacious captivatingness
Sniff his smooth, fragrant hairs
Drive him highly insane
Keep him occupied
With my fiery spellbinding action

Bite into his tight muscular ***
Allow him to feel my formidable translucent teeth
Freak his completeness
Sign my name all over his splendidly stupendous backend
Spend minutes without end sinking into him

Meander into the freshalicious
Headline-worthy elements
Of his substantially enamoring manfulness
Keep on eating his yummy youthful *****
Demolish his saucy kissable hotness

So sweet and deliciously intriguing
I wanna be ***** deep in his hyper-hot hypnotizing heat
Solace his top-notch **** socket
**** his long, super strong pipe from behind
Lather it with my astonishingly hot spit

******* it, charm his dope dome
Render him thunderstruck
So lovestruck and sauced up
Envelop him in my heavenly luscious seductiveness
Make him melt with my every supple, mellow touch

Make him high while my mouth
Collides with his divine dynamite crown
****** ******* into his slipperiness
That sends shivers everywhere
On his radtastically flabbergasting architecture

Let my tongue run up and down
His velvet monolithic pump handle
Get him in the groove with my gayness
Allow my flaming fire-red passion
Course through his core

Whisper soft words in his ear
Kiss him immensely
Bewitch him, eclipse him, feel him deeply
Be his unbelievably exotic speed
****** his soul with my savage *****

Send him to the moon and back
With my banging head game
Suffuse him with my inexpressibly keen and tempting spice
Cause him to have a mind-boggling eruption
Of honeyed hot ***** as I digest every drop of it
Sanctified and starry-eyed,
I thought I could have bad thoughts
and still sit dauntless
and debrided
on my mighty throne of miseries.

I thought I could pocket poison
and still polish my poems
with punch-drunk hands,
still bleed revere into the wide-open
unbearable,
still beg for big words to break
the uncanny uncertain,
still dance with a demon in a moth-eaten skirt,
still giggle like a new tango for your ballroom
brainwaves and barricades.

I thought my gaze could pin
your fancy and fury to my wrist,
let the rapture steal through the window,
burn down your pretense,
your pathological provocations,
and find us intertwined and divine.

Lovelorn and luridly-lit,
I thought I could spin you
to a dizzying depth of sirens and stars,
diffuse the bomb in your mouth
and be the ballast
for your throbbing, cracking heart,
your writhing wilderness,
your wretched wreckage.

I thought I could buck up-
brush my hair,
and rose-blush my way through
your strange dark and
your winding labyrinth;
the coiling curse
of your unquiet heart.

Jilted and jagged-pricked to the quick:
I thought I could be the saint of your history,
the angel of your archives,
the verses you could not flee,
the name you could not outrun.

I thought the city I built could outlast
your spite, I let you burn bridges
while I slept under them,
collect your sharpest flares,
your longest shadows,
and postmarked daggers,
then drown them in my last-resort lullaby.

The flames I stoked could do the dying for you,
and the sky I swore to keep
would not fall for you like I have.
I thought I could find the key to your riddle
and wear it like a necklace,
we lose our thread,
then find it as matching knots on our wrists.
It’s really not that hard to be
the answer to your own question,
you just have to know what to ask.
May 2024
Walter Alter Aug 2023
his eyelids conclude why bother
manacled they led him away
to the red beating heart of their city
in his mud brick cell they tried everything
cattle **** fire hose blow dryer
ineluctable forces of nature
now there are wires in his head
his neo-cubist portrait
ended up on bags of dog food
have you seen this child
we make too many monsters
for the safety of this planet
a petting zoo of pretty spiders
eager to charm uneager to learn
ever-ready to change the subject
claiming that this is the normal milieu
leaping from euphemism to euphemism
preconceptions luridly arrayed
detour around the temple kids
there’s mobsters in heaven
they don't tell you that but it is true
they run the gambling arcade of faith
the will he or won’t he tables
it should be clear by now that
prayer does not ward off plague
even for the willfully superficial
should we all be capable of greatness
or blind credulity you decide
behold the broadly entangled universe
in all its partly comprehensible splendor
the design that stuns with perfection
and then kills you so slowly
that your DNA begins to tell you
how when and what to think
it couldn't be more or less blatant
drifting in the eddies of a potential thing
in which the big impossibility happened
at least we know how to know more
stray as you wish into the arms of beauty
and rub against her silks and furs
make her mumble the irony the irony
her paranoia may be an entrance
but live for today is a sham
and a shuck and a jive
because tomorrow always comes
this is a mathematical given
the human condition
used to be specified as lost
now at least it’s curious

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Veni May 2018
I hate everything
I hate everybody
All my feelings wants and needs
Always get disregarded
I hate people
I hate love
I’m too cold hearted
That doesn’t mean I want anyone to die
That’s doesn’t mean I don’t want world peace
Just cause my heads always down doesn’t mean that someday I don’t wish to look up.
That doesn’t mean I inflict pain upon others.
God created me full of love
I hate it .
A painful shrine of my soul
In its humility, I digress
Why love when it gives you pain
Loves entice is sweet but the illusion is even sweeter
Ignorance prey
Luridly innocent
I hate that nothing is real
I hate that everything is fake
I hate that
it’s nothing
but pain
with every breath I take
I bow my head and close my eyes
And wait for God to make me fit for the skies
No more sorrow
No more cries
No more deceit
No more sighs
No more hate
No more me.
I hate everything
And now I hate myself too
I hate my heart
The burning is long overdue
I close my eyes to picture a brand new start
Giving my heart away; piercing my soul
I wish my mind and body to part.
To find peace
To find me
To find the God that loved and created me
Only He who understands a crying soul
Maybe when he calls my name
then I’ll feel like gold.
Expressing my emotions without soaking in them. #GROWTH #hope #overcomingdepressiongracefully
I want movies of Ava Cherry with no clothes on, lounging softly &
luridly, pulling me with Afro curly-cues on a **** trimmed torridly
Travis Green Sep 2021
I can’t do anything without you, the starry glow in your eyes
The pleasant poetry under your eyelids, your pristine cheekbones
Dreamy moonbeams over your luridly lovable lips and beard
Feel your smooth forehead, how beautiful you are to me

I want to travel deeper into the darkness with you, embrace your Elegance, your youthful, blissful bright face and shimmering trimmed Hair, the wings of your limbs, the city’s celestial cadence strumming In your heart, the night poems written on your ebullient canvas

I wish to watch you undress under the fluorescent lights, take everything In – hard handsome chest, powerful pythons
Gunned up arms, abalicious that makes me so absessed
Smoking thick thighs, long muscular legs, and large feet

I want to stay up all night with you, listen to the enthralling
Call of the jubilant blue seas capture us in its astonishment
The true green algae, the kinetic kelp, the silken seagrass
That pulls us to the ocean floor of euphoria to make love forever
Travis Green Aug 2022
Your splashy masculine *** appeal
Sheathes me in your sensuality
Wraps around my feminality
Sparks my senses, entrances my dimension
With your incomparable and distinctive tenderness
Striking and endearing machoness
Expressive majestic freshness

Your profound and appealing smell
Has me carried away
With your beloved sculpted body
I am bounded to your blessed bearded beauty
Top-notch ****-hot marvel

You are a luridly flaming forest
Abounding with lush, wild wonder
Unsurpassable crackerjack magic
Peerless domineering rareness
Mountainous crushing muscleman
I am waist-deep in your finesse and sweet nectar

I am incapable of functioning
When you encase me in your lustful supple seduction
Speak so radically slick and ****** to my vessel
Make me sweat, lose myself in your triumphant crunkness
Breathing sizzling hotness down my neck
You make it impossible for me to contain my flame
When you galvanize my domain with your ungovernable game
Travis Green Sep 2022
So luridly fantastical and crash-hot superstar
So heavenly and delectably edible
So impressive and treasured
The most magical and swagtastical hot boy
Rippling well-muscled lover
Kinetically keen and kissable
Irrepressible fully-fledged heavenliness

Being in your proximity
Carries me away to infinity
Marveling at your luscious clean-cut beard
Disarming dolphin blue eyes
Your angelically entrancing style
Hypnotizes my unconscious mind
Your seductive muscle-bound framework
Flabbergasts my inner world
Exerts compelling influence on my existence

You deconstruct my sexually beckoning construction
You compose dopeness on the rainbow walls of my heart
You perplex my mindset with your sagacious valiant smile
So mentally enchanted I am, laying lovestruck
In your brutal, broad, and brawny arms
Face to face in open space, you kiss me
With your juicy lewd lips
Make me burst into fiery superheated sparks
Fraught with high-quality saucy wonderment
Travis Green Aug 2020
I love the structure and composition of a male’s body,
the hypnotic curves and angles, the sheer
symmetry filled with great rhythms and skills,
glowing geometry, their smooth toned shoulders
and beat bulging arms, their statuesque backs flexing
flawlessly, enthralling my heart, every sway
of their hips so amazingly appealing, sugar sweet
lips made for kissing, diamond shining eyes
like the stars hovering in the blackened blue sky.
The feel of their muscular magic hands,
so wonderfully ecstatic, passionate, a gust
of uncontrollable love intensifying, my heartbeat
sparked, sifting in the enchantment of hot
and naughty men.  There is so much paradise
and peace in their astonishingly rich physiques,
so much authenticity, creativity, dexterity,
and flexibility flowing through their veins,
swirling sea of delicious degrees, flavor fragrant
scents of all kinds drawing my rainbow soul
into their luridly lush oceans of sunshine poetry,
melodic muscles, beauteous bridges rising
and brightening like the thriving moonlight
in the nighttime bliss.  My soul lives
in the spectacular kingdom of thrillingly  
magnificent men, in the blossoming trails
of their grand glittering landscape, in the elegant
spaces of their celestial craft, colossal consonants,
masculine metaphors multiplied with stately
similes, totaling breathtaking dreams
and transcendence.  I want to explore
the world of golden glowing men, seep
in their hidden secrets, so deep within the
softest spots of their homeland, feeling
their sensual breath blowing on my sauna
flesh, their fluid fingers tiptoeing
upon my excited and wild chests
and shoulders, a chamber of dazzling
desire, a wealth of pleasurable chemistry
and energy in synchronicity.  I am dangerously
in heat, charmed by their vigorous vessels,
their delectable segments and infinite
derivatives, enhanced integrals, vibrant
velocity and opulence, tremendously fine men
dripping with razzle-dazzle, brick blasting *****,
superbly made, powerfully veined *****,
an endless mountain of possibilities,
a volcanic explosion of ecstasy mesh
with tantalizing vibrations, so hip and ripped,
a steaming engine of amplifying smoke
reaching high depths.  Tonight, I am lost
in the resplendence of men, how they hold
so much supremacy and independence,
inventiveness and munificence, the magic
magnifying in their abs, a creamy craving dream,
a mouthwatering galaxy, full of burning verbs
and poetic lines, dynasty stanzas, planetary
perfection, men of many nationalities, men
of many shapes, sizes, and height, a mind-blowing
museum of worldwide masterworks.
In my lone, apocryphal infancy I happened upon Mithra (including trivialities Mithraical) & lordly Jesus (plus trivialities Jesus Christical). I dreampt that together, in scope (& in character), we could complicate the complexities of complexes; we could complicatedly explore the complexes within complexities; within complications yet without complexions...Oh, I'm eating yogurt. Nothing fazes me, the stays & hanging delays. So, I'm eating yogurt. Nothing by phase fazes me, the stops, quick jerks & delays. For holy ****'s sacred sake I need to yell at decaffeinated coffee personnel during to-day's abbreviatedly-prolonged coffee break.
   I recall your nether hair as wavy, welcoming more sea men than the U.S. navy. ~  "Hi," I said to the man with the gun whose wife weighed one-fifth of a metric ton. She's rotten to the core grown from seed, just like my chihuahua after he's peed. I wiped you up below the wet spot for the fire chief as you're all he's got. Play it simple. Play it easy. Pay me by schedule fee Y or fee Z. I can't stop you, from wearing just 1 shoe. You're more dumb than you are stu-pid, as you'll wear a diaper for a week after you've pooped it. ~ "Take care," I cautioned the **** unaware as I ran a curling iron through his *******'s hair. With this neck brace I draw a fractured line good, as my pole is harder than a ship's bow line of pine wood that points 10 times straighter than ever mine could. ~ When you brush your teeth with Pepsodent, your ***-burns feel like no ***-burning accident. ~ Dear God, my ungodly losses have defeated my wins, because skinny-*** Jesus burned on the cross for our stinking sins. In the ring a boxer can lose his stuffin's, like run-aways lose to ****** pimps their tight clam, cherry-red muffins. I rest my love for flowing synovial fluid's fluidity on the shores of olympical trial lakes & amateur activity among destitute bums, hobos, tramps & humbugs as my partners in crime have forever been raunchy Tupac's queerly-tattooed thugs. My plea is no apology you unhooked, snaggle-toothed *****, because my *** is stairwell-inclined to market a luridly-commercial twitch. It's the jollity, mirth, hilarity, frivolity, merriment, good cheer & glee that turns my skin tone more jaundice than a Frisco China man's ***.
Travis Green Sep 2020
I want to get lost in your heatwave,
feel not so safe in your space as you
consume my breaths with your burning
brown lips.  I want your hands gripped
on my neck, gliding down my shoulders
and chest, your luridly long arms around me,
engulfing me in your reckless ride.
I relish your wholeness, the magical
places that you take me, the never-ending
oceans that I cross to enter your marvelous
resort, your spotless Courtyard by Mariot.
You make me want to go into overdrive
and feel you in between my thighs, listen to
your ****** moans as you plunge your chocolate
pipe in my wet chamber.  I long for your hot head
to caress in places that need some ****** healing
and loving, to feel you and be so susceptible,
sinking in your masculine empire, your frequency
rummaging through my realm, sparking
every vein in my babelicious body.

— The End —