"masseuse" poems
Barefoot as she'd left her sandals on the beach. Her tight sundress barely concealed the sight of her ******* her smooth flat stomach, and tight *** As her skin glowed under the moonlight, She looked so alive, so **** and so ready. Her short hair danced in the wind. Her dress shimmered in the breeze as if it was silk dancing in the sky. He moved down her body, with my eyes, like the hands of a skilled masseuse touching every inch of her existence. His gaze wrapped around her like a belt, holding his attention.
Jan 11, 2023
Jan 11, 2023 at 9:35 AM UTC
~explaining light to the blind~
~for Suzy~
the insanity of even attempting
who among us, the sighted,
has the capability to clarify
an animate inanimate,
an untouchable invisible,
that can be folded, bent,
travel universes unseen
at its own chosen speed,
even to another sighted
and to the blind...
imagine then light
as something that
be recognized from the inside only with
in- sight
~***think of the continuum from
warmth to steel furnaced heat,
that is an element of what is light,
the sun cheek kissing, the furnace of chests
when you grasp another’s body first time
think of light as water,
the faucet spigot a measured pouring,
that can overshoot, the stream behind the house,
a toe tickling masseuse caress,
a dam’s waterfall endless crashing,
a sea, wave licking sudden raging dangerous
blend these sensations that belong to all,
and you’ll know light better than most,
indeed, light is for those who cannot vision
except from the inside with a sight that can be
touched, felt, imagined, and which the sightless
command better than us ordinary thoughtless
indeed light is as simple to understand as
abc,
which you have never seen, but creates the words
that we all
use
even share***~
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 6:34 AM UTC
It's like this, and then there was total recall. Fast like a safety plan made wrong and then bouncing in and out all the way down the hall. Up through cable cars, Korean fast food market, wet fish, soupy street, concrete cracks filled with crab meat and **** heads. Just a square, a five block, two street, sideways quadrangle, beat of the Tenderloin, hour of the dove. Every one's dead on these loose ends. Hills of the back of her backside, skin of the back of her neck. Rapture is the grave of the sunset, memory is that thing that I said.
No one cans in carnivores, no one runs moves like a shepherd. Sunday, daft as candy, luck in the ways of the prophet. Canon of the blaze of every woman that died today. The sleep setting, the motorcycle bending the hollow, the ravines noisy interlude, up through the rough and the tangles, huddles in a six pack, three or four walking up the block to meet the rest of them.
The skin doesn't fit right, it wears wrong, the shoulders stiff, the masseuse excuses himself. Buckets of flowers hang from the ceiling like stripped cat christmas decorations in suburban mastermind serial killer resort town. Everyone is quiet because they gotta. They move their feet like they were hurrying death into a red volcano, like they were the errand of red from the top bell to the bottom of the town.
I sit on a roof top, baking in the noon day sun. Stripping sticks and stems off the side to sideways, just roasting away, laying, low in the afternoon light. I see a girl with her hands on her skirt, wobbling, scooting a priest card on a periwinkle terra-cotta. I move my head, turn it upside round to take a better look. No one counts to ten when they see me. The gangster that woke up isn't the gangster that went to sleep last night. My wickedness ended my words mean your bright decay. So I ride the pavement exhausted, burying my coughs in an L-shaped arm
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
Don't be fooled.
I don't woo with words.
I don't woo with actions,
Either.
No, I am too much of a novice.
My intention,
Intended,
To release these tensions
Intensified by the cloud
Of tense living.
In tensions with no spa,
No relief,
No massage,
No pedicure,
No manicure
To calm them.
Ever wondered
Who masseurs
The masseuse?
I don't wonder.
I know.
No one.
Intending
To untensify
The tender
Tendencies of
Tenacious living,
The tenders of
Untended flesh
Relieve your tensions
With no intentions
of receiving intended returns.
They take your tensions
With only intentions
To leave you intense
In the freedom of life.
Meanwhile fragile tensions
Tend to rend them,
Causing trouble and strife.
Feel relieved.
They are in tension,
Don't worry about
Giving attention.
You weren't going to anyway.
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 3:20 PM UTC
Even amongst purple walls
adorned in maudlin posters and prints,
drawings and postcards of exhibitions,
I see your glint in the corner of my room.
Inactive grey body with a head of rubber,
waiting to be powerfully silver,
but innocent, you persist.
You tell me my back is sore again-
and all you wish to do is relieve it.
Persistent innocence.
I'm working on a final essay, and you are knocking,
at my limbs and everywhere but where you want to
really go.
Innocence, you persist.
Dark and threaded to the outlet, you are ready
to apply the pressure needed for tension release.
Mocking, teasing, tempting.
*That essay isn't going to do itself,
but I know someone who will.*
Writing this ode,
is my act of rebellion against you,
but you know I long for the shaking
the rapture,
the center of my pleasure
encapsulated in your interchangeable
concentration.
But I have to unplug you.
Life is too impatient.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
[Justin Vernon - Bon Iver: Sample From "Woods"]
I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind
I’m building a still to slow down the time
I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind
I’m building a still to slow down the time
I‘m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind
I’m building a still to slow down the time
[Hook 1 x2]
I’m lost in the world, I’m down on my mind
I’m new in the city, and I’m down for the night
Down for the night
Said she’s down for the night
[Kanye West - Verse 1]
You're my devil, you're my angel
You're my heaven, you're my hell
You're my now, you're my forever
You're my freedom, you're my jail
You're my lies, you're my truth
You're my war, you're my truce
You're my questions, you're my proof
You're my stress and you're my masseuse
Mamasaymamasamamakusa
Lost in this plastic life
Let's break out of this fake *** party
Turn this in to a classic night
If we die in each others arms we still get laid in our afterlife
If we die in each others arms we still get laid, yeah
[Hook 2]
I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind
(Run from the lights, run from the night)
I’m building a still to slow down the time
(Run for your life, Down for the night...)
I’m lost in the world, I’m down on my mind
I’m new in the city, and I’m down for the night
Down for the night
Said she’s down for the night
(Run from the lights, run from the night)
[Bridge]
Who will survive in America
Who will survive in America
Who will survive in America
[Hook]
[Gil-Scott Heron]
Us living as we do upside down. And the new word to have is revolution
People don’t even want to hear the preacher spill or spiel
Because God’s whole card has been thoroughly piqued
And America is now blood and tears Instead of milk and honey
The youngsters who were programmed To continue ******* up
Woke up one night digging Paul Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys
America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes
The signs of Truth were tattooed across our often entered ******
We learned to our amazement untold tale of scandal. Two long centuries buried In the musty vault, hosed down daily with a gagging perfume
America was a ******* the illegitimate daughter of the mother country
Whose legs were then spread around the world and a ****** known as freedom, free doom. Democracy, liberty, and justice
Were revolutionary code names that preceded the bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling in the mother country’s crotch
What does Webster say about soul?
All I want is a good home and a wife
And a children and some food to feed them every night
After all is said and done build a new route to China if they’ll have you
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
take a vacation from ur vacation;
sit around in a silk robe; order a
masseuse & call a friendly dealer;
get a mani-pedi; smoking *** &
watching soap operas [I'm not in
right now - call me back Monday]
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 7:42 PM UTC
The young woman struggled,
she pushed and bore down.
She was covered in sweat
when they first saw the crown.
The doctor, with forceps,
Tried to coax the newborn
Into the light from the
womb dark and warm.
What came next was amazing,
a wonder to see.
The obstetrician so shocked
He nearly dropped the baby.
A cute baby boy-
There no cause for alarm-
and his miniature wings
Merely add to his charm.
This cuddly cherub
hovered feet off the ground.
The umbilical cord
All that kept him earth bound.
His wondering mother
Was clearly perplexed,
For none of her lovers
had been winged’ sexperts.
True, one was named “Angel”,
her Swedish masseuse,
but, apart from good hands,
he’d been of little use.
Perhaps that old goat
With the lengthy Greek name
Who muttered “by Zeus”
Every time that he came.
Not that it much mattered
Not here or not there
Still there’s no denying
Her boy’s got a pair.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 8:00 AM UTC
The young woman struggled,
she pushed and bore down.
She was covered in sweat
when they first saw the crown.
The doctor, with forceps,
Tried to coax the newborn
Into the light from the
womb dark and warm.
What came next was amazing,
a wonder to see.
The obstetrician so shocked
He nearly dropped the baby.
A cute baby boy-
There no cause for alarm-
and his miniature wings
Merely add to his charm.
This cuddly cherub
hovered feet off the ground.
The umbilical cord
All that kept him earth bound.
His wondering mother
Was clearly perplexed,
For none of her lovers
had been winged’ sexperts.
True, one was named “Angel”,
her Swedish masseuse,
but, apart from good hands,
he’d been of little use.
Perhaps that old goat
With the lengthy Greek name
Who muttered “by Zeus”
Every time that he came.
Not that it much mattered
Not here or not there
Still there’s no denying
Her boy’s got a pair.
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 7:59 PM UTC
Charles ate a Rocky Mountain
oyster shell from the spleuchen
of a bee resting on a bed plate,
but then fell asleep.
Glandular curvulas search for
the meaning of life;
to **** and be ****** by the nerve centre.
Clooties of the Yellowstone national park
make regretful decisions, that lead to excessive
crying, and dry/wet heaving for
MTV'S SPRING BREAK BLAST:
The ending is on pp.22 featuring beam rays
telltale sign of stirless beaches and nights irritating
my irritatory sun causing me
to
fumble
from the letter shape of my family tree.
Quintessentially, but not really, reptilians smiled
to eat sour investment of telltale
signs of testicular cancer,
while sending SMS messages to
acquaintances blabbering
"Come over and watch a movie ;)"
and gloating of recently acquired masseuse skills.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
A fortnight ago an Algerian masseuse anointed each note of my joints,
spread thumbed cursive over my shoulders and
back around to my chest;
she spelt out how I'd be shivering now knowing you were leaving.
And last week you led me to an acupuncturist where he said,
Rob Frost had quit his job on point duty to become a receptionist instead.
I knew it was ******** by the way you barked in the background.
I knew it was wrong from the rumble through the stud wall,
sound of timpani, of gusto's drawl ringing in my ears:
the resonance of windfall if saved 'in the best ISA for years!'
This has been the best February since records began
and I thank you for being a friend.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
High school was the peak of your ecstasy high.
High school was coming down, and needing the coke to feel fine.
High school was floating in space--
'Cause ****** was massaging your brain.
Like a masseuse,
But like any good masseuse
they kneaded out your knots, and your neck became inflamed.
High school was all that.
The greats and the awfuls of every electric event.
You never felt the equilibrium
We were always at full max or the lowest minimum.
Temporary bipolar,
That's what we called it.
Temporary bipolar.
High school; we ******* felt it all.
The times Mary Jane showed us the moon
The times we were all sad and danced in my room.
Nobody knew it but Air baby and Alien and Fire baby too,
We were all in a war;
Well, not me.
I simply watched and kept my foot in the door.
So that to never let it close forever
So that to keep everybody together.
like when we hugged and became one
That was when everything was good,
When we no longer felt like the past was erased and our present had won.
When hugs didn't intermingle with the word resentment.
When kisses didn't intermingle with the thoughts of coerced ***
When WE hugged we were in an empty white room.
Together yet so alone.
In high school there were secrets,
And when we were all there together hugging and dancing in my room,
We were one;
And nobody even had to know
that fire, air, and water were about to explode and come undone.
High school was Lester leaving town,
And injecting anxt into the walls of my house.
High school was forgotten elevator rides next to police officers,
And middle aged women having drinks and making an offer.
Im gonna make him an offer he can't refuse,
sock on the door and it's off to bed.
High school was being afraid to break a boy's heart, and dreaming of another home.
High school was leaving early from a party to let him cry on your shoulder.
High school was food left on the plate and narcissistic mirrors.
High school was cigarettes burning holes in relationships and the number four controlling people's lives.
High school was us being so real it almost felt fake,
High school was seeing how many pills you could take.
Up up into the clouds was where we always were,
Because in high school,
That was better than being anywhere.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
She's my everything.
The maid holding my hand in loneliness,
The masseuse massaging me in tiredness,
The path-shower with candle in darkness.
She's so magically young.
The angel materialized into my life by chance,
The angel that waves her wand in my tension,
The angel smiling & making my world shine.
She's my everything,
She's so magically young,
(: My young angel smiles & my world shines so bright. :)
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
i do believe that kissing has been labeled a sin by the vary people who over-sexualized it in the first place;
two lips
brushing
pushing
rubbing together like the skilled hands of a masseuse on another person's bare back.
like painting my nails
or watching baseball
or wanting cherry flavor instead of grape
my want to kiss
another person
male or female
is a desire of the flesh:
a sin against God.
how do i discern the the good from the bad?
this must be why religious people go to such extremes, live in such strict communities, allow themselves to be enslaved by a culture created generations before they were born.
they are confused.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC
And at my new job I am the manager-in-training.
In French it is
“Responsable en formation”
Or as I would say,
Responsible information.
However, I was not responsible in gathering my information.
During my interview, I said masseuse.
Turns out that is heavily connotated and maybe even denotated as a *** word.
I asked if it was the French ending
He said, “No, it’s the happy ending”
Maybe French is only **** because of how much is escapes me.
The opposite reason is why death was never **** to me
because of how much I escaped it
Maybe death finds
Me
****
And Anyway I got the job
And a month later my boss gave to me a T-shirt that said
your table is ready
At first,
Instead of a massage table,
I thought it was a stretcher
And I laughed
I wonder what that means
“You could have died” “you almost died” “it’s a miracle you’re still here”
“we’re /glad/ you’re still here”
Are words I often hear from my doctors
who almost always meet with me pro bono because I am poor, but also interesting
Medically
But they are not words I hear from my mother
Those are the words she saves to give to her 90-something mother-in-law
I say 90-something not because I am careless or inattentive, but because my grandmother Adeline lied about her age so often in her youth, that both she and the government forgot her actual age
The words my mother gives to grandma J upset her.
She is tired of living
Asked all of us to pray for her death
Asked my brother in law to be “to help her get to heaven tonight”
Said “I know you can help me get to heaven tonight” presumably because he works for the cook county coroner's office.
He is a man so jaded that he sometimes can only laugh on the job when he sees particularly trite Chicago suicide notes:
To be fair, he’s not cruel
It is usually when it is something
Like
“you either die the hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain”
Anyway, it made him cry when old Addie asked that
and also if you are a prayer person,
please pray for her death,
I can’t bring myself to do it.
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 5:14 PM UTC
Darling Masseuse, skim his Hard Earth be Soft
By your next Session his Element revive
His own make Worth; Thrice-Sterlings spent a-loft
And soothe his Shaking Mind with your Devise
Many would Envy; So thank your Warden
A once and only Event made, perhaps
Press your Therapy; Enrich his Garden,
Your Best Performance whilst under the Wraps:
(M....M....M....M....M....M...M...M...M...M....)
(.................................................................!)
(N....N....N....N....N....N....N....N....N....N....)
(................................................................!!)
At last, refreshed! His Male rejuvenate
Then left his Fine Tip; A Lip for rebate.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 3:43 AM UTC
You weren't the poetic one, but I just read Kaddish
and thought of you;
of 1998 beach photo, Sussex somewhere - as I
remember you, perhaps a bit younger;
of sweet peroxide blonde, hiding brunette. I was
naive to the dye 'til I saw 'the Hepburn shot' - that 1950
something print, you in Rembrandt light,
or the black beehive wig in family portrait—
1970ish— dicky bows and cocktail dresses - Dad, aged
seven, in a shirt and trousers;
of youthful snapshots: Portobello Beach, Edinburgh
(4), with parents in Kent (8), your gang of girls some snowy
place (14), painting the house with Raymond in Croydon (20);
of latter digital images, 2012, more gaunt and wrinkled,
but ever-beautiful - seemingly ageless, as you wished;
of care and trust and overdone vegetables, thin gravy,
brussel sprout production lines - beautiful, mundane memories
at Cowfold breakfast bar or Langley Green kitchen tops;
of seaside trips to Shoreham, Portsmouth, Brighton, dogs
homes and holding my hand past the loud ones;
of picking roses from the garden for 'perfume' - sticky
hands, wet floors and beautiful smells;
of early morning rude awakenings, met only with cheer
and offers of tea and toast - I still have your butter tray
(hospitable even in death);
of my brother's wedding, taking time to jive and seem
alive whilst everyone else was dying inside, despite the fact
that it was you, and you only, who should care the most (and
thus, if you didn't, why should we have);
and of that very temperament, infamous tempers never
shown—at least to us—just pure, kind acceptance and
forgiveness.
You weren't the poetic one.
You were; the ninth child of a ****** and his wife
the girl with the Scottish accent
the wife of an engineer from Mitcham
the mother of three, the loser of one
the stern face of discipline
the BT telephone operator, the masseuse
the grandmother of three boys
the ageless face of beauty
the one I remember best
You told me you couldn't recall your siblings' names -
I've looked into it. Ada, Jack, Edie, Emmie, Mabel, Joyce,
Raymond, Terence.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 11:19 AM UTC
I am so hungry
I would lick your
***** cutlery clean
and my eyes still
won't adjust to the
changing light conditions
I'll also be offering my
services every evening
this week because
I am absolutely
strapped
No I won't be
your rent boy
but I will
clean your boots
and wash your car
...and sleep with your sister
You see, pride can't
diminish
when it's already
gone
so I'll be your masseuse
I'll dry clean your thong
If you can't
reach me via phone
I'm either dead
or making progress
feel free
to leave a message
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 8:32 AM UTC
Maya slept here, there and everywhere -
and sadly now, the sleep is perpetual.
But more to the point,
Maya awoke us all - starting with herself
and what she awakened in us
can never sleep again!
When she spoke, her kind healing voice
kneaded our souls like a spiritual masseuse.
When she spoke,
presidents listened.
When she spoke,
the oppressed took heart.
When she spoke,
oppressors changed heart a little.
When she spoke,
America said Amen
and so we will forever.
Thank you Maya for being so good at being.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
I went to
Standup today
And the guy said
"No notes"
But I went up there
And I did my notes
And I did my set
And the first half went well
And the second half was ok
And I got laughs
And I got offstage
And the guy threatened me
And did it in a passive aggressive way
And said some people get banned
And I left right after my set anyway
And went on the subway
the homeless guy is getting on with me
And is begging softly for money
And the happy ending masseuse is jerking
And the orphans walking back to his "home"
And the annual tenth black women's being shot
And the illegal busboys wiping his 87th table
And the bitter son lost his father yesterday
And there (really) is a child in Africa starving
And a girls being ***** for the second time
And the blocked composers cocking his gun
And the muse is lying on the beach of nonexistence
And
And
And
The homeless man, exiting the train, says,
Thank you
God bless you all
I'll probably see you all here
tomorrow
And
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
If you think you're irreplaceable
You are sorely mistaken.
I can pay for a therapist
When I need someone to talk to.
I can pay for a masseuse
When my muscles scream.
You are nothing to me by blood,
You are among the family I chose.
And I can choose to separate from you.
I don't need you.
You need me.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC
I am a collective of a most considerate refusal
yelled at 110 decibels like a masseuse gone wild
on top of you jumping try yen to loosen
post or pre menstrual cramping
manipulating selective preemptive
decepting what I mean and what I does
fallowing the child run or a boar's rut
into your gut
falsify credentials act tough when I get caught
bust a nut every 9 months
into the air usually,
**** can seams of truth dreamy means
****** . ha
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC
A man from work
Is going to Vietnam.
I’ve been before.
I fell off a scooter.
I warned him:
‘Careful of those bikes.’
He winked.
He misinterpreted my advice.
I reminded him to get his jabs:
‘Yellow fever will get you.’
He winked.
He thought I was being blue.
I recommended a reputable masseuse:
‘Wonderful hands. Ask for Luu.’
He winked.
He misconstrued my review.
He told me:
‘My mission is to tan.’
‘Agent Orange,’ I joked.
He didn’t understand.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 10:09 AM UTC