"misch" poems
I’ve been craving female companionship as of late. The need to have her in my presence at all times. I want her, face against the wall with joyfully erratic breathing, hands tied behind her back. I want her on all fours, head swivelled my direction with a smiling look of pleasure. I want her legs wide open for me, only because it’s me, only because it’s her. I want my tongue to make musical instruments of her ******* and ******** I want her to put me in her mouth so I can see her eyes tearing with shameless sin. I want her in her parents’ bedroom, I want her in tut rooms and auditoriums, I want her in the back of my car, in McDonalds, in elevators, under restaurant tables and on top of kitchen counters, I want her to say my name under soft moans during rough rounds. I want her in as savage a manner as possible.
I want her sitting in silence with me. I want her to listen to my ramblings, to sit there and be present. To exist. I want her to have her own ramblings, to educate me. I want her lips to be available for me at all times, for my head to make pillows of her chest. I want to introduce her to Ben Howard and Tom Misch, to Planet Hulk and The Pixar Theory. I want flowers to remind me of her. I want her to cradle me when Chelsea loses, to stroke her hair and rub her tummy when she has monstrous cramps. I want to hear ‘I love you’ over loud laughs between soft kisses. I want her on butterfly wings. I don’t know who she is, but dear God I want her to laugh, because I know I’m going to love her laugh.
I want so much from her, I want her to want so much from me. I want so much that I never wanted before. Only thing I’ve been wanting was to feel again, now I need to feel again in order to get what I want. I want her. I want more than me.
I’ve been feeling a certain emptiness
I feel like I’m not enough
I’m not enough to make myself as happy as I want to be.
I feel like there is nothing more I can do for myself.
For so long, I’ve been happy because all I’ve wanted, I’ve given myself
Or I’ve taken, but
I don’t satisfy myself anymore,
And I can’t take what I now want.
I think, for the first time in a long time, I feel lonely.
- Kata
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 4:27 AM UTC
Gotcha,
Sheik,
It took a while,
But most government
Jobs do.
You had a good run,
And died a lion
In many eyes,
Though a caged lion,
In a cage
Of your very own,
Behind walls of your own.
Didn't know
There was a breed
Of Seals
That went over walls,
Eh?
I wonder where
Your buddy Ayman went.
Perhaps it's safe
For him
To go home now,
Egypt,
Right?
Inshallah.
I saw the wild celebrations,
Outside the White House,
At Ground Zero,
At the Air Force Academy.
Once we had:
VE day,
VJ day.
We cheered then,
For the dying
Would stop.
What of VO day?
I thought VO was,
A whiskey.
The dying won't stop
For VO day.
What's all the cheering for?
Celebrating the death
Of one enemy?
As if we'd won
A war?
We should feel
Just a little *****
Let us thank
Those who did this
Most necessary deed
For us,
Then let us
Go about our business,
And leave them with
Their thoughts.
I think I'll stop by
The old Ebbitt Grill.
Maybe I can find
A chicken hawk,
To have a celebratory
Beer with.
Rest in Peace,
If you can,
Sheik,
With the fishes.
There are no virgins
At full fathom five.
Copyright 2011 by Gary Misch
All rights reserved
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 9:24 PM UTC
the earth makes us free
we respond by wanting stuff
which holds us in chains
copyright 2011 by gary l. misch
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 9:17 PM UTC
So they wanna occupy Wall Street, eh?
I do believe that it is already well occupied,
Occupied in making money,
Not in makin' stuff,
That would muss those custom suits,
And chip those polished nails,
You can't see Wall Street's residents,
They're busy behind smoked glass,
Trading the most expensive vaporware
On earth,
Buy it for a thousand,
Sell if for a hundred,
Heads they win,
Tails you lose,
Try retiring on that,
It's working out for them,
They're important people,
Don't hurt their morale,
Mayor Bloomberg is worried
They might get sad,
(Sigh).
Don't turn around,
But while you're occupying,
Your jobs are occupied,
With migrating to...
Another hemisphere,
Enjoy your camp-out folks,
And your three weeks
Of fame.
Copyright 2011 by Gary L. Misch
All rights reserved
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 11:04 PM UTC
God bless you,
(I think),
You kept the peace,
Mostly,
For forty-five years,
World wide peace,
Anyway,
You were our tool,
Your threat of white heat,
Kept us off the edge of
Madness,
With MAD,
We carried you everywhere,
In the air,
On the sea,
Under the sea,
Under ground,
Over land,
We protected you,
As we protected
Nothing else,
You were our magic
Touchstone of safety,
Our ultimate security blanket,
Whose security was
Unknown,
But
Whose safety might turn on us,
Vaporous,
In the flash of the
Moment,
Now you've become a *****
Over bred,
Your power unwelcome,
Desired only by your
Fellow lepers,
Sorry,
But you're done,
Thanks,
(I think).
Copyright 2011 by Gary L. Misch
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 11:30 AM UTC
A poetic of love in two parts
I
My love's beauty rests
Inside her,
Her heart and soul
Shine through,
They overwhelm
Whatever beauty
Might beholden
Upon her face.
Her mind itself
Calls out to all who
Know her,
Delighting those whose hearts
She touches,
No one can capture her,
But if you're patient
She may come to you,
And bring to you
Delight.
II
To be with her
Is like unto
A field of
Fresh flowers,
To hear her voice,
Makes it seem
Those flowers have
Given off a heavenly
Bouquet,
She can make an ord'n'ry day
Into a feast
For the mind and soul,
And so heal
The heart.
Copyright 2011 by Gary L. Misch
All rights reserved
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 9:39 PM UTC
We enter in,
Not by choice,
Our heart insists;
We feel the need,
The need that God has burnt
Upon our soul,
The one that cannot be denied,
But when the love is not returned,
The sheltering warmth
Becomes a sad and cutting burden,
A garden maze disorienting,
It would be better if its grip were
Cold,
To let us know how toxic was
This place,
But we are trapped,
Trapped within this sad and empty
Garden,
Warmed only by the sad
And lonely heat
Of our own
Forlorn and solitary love,
There to nurse the draining
Agony
Of a heart
Permanently broken,
Whose only wish would be
That its beat would cease,
And stop the endless ache.
Copyright 2011 by Gary L. Misch
All rights reserved
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 8:48 PM UTC