"missionary" poems
Guess what day it is
That's right! It's Sunday!
That fun day of the week
That's very very unique
I can finally let my lustful fantasies loose
Basically today I can be a freak.
So let's down to the nitty gritty
What shall I lick first? Lips or T-ties?
Shall I kiss you gently? Teasing you all the while?
Or shall we jump to the chase
And we make love while you're wetter than the Nile?
What position first? Missionary or doggy style?
Or maybe something crazy
We haven't done this in awhile
Or maybe we can take notes
From a book called the Kama Sutra
Believe me, there's a lot of ways I wanna do ya
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
Lone walker,
In the midst of the crowd his heart was always alone.
Sank into the belly of tribulations,
Unlike the missionary journey of Jonah he was vomited into
more woes.
Like how a beautiful mountain in a wilderness thirst for tourist
So his heart was hungry for love.
If loneliness is synonymous to poverty then he deserved this cross.
Lone walker,
He lonely walked on thorns, struggled with everything, sweated blood.
He lived a life of trapped miners in a cave miles below fresh air.
Lone walker,
Rain of respite barely shower on his path.
Sun bit his skin, dews often united with his tears,
For there was no even a free den for him to rest his head.
His days were worse than the trials of Job,
For he had not even a wife to encourage him to curse God and give up the ghost.
Like an eaglet without a falcon, he was accustomed to crying for his dying talents that was hidden too deep for any scout to discover.
To him the world was empty and void of helpers
Until a moment came when he decided to abort his worries, fears and his ugly past.
In a flash he recalled the parable of the talents,
In a speed of lightning he stood and put his hidden gift into use.
I key my mind into the eyes of the reader of his biography,
As I stood in the midst of his children offspring in his burial ceremony fit for kings,
With the assurance that he is not walking alone to heaven or hell indeed
And surely his once lonely heart would be filled with merriment and peace.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
I love da sound ya ***** does make
While slapping up against your sister, for Christ sake
Watching you all doing the ***** deed, doggy style
On ya momma's brand new, multi coloured **** pile
***** young boys, are forever slapping, keepin’ it real
While viewing ya ***** in ya year nine, high school classes
Even some curious gals, like to slip in a quick feel
While flashing their hallway entry, fancy gold passes
Da sound ya ***** makes, ya must be using an amplifier
With a **** load of flaming, boom-boom, bass
Next time though, try turning the treble up, as you were
And turning down that flaming bass, just in case
This mornin’, I woke up stiff, like feelin’ as if dead
Then flicked through the paper, my obituary, I just read
Didn't feel that great, after we had finished the missionary
Wish I was much more aware, like a future visionary
I haven't even ironed my clothes or done my face
For my very last day of this bright sunlight
Will I need to pack a jumbo suitcase
Or maybe just some shorts and thongs
On my mystery vacation, one-way flight
Da sound ya ***** was making when shaking
Was maybe way too loud for some, last night
It put me in, like a clothes dryer spin
Police came by, just to check that no one was pranking
With some spray with mace, just when I was about to sin
Everyone's got an unusual craze in life
Mine just happened to put me in a daze
Should've taken a much deeper breath
When going down between ya momma's thighs
Send flowers to my ******* and hoes
And never ever forget, ya ****** nice ways
Always tried to satisfy the whole **** world
But still hearing some sad **** woes
I like da sound ya ***** makes
Reminds me of some ole dance tracks
Played by the DJ, named Georgie O’Kay
While everyone dances to a beat
I'm hard at work, while trying to get ya
To get down lower and pretend to be ya momma.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
just another lovesick poem
written by another sad boy
about
being alone or
rejected or
"in love"
as if any of you
*************
have the experience
to look at another human
and know
to the depths of your soul
that you are
in love
all lowercase
because
love isn't trumpets and fanfare
love is
quiet mornings and
simple dinners and
a willingness to be
vulnerable
love is
"hi babe
I know you've had a rough day at work
so you just lay there and
let me make you
***
or
"I'm gonna make you dinner
and then
I'm gonna tie you up and
**** you"
love is not
what we were taught in church or
on the Disney Channel or
from a Stephanie Meyers novel
love is not
what your parents told you
"wait to have *** until you're
married"
abstinence is good
condoms are bad
your *** should be vanilla
men are dominant
women are submissive
missionary is the only position
*** is about procreation not pleasure
love is self defined; find it for yourself.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
What is this, Lord Jesus, that Thou shouldst make an end
Of all that I possess, and give Thyself to me?
So that there is nothing now to call my own
Save Thee; Thyself alone my treasure.
Taking all, Thou givest full measure of Thyself
With all things else eternal—
Things unlike the mouldly pelf by earth possessed.
But as to life and godliness, all things are mine
And in God's garments dressed I am;
With Thee, an heir to riches in the spheres divine.
Strange, I say, that suffering loss
I have so gained everything in getting
Me a friend who bore a cross.
~ Jim Elliot (1927-1956)
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
To have them shipped across the sea,
sitting like ornamental drops
tinsel strung around your eyes
pocketed the tree
walking down sunset avenue
reeking of bamboo stalks and water chestnuts
looking for a place to submerge your treasure
with a rattling breath do you deflate
And the Oak trunk that grows unimpeded
hanging her branches
caressing the Spaniard shingles
the clay missionary tabs
touching the stucco with a golden blade
of sunlight
cutting a thousand little strips
to hang about the face
moving a thousand miles a second
stopped in place with the quiet repose
of a yoga state
humming and shimmering
yet let me be sweet oak tree.
And I wander through the canyon boulevard
between the rocky cliffs and the endless riff
of surf-rock echoed off skate parks
and riding the PC
highway hair bedraggled and snaked into next week
lingering bonfire on the cotton shirt
plant for plant
*** for tat
seed to breed
Now dance, you and me.
Insinuation
drooling salivary tongue full
bacon
pigging out on burgers
getting red-eyes from vegans
smoking plants
murderers
We squirt,
relish on the act of dying
all things dying
choking life second by second
dying to live.
Staring at neon fins lining the gravel lot
Koi flickering beneath the celestial night
Suspended pondwater
pondering
In surfce tension
the deep mysteries of life
Tracing the snake through the winding streams
we watch atop the rooftop
Gaia
Taking in the burgeoning
Ocean of incandescent tangerine
and Peyote-light
Cacti hidden somewhere between
the quiet slumber of mindless streets
aligned by formless hands
Drinking the mescaline
air
Twisting the nightly moments
as locks of hair
I curled them, slipping, within my fingertips
tracing the long winding road of Tao
along her shoulders
Enraptured by her sensual bliss
When I finally drifted along the clouded memories
of divine rumbling eyes
she disappeared into the sky
blinking along the Jet turbines
Never meant to be mine
for more than a night
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Second Sunday of the month,
69 & a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month
missionary position
& a mutual ******
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
The old order changeth, yielding place to new
-Tennyson, Idylls of the King
Like dinosaurs our institutions gasp
In spasms of existential death; they pass
At first unnoticed by the casual unobserver
Who trips over a covenant that isn’t there
If you vote they give you a sticker
The ephemeral Constitution changed
Like sweaty skivvies by each president
Law libraries catalogued for pulp
By obedient functionaries in tees
If you vote they give you a sticker
The faithful escorted out of the cathedral
By a bored security guard on overtime
The altar linens for sale at Goodwill
And the sanctuary repurposed on T.V.
If you vote they give you a sticker
Some of The Just Plain Folks cheer for the Reds
And the others cheer only for the Blues
As the reincarnation of Jack Chick
Blesses their four-wheelers and plastic caps
If you vote they give you a sticker
Election placards on abandoned buildings
Promise again prosperity for all
The **** lab cooks behind The Kute Kidz
Private Academy of the Dance and Math
If you vote they give you a sticker
An outreach of the Bright Light Free Will
Missionary Temple of the Lord Jesus Christ
Of the Lamb Sanctified 501C The Reverend Doctor Master Bishop Billy-Bob Hairdo PhD, DD a-brangin’ Messages and His Esteemed Lady Apostle Heather
If you vote they give you a sticker
And blessed be the Holy AR-15
God gave to His People to defend themselves
Here in the freest country in the world
Which you can find behind the barbed-wire fence
If you vote they give you a sticker
While fleets of luxury presidential jets
Arc high over our public housing projects
Reminding us of our prosperity
Here in the richest country in the world
If you vote they give you a sticker
And them Jews for Jesus I guess they’re all right
But them other Jews they just ain’t no good
Nor them Cath’lics nor them Mormons neither
And don’t you get me started on them Baptists
(We seem to have been otherwise engaged)
“The old order changeth, yielding place to new” –
(But neither cares at all for me or you)
But if you vote they give you a sticker
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 7:30 AM UTC
He tosses in his sleep
He never gets a good night's rest
He tosses in his sleep
He never gets a good night's rest
His mind is tired but can't control what's in his chest
She tosses in her sleep
Dreaming of a better place
She tosses in her sleep
Dreaming of a better place
She gave up looking and now she's got tears on her face
He wears a cigarette
She wears a bayonet
He drives a beater and she drives a swift Corvette
He's not a cheater and she's one he won't forget
He's got a plan
But doesn't know how to start
He's got a plan
But doesn't know how to start
He's too young to understand the language of his heart
She's got a picture
But hasn't developed it yet
She's got a picture
But hasn't developed it yet
All she sees is a silent silhouette
He wears a cigarette
She wears a bayonet
He drives a beater and she drives a swift Corvette
He's not a cheater and she's one he won't forget
He wrote his name and number
On the missionary of his hotel
He wrote his name and number
On the missionary of his hotel
As he laid it down he felt his heart begin to swell
She called him up
And they talked over a drink or two
She called him up
And they talked over a drink or two
Now all their reservations are made for two
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 1:11 AM UTC
In braze, silent breeze of dreams incantations,
Shiva arms sway in the forest dark, mushroom,
Cloud, lord with fungi, mosses whose clinging
Shades of branches, braids deep, forking stories
Of old, brooding cauldron Druids, sidles Eastern
Spindrift words of Sanskrit spake, told in veined
Sacred hands unfound, celestial spines, moulded
Green, in the windy monkish statutes of the fallen
And single handed claps of the missionary leaves.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
The teeth of hierarchy flash
a scowled curse in quick lightening.
This hard edge does not hunger for food.
His, is a stare into a desert battle-ground:
dry-rasping, gaunt and unforgiving,
A Goliath.
And me - envious of stones in the desert.
The 'Fuck you’ in the eye of his razor.
My punishment waits like a
missionary’s head in a bucket
(its smile still praising in a tribal trophy necklace).
His armoured lips sip hot-dipped darkness
deep from the volcano.
The boy in class with my blood in his schoolbag.
The teacher dripping words of impatience onto my flight plan.
Head down, writing escape from the demon
Furiously - until the last bell.
MChallis © 2015
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 7:01 AM UTC
Babe, when I plow in and out of you,
palms holding your luxury buttocks
and lips on your bare *****
bodies moist in sweat and anticipation
in this low light, feeling a fleeting pulse
of your flowing hair is ecstasy, is ecstasy.
I'm a kneeling missionary of the gasm,
yes, the big O shooting to heavens.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
.
In braze, silent breeze of dreams incantations,
Shiva arms sway in the forest dark, mushroom,
Cloud, lord with fungi, mosses whose clinging
Shades of branches, braids deep, forking stories
Of old, brooding cauldron Druids, sidles Eastern
Spindrift words of Sanskrit spake, told in veined
Sacred hands unfound, celestial spines, moulded
Green, in the windy monkish statutes of the fallen
And single handed claps of the missionary leaves.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
take a course and forget what that course meant
take a job with the code enforcement
make a code and brutally enforce it
lead a horse, don't know where that horse went
sleeping dogs have the sharpest teeth
with a hunger from the heart beneath
who better could ever deserve this land
government visionary missionary businessman
make up a law just to break it
put it to sleep and then you wake it
take away and over-take it
it's my bedroll, let me make it
take a bow your job is done so keep it
make a candlestick and try to leap it
pull the wool down then fleece it
lead the sheep, forget where the sheep went
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 3:43 AM UTC
A BIRTH
Twelve hours in velvet dark
I waited for your shaft
to penetrate my channel of desire
birthing purity and long lashes
You came without a doubt
Acacia branches making curtains
their feet digging deep for
the numinosity of life
Wisdom of Time feeding a
*********** into pink moistness
Deeply hidden thorns created
a serpent circle of protection
Descent spiralled into eardrums
eyeballs, silently swirling light
dividing with space, minerals
unfolding with Earth’s rhythm
Her sister shed joyful tears
for her soft arched feet
whilst ***** petals fell
for dainty fingers curling
As missionary I buried a sticky
cord beneath Acacia
Understood the elixir of truth and
your departure into shadows
©GhairoDanielsPoetry1997
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 4:55 AM UTC
She's in parties
& knees-up
She's half-seas over
& in the king's cup
She's in missionary
She's in backwards
She's on backseats
& dashboards
She's in fast lanes
& intersections
She's in full throttle
& Hail Marys
She's in obituaries
& cemeteries
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 8:38 AM UTC
In braze, silent breeze of dreams incantations,
Shiva arms sway in the forest dark, mushroom,
Cloud, lord with fungi, mosses whose clinging
Shades of branches, braids deep, forking stories
Of old, brooding cauldron Druids, sidles Eastern
Spindrift words of Sanskrit spake, told in veined
Sacred hands unfound, celestial spines, moulded
Green, in the windy monkish statutes of the fallen
And single handed claps of the missionary leaves.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
Please excuse my drivel of words as I ascertain my inexcusable lustless love life.
However,
humor me for a second…
But I’m looking for Miss Alabama Worley.
Mississippi Isabel,
**** it, Lady Macbeth would do.
That ***** knows crazy.
Where is the incomprehensible insufferable beast?
That will take my heart in one foul swipe and refuse
Me rest till I’ve given her lust the spearing of a hungry tribesman.
I want the lock and chain around my ***** because my naked vulnerability
Is hers for the taking.
Beat me,
Oh monstrosity of the bedroom
Let the blood drip as I lick your foot.
Indulge me with the endless sweat and tears of the night.
And **** me like a rock star
Till I taste the rubber.
Where is the whirlwind passion?
Love at first sight.
And not the giddy looks of something Michael Cera starred in.
I am talking tattoos on the first date,
Reckless marriage doomed by the 50 pound ring on her finger.
Put me in a ****** east end flat,
Let me starve because ******* is food for the brain,
And her ***** tastes delectable when I’m high.
**** my brother in our bed,
I never liked him anyway.
A best friend is a man who’s shared the same hole.
And trust me, we’re closer than ever.
You’ll be all I’ve got.
I’ll sleep on the couch and crawl back to you,
Because I'm wrong,
I am always wrong.
Laugh at the scars on my wrists
Pity isn’t there for the taking.
Leave me shaking in the corners of my mind,
Let lust grow like anger and revenge
Let anger and revenge grow
When I go soft on you,
Put those cigarettes out on my chest,
And choke me; asphyxiate me from the inside out.
I want to burn in the hellish rapture
Betwixt your thighs.
******* fire in half an hour,
God knows where you got it from.
But those who care share, right?
But then,
Perhaps I’ll just end up like my parents,
Settle down with a nice girl.
A nice normal girl,
Missionary position isn’t that bad I ‘spose.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC
now, ladies and gentlemen,
as you can plainly see
I am quite adroit and learned
and this lady quite occupied
I am, let me make it clear,
extremely preoccupied
keeping this lady warm and happy
as she in her turn does ditto for me
Now whether we please ourselves missionary
or front to front
is really no business of yours -
but it’s purely and ****** our business and pleasure
So, most lovely ladies and resourceful gentlemen
you must find yourself a different room each
and leave me to fiddle or ****** as I wish
O shame on you ladies -
do you not lure your men
far enough into your depths?
O shame on you men -
do you not come hard enough on your women?
go you now and find each a body
and go spiritual, ****** or *****
have no guilt, enjoy abandon
love as you wish -
but really, you busybodies,
it’s time for you to relinquish pretense of surprise
and depart from here, and
leave one body busy with the other
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 7:52 AM UTC
My missionary work, to an extent,
has been accomplished under grace;
most of the poetry I’ve composed
has been shared with the World,
with the intent of drawing others
towards The Kingdom and the face
of Christ, beloved Lord and Savior.
Pushed far out of my comfort zone,
I’ve taken this notion of identity,
that’s found solely in my Christ,
and pushed bravely forward with it-
at the dismay of brethren who bemoan
the label of Christian poet and author.
I can’t and won’t apologize for actions
taken to glorify God through evangelism;
Christ is the living Word; His Truth
courses through my spirit, as I explore
my Faith and understanding of Salvation.
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
1 Thes 5:19 and
"A life fully lived out for Jesus is never a wasted life, because in it the true reward starts only the moment one dies, and from that time on wards the dividend for the earthly investment they made continues to comes back without limit for the eternity that is ahead of them." —Abraham Israel
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
Your lips your eyes
Slowly let me split your thighs
Taste your wetness it's divine
Sweet intoxicating like wine
How wet can you get?
Passion's scenario is set
My meat enters your heat
Feel the pressure um so deep
Embrace your soul in your hole
In and out fast then....slow
Tip is lit on your ****
Let me slide it as I slip
***** pleasure starts to climb
Go ahead and lose your mind
****** is our goal
Submit let me take control
Missionary then from the back
Get on top um just like that
Bed frame I will crack
When I hammer you like a jack
Sweating bodies glisten
Caressing lips tongue kissing
Your *** my sweet peach
I eat Nirvana you will reach
Direct me as you teach
In your ***** I'll say a speech
******** juices run
Beat your G spot like a drum
Your walls wrapping around my stick
My tip begins to spit
As we *** our bodies strum
Writhe together becoming undone
As we lay shades of grey
Exhausted from our ******** spray
Our lust satisfied for one more day...
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
I'm fired with missionary zeal:
Lady with such fine thighs,
are you game?
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
Total abstinence is so excellent a thing it cannot be carried to too great an extent and
Wit is the sudden marriage of ideas which before their union had no relation.
Americans will occasionally astonish the God that created us when given a fair shake .
Indecency is the first thing the missionary teaches the savage.
Nature knows no indecencies ;man invents them.
Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities ,truth isn't.
Action is always the way ; words will answer as long as it is his neighbor who is in trouble.
Truth is the most valuable thing we have.Let us economize it.
Herodotus says,very few things happen at the right time and the rest do not happen at all
Obsession is the man with a hole in the seat of his pants and cannot keep his fingers out it
My mother had a great deal of trouble with me but I think she enjoyed it
Size of the dog in the fight dont count.size of the fight in the dog
Dont go around going the world owes you a living. The world was here first
Denial Just aint a river in EGYPT
Prose wanders around with a lantern & laboriously schedules & verifies the details.
The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated
Hunger is pride's master
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 3:32 AM UTC