"misters" poems
As I look around my home,
In my garden, I see gnomes,
Sitting on their little domes,
Do they think, these gnomes?
Are they philosophical, I wonder,
As garden weeds I plunder,
What are you guys staring at?
I'm gardening, okay, that's that!
Consider the garden gnomes,
Sitting there on their little domes,
Cute, but ugly, little misters,
I find them a trifle sinister............
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
it was suggested
that there be no nexus
between texas and your pal-
omino - tagging the alamo, **
en el barrio, yo(u)-
and your gringa homecoming
queen in tight-assed jeans
-running with ms-13?
-playing twister with your hipster
sisters misters smith & wesson
oiled up and and ready to go
- new mexico?
i found you in tres piedras
at a place called ortega's
eating huevos rancheros
- shooting jose cuervo?
-muthafucka mara salvatruchas
in a red camaro and two bruthas
on a burro with bow and arrows
-stole your palomino?
*-they shoot horses
don't they?*
riding the black el camino
-on the blue mesa.
r ~ 9/30/14
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
Melancholic misadventures and misanthropic moments make meeting men more and more meaningless,
Meaning less and less to those who undress to convene in the act of adulterated ***
Flex:
Point!
Sit down,
Smoke a joint,
Go to sleep,
Work,
Eat,
Wash
(sometimes, not too often)
Feign attraction
and smile with your eyes as you die on the inside
Darkness outside
Whilst wintery winds whistle,
the worldly-wise whittle on and on in their wordy way of the other-worldly wonders they have witnessed.
We can but wish that their wily whispers will soon diminish with the melting snow
Or else go,
Turn your back on all that you lack before you step on a crack, break that back and see it refract through the prism of the microcosm of your mind
Colour-blind
Lost
Trying to find
Be found
My heart beats yet I hear no sound
As plasma pumps passionately through my pallid passages and I ponder partially perceptible pursuits that preside in my past
Digging deep down into the depths of my ***** deeds discloses a discerning dichotomous divulgence of doctrine and dogma
Two mothers
Three brothers
One sister
And a whole load of Misters!
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
. *i was ************ when the earthquake hit.*
*i’d say it was the best ****** i ever had.*
an animal!
a multicellular eukaryotic organism of the kingdom ingesting other organisms to progress!
a well-organized kid of chaos strutting his stuff and puffing his puff.
rifle, duffel, falafel, phil.
fully blessed and stressed to strum forward for the sun, or fun
and fandango.
we are the people,
and the people are merely material,
and the material breathed and breached the darkness, for more.
we are man and woman and dog,
beasts screeching in a field over nothing, over everything, over ant-mounds and the sounds
of seasons meeting.
we think.
eat, drink, wine, woman, song.
he thinks
of nothing but her.
and so in the name of her, he acts, he reacts, he attacks the momentum of weekends into weekends into rhythm. he rolls
out and the words roll off and the days roll by, but this is the unfolding of life,
right?
strife upon strife upon struggle to eat,
and repeat,
and eat her *****
he was a well-spoken yet savage young buck,
evolving to confide and subside with these friends or enemies and imbibe the night away.
repeat/
he was a rise and shine early type with a mug of hot brew.
or the dream and shine late type with a bottle of cold cider.
repeat/
his blind date is a troll woman digging through the dumpster across the street.
he is a goblin boy gritting his fangs toward a girl, on a dancefloor, in a club, and bubble go the texts.
his texts are long and resolute.
she doesn’t respond.
she does respond.
she is seeing someone else. others
from a tall tree or lineage of men with strength and material.
a tall line of men and misters and teachers and tongues, all men obsessed with death &/or glory.
and by rite i obsess with death &/or glory.
and the dog, i want the dog there with me.
and the girl.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 7:07 AM UTC
Paris, France
October 12, 1889
It's been nearly a week now since the Le Premier Palais des Femmes has opened. I gander about, and see all the free faces. Misters in their best outfits slobbed themselves over the glories of an actual woman that was not their wife. They saw beauty and an opportunity for a feeling of strength and masculine power. Different attire worn by the women reveled much skin. The men gathered two or three mistresses and a bucket of *** and went off to their homes. I was disgusted and delighted to be here. I recently resigned the Misses just to do this tonight. It's 21:47. I look around for faces that I would be delighted in claiming my own for a night and two. Nothing caught my eye. I started to gather my stuff and leave, but suddenly a face I hadn't seen appeared in front of me. Her breath smelt of mint leaves and joy. She spoke to me and asked me for the night. Asked me! Such a remark from a woman of that low should earn a punishment, but she seemed like she was innocent. As rude as it was, I took her offer since I had no other plans for that night. She took me back to her home where she had set up a fire and food. It was as if she had planned it for me. It was so beautifully laid out. I looked around her home, it was astonishing. She then leaded me to her bedroom, where she left rose pedals on the floor and one candle lit. She grabbed me. That's when I met my Mistress from the Moulin Rouge.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC
She smiled through the unease
And accepted too much
She was eager to please
Took the unwanted touch
Until her skin grew blisters
And she cried out with shame
Too boisterous for Misters
She takes on the blame
Jul 6, 2023
Jul 6, 2023 at 12:04 AM UTC
Liar Liar,
you're pants are on fire.
Something something something, hanging on a telephone wire.
Liar liar,
the only thing that rhymes,
it's a shame we take such pride in things, that waste our precious times.
Let's hear the truth, spoken from our lips,
in fact lets say it form our soul,
let it emanate from our head and even past our hips.
The Truth is,
Jesus is the way, the truth, the light,
you want to disagree? I"m not going to fight.
I'll give you my love, and blessings upon you,
may peace and forgiveness follow, and be with whatever you do.
Just let me keep my Faith, and allow me to pass it to you.
I won't force it, know that's recipe to take a fall,
I just wanted to plant a small little seed, one little seed, that's all.
So forgive me if I came out brash,
I just rather prefer word-of mouth, than than the tag-of hash.
G'night my friends, my brothers and sisters,
all of you from all the other mothers and misters.
Liar Liar
pants on fire,
burns up slow, but heats up fast,
soon it's nothing more, than memory in the past.
The truth stays forever,
forever and always, like love,
so rightfully naive.
Because Love and us, we have the right to believe.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
Adam4's acquaintances who frequent
Foxholes as salivary soliloquy,
Usually suspected no second helpings
A dim ambience for an active bedroom
On battery powered candles
Concorde lighting
The carpet's edges chewed thin
Receding hairlines
And he uses me as bait..?
Our neglected puppy's teething
Nesting under California
King Mojo's hollowed cushions
Keeps him gnawing these nights
Misters and oil burners
I was mistaken, there are those
That revisit--reacquainted with him,
Must of shared a Starbucks,
As his Sasquatch hands
Rub wet platinum on his old fellow
Bears and their Cubs
Silicon smooth pets, house boys
Fished from the deep web,
Plagiarizing with their eyes the pleasures
Of Eurocreme
Bare back dreams, hours heave
The subtitled felatio scenes
I tell the old man, they only ***
After and mostly when
Most of the guest leave,
There is one hovering quick
To accommodate his
Ginger manly girth
I'll be out in the smoking section
At the side of the house
Through the slider door
From off the kitchen dining area
Where he had once
Replaced the table with billiards
For a Lenny and his troop...
His Samsung vibrates every time
I take a five to breathe
Chain smoke and self defocations grief
He posts another ad.
If only you heard
The vagrant shout
A banchee in my skull
For these off the street urchins
Plugged in to the internet's latest
For a place to squat
For winter will be cold
For them to just
****** off
And here I go again,
Assuming that these were decent folk
Come for the holidays
Between taint and pocket rocket
Wallets drain
When one lets the desperate
Indigents
Free range...
"What's there for dinner?"
**** chicken heads again?
Same ole same old dope...
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
The Miss, Misters and Mrs.,
And the St. Joseph's Sisters,
Made me a Bluejay,
Jay- jaying and soaring
Over Wrens and Robins
Below in five rows.
Teeth marks on Ticondarogas,
Initialed pink rubbers,
Toothpicks and fingers
Solved all those problems.
Sister Lucille showed me Sarnia
On the Neilson Wall Map,
With the Malted Milk,
Crispy Crunch bars staring back.
They looked too delicious,
Her reprimand was contritious,
I'm doing time during recess,
Ninety minutes til lunch.
We stood in a crooked line,
Like a snake, to get marked,
With her drawer a crack open
We'd get a peek at her strap.
Black or red, correctively cold;
Sister Roseangela, we'd heard,
Cried, Quid Pro Quo.
We had football baseball,
And hockey dreams,
Volleyball, basketball,
And funeral teams;
Field Days, Holy Days,
Days needed at home;
Teachers were coaches,
With little time to complain;
But the kids back then
Just weren't the same.
There were skirmishes, fouls,
Strike outs and time outs;
We were sliced white bread,
No rye or whole grain.
We'd march double file
Once a week to the Church,
To genuflect and reflect
At the Stations and Cross.
To confess, get redress,
Display penitent remorse,
Though keeping a secret
From the Confessional box,
A comfort and curse.
Their objective succeeded,
The lessons went deep;
Using the three Rs,
The ABCs, 1, 2, 3s,
To impart and ingraine
How to carry one's cross.
I remember by name
The Miss, Misters and Mrs.
And St. Joseph's Sisters
Who gave their all,
Each day, and always.
They've gone or retired,
But recalled in tranquility
For the life-lessons I admire.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 12:06 PM UTC
Turvy-topsy,
Windwhirl
Up-down through the rabbit hole.
Mushroom tea-gardens,
"Eat me," "Drink me,"
The world is downside-up.
Clusterfucks of growing and shrinking,
Dum-Tweedle and Dee-Tweedle guide/block;
Cheshire's smile mocks from above.
Twisters, misters, no sisters.
Confusion reigns supreme.
OFF WITH HER HEAD!
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
I CAN'T BELIVE IT.
NO, BETTER YET, I CHOOSE NOT TO BELIVE IT.
I... CHOOSE NOT TO BELIVE THAT THE GIRLS I CALL MY SISTERS BE TURNING TRICKS ON SOME MISTERS.
I... CHOOSE NOT TO BELIVE THAT MY STRONG, SWEET COCA BUTTER TREATS ARE JUST FREE COOKIES FOR A BROTHER TO EAT.
SEE, UNLIKE SOME, I STAY AWAY FROM TEMPTATION AND THE LUST FOR DRAMA,
BECAUSE WHEN I LOOK AT MY SOUL SISTERS I SEE A VISION OF MY MOMMA...
A STRONG SWEET COCA BUTTER QUEEN.
WITH MORE POWER AND WIT THEN I'VE EVER SEEN.
A QUEEN THAT WENT FROM BABY TO GIRL TO LADY TO WOMAN.
AND NEVER EVER SOLD OUT THE FOOD IN HER OVEN.
... WHAT A SHAME NOW...
TO THINK THAT JUST AWHILE BACK WHEN WOMEN WERE SLAVES... HOW,
THEY FOUGHT BACK SLAVEMASTERS AND TRAINED HOUNDS.
MY OLDER SISTERS STRUGGLED AND EVOLVED.
BUT MY SHORTY'S GAVE UP AND DEVOLVED,
OR SHOULD I SAY DISSOLVED
INTO DEFAULT,
FREE FOR ALLS
IN A COMPETITION TO STAY BLINGIN' FROM WALL TO WALL.
BUT WHO'S TO BLAME?
THE MEDIA? THE FAME?
OR THE TWO THAT GAVE HER HER NAME?
I SAY IF A SISTER IS OLD ENOUGH TO BE RESPONSIBLE, THAN SHES OLD ENOUGH TO GET IN TROUBLE.
... BUT THAT'S JUST ME...
AND YES I KNOW I SOUND A LITTLE OLD SCHOOL AND THAT IM CROSSING THE LINE BETWEEN SOULFUL AND CYNICAL.
BUT I GOT LOVE FOR MY SISTERS,
I'D SHED BLOOD FOR MY SISTERS.
TAKE THE TIME TO GET THINGS RIGHT AND LEARN FROM MY SISTERS.
BUT THAT'S JUST ME!
ANOTHER BROTHER TRYING TO GET BY
IN A WORLD THAT NEVER TEACHES YOU HOW TO FLY.
I GO FROM HARD TIMES TO TOUGH TIMES TO RAW TIME TO WRONG TIMES.
BUT THAT'S JUST ME.
... THAT'S JUST ME! ...
NOW, WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF A YOUNGER SISTER FAKING THE FUNK STEPPED TO ME AND SAID:
"BUT THAT'S JUST ME."
ID TELL HER; "GIRL, THE REAL YOU IS YOU,
AND NOT THE YOU THAT SOME OTHER FOOLS TOLD YOU WAS YOU."
YOU SEE, PAYING ATTENTION TO SOME LEADS YOU DOWN A ROAD CALLED NEGLECT.
THAT'S THAT LEFT TURN YOU TOOK IN THE INTERSECT OF RESPECT.
WHERE THE BROTHERS WERE MEN AND THEIR MANHOOD WASN'T *****
DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER?
OR HAS IT BEEN TOO LONG?
YOU'VE BEEN CASUALLY STROLLING DOWN A BOULAVARD WHERE EVEN BROKEN DREAMS ARE A BONUS.
WHERE ALL BLING BLING IS BOGUS
AND WHERE EVEN THE CLOSEST PEOPLE SEEM OUT OF FOCUS.
THAT'S THE YOU YOU LET THEM CHOOSE FOR YOU.
THE YOU YOU WENT AND LOST FOR YOU.
AIN'T NO RESTART IN THESE PARTS BOO BOO.
JUST ASK THE BLIND MAN...
MAYBE I'LL TELL YOU...
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 2:14 PM UTC
Any word never so softly spoken
never words ever so stately joking . . .
hopeless without dope
the whole world tokes--
just don't choke
and swallow smoke so toxic.
I've had it with this rock ****
wanting women to go *******
knock THIS with fists clenched to bliss
never was there ever so sinister a kiss.
don't miss this chance to be missed for misters miss's listless jist of this.
sound is forever
ever heard of white noise
its the sound of people fighting across the world forever ever for letters between a girl and a boy.
are you sure?
do you really want this?
can you bomb it, not drop it
to **** meaningless fetuses?
why are you reading this?
you can't beat this.
Eat this slowly trying to depleat this.
guess what?
everhing you've been reading is meaningless.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
tick tock; only time can make
things grow
but if you attempt to fiddle
with father time
you will not reap what you sew
one could even consider the
travel of time a mere simplistic
crime
but even our brothers and sisters
often live in the past
just like our mothers and their misters
marriage does not last
just a piece of paper, and
two bands around a finger
and sooner before later a lust
for touch will linger
so gather the material objects to
create a raging fire
becareful of each splinter
that will do everything to conspire
against you like the cold cold winter
I've already begun to feed
the flame with each document
just like the seed that grows
into an argument
the wickedness is in our bloodstream
and we can never repent
so try to wake up from this dream
that holds you hostage
and your speeding down lifes road
on empty, and your low on milage
Jan 7, 2010
Jan 7, 2010 at 10:38 AM UTC
You
are a dancing
dandelion
lioness,
lounging lovely
in the liquid
sun rays,
licking power off your paws.
An audience stands
awestruck as
you
parade through town
picking primroses
to make them all
their own crowns.
Tell me
tenderly,
as we sip blackberry wine,
about tearing up
the space-time continuum
and jumping,
cannonball,
into oblivion.
You,
miss maestro,
make marvelous
mountaintop melodies,
collaborating with the
yodelers and the
midnight goat herders
as the common man
in the valley
bites mouthfuls
out of your music
to warm his belly
and bring him to bed.
You
are a fantastic
flying
fingerling potato,
finding your way
deep in the ground,
growing
outwards and beautiful,
towards the surface and the center.
Your eyebrows could level lava spewing volcanoes!
Your laughter leads lambs back to
their loving homes from
the fertile fields they roam!
You,
vivacious Venus,
waltz in from the kitchen
calling out harmonies to the song birds
and slingshotting kisses
to all of your faithful
misters and misses.
Your bag may hang heavy,
but you have so many hands to help carry it.
You,
my dear,
are the sun
beaming magnificent.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC
Children are dying...
I'm kicking back, with nothing to complain about, yet complaining.
While children are dying
I'm dancing
to my favourite song with my pals and sisters.
While they bleed because of the blisters
caused by the wood of their broken homes.
Unheard screams and groans
Getting ***** by strange misters.
Bombs and grenades fall like raindrops from the sky
BOOM BOOM BOOM! The soundtrack of their lives
An endless lullaby
And they cry
and cry.
But I can't hear them,
for the music in my room is too loud.
Children are dying.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
There’s an uneven contempt for hipsters
–those ephemeral horn-rimmed misters–
who gallup through life
quite undaunted by strife
peddling style to both monsters & tricksters
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 3:14 PM UTC
When I am a mother,
my children will be kind,
they will be strong, but they will have a kind mind.
I will be good to my children, but they wont have it easy.
My daughter will know about boys her age and how they automatically assume she's just as ******
She will know that she can never be replaced, shell know Ill love her always.
When I am a mother my son will know grace.
He will treat others, the way he would like to be faced.
He will know to protect his sister, value her over any of her misters.
When I am a mother I will love my children.
If my daughter decides she's a he,
and if my boy wants to play dress up Barbie.
Because when I am a mother, like I plan to be,
no matter who my children are, what gender they will identify as, even if their body doesn't say that.
No matter who they fall in love with.....When I am a mother, I will love my children...because they are my miracle....and they are the world to me
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
What is family?
I know that it is any one related to you,
you know,
second cousin twice removed and all that.
I love all my family dearly,
my aunts and uncles,
brother and sister,
cousins,
grandparents,
great aunts,
great uncles etc.
But I also have another family,
My best friends who are like brothers and sister to me,
Emme Shoup,
Frances Calvin,
Sophia Hale,
Jacqueline Peaglow ,
Taylor Corkil,
Maile,
Dakota Thrall,
Jazmin Villasenor,
Crimson Morgan,
Marshall McIvor,
And many others,
I want to thank you for always being there,
When I needed you most,
You have helped me through the hard times,
And laughed with me through the funny ones,
You have never given up on me.
I would like to say one thing to you all,
Even if you give up on your selves,
I will never,
EVER
give up on you
You are the siblings I never had,
My sisters from other misters,
My brothers from other mothers
And,
I love you.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
One day, Tom, **** and Harry
Went sailing on a little boat
They were more than it should carry
So it could barely stay afloat
Determined to go on this trip
They just did not care
They had plenty wine to sip
And many ribald jokes to share
Tom was so excited he stood up
**** was tipsy and shouted his joy
Harry was drunk and threw up his cup
To the foaming waves, they screamed: Ahoy! Ahoy!
Suddenly, the white clouds grew dark
The waves rose higher than usual
This was a tougher nut than they could crack
They knew their survival was crucial
Tom had an expecting wife at home
**** lost his wife but had two lovely kids
Harry's mother had a tendency to roam
She was ailing and had special needs
The boat bobbed on the raging sea
The three men huddled together, horrified
And when the storm roared, "you and me!"
They almost peed their pants, they were that terrified
Tom suggested crying for help
They began to chant: "save our souls!"
**** and Harry agreed: "Let's divide our wealth
And give most of it to our foes!"
No help was forthcoming
They tried to row stronger to shore
The storm was overcoming
They were blinded in the downpour
Not long after, they heard a reassuring sound
Coming for them, was the rescue ship!
They were lost but now found
And wouldn't die on this trip
Misters Tom, **** and Harry
Safely returned to their families that day
And the lessons they did carry
Have stayed with them till today
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
distant world, before unseen, by eyes like we,
she roamed, unseen, heard only by her sisters
she growled her dominance, none could see
they had no eyes, but two jaws, come misters.
the white man saw her ferocious form
took her, bound her, forced her sleep.
whipped her, trained her to to the point of norm
she growled at them, and the cuts run deep.
she wraps her tail round her ****** self
weeps through eyes that arent there
her purpose now is gain her master wealth
none but one did show her care
the man, dark tan, did care for her
he bounnd her wounds, helped her heal
in a way he loved her, for sure
though she was different, this be what he feel
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 8:47 PM UTC