"muds" poems
i come to you half mad
with desire
like slithers tongue
i wish
to have painfully stitched
to your silky ****
an act of desires supplication
my *** turned to poison
deprivations effulgent
obsidian flower salivating
your every smile
fleshy bells ringing
warping tintinnabulations
i am a starved incubus
drooling at your knees
behind me
a frothy junket of misdeeds
for loves sake
your feet the scent of lavender and salt
their shape evoking numberless poems
and begging adorations
your belly
a tender cauldron undulating
tummy ***** dancer
sacred **********
temple of worship
the site of your rounded bottom
naked red mouth calling
my sacred liturgy
your *****
velvet tulips for a tremulous kiss
I seed you a thousand times
a raging bludgeon
storming wounded gates Palisades
drenched and florid
fruit and milk ****
until jaws lock
and spire drops
turning me
to midnight cadaver
***** black hollows
a dark eyelid, blink-less
dead **** face down
a slumped snake
then soft dew
and cool ales
clear thickened muds saturation
lighten heat and peel
the warm palate
with agile caress
tender haunches wide and spiced
milk and butter thighs
her hair in mine
rushing river life
again i animate
an embryo id
dressed in fire
all vices and virtues
blood and sky
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
i hate road rage in canberra because
i hate road rage in canberra because
mostly the road rager is at fault
i hate road rage in canberra because
because my mum was just turning and some dim wit sticks his finger up, how rude
i hate road rage in canberra because
it ****** me off immensely
road rage road rage i hate road rage
cause the road rage person doesn’t know what they are talking about
it’s not just road rage, ya see ya see, it’s everywhere
you say something or do something
and someone sticks their finger up at you
like a good little **** would actually do
road ragw road rage road rage sux
the only rage i like is partying late at night
you see i am a middle aged rager
i rage all day long but when it comes to road rage, na, not for me
i party better than any of these road rage people
the road ragers are just a pack of old stick in the muds
they think they are cool, sticking their fingers up
but in hindsight, they no nothing
you see i hear the loud hey, but that is from people who like road rage
which i ain’t, what is wrong with hating road rage
that is why i don’t drive, i am a kid and the road ragers are old fogie men or women
i have road rage in canberra because, nobody wins, it’s all just a waste of time
i am glad i don’t drive, i am a cool kid mate
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
The demons live with me –
They have their own blankets ready,
So later we would go visit the creeks
And they will push me to the water and let me suffocate,
They will drown me in muds
They will blind me so all I could see is dark.
The demons live with me –
They invite me to our special hideout,
Decaying building and magical asbestos
And they will prepare an empty room full of irons and knives,
They will slit me with them
They will kiss me with them 'till I become numb.
The demons, the demons live with me –
They will celebrate my birthday party,
Their presents are bouquet of blights
And they also give me flaming matches for me to light up an inferno,
They will burn with me, laugh
They will burn every sadness I felt.
The demons live with me.
They are inside, they are calling me.
The demons, demons, demons,
THESE DEMONS,
Demons, d e m o n s
are me.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
An underlying sense of counting down –
A rhythm deep: enteric thuds –
Each another year to fret and frown
About, wading in the claggy muds
Of trial – to here, the blackened life.
A glint of blade had caught a baggy eye,
Sparking thoughts to jump the fence.
Could I grasp the handle – was I shy
Of what I had to do and hence remain
Enshrined in overwhelming strife?
The metal winked at me again
To beg the possibility
Of halting once and all the pain
To relish an eternity
Of rested shoulders,
Peace of mind;
So here, my wrist
For ‘quick and kind.’
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
Bullace
hedge haematoma
blue-black against the fading,
once young green,
bruising for sharp winter thoughts,
clean frost lines,
untouched snow-blank focus
but before, to swell and drop
in the last pale suns,
feed the field mouse, rabbit
and endure the muds
Oct 15, 2021
Oct 15, 2021 at 12:35 PM UTC
**Cheating Humanity is skill or disaster,
Cheating in every field and department makes us proud or shame,
Cheating in relations makes us Gentleman or fraud person ,
Our Leader's are proud to Cheat our Country , Nations and World with their Outstanding Cheating Political Skills,
Where does Cheating puts ourself in Winning World or Lost Humanity,
Cheating ourselves and others and saying we are clean personality,
We can Cheat Whole World ,Globe ,Universe but we cannot Cheat our Lord God.
We cannot built nations by Cheating each others.
We cannot built nation by throwing muds on each other's characters.
Leader's of our country are playing magic tragic speeches for winning election's of CM, PM .
Please Do not Cheat the Nation , Country And World.**
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
I would like to bury
all the hating eyes
under the sand somewhere off
the North Atlantic and suffocate
them with the awful sand
and put all their colors to sleep
in that soft smother.
Take the brown eyes of my father,
those gun shots, those mean muds.
Bury them.
Take the blue eyes of my mother,
naked as the sea,
waiting to pull you down
where there is no air, no God.
Bury them.
Take the black eyes of my love,
coal eyes like a cruel hog,
wanting to whip you and laugh.
Bury them.
Take the hating eyes of martyrs,
presidents, bus collectors,
bank managers, soldiers.
Bury them.
Take my eyes, half blind
and falling into the air.
Bury them.
Take your eyes.
I come to the center,
where a shark looks up at death
and thinks of my heart
and squeeze it like a doughnut.
They'd like to take my eyes
and poke a hatpin through
their pupils. Not just to bury
but to stab. As for your eyes,
I fold up in front of them
in a baby ball and you send
them to the State Asylum.
Look! Look! Both those
mice are watching you
from behind the kind bars.
1.6k
When the yellow day coppers to dusk
I paint my weary eyes dreams.
They nudely wade the crabhole muds
for marks of the great marksman
climb up the chunks going into tides
tiptoe through the needle roots
sniff a wind that smells of stripes
thrilled
death if comes
would be a momentary stir
a dangling cloth
resting on the trail of blood, marking,
someone ventured.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 9:49 AM UTC
Oh my God my heart is slamming
Off the walls in squishy thuds,
Oh my God my mouth is jamming
All my words are wordy muds -
Muds? Muddles!
I’m befuddled!
Watch my lips all slobberdrool!
My big black lungs are outerspace!
THYROID STORM!
Sounds
So
cool!
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
Wet and cold
driving dirt roads
rain pouring down
onto the ground
Water standing in the tracks
and running down every crack
begin to slip and to skid
turn into it in a bid
To regain some traction
it works but only for a fraction
of a second, so I turn the ****
the mud begins to spray in globs
Now in 4 wheel drive I proceed
should be enough to do the deed
of getting me on down the road
so the truck still I goad
Forward into the muck
hopefully and with some luck
we make it to the end
then my frayed nerves may mend
But then the bad news sinks in
we have to turn around and do it again
the cow tracks look like tiny lakes
now out of the truck each step I take
My foot sinks an inch or three
so I step to the side under a tree
try to walk on grass and roots
getting taller as mud sticks to my boots
Almost there I see the door
of the mud I want no more
into the deer stand I climb and sit
a reprieve from the mud for a bit
Three hours later constant rain
back out into the cold mud pain
tripping and sliding back to the truck
for the trip back in the mud and muck
The muds not deep it’s just real slick
depending on the route I pick
halfway back, spin sideways
not into cactus or a tree I praise
Slipping and sliding is great fun
but right now I long for the sun
you see the truck I drive is not my own
father in law’s out on loan
So get it stuck or bang it around
I will never live it down.
back to the gate no incident
onto the road no fender dents
This is day one of the hunt you see
so three days left of this for me
100% forecast of more rain
and those **** dirt tracks don’t drain
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 9:08 AM UTC
*Three months old in my mother’s womb
Whispers I heard outside,
A man persuading mum
To destroy me
Because he doubted I was his.
I heard mum cried,
And felt her tears
Falling to her bulging belly,
My bed room,
A thunderous sound
That struck my universe
Almost tearing it apart.*
*The man talking to another man,
A professional killer of my kind,
I heard about the price of my life,
To destroy me
Worth only ‘$300’.
Mum’s heart beat faster,
Bringing blood like a mighty rushing wave
To my weak, gentle nerves and veins
Almost rapturing them apart.*
*Mum whispered
I heard while she cried,
“You are a gift and blessing to me,
My child, my beloved one.”
I will keep you,” She promised.
I tried to comfort mum but couldn't.
I conjured up ominous images
Of my shattered body,
My flesh, blood and bone;
It was too painful to bear.
So I stamped my feet
On my bed,
Her stomach bulged,
And I felt mum embraced me,
With her gentle hands.*
*From the smallest corner of her heart
Next to her bulging belly,
My bed room,
I heard mama interceded with God
For the forgiveness of the sins
And comfort of thousand women
Who aborted their pregnancies
Due to **** pregnant while breast feeding,
Incestuous affairs, teenage pregnancies
Or on medical conditions
For the physical and emotional pains
They endured and guilt that may have lingered still.*
*In her bulging stomach,
My bed room, my home,
I waited for my eviction,
Every day.
Then one day, after a long wait,
It rained cats and dogs
With muds of blood
In my bedroom.
I tried to cling to the roof of my bed room,
But was swept away by the natural disaster
Through the channel of life
Into my mother's gentle arms.*
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
From Wilfred Owen to his Mother, France 1918
Fastened frosted muds battle with my being but will these tears mean anything if my resolution has come too late?
Will England’s Green shores ever sigh for me; for those slain here?
The smell of the dew is still sweet on my senseless tongue.
Nothing in this septic land could shave the zest from my skin.
When the gasp of my final breath resounds in silence,
I only hope that I sleep and slip away from the impossibility of understanding what has occurred here.
To fade into my torment and leave the things I love.
Can this be my only contentment when
The canvas I envisioned was so white, the page so blank, so vast?
I only ever pleaded for a chance to fill even the tiniest part.
I want for now only to be gone from here, Dear Mother…..
God, these tears burn my cheeks in this cold,
As if I have been moved into the sun, and I feel I am helpless.
If only my life were the sonnet form of this uncertainty,
My existence I could abolish with the half-rhyme of my Knowledge.
For it is law that a sonnet of fifteen lines is no longer a sonnet.
Its very existence has been prolonged beyond definition.
A life form sonnet of thirteen lines has been cut too short,
Gunned down by fate before the indulgence of its own conclusion. France is now a pathetic source of melodramatic monologue.
Trapped without the hidden ear of soliloquy,
Within this surreal Garden of Courtly Love, I am alone.
I can no longer feel the brush of your angel wings as they breeze Through No Mans Land,
Or anywhere on this lonely world-wide shore.
For they have been grabbed to the ground with an unassuming thud by the gravitational pull of bile and death.
And so it comes to this.
To never again hold a thing of beauty in my hand;
To press it gently against my anxious heart.
Is this what I’ve become?
Or to fight on and never speak a word of what has occurred here,
For Dante fell too short in revelation and I am no one to amend.
I have no place here or there and,
In limbo, I will probably die here Mother.
Here with nothing but the burning of my fragile heart to remind me. Earth’s sleep has broken.
Irrevocable, irreplaceable, irresponsible.
But nothing happens.
Barry Miller September 2007: Los Angeles, CA.
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 1:31 PM UTC
To speak of my pains is my release from which.
It is not merely my drudgery within the muds of self-wallowing.
It is an awakening when I read my own words and learn who I am in that moment.
It is a point from which to move on, a stepping stone.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
this is a cry
this is a cry
this is a cry
this is a
parking lot. that is how big this world is. a sad space between the trees, east to a canteen, west to a badminton field. head south, there's a toilet. the way out is in the north.
we are full of cold cars and stranger's sweat. we are full of leaves, branches, fruits that fall anonymously. of raindrops, of muds that stain our clean white shoes. we are full.
come, wind. come and break the trees. come so they can wreck us into scraps.
it is no harm to the living. roots keep them alive. what does that make a human? people are abandoned, fences are mistaken as a protection. the lonely bridge. the raging river. the subject. the unidentified. everything is now an object to the eye
and it wrenches our emotion until we give them all up, of course, until we've got nothing left, of course, until breathing is solved and the lungs unravel
listen
this has been a cry all along
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 11:54 PM UTC
Untold stories, unheard,
Told stories not understood,
Love felt less, laws overrated,
Skies seen, touched ground more,
Made less roads, followed more,
Thought less, views outstanded.
In The lonely aimless road of mine,
A stranger, showed me another way,
Lovely as The Moon herself,
Eyes distant as the road itself,
Hair as the dancing corn fields,
Took my hands and strolled yet,
I was never a good walker I guess.
My unspoken words, or the
Un cried tears, She never heard.
Fingers distancing themselves,
A hand, starting to let go,
The Moon thats setting,
The corn fields losing colour,
The road cracking, huh!
A tear to fall and vaporize.
Head to be pulled straight,
to be Looked back never again,
Though at the end of my roads,
I will rest on a ***** muds,
Hoping the same stranger to
Kiss me a rebirth, The painter
of the cornfields, the craftsman
who would make more roads
for both of us to walk once more...
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC
the flow
the society's eternal goal
mindless show for senses
enslavement for soul.
splash is all the effort
I use it to crush waves
all becomes trash when there's no escape.
'sider them mundane
you're still on the shelf
breaking out a cliché is a cliché in itself.
we cannot all disperse
we cannot stay in place
reclusive - an evil curse
society's disgraced.
a shame,
the river flows.
I pledge to crash on banks
some will reach the muds and dry
most will stay inside
better die alone with vows
than splash - the river flows.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 4:29 AM UTC
When it rains it pours
And when it pours it floods
And when it floods theirs death, sliding with the Muds
And after death is sadness
And after sadness sorrow
Light a lonely candle as to have some light tomorrow
Sadness is not followed ,nothing grows in such a soil
You may have a happy feeling but the promises are hollow
And all that's left the ****** as she lay the heroe rest
For his lips forever aching as the fire filled his chest
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
i like me when i'm with you
when you hold me in your arms so tight
and my shoulders that you bite
oh baby, i would love to be with you for years
you whispering sweet words in my ears
one cozy afternoon,
while we're watching our favorite cartoon
hands clasped and forehead kisses
i closed my eyes and recall my wishes
this is what i wish for and i couldn't ask for more
a loud noise banged at the door
suddenly, a drunken man fell to the floor
then, his gang came in and punched you
metal clanking and bubblegums they chew
i shouted in terror when they hit you hard
white flowers and black outfits
what did we do for them to throw a fit?
i could still remember the bloods
and how they throw you on the muds
baby, i miss your touch on mine.
Jul 13, 2020
Jul 13, 2020 at 12:20 AM UTC
*Toking at the dam around twelve
Listening for rod tip bells
Muds slapping topwater , the hollow ring
of paddle striking boat , a bowed rod , a midnight
fight on a starlit warm Rico night
Connecting the heavens with wondering eyes
Tobacco smoke rising high into the sky
A jigger of peach brandy warmth
A chicken sandwich from the One Stop* ..
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 11:05 PM UTC
Your love for your man was like an ocean
Its getting deeper
Every time you sail to see his wonders
You thought you were safe
You thought you could swim
Until the storm came
The waves came running
Thunders rumbling
It destroyed your boat
You fell
And again you thought you were safe
You thought "I trust him, I will not drown"
But slowly, bit by bit
You didn't know
You were devoured by this love
You thought it was beautiful
You thought there were beautiful corals
You thought there were colorful fishes
But all you saw was thick muds
On the ocean floor
You reached the abyss
Dark crevices hovered around you
You got scared
You swam back
Trying to reach the surface
You swam back
Wishing to breathe again
But his gravity pushed you down
Your body became numb
You can't swim anymore
Your prescence disappeared
Your soul turned into words—"My love, I fought. I tried. But I'm weak and I drowned"
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 11:49 AM UTC
Spring is coming,
I can smell it in the air.
The warm kiss of sunny days,
The sent of the Earth waking again.
Winter snows fall from their glinting glory,
Shrinking as they drown in the muds.
The puddles claim the sidewalk stones,
Now in their reflection, I know my face again.
My soul aches as the breezes pass by me,
Carrying the sweet scents of flower blooms.
If only I could grow wings,
I would follow them to their shining prize.
Spring, is coming.
Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 2:36 PM UTC
I thought this would get better with time
I thought times will refresh the page of odds
I thought moments will swing pass
But its hurts my pride
To confess this
That I miss you
Like everyday...
And that I need you ..
Always to breath...
Seems life is drown out of me...
Without us been around each other
And the sun had refuses to smile
Since distance made these bridge
I miss you
Like the air I breath
when my nostril seem stuck
With fluffy muds ...
Picking my pieces been so hard
I just ve to keep moving...
But I miss you ... like everyday....
I know I'm going to survive these...
And this cup shall pass me by..
But in the mean time
I'll like to admit...
Cos denying brings more pain
than admitting does
That I miss you .
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
Life as we know it;
A sugar coated bus ride to hell or high heaven;
It's all galaxies and fallacies
How can it be the Milky Way
when there's no road that can take me there?
What's the difference between Night and Day
when the only thing that shines in my skies are these nuggets of solid grief in my eyes?
My facilities do not conform to my abilities,
My reality a bare result of hateful gravities,
I yearn to fly
My mother keeps pushing the sky
Out of my reach
She wants me drowned in the ponds of silence.
Blocking my shine in the brown of her dusts,
She forces me to wallow in the muds of mediocrity;
But I am not just another particle;
The carbon of my heart tells me I am an excellent gem,
Wiz the diadem;
Born to lead a life of jewel passions and crystal lusts!
I know that speech alone is not enough – I need to dig myself from under these sands.
Society your son is a pearl,
Though you keep concealing the flame of his sparkle
Keep in mind – a day shall come; an hour shall pass
When your stony grip on the feet of his mind shall be loosened;
Trust then, that he will diamond in this rough!
WordSmith Wiz
01/08/2019
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 5:20 PM UTC