"nipping" poems
the miniscule, crystallized phenomena
floating down on their zephyr gondola
to the little children's enchantment.
the wintriness nipping at their stamina
produced petite gloved hands pulling tightly at their jacket.
to rollick the day away was their only commandment.
fast forward a few years, and they'll be learning algebra,
their minds drifting away during lectures on parabolas
to the forgotten days of freedom; they lament
the loss of their fragile frostwork taffeta.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
They brought them
from the hollar
to the barge
to the field ~
into the wallows
in prayer
skinny little pinkers
cropped by ivory gates
buzzed with hot wire
hooked on bug worm
whistling dixie
around scrummers
and **** pen
peckers squawk
down eden lane
(nipping at jean lint
and fraystring)
deep in the hollows
a mad crow
(with steady tap)
the snouts high
on grunters
and squealers
stomping past
the feather pack
folded fingers
on the gatekeeper
(an engineer by
trade they'd say)
pigtails and
slack line
down the dusty lane
a snap of the jawbone
and lawn chairs settle
(facing north)
the bold script
and chimes
uneasy
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 1:11 PM UTC
In your vision you are the only thing with bloodshot eyes.
You always wear a robe
that speaks seven languages... and a bank of fog is at your feet
nipping at your naked heel.
In your vision you remember how your arms feel in sunshine.
It is intense.
Your can-opener is hissing an etude
that alludes to wise men...
who bathe in miracles
and roam the world,
untarnished in Poverty.
Your can-opener whispers in hush tones
about barbarians at the gate. And they say
' they've come for the Linen ! '
You are not deceived.
In your vision you are the only thing that can backward engineer
a Universe.
On your way back to the homeland of your algebra
you hesitate. “ you may have left your keys in your Other Robe...”
The Robe that hallucinates constantly~ Carrying on about
' The dire consequences of leaving terrycloth alone with the keys '
and, afflicted with Prophesy Tourettes
the piteous tide of doom ' sayeth the robe '
you must suffer.
In your vision, you are the only one
looking for the keys.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 5:09 PM UTC
she asks at last,
is this one for me
“of course it is,
was waiting for visualizing
the Oh,
when I heard
you stumbled into it”
she then confesses,
she has
a “tendency to stumble”
without an explanation
her answer is in her manner subtle,
that instantly invigorates,
so decidedly her style,
her answer,
raising more questions,
defeating the illusion of
anybody masculine overconfidence of the challenger
she puts the ”oy” in coy,
deflating my upper-handed attitude,
with an answer tantalizing and hinting,
so simple, it explains everything
and nothing
it seems that when she stumbles,
it’s me that actually,
“all fall down”
ah woman,
when you best me,
it brings forth the best
and adds an
“a”
in this poetic beast,
two play fighting cubs nipping
each other. the in us gaming
in this wordplay game,
so exciting,
her subtle reasoning teasing
results in a man as
a happy sore loser*
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
Society is a clay mold
Taking every newborn into its fold
Kissing each brow with insecurity, shame
Releasing it's victims, carbon-copies, all the same
Society is a line graph's slope
Plotting point ever upwards in hope
Shunning those who are different, who fight
Loving only those who are "normal", all outliers denied
Society is a disease, nipping at the soul
Filing and wearing down on the young and old
Breaking every innocent into a pessimistic, jaded mess
Rending, tearing, stomping, destroying whatever is left
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
wear gloves on your hands,
leaving your eyes free to speculate
and your mind to record
the life of the plant;
and the life of the one who nurtures and tends
follow-from the fallow soil
to my edible plated consumption,
from the baby bud nipping
to sharp crack shot at picking,
to my tongue licking
both your produce and you
you may feed me poems
when the real harvesting is done,
grown in your own private plot,
from you, my good fellow,
follow with love delivered to
my expecting fallow-soul,
awaiting your seeding me,
and I,
you...
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
Winter is coming!
With arctic winds
And bitter frost
Lining the cold ground
Frozen dewdrops glisten
In the meadow by light
Of morning sunshine
Winter is coming!
Can't you feel the stinging
Breezes nipping our faces?
When lacy snowflakes start
Pouring out of the grey clouds
Flowers lay dormant until next Spring
And animals go to sleep
Winter is coming!
Can't you feel it in the air?
~Marian~
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
*You Held Me Tight In Your Arms,
The Night Air Nipping At Our Skin,
Our Breath Clouds Of Warmth,
Mixing Underneath The Stars*
"I Love You," You Said, Your Hands Meandering,
Up And Down My Spine,
Trying To Keep Me Warm,
In The Frosty Octobor Night
*Corn Stalks Gently Grazed Our Jeans,
You Held Me Close,
Perplexing The Lurking Demons,
Warming My Blood,
With Your Lips*
"I Love You Too," I Said Holding Your Shoulders
*You Wrapped Me In Your Arms,
Folding Our Souls Together,
Like An Ormagami Crane,
And You Kissed My Cheek,
Our Frozen Fingers Entwined*
"Don't Ever Leave Me," You Said Lovingly,
As You Burried Your Face Into My Neck,
And Kissed It Lightly
*I Lay My Head On Your Shoulder,
And The Goosebumps On My Skin Faded,
As My Body Enjoyed The Cold*
"I Won't" I Murmered,
*You Stared Into My Eyes,
And Pulled Me Closer,
Our Lips A Millimeter Away,
You Know What I Like*
I Felt Your Breath As You Asked,"What Would You Say If I Asked You To Marry Me?"
*Even Though It Was Only 2 Seconds,
The Space Imbetween That Question,
Felt Like Two Hours,
Honestly I Never Wanted That Moment To End*
"I Would Say Yes, Why?"
*I Could Feel Your Pulse Rise,
And Your Skin Start To Warm*
"Because Someday I'm Going To Ask You, And Give You A Diamond Ring, Almost As Beautiful As You"
*I Smiled
A Reflection To Yours
As We Sat Under
The Yellowish Cresent Moon*
"Then It's A Yes"
*I Laughed
My Annoying Kackly Laugh
The One You Love*
"Can I Kiss You?"
*My Eyebrows Lowered
In Sarcastic Annoyence
But I Giggled*
"Fine"
*As You Kissed Me
I Smiled*
"Please Take My Sweatshirt," You Begged Me
*I Noticed My Shivering Body
The Hairs On My Arms Rose
And My Fingers Felt
As If They Belonged To A Dead Person*
"Okay" I Reluctantly Said
*You Put Your Sweatshirt Over My Shoulders
And As You Cuddled Me Closer
And Kissed My Lips One Last Time
I Opened My Eyes
The Light From The Moon
Streaked Across My Face
Suddenly I Heard You Whisper
Goodnight
As We Stood On My Doorstep
Goodnight I Replied*
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
I'm surprised we're having a picnic on the east wing!
Our company almost never gives us anything!
Underpaid with no benefits makes this picnic even better
To think I was going to give in my resignation letter
With so many hamburgers, hot dogs, and more,
It's a fast food restaurant galore!
A table packed full with yummies.
Today, a lot of beef will be in tummies.
People reaching for their plates
The caterers come out of their waits
One by one, they serve each voracious goer
For a pay that probably couldn't get any lower
Janice comes, with her broken polish and nails
And a scream a joy echos out like whales
She's so drunk, oh my god haha she's so wired
It's the unpaid overtime or another threat of being fired
Poor thing... we finish our girl talk
and problems on my mind, I begin to walk
Feeling my appetite begin to poke me,
I bite into my hamburger with resounding glee
Nipping the bread, it's fluff presses against my lips
I close my eyes, as my senses go in dips
The precious aroma of divine baked bread
As my tongue and bun are set to wed.
Each bud met with delicious waters of steak
The ketchup creating a dreamy, saucy lake
Scrumptious, delicious
Incredible, nutritious...?
It doesn't matter, I've met my goal
And the taste, goodness it makes my mind roll
Forgetting everything while I finish the rest
Golly, this food is the best
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
I turned lesser men to stone, snakes nipping idly at my dress:
I am monster, living incarceration of a profane affair.
I turned sacristy into brothel, my beauty was perverted to despair.
I am monster, grotesque face topped by a hissing nest.
As you approached, and I felt a grim shiver in my chest;
I glowered my petrifying glare,
But you were given hiding-cape', sword, winged sandals to wear,
And mirrored shield my powers to arrest.
My mask of potent shame was made:
Lips blood red and eyes of smoldering coal,
Around my face writhing serpents twist and roll.
I saw my eyes in your hand, I wailed a last serenade.
Gasping in the instant before – everything went stone cold.
I am weapon, crafting you a garden of entombed souls.
1Hades’ cap of invisibility
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 5:01 PM UTC
O blush not so! O blush not so!
Or I shall think you knowing;
And if you smile the blushing while,
Then maidenheads are going.
There's a blush for want, and a blush for shan't,
And a blush for having done it;
There's a blush for thought, and a blush for nought,
And a blush for just begun it.
O sigh not so! O sigh not so!
For it sounds of Eve's sweet pippin;
By these loosen'd lips you have tasted the pips
And fought in an amorous nipping.
Will you play once more at nice-cut-core,
For it only will last our youth out,
And we have the prime of the kissing time,
We have not one sweet tooth out.
There's a sigh for aye, and a sigh for nay,
And a sigh for "I can't bear it!"
O what can be done, shall we stay or run?
O cut the sweet apple and share it!
3.5k
I am a nymph, caged in a greenhouse,
arms overgrown by white orchids;
my lover has hidden me away from the world.
Little goats keep me company,
nipping the orchids which cover my arms.
I dream of the forest, the babbling brook,
the laughter of rain,
hungering for freedom, the touch of the moon.
Like in a desert do I feel here,
this love suffocates me, drying my roots
until I wilt from this illusion.
And when he comes to water me at dawn
greeted is he by my frail still body,
a coffin spun by diamond spiders.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
he laid hands and lips upon
canvas of aching nakedness
igniting...
wanton hunger; pressing into
my palate; fingers painting tender
curlicues with subtle strokes
tracing...
each line and curve, tongued
with passions ink as climactic
quivers, pause; nipping as I
ebb and flow...
he rides in cresting waves, teased,
seduction blankets our embrace;
firmness delves deep...as breath escapes us
scarlet lace lays puddled at our feet
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 1:45 AM UTC
Underneath the window to the galaxy we sat,
Basking in the warm red glow of the fire that burned brightly before us.
Swarms of Mosquitos nipping at whatever piece of skin they could sink their spouts into.
The wind roared, causing hot flare ups of the firewood sending us swinging backward batting away embers which had taken flight.
Sipping our drinks, smiling too widely, laughing with our friends.
Sharing unforgettable moments and making priceless memories;
All while the sky unfolded it's beauty above,
Holding each of us in our little places in the universe, so completely.
Pondering the vastness of it all.
Sitting under the Milky Way,
Making new friends and growing closer to the ones you've always known.
This is the magic of Hecla;
Hecla is part of us, forever.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
Now you're breathing champagne
I can feel it sparkle on my skin
while you revel in the falseness
of forgivable sin
Now I can feel the air around you
deflate and search for words
to stop your own from hemorrhaging
and to heal whatever hurts
Now you're breathing champagne
while you stumble to the places you once called home
like the park behind my house
and the west end record store
Now you can feel the world behind you
nipping at your heels
like the hundred hungry hounds
and the weapons they conceal
Now you're breathing champagne
like it's oxygen
and you are
lost at sea.
I wrote a note on the bottom of the bottle
you can read when you're in pain
"keep the memories in your chest
and keep breathing champagne."
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
I like to bite,
not overly hard,
just enough to make one wince,
perhaps, a sharp intake of breath,
showing that my bite is hard enough.
I so desire feeling soft flesh,
tensing between my teeth,
especially when rounded and firm.
Neck first, working downwards,
nipping into the shoulder,
chewing that succulent muscle,
with tight, tentative nibbles.
I am even bitten in return,
my pressure gauged by intent,
taken from the one biting me.
If teeth come hard and sharp,
trust me, then so do mine,
if they are loving and gentle,
once again, so are mine.
I work across the *******
delighting in the ***** *******
chewing drawing responses,
tongue sliding over her stomach,
lower, lower, down to the hips.
Biting very hard into thighs,
making her cry, back arching,
bringing writhing gasps to die for,
reaching her vulnerable centre,
soothing with deep, heavy licks,
tantalisingly teasing, so sweet.
Suddenly, flipping her over,
rough as you like, choice slaps,
smarting on her plump bottom,
before biting, biting, biting,
taking in every curvaceous part,
devouring, chomping, so yummy!
I part her legs, diving between,
my tongue lapping in a frenzy,
deep, deep, tasting the juice,
before rising, pinning shoulders,
entering, gliding, slowly, surely,
giving long, languorous strokes.
Hips grinding, hard and deep,
circling round and round,
momentum building, building,
firm hands gripping her hips,
flesh slapping against flesh,
as we match our rhythm,
lunging, pounding, thrusting,
exploding, on and on,
more and more, until,
we are spent, trembling,
slowing, easing.
A final twisting whip,
circling the very edge,
bringing smiles,
a playful giggle,
it tickles, so nice,
I lean forward, so good,
nuzzling, caressing,
ah, all because,
I like to bite.
©Paul M Chafer
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Why doesn't my boyfriend want to hold my hand anymore?
It's always been clammy and frigid,
though I suppose it has gained this new
rigidness.
And no one wants to feel responsible
for a dead weight abandoned
in the palm of his hand.
And because it's my lifeless hand,
severed with all the fixings,
rabid and unruly,
nipping at the palm that smothered the life out of it,
Because of this,
he can't even pass it off
as a gag paperweight for Bill at the office.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
How Sweet yet Sorted your Flavours that Are
Branding each ****** where Lust is the Key
Keeping their Thoughts stalled in Wonder that far
Beheld the Heart's Choice you picked out to be
Now in my Learning from Elders since Time
That People regardless are not Hors d'Oeuvres
Nipping that Spread to where Souls are defined
And acknowledge the Praise they so deserve
These are your Customers; Satisfy them
Yet still keep your Person well and maintained
None do they ask for much Sterlings and Sense
Just that Spark to which your Truth is retained.
That Day will come when no Fish will swim by,
Stressed on their Fins with the Bubbles you cry.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
My eyes were beaming out,
onto the gloomy streets.
Fog was lurking in.
It adhered to my skin.
As the dew latched on,
after only seconds,
I slowly became damp.
Contributing to my silky skin.
Dusting my cheeks,
generating rosiness on my surface.
Glazing over my hair,
gluing each strand to another.
Coating my hands,
nipping at my fingertips
The haze in the back of my head,
It kept getting heavier.
Digging my fingernails into my head.
Tugging on each strand,
between my scalp and jagged fingernail.
Clawing as my nails trailed down my skull.
Blood dripping,
Streaming,
Creating tidal waves.
Fog was sprouting in my essence
The fog began to maneuver on me.
Blanketing over my body,
weighing down my soul,
overloading my carcass.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
For my "Big Brother".
*Love Always, *****
You said it was adorable
The way my hair curled
around the hollows of my neck
Brushing across my skin
like a
n o o s e
You said my looks could shatter glass,
that my repugnant features
would SURELY guarantee a life of solitude
You loved to point out my flaws
And how my laugh was too late
breathing too loud
walking too fast
The shallow scars on my wrists
were alluring to you
you encouraged me to make more
and I loved the kiss of cold metal just a little too much
and
you
loved
that
I
loved
it.
You said you understood me
my thoughts were dark and scattered
I wasn't always able to share them with you
But I didn't need to
you already
"u n d e r s t o o d"
my dark companion
the only one I ever trusted
We fought our demons together
Dragging the other to hell as well
You wasted no time in telling me
what a waste I was
of skin
of space
and I wasted no time in b e l i e v i n g you
You would hold me in your arms
and whisper bittersweet nothings
compliments with a hard slap attached
convincing me I was far more flawed than I am.
We fought like rabid wolves
growling,
hissing,
howling,
circling,
nipping at my ankles,
you'd force me to f a l l.
tearing and ripping apart flesh
with words
and my feeble palms
left angry red marks on your chest and face
but my struggle only made you more eager
Every tear that fell from my face
gave you life
every sob that came from my throat
gave you a voice
you could not stand alone
you said
y o u c o u l d n o t l i v e w i t h o u t m e
You said I didn't understand you
that I could never comprehend the torment YOU
were experiencing
I was FAR too dull to see.
It wasn't until I realized
I didn't need to play your childish games
I didn't need you
or your "passionate, intense" heart.
Once I stopped hitting back
your blows became harder
Not worthy of love.
Not worthy of life.
Not worthy of existence.
And I believed you.
I trusted you.
E n d i t,
you said.
Peering down at the street far below us
You said to.
The height was dizzying
Y o u s a i d
"Jump."
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
That night you told me we were the same kind of crazy.
I take a peek at you through my Wells goggles. I've had a sip too much of my grapefruit ***** and we are the only two people in the bar.
I'm light as a feather and with gin nipping at our noses, we let Jack Frost drive the car that night.
That's the thing though, sober or not it's all the same game. The wells is just gasoline to ignite our volatile roulette.
Drink number two still as pink but this time I'm ******* faster. I'm trying to imagine that the lime at the bottom taste like your lips and I am inching towards your soul.
That night you told me we were the same kind of crazy.
Chemical malfunctions in our past, led us to that moment. Infinite understanding of misunderstanding.
I'm light as a feather and I let you drive home, but I never asked if I could stay.
I cannot do simple math to save myself from blushing. As people start trickling in I count my breath and catch the eye of a familiar stranger.
He was wearing the most arousing scarf.
I wish that was your scarf.
With Jack Frost waiting in the car and grapefruit in my veins I count the steps synchronising the strides with my heartbeat.
**** it's cold. Please let me hold your hand.
Pack the bowl, pack the **** pack the one-y
Isn't it funny that rhymes with honey.
Glossy eyes and records. Your White as fresh snow sheets.
I digress.
Why do you always make me leave?
I could just lie with you, I'd just like to listen to you.
We talk, but vaguely. I wish you'd open up to me.
I'm sorry.
Comfort keeps us swollen, but what we have is frail.
Maybe I don't love you, but I don't feel cold to you either.
Give me something to think about when you aren't around.
You're my friend.
Platonic, no depth, just silence.
My vocal absence attempts to create space for your stories.
What are you about? How did you get here? What happened to make you untrusting of my company?
These are these things you think I cannot see.
Somewhere in our cloud of smoke is the door to your heart.
I don't want it to be mine, I just want it to tell me stories.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 4:30 AM UTC
Jonathan Anderson's collections walk a confounding tightrope between naïveté and decadence. Much of his new menswear looked like clothes for a futuristic, spiritual retreat (Anderson himself said he wanted something "laid-back, Zen-like"), but the buckled patent shoes were purest dancehall honky-tonk. The fitted leather jackets were pretty flashy, too, especially when contrasted with multi-pleated pants in plainest calico or denim.
"He took himself seriously," said the voice-over that launched Michel Gaubert's stirring soundtrack (a journey all in itself), but that felt like Anderson poking a little fun at his own expense—or at least anticipating reactions to his quirky rationale. He insisted his collection was actually like an imaginary world that a child might create for himself, akin to the tree houses he and his brother used to build. The preciousness that such a boy would bestow on things that are essentially valueless was reflected in the ordinary objects—keys, tools—that were transmuted into jewelry, the board game that mutated into a constructivist jacquard, and the calico or denim artfully constructed into the pants that made up the foundation of the collection. Some of the models were carrying a small metal frame on which curious little things were suspended, almost like charms to ward off who knows what.
That subtly occult tinge has become something of an Anderson signature, the way he disturbs the refined with the raw, for instance—a thin strand of bamboo or a bandage of calico nipping the waist, or a crude smear of paint across a tulle top so fine it is barely there, or even a white feather stuck to a shoulder. Such touches feel last-minute spontaneous, but also off-kilter, which is exactly where Anderson wants to keep us. But his work is now so consistent that off-kilter is proving a rather pleasant place to be.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 2:01 AM UTC
I exist in the abysmal state of solitude, where I, whose existence survives in profound literary pieces, could fall short of mere words penetrated—cast against me. Where would I be if I can't find the right words to say?
In front of me is a sweet orange juice menacingly teasing me with its dazzling pumpkin hue. Beside it is the apple pie I swore my life I would never put in my mouth. Yet, the sun glistened brighter when I gently put my fork down and absurdly ate it with my eyes closed.
The sadness that lingers deep within enthralls me more, as I swiftly swallow and digest it without tasting all its flavors—just so I can return to reality. I try to keep it all together, even as my spirit is crushed by the thoughts that seep in, nipping at the edges of my soul—through the cracked window of my vision, and the half-drunk orange juice. These thoughts keep coming in, like an intense downpour after a shower. I have tried to write this simply, yet I could never find the right words to say.
I could never forgive myself.
Feb 7, 2025
Feb 7, 2025 at 11:57 AM UTC
He knows what lies below.
This is where it all began: here
Beneath the bubbling sludge and ******* mud.
This is the home brew, the cocooning grounds.
His sturdy boots trudge through,
Hefting questions and glasses askew.
Somewhere to the side a fat swamp prince
Composes bog rhymes in ribbit meter.
Each squelching step sets a buzzing bunch
Of crystal dragons zipping away to
Slick peridot pontoons. A loon swoons
The expeditioner with a sobbing cry. He
Has said goodbye to reservations, to the
Long-dead preservation rights. He slogs through
The buzzing night. Yellow daggers clench
Between scaly steeltrap snappers and stones
With eyes blink in languid surprise, unnoticed.
He is lost, dying, unsure of his quest. He needs a
Cure. He knows it lies here, in the beginning place.
Their faces haunt his deathly guts and crush
His straining heart with need - need for the solution.
Need to survive, to prolong his life - alone!
So alone: the last. If only he could rest.
His nostrils quiver with the homesick stench
Of tails becoming legs and nipping lips sprouting
Sticky tongues. The answer, he is here for the
Only answer. Something below, below, down
In the dredges of history - in the slime of
Centuries, rotless and preserved. He will find it:
Some link, some closer thing he can revive
And test and rest as bedrock for his life.
A foot sticks in the overfriendly tar. No,
He will not pause. He has come too far.
In the birthing grime, some hungry memory wakes.
It knows what lies above, it thirsts to cease it.
It reaches, roils, pulls, rips with smelly squish-fingers -
Thirsting and thirsting to slake. It longs to reveal
To show, to make known to the traveler.
(All he has searched for is found here, it knows,
Organized and close. Held and safe below)
It reaches, grabs - thirsty - presses him into
A false step. A slip. A skritching clipboard
Of statistics curses in rustling indignance
As it flutters to the mud above a splattered head.
Science-frozen lungs fill with dread -
With life-giving peat. (It will show him) He ***** in
And burbles out a scream. (what he wants, show him)
This is where it begins, (this is his dream!) where it ends.
Now he knows what lies below. He lies - curled -
Quenched from growth. The eyes of unnoticed
Stones blink in surprise. Soaring swamp lyrics
Rise, a loon swoons with a sobbing cry.
He curls in peace and drifts alone
Now he knows what lies below.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC