"nips" poems
I have bruises like amethyst
But the truth is I’m the catalyst
When I see colours of bismuth
I know you mean business
Bruises like amethyst
But you say you’re a pacifist
An analyst an activist
But you held my mind so it contorts, distorts
And aborts so it can’t resonate or fabricate
Or rationalise a world inside
That doesn't exist and insists
That I can’t be kissed and won’t be missed
I've got a black heart like tourmaline
But I'm the alkaline to your acid time
Trust me I am fine, I'm a pale blue
Crystalline Structural perfection
Don’t need your affection or your ways
Of objections did my bra strap give you an
Erection?
You could say I'm a feminist
But I'm more of a scientist
Busting body myths like biologist
You say ‘but **** are ****** organs’
Listen you morons, all ******* are a erogenous zone
Regardless of gender , boys nips literally have no purpose
Except when they get nervous for getting a little lip service
Trust me I'm fine, I'm a pale white crystalline
Structural perfection I don’t need your objection
Not a gem stone for your collar bone I don’t give a **** about
Your muscle tone, I'm a cyclone all alone I could spend a
1,000 years on my own.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
By David John Mowers
Oceanus, Acheron, Styx and Gyges, Phlegethon,
Phaeacians lament, mourn the loss, Scheria, dissolved in froths.
Virgil’s tale, found correct, a land too good, a nation wrecked,
Nausikaa, burn the ships; their minds released, cool airy nips,
Below the wave, watery grave, submerged to bottom, fathoms by stave,
Fathoms some more, until the whorl, descending to, another world.
Through Omphalos, to Land of Sleep, awaits a beast, where time has ceased,
Darkness here, underworld, cold and frigid, below the whirl,
In solemn grave, souls released, judged and counted, by the beast,
Deeper than, the deep itself, past drowning fairies and dying elves,
Who did mourn them? Those golden men, magic mariners, Mino's kin?
What wrong was seen? What vice not true? What awful sin? What did they do?
One thousand years, first black age, Two thousand more, to find the stage,
Cast off Aries and cast Orion, to find beginning, of Golden Lion.
Man of Heavens, Beast agrees, Bull of Sky, Ox of seas,
Land of Punt, Land of Éire, Ogyges blue, hearts on fire,
All the seashores, all the mines, Tribe of Dan, from ancient times,
Port of Sais, Port of Thera, Port of Lagash, bygone era,
Sailor’s horse, Minotaur, a lyre is crying, strummed guitar, nation dying, abattoir.
Ochre foams to sanguine depth, there they rested, where Kronos slept,
He’ll never answer, he doesn’t care, we’ll never know, if this was fair.
Our hearts in sadness, hands on the gates! I curse you Poseidon!
. . .and your Sea of Fates!
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
Lips
slithering
over
her ******
tease'd her
between
her
legs.
Her nips
stiff
to the
touch, flush
with such
pleasure
she
can't
get
enough
as he
*****
shocks rush
like traffic
from her
******
to
her
****
Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 9:07 AM UTC
Autumn has nothing on me now;
Summer has changed me as a whole.
But winter is coming soon, I fear,
And I'm afraid by spring I'll have no soul.
Spring: a season's anticipation,
Awaiting the exciting summertime...
Crashing down comes ice and snow,
And brings me to the winter-rhyme.
Winter, bearing ugly days––
To bring out nips upon the skin,
And tears to turn to killing hail,
And morals to turn to bitter sin.
Autumn, so full of nothingness:
Empty, and dead, and decaying-brown.
Leaves that swarm the dried-out air
Like clumps of ashes falling down.
Summer, the warm, and lovely season––
"Hurry up," I say, "and run, run, run."
I'm missing sun in every corner;
I'm missing freedom; I'm missing fun.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
My smooth vermin, you inspire me to write.
How I hate the way you infest,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the wicked rest.
Let me compare you to a contender?
You are more ugly and more disgusting.
Hot frost nips the robins of December,
And wintertime has the shocking busting.
How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.
I hate your intriguing infestations.
Thinking of your many legs fills my days.
My hate for you is the implications.
Now I must away with a loathsome heart,
Remember my fast words whilst we're apart.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 1:12 AM UTC
I love the way you eat me,
treat yourself to my tasty *****
The feel of your tongue,
as they lather my lips,
your ***** rubbing,
my gums against your lips
My head; dips.
your eyes; solar eclipse.
my fingers; tingling as I
tighten my grip.
with each slippery lick.
you lips start to stick --
tingle my nips --
both hard as bricks.
Using our thump,
********* my slit,
while ******* my ****
your warm lips,
making me flip --
the suction,
your rhythm,
thick- long tongue,
beating it like a drum.
The finish - a perfect fit.
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 7:02 PM UTC
I wish I were stranded on a tropical island
A tropical island with you
You could make art from coconuts and starfish
Yeah, coconuts and starfish might be a good place to start
And I could build a crude instrument
Out of a conch shell and driftwood
And tightly roll a papaya leaf to use for a string
Or two
Then I could play and you could sing
We wouldn't want for anything
Serenading each other by the light of the moon...
Every evening we could snuggle underneath the stars
You could be Venus, I could be Mars
We could lay our differences aside (except the good ones)
I'm safe in you, you're safe in me,
No need to hide
I wish I were stranded on a tropical island
A tropical island with you
And we'd bake clams in the hot, hot sand
Under the afternoon Sun
And brew a crazy chowder using sea salt and kelp (help!)
Then we'd make love on the beach as the water nips at our toes
Under the setting sun when the day is done
By a waterfall I'm calling you...
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
Ko Ko to Go Go
a prelude to a kiss
dance with Chubby Checker
lift a slo gin fizz
Head bobs to Be Bop
flip the B Side now
mellowtune in monotone
two ears for stereo wow!
Wonderment of Duke and Miles
swinging kool birthin boplicity
urban crush the hipsters rush
jazz joints cross the city
Firery sax emote a clash
strain ears of credulity
Lester leaps creative heat
nips harden on my *******
Max taps exotic wax
Django's quick pickin
finger snaps flip my lid
lips deliciously sippin
Eurozone a Zen zone
a blue infinitive smokin
big peeps dig don pink wigs
fat spliffs hot token
My new suede shoes
walks west end blues
Pop's cornet got me tippin
his open blast first to last
I like cornbread, barbecue
and fine home jazz cookin
jbm
Oakland
3/12/10
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 6:41 PM UTC
I often find myself deep in the world of unknowns
of wind,
of fire,
of water
She exhales
sending static electricity waltzing through the air
as if the particles find some deeper attraction in her presence
Her fragrance
zests the cracks of empty space
Within a single whispered word,
my breath escapes me
in hopes that it may embrace
just the sound of her voice
Her heat fills up my spine
like a thermometer
and illuminates the heart
Fiery eyes burn hieroglyphics onto my lungs
Her touch gives me the fireflies
and in a frenzy they collide
igniting on impact
Their spilled embers
cast sillouetes on my eyelids
of our candle-lit dinners
Silk hair
pools against the bed sheets
Her lips would be the moon
to my tidal kiss
Frost nips at her imperfections
But she never freezes
for she changes feverishly
like bubbling water
If only transparent
Her forms cannot define her
But,
She is mystic like the air
Spontaneous like a spinning flame
A kinesthetic ocean
and I’m good at drowning
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
Tonight I’ll go into the copse of firs
Where I last saw her, and love blossomed
I remember lust, a face plastered on hers
And the love that was then awesome.
But those woods are black and empty
So barren now and without life.
Rocks cut my shoes, once just lumpy.
There’s not a bird that chirps a fife.
The sun sets and frost nips my nose
I still remember the vibrant red rose.
The ice beneath, it chills my toes.
And the little brook, it’s now froze.
Without you, I just can’t exist
I still remember that last kiss.
Without you, I count the hours
And I watch the death of flowers.
Without you, My heart cries out
For sadness to be dispelled--
Without you, Life means nothing
And I ache with lack of loving.
Without you, There’s no catharsis
Why was I then so heartless?
Without you, There’s only blackness
No salvation from this sadness.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
Marines call to say hello,
impress. I'm over 35 but my boys
19. They could go: Hide!
One moment spent tying a shoe,
another dying, gunshot wound or poisoned food.
Events in their mere chronology
make no sense.
And the details of yr dad's life don't either.
Late night
quiet cigarette smoker. But next day,
the butts cleaned into the can. Who does that?
Lady in a skirt or overalls rolled up - cigarette smoke.
Now it's yr dad.
Yr dad who
watches for war.
Even if Uncle Sam disbands, dissolves
we the people will still be here and stay involved
with North America. The purple mountains majesty
and shining seas
little people, big people, brown, red, and white. Addicted
to action movies.
Perhaps there is no choice. One must sit, sitting still
as a buddha, sitting bull.
I can imagine myself and all others - drivers, voters, runners -
little fetal muscles
at first. Metastasizing. What's it called when the cell
at the tip of the *****
or organism, divides, and the ***** grows? It's called
girl on a bicycle.
I find I make no sense. Her **** a practicality to her, is
delicious to me
a miraculous sea lettuce or snapdragon. You've heard it before.
A moral dilemma
wrapped in robes and silks and odors. Yet, come close,
and business beckons
work gets done, life goes on, hair grows in, we go on
vacation
the Marine Corps calls, desperate for new fetuses to teach
purposeful workmanlike killing
I'll do my own killing, thanks, when violence comes to the
neighborhood
if I've got your back
your back's gotten and if I'm on point, the point's taken.
One world under God invisible with liberty and justice for all who
Art in heaven
what the hell's his name.
Nemesis.
Hysterical.
The small war of an especially inept empire. The world's too big
to swallow as the Krauts and Nips found out. Empire
is self-correcting. Them dark-skinned mustachioed *********
who can't fix their own electricity seem to be kicking our *****
pert good. As did the ***** before them. All to the good. A
good lesson to know and then we all become friends following
the brawl. We apparently cannot skip the fight. It must
be fought, and **** the girls.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
Twenty-five pigeons are doing **** rips in my living room.
In the middle of my living room
twenty-five pigeons
are doing **** rips
of **** that they bought
off my next door neighbor
who just happened to have some lying around.
There are twenty-five pigeons
doing **** rips in my living room,
and they will not stop watching
Battlestar Galactica.
The twenty-five pigeons
doing **** rips in my living room
ate all of my Cheese Nips,
and they drank the last
of the RC Cola I bought.
I try to get
the twenty-five pigeons
doing **** rips in my living room
to leave,
because I hate it when they do this,
but they just coo at me
and that shuts me up.
One of the twenty-five pigeons
doing **** rips
in my living room
accidentally knocks over
the ****
and spills bongwater
all over my ******* carpet.
The **** cracks.
They start flapping their wings really hard
and ******** everywhere,
because they're pigeons
and they're mad.
But then,
one of the twenty-five pigeons
produces some hash wax
from under his wings,
and now there's twenty-five pigeons
doing knife hits
of hash wax
over my stove,
and quite frankly
I'm ******
I run in
and start waving my arms
around,
and scream,
"Get the **** out of here,
who let you in anyway?"
And the head pigeon drops the knife on accident,
and they all fly out of my living room
and into the sky,
all really blazed,
leaving me here,
mad,
with a bunch of stains on my carpet.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
tender nips
luscious lips
tremulous dips
thrusting hips
sweaty grips
sensual slips
heartbeat skips
total eclipse
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 12:41 AM UTC
***** moisten, ******* wet.
Petite round **** ******* swollen stiff.
**** hard and fully ***** his girth is thick.
Long length, curved at the tip; tight fit.
Silk boxers on the floor, ******* next.
Naked bodies, both so magnificent.
Slippery, silky smooth tongue slid,
up and down her slit.
Lips pressing her hood.
Under it, her exposed clit,
glistens with spit,
Hot breath and warm licks
encircling her tip.
She's rolling her hips,
to the beat of the tongue licking it.
Fingers gripping her long ******* pink.
Twisting her nips, then pinched
squeezing them numb,
between his fingers and thumb.
her moans, turned high pitched
Tongue flicking, ******* as he rubs,
She tugs on his pulsating Dick.
Waves of pleasure whip through his core,
ending at his tip.
Just as quick,
******* rip, through her thick hips;
As he cums.
Her tension shifts,
from her stomach,
to the core of her hips.
Her creamy silk liquid drips,
fluids flowing, fingers sliding,
between her ***** lips.
He licks his lips clean,
cleaning off her salty drips.
Body frozen stiff,
She's shuddering;
spasms of orgasms,
riveting her hips.
He lays at her side,
her wild side subsides,
she's relishing the fix.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
~
*It lays silkenly sweet against
sun kissed skin
tiny straps, perhaps strapless
delicate linen softly draped
tender tiny tucks and nips
delicious bows tied at nape
It cascades around curvy hips
‘round a waterfall that slightly drips
sprightly colors all wink as
they whisper and swish
full of giddy and laughter, they flirt
away gloom, rain and mist
Teasing touches wraps around thighs
dancing daisies pause as I walk by
serenely skirt and brush past
with a soft wispy cushion sway
plump full, recline, pause to chat
on a sultry summer’s day*
~
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 9:34 AM UTC
I Need a Titanium hip
My old one is losing its grip
That bone spur brings pain
Whenever it rains
I limp just like Chester and slip
Reserve my Titanium hip!
Sign me up don’t give me no lip
I’m sick of the pain
Driving me insane
Til treated with 4 or 5 nips
I’ve got my Titanium hip!
No longer afraid that I’ll slip
My Doctor-so serious!
But I’m quite delirious!
And green tea is all that I sip...
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 2:35 PM UTC
we kip through all the ****** on the news
i left the device on a radio channal
awoke to it burning up static and turned it off
silence as falcon overviews us
ultraviolet sight
looking for neon spots and trails of *****
markings that may betray the entrance of our dwelling
i put the kettle on
our voices are clayed
by our
confessing inner multitude
but they're recorded all the same
i pour a cup of tea
our pattern of submission
is signal tweaked
maintainance by murmers
****** thorough
through our glacial surrender
i take a sip
silence as
aided by the clear weather
a drone nips out its choice targets
we were not selected
neither us or any neighbour
but far away ;
a story heard on the device
Apr 7, 2022
Apr 7, 2022 at 6:24 PM UTC
“that’s a Simpson’s sky,” you say,
pointing to the fluff strewn across the highway sky,
I smile and nod, concentrating on the music
we’re driving to Cornwall in the curb lane,
pointedly avoiding what’s uppermost,
halfway there from Toronto
“driving makes me think,” I think to myself
and turn up the volume on Buddha Bar III
and talking fades into the rearview mirror
black Firebird, racing stripes, eager to pass me
I hold steady – he should know how to use the passing lane!
he bobs and weaves and nips at my fender
it washes in waves over you so palpably
I feel it crash on my shoulder -
your father passed away yesterday
rolling the window down slightly, you light a cigarette
I roll down mine and light up, too
our ritual – one feeding off the other
we’re driving to Cornwall, to family,
to mother, alone now among children
“what will you say to her?” I ask you silently
we’re driving to Cornwall
towards loss, towards hope
with a black Firebird close behind
I move the wheel slightly
to avoid a can of Pepsi rolling in the lane
the rear-view mirror catches the firebird
deliberately swerve to hit it and exlode
its contents in a little puff of vapour -
highway music
bonaventure saptel
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
words are wasted darling,
can't add an alphabet more...
but make o's of your lips,
measure the girth of your hips,
tease the buds of thy nips,
sip honey, lick nectar,
fork a tongue into you,
pierce your insides,
twist your wild hair
around me,
bolt love,
blindfold you,
warm your ******* to
the incandescence
of the moon,
nibble your ear ends,
step away a moment,
gaze at your island body
your shy fluidity,
watch you bathe
in candlelight,
catch every
running drop
off you,
every globule,
wrap you up,
unknot you,
tie your hands together,
feed you a smear
of chocolate,
seat you
on a chair,
eat off you,
days and nights shall embrace us,
seasons weave a cocoon,
ice slide down our bodies
and I shall make love to you,
and now as I utter
these little strands
in whispers,
I am here entwined to you,
I promised to read out these lines
if I ever make love to you,
now that the words
are in communion,
let us dearest,
bid them adieu
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
"Tout aux tavernes et aux filles."
Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?
Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
Or get the straight, and land your ***
How do you melt the multy swag?
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;
Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
Pad with a slang, or chuck a ***
Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
You can not bank a single stag;
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Suppose you try a different tack,
And on the square you flash your flag?
At penny-a-lining make your whack,
Or with the mummers mug and gag?
For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag!
At any graft, no matter what,
Your merry goblins soon stravag:
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
THE MORAL
It's up the spout and Charley Wag
With wipes and tickers and what not.
Until the squeezer nips your scrag,
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
2.6k
Give me a fresh *** of your nips.
Ehh?? Give me a ******* turnip!
I went to Peterborough, came from Marrakech,
Which one should I rip to flesh?
In summer I love to chew icicles,
Whatever! It’s to die for!
I rode a bike and had a stew,
Never mind this poem, go and have a poo.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 2:11 AM UTC
The cold mountain air nips at my cheeks
While I sit on the cold grass of this slope
I can feel the chills poke my skin like needles
And crawl down my spine like spiders
But the chills aren't worse than the cold feeling in my chest
Because you aren't here by my side
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 9:19 AM UTC
Igor was torn between casting
the body of a girl
or young woman,
that was merely sexually attractive -
or whether to employ a procession
of young nubiles as secretaries;
now that Natalia had thrown him over for Ivan,
he needed a girl or young woman
who was sexually mature;
possibly even suitable for marriage;
sexually mature; sexually attractive,
desirable, **** luscious; marriageable;
informally, beddable:
Ivan constantly surrounded himself
w/ a posse of nubile young women,
to forget, that's what Eli needed to do;
mid 17th century: from the Latin nubilis
‘marriageable,’ from nubere,
to cover or veil
oneself for a bridegroom;
from the nubes the ‘puffy cloud-like nips’
of a child bride;
[risqué]
photos of coeds of the
fifties & those of
| _sex-trafficked nubiles_
from last week; |
glamour isn't glamorous;
as GMO skanks get injected
w/ female growth hormones
just in case they
decide to
to be mothers someday
slightly indecent or liable
to shock, especially by being sexually
suggestive; "risqué humor" ribald,
rude, ***** Rabelaisian, ***** ****
earthy, indecent, suggestive,
improper, naughty, locker-room;
****** ***** ****** crude, adult,
coarse, obscene, lewd, ******
blue, raunchy; off-color
"risqué stories": mid 19th century: French,
_past participle of risquer ‘to risk’_
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:04 AM UTC
The cold
is so bitter.
It claws
and bites
and nips
but
I can feel it.
There's a crime scene, chalk man drawing on the other side of the bed,
999.
The posters read "Missing - Somebody Who Cares."
I lie next to it and imagine my hair being stroked,
my cheek being touched,
whispers in my ear that tickle like reeds in the wind
and cause crashes like waves colliding with the shore.
The clock ticking wakes me from my thoughts.
I'll spew flowers,
create fires with my hands,
write novels
and spear hearts with my words -
if only somebody would listen.
A daisy can't live forever.
It will shrivel and wither and die when winter closes in.
It feels like autumn.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
The bitter cold
nips at my neck
but I linger outside
if only to get a whiff of
the smoky smell
of firewood burning
that makes me nostaglic
for winter days.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC