"nudist" poems
An urban legend of sorts they said, of a tree, of a
branch that took any weight given. it has nickname
It had a place in secluded nature where no one seen.
**"The *** tree,**
"Really,
"Ye but you have to watch your step,
"Why??
"Well lets just say its a well fertilized ground,
"The earth and plants feed well on the,
"Sap,
"Seeds,
Not from one but the many, I heard the branch
Can take any weight, a gentlemen of plentiful weight
Tested the legend and got stuck **** naked
Not for a,
"Moment,
"Minute,
"Hours,
"Was he stuck, birthday suit and all,
His lady friend had jogged off with wallet and all,
Its on YouTube,
Called tree hugger nudist,
There is loads of dents little *** holes,
Some say its all the ***** *******
So many hard ones poking dents,
indentations forever of ******* against this tree.
"I've been their done that,
Really,
"Never again,
"Were standing on this branch,
"What's that look for,
"Nothing,
(Giggles under breathe)
"Getting into the moment,
"Thought sap,
"Tree sap,
"Was seeping in to my hair,
"Don't stop what happened stuck,
*"Pants down skinny **** man up tree,*
(giggles loudly)
"Dude I'm 6 foot 5inches,
It was sap of a different kind,
(Gags in mouth)
No Fudging way,
Yep that's not the worst,
"How the hell does some one seed a tree that high,
**"It was like the tree was ******* itself,**
"Old juice, sap, Klingon,
"What ever I throw up on her,
She bit down,
I, we feel three feet out the tree,
"So that's what the plaster cast is from,
"Is that why your walking funny,
Twenty nine stitches its like something
From a Frankenstein film,
Never again my friend a bed is where ill be from
Now on, she fell in a puddle of Jib juice triplets
She had all three different, DNA tests on all
Who visited the tree.
As a video recorded of all who entered,
Just not the naked bits seen.
**"Nature can keep its *** tree,**
"I'll be lucky if mine works again,
"Mine isn't wood its a limp branch now,
*"Dude you got ****** by wood,*
"Bitten limp by teeth,
"Unlucky bro,
"Hahahahah,
"Rather you than me,
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC
While having a heart to heart one night,
My friend informs me that as a straight person, I will never understand what it's like to be closeted.
That there is a reason people understand the term "gay suicide" without context,
That love looked like moth wings that would flutter away or wither at touch,
That the secrets and shame are like locks on the door from the outside and you realize that there is no one out there with a key.
That same friend once asked me if I've ever thought about joining a nudist colony.
She said that the comfort I find in my own skin and my ability to separate naked bodies from beds was admirable.
I told her, there was a reason I never read her my poetry.
I told her, I don't wear make up at Wal-Mart.
That I turn off the lights but still let him love me.
I read to estranged ears.
That bareness was something I would never grow into.
"Darling!" I told her, "there are some things you just aren't meant to see."
I have been truth-or-dared to strip naked, and its not as easy as you might believe.
There is a little something that sits at the back of my mind I like to call "modesty."
Modesty can be defined as the quality or state of being unassuming or limited in the estimation of one's abilities.
"Darling," I wanted to tell her, "You have no idea what these hands are capable of."
There was a time I was proud of that.
They were small and feeble, but holding a blade firm they became strong.
They became what I needed.
My skin became less of a barrier and more of a costume. When I slipped it on, I became original.
I became identified, if only to myself.
The scabs were a serial number the First World girl who was a little too white,
a little too straight,
and a little too doubtful could call her own.
But I was a little too weak,
and a little too lonely
and had a little too much time on my hands to wrap around the knife.
They became my drug. I became a liar.
My skin became an apology for everything I thought you should blame me for.
There was a time I would have done anything to show you, but I have always been a performer.
No one ever asked to see the curtains close.
My friend told me that I would never understand what it's like to be closeted.
That secrets and shame are like locks on the door from the outside and you realize that there is no one out there with a key.
The tally of every moment I'm locked in is a timeline of my mistakes, visible on my own skin.
There are some things you just aren't meant to see.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
You came back with rage again
You stupid, freaking, angry pen
I used to think that we were friends
But that seems to be coming to an end
You're an angry pen
A crazy pen
I don't like you one bit
You're a lazy pen
A stupid pen
A freaking baby nudist pen
And I Hate You
I want to write but you're too busy distracting me
With you're incorrect grammar and all your pointless babbling
I can't believe this is happening
How can a pen be mad at me?
I feel like a disciple and this pen is just a Sadducee
And I'm ****** off, again
But this time it's going to stay
All I wanted to do was play
But this pen led me astray
And I hate it
Every little click makes me cringe
Every little word I write makes me want more revenge
But lets face it...
What exactly would I do a pen?
Instead of taking it a part and putting it back together again
Well, it depends...
But honestly pens don't really make good friends
You rusty pen
You musty pen
You mother freaking ugly pen!
I hate you pen!
I breake you pen!
I can't wait to look down from Heaven and see your face in hell.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
I will never be **** again,
At least never seen,
You know it's kind of funny,
That's my personal dream.
LUCKY ME
But I'm all alone, society kills,
All I do is wait and watch,
The grassy green, the blackened hills,
The warzone and it's total loss.
But I'll just "shower in my clothes,"
Or move out when I have no support,
I'll be a misery and no one knows,
Cares about why I'm so forlorn.
Time passes, set my nudist free,
So I'll no longer have to live
In this banged up pos society.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
New flesh
nudist art next to a pretty dress
as a naked eye sees want it wants to see
A little of an unexplored world in between
—ironically a queen on her knees
A flowing river; centre tongue licking drips
of a honey cup
Tip toeing sounds, silently in their subtle
under the secret sheets towing the sky
A mist for night; a mister of the charges
—who leads who
Being lonely for two, been through a
misconception of missing you
So I just sit, waiting in this empty room
Dec 11, 2022
Dec 11, 2022 at 5:10 PM UTC
When I say I’m a nudist
I am told I’m disgusting
But then, I keep forgetting
It’s that “people don’t **** thing.
And people don’t ****
And nobody ever craps.
They just keep their napkin
Tucked safely in their laps.
They don’t belch, not ever,
And nobody picks their nose.
It’s the way of polite folks
And that’s just how it goes.
Well, let me remind you
Where you were born,
And where you came out of,
And that you were shorn
Of any kind of clothing
Both mother and the child.
You were born like the animals
Both domestic and wild.
You are naked one assumes
When you shower your body
So, please quit acting like
****** is something shoddy.
Your parent put such madness
Inside of your innocent head;
Things like getting re-dressed
Each night when you go to bed.
The insanity of Europeans
Who came to American soil
And wore LAYERS of clothing
In the heat while they toiled.
Then they went to other lands
And warped the people there
With the strange brand of madness
They had been taught to share.
They were taught to be ashamed
Of what god had given them;
That their private parts were evil
And turned you into a golem.
And when asked for a reason
For this weird kind of crazy
They started talking about god
When their logic got all hazy.
So you “people don’t **** folks
Can just kiss my naked ***
That thinking might work for you
But for me it won’t pass
For anything but brainwash
And the programming of the sick.
So wake the hell up, the rest of you
And get on the natural stick.
If I want to be naked all day
And you want to wear clothing
That should be each of our choice;
A personal ‘go or don’t go’ thing.
I mean, for a perfect example here
Think of laundry bill savings
So, you can just stop harassing
And gnashing and raving.
Brent Kincaid
4/12/2015
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
on a nudist beach
there was a man wearing shorts
they were yellow shorts
and a jaunty hat
which despite their cheerful airiness
the chipper summer colour,
he felt alone, down and shunned.
the mere thought of those dear shorts
invited des amigos and an invitation for tacos
a sombrero night he thought as he picked them out in the store.
but now
alone on the beach
he caught disdainful glares directed
at the winsome shorts
he had arrived at the beach so vivacious and jolly
but walking along,
the rough, hot sand blistering his feet,
he was
morose
forlorn
sorrowful
and wistful for those dreams
those empty shells.......
.............
............
............
sombrero
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
i love it when you say
chrysanthemum, pedestrian
aminals, spectacles, nudist and crotch.
i hate it when you say
motherboard, adrenaline
angry, soaking, wrinkles, and rights.
it’s been too long since I heard you say
anything.
Jan 19, 2010
Jan 19, 2010 at 4:44 PM UTC
i went to a nudist camp to see what it was likethere i saw some people riding naked on a bikei started to undress but told myself i could;ntthen i saw some parts that i know i should;nti was so embarrassed i was turning redso i went behind a tree so i could hide my headi decided to go home this place was not for mei had just been somewhere where i should;nt be.next time i get naked i will start to laughthe only time ill go **** is when im in my bath.
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 10:27 AM UTC
One of the ways you lied was quite hard to describe
A riddle of ridicule laced with flaring shoe laces
***** nudist desires smelt of pure hash bury mayo
Feeling as if the end of the dawn would just be the beginning
To pleasure the thought of you was something I once liked to do
Now no longer
For the song bird can only sing for so long
Before their feathers molt to hear a call to move on
Move on blonde lady long legs
We are always meeting and moving on
Towards a sky which crashes silently
Quenching the thirst of many
So on a black rimmed earth a universe folds and folds and folds
Where men travel far not knowing where they go
Explore the neck of your lover to see that she has another
Each bell in the row rings as if it were the first time
Crack yourself up to hear the laughter that you hide away in your room
At first you may be surprised but the twang will not die unless
You
Will it
Night whistles through me
For I am not here
I am soon to be gone
But not to no grave
Each note guides itself upon a road that man must draw to understand
They take pride in cracking magic that laughs at our attempts
And our
Experiments
The word seemed to mean something once
People used to mean something also
Nowadays
All I see
Are comma break decimals
And funeral homes
Jun 5, 2011
Jun 5, 2011 at 11:53 PM UTC
Like the chef who hates to eat
The playwright who cannot act,
The clothing designer, a nudist,
The brave hero, so shy, a stammerer,
The musician, a deaf mute,
The architect, who live in a tent,
I am a writer who hates to type, for his fingers disconnect his eyes, his brain his insane
I am the father, who knows not his own children,
I am the man who hates to shave, and shaves twice daily,
The man who knows nothing of nature, but writes
in and of it constantly.
The man beset by endless money worries,
Who gives his capital away to charity in increments of thousands,
I am the man that never passes a street beggar,
Even the obvious frauds,
Without giving them a bill, and a god bless you,
I am the man that would gladly die young whose
Mother lived to ninty eight and gene'd up him good,
I don't know what you want from me.
I write to please. But I seem incapable of
Giving, paving streets with words you what u want to hear.
Moon, June, pill, **** me me me be crap on this
I am the chef who cannot cook
The nudist ashamed of his body
The stammered into silence
The mute who screams inside till deaf with frustration
I writer of thin air, the unfair. I know not what
You want of me.
But I weep with frustration at the paucity of my expression,
Good god my final destination not close enough
In the hands of strangers, rejection
In mine own, verbal strangulation
Even
Whatever
Is
Insufficiently
Disdainful
Painful
I cannot give you enough of/if me to satisfy
What is it you want from me
I will write to displease
Why not do
What I do best
Anyway
Secure that this voice
Is lost among the voices
Answering
whatever
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
103 days
until we start a private nudist colony
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 2:03 AM UTC
You and I
You
And
I
- I
Could drown myself in melted polar ice caps, or illusions of Niagara Falls (or does it?)
Could join a nudist colony
Could dismember my body parts 'recreationally'
Could (or will) document my own downward spiral/lay eggs in vast and immeasurable labyrinths/where the paradox of my self-pity mingles with my bragging/swaggering teen angst and date!-mate!-procreate!- into a thousand descendants of my rotting fleshhhhhh
- You
Present yourself in -
Hallways rambling in front of me with asylums spilling into corridors of confusion
Rrrrrrriiipppp of either paper pulling from notebooks or flesh pulling from bone
Virtual college applications tabbed over with two different Buy Your Own Russian Wife! websites and ignored by your -loving parents-
An arrogant 18-year-old boy standing before the Committee of Elders (pleading insanity)
Twenty-four permanent markers with generic names
The pseudo-poetic lure of "Call ___ For a GOOD TIME" graffitis on the bathroom wall of a Whole Foods you spend six weeks jacking off in
- Look, that's great and all, but
I think you are a (beanstalk), no time to (talk), less of a (walk) and more of a climb - to reach your face, and when I lean to kiss it (fee fi fo fum) I smell the blood of a human one
(I'm tired of stooping and I'm tired of looking at old people)
You
And
I
Could have Been Anyone!
But no,
Just more of the same.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
Naturist, skinny dipper
But never ****** waver;
Some of us are exhibitionists
A point I hope you savor.
I am into keeping clothing
Something more than minimal
But, I should not ever be
Thought of as a criminal.
After all, the same people
Who piously point to their Bible
Ignore that we are born ****
And every other word is libel.
It simply makes no sense
To impose laws on a poor sod
And then paint yourself with
Trappings of some ancient god.
I don’t take my clothes off
To discomfit you even a little
But your frothings-at-the-mouth
I regard as simply spittle.
I have never agreed with your
Mesopotamian mythology,
And I disagree with it all,
With no remorse or apology.
But bear this in mind, please
I resent you pushing on to me
A way of living that I feel
Is very uncomfortable to be.
I don’t ask you to be naked
If that is not right for you
But to tell me I must not
Is an offensive thing to do.
The idea that a tiniest bit
Of what is so honestly me
Is such a horrendous and
Disgusting thing for you to see
In a world of thongs and bikinis
And pushup padded wonder bras
Is a matter of gross hypocrisy
And to me, an ignoble cause.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
I found you in moon-lit courtyards
amongst whispering statues of angels
& broken queer bottles
punk wind roaring in time's freefall
& Tagesspiegel newspapers
read in grave graveyards
the Plötzensee
now a pleasant place
to walk by
past the carefree
nudist sunbathers
in blissful summer
the Olympiastadion
almost forgetting
who it's maker was
but no not quite
nevertheless, good days
far out-weighing the bad
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
Here they come to seek a symbol
of seaside sun - a cruise ship
castaway, beached,rain stained,
landlubbers hamock and griddle.
But first they collapse me and curse me.
Doing it properly should be
part of their curriculum vitae,
a test of nationality.
Then I'm candy flossed, ice creamed, Blackpool
rocked, salted and crisped, generally stuffed,
while they lie back, roast and relax.
Good job it's not a nudist beach.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
a costume party in my father’s house.
my mother
in her Sunday best.
little old
hermetic
me.
loudest brother
in the attic
with a stick.
in his mouth.
my most housebroken
sister?
basement, on a stack of bibles.
other siblings, non locals, dogs, my father…
all in the mind
of your private
nudist.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
A gangly youth with his dangling
Truths
Star Spangled
Flagpole
In the far corner
Summer nudists'
Cabins'
Cafeteria
Ladies not biting
Their webs
To his fly
Now noticing the nudist
Silver Theme
As daddy foxy
Ladies
are not goyles
Most nudists are old
And have let go
Fat shaming jokes
Turns into a game
Yo mama
so....
Cougar sells
Her Jaguar / Grand Prix
She so cougar
She's an expensive lease
For summer nights
Crap shot
Tossing
Fun
waste of time,
A gangly youth
Will spill
The truth
His danglings
Dip and spit
Viscous
Losing your ******
you
Star spangled
Flagpole
Can only tell
The honest erecting
The hard evidence
UFO sightings
Full
proof
It's in the pudding
Truth is ecstasy
Speaking deep inside
The gangly kid now
A wrangling man
Lassos a harem in his pants
His dangling truths did just fine
Gangly youth drunk off
Silken wines divine
Moist of kiss
Passion blooms
of touch
Honestly, the truth is
Quivering love
My Inner howl
Feel the earth move
Under my feet
Truth is
'will
always run to you...
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 4:54 AM UTC
Flying on my Shadow,
Enjoying the ride,
I passed a hillside
With stones, spelling out:
Sarnia Nudist Camp
In bright white letters,
Legible from a distance.
Did the frost push them up
Through the earthly womb
To birth this message
For the reading pleasure of passers-by?
Did the camp director create
This hillside billboard?
I've heard, at nightime, the stones
Gleam under a constant moon
That radiates above a notion of chance.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
i was sitting drunk alone in a yellow flannel on a dirt
and patch grass hill beside an empty picnic table when
you sat down said hi my name is sam and i'm tripping face
that was no secret judging by the size of your pupils and smile
i asked to borrow a layer from your lip-gloss and
you happily obliged after verifying i had my circle-circle-dot-dot
you laughed hard and said you'd never been this high before
when you let me finger you on the ferris wheel with
the scene from the hill a distant seven minutes in our past
you watched with tears in your eyes
and smiled as i pulled my body
away from your candy thighs when the ride stopped
and stuck my sticky fingers back in my mouth
you said you listened to music better with your shirt off
and sure enough your ******* perked up like antennae
when my fingers slipped under
your half-shirt like an innocuous splinter
in the great pink epidermal amphitheater
you proved to be a nudist burlesque queen wearing
a hailstone necklace and a gold coin skirt that jingled
when you walked or skipped or rubbed your *** on me
i felt so immediately attracted to you
and i still do i can see you when i close my eyes
dancing free in a delicate psychotropic mushroom haze
whispering slap me silly as we walked hand in hand down the hill
you kept talking about your girlfriend being jealous
of my fatal blue eyes as the music drifted like breath
between us your hair was heavy with the smell
of mushrooms beer sage and rain
we took several overpriced shots of tequila and i lost
another six dollars in drink tickets when
we spent a whole dj set lying in the grass in the dark
with the lights from the stage spraying over
our heaving naked sweaty chests with my
hand in your gold net skirt and your tongue in my ear
the clouds were knotted ropes of wet white cotton
the sky became the sea and your fingers found my
feverish lips like a cool prayer
i looked up through the oak tree porthole
to find the strangulated sky
whirling in on itself like water
in a washing machine and i
let a dolphin carry me away out to where
the waves were boiling and wild
the stars salty and deep
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
Naked Politicians
Once someone sent me a photo of a famous German politician
The photo was from a nudist beach and natural she was a sixteen-year-old girl
smiles shyly –with some reason- she never was a beauty but
All sixteen years old are gorgeous
For me, it made her more human and I have never seen the photo since
Wouldn't be great if we saw all politicians in the **** say, Trump or India's
Morsi. The Israeli prime minister would cast a rotund figure without his corset
Erdogan and his wife holding hand only shielded by a newspaper
he has banned, Putin naked in his swimming pool perhaps he has a small ****
naked around a conference table somehow the impressive would became
less so and more human to bow to a woman who has forest of a ****** or
shake hand with a man with a dangling ***** my dear they would look so
vulnerable that a war would be impossible and we would giggle and they
would go home stat judo classes or take up jogging or spend time in the gym
they would never have time for war.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 4:45 AM UTC
or, the pickpocket
voted
most likely
to be chosen
from a nudist
foster care
by christian
couples
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 1:14 PM UTC
perfect sunny day--
insects sing so loud!
as i surf the web
pond water--
my hair dries as i click,
getting hot again
One summer years ago, at my childhood home, in a nudist colony whose so-called 'co-founding' is my family's only legacy--perhaps right before my grandmother had passed, or when my father's prostate was scheduled to be removed and he thought it best to hire someone for a last-minute memory (despite his sex-negative crutch-christianity, just in case the operation cost him his jive)--i googled, 'prostitute,' while looking for **** and the atrocity i found took all of a second to challenge my complacent illusion that i could remain separate or disconnected from the global oppression of women and girls while i consumed the products (i.e., fantasized about having *** with and/or 'making love' to simulacra-women; masturbated to pictures of them) of an industry whose widespread lack of any substantial commitment to fairness, safety, legal recourse and work-place equality has contributed to a new generational acceptance of the ancient memes that perpetuate bigotry:
dismembered girl
on an open body-bag--
why does this exist??
the insects clacking,
droning in the grass--
summer can't hide death
her hip bones' marrow showing,
young prostitute's corpse--
limbless
her legs gone--
the image chokes me
from speaking
my sisters, too young to tell--
who do i tell?
why should i tell?
i read she'd run from her ****
they put her in the river.
young girl,
her blood still--
i can't feel my heartbeat
young woman,
her torso bare--
unfeeling stumps
young woman,
her legs gone,
skin gray from the river
young woman,
your legs gone--
i choke on words
.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC