"nymphomaniac" poems
*I am a nymphomaniac.
I'm not really but it got your attention.
I bet I nearly gave all reading a cardiac.
I have to make bold statements now, as I have a condition called,
"Black Glasses" and no one makes passes at ladies in glasses.*
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
1.
Nymphomaniac-addicts,
Overweight bisexual vegetarians
Climbing trees to stay fit
and eating 80’s fried chicken *******
2.
just imagine
Aquarians full of class valedictorians
Swimming on display for graduation ceremony…
reverse-symbolism of how Moolch drowned His *****
3.
Better yet, just imagine
Holy wars,
Beautiful words written to describe the burning pains
Of holocaust...the Kristallnacht nights
Under the mistletoe,
Watching Hall of fame ball hawks on pivot toes
Driving through hoes
After the whistle blows
4
College Literacy classes teaching basic:
Ideas that good questions leads to good answers,
Reading reminders
Free association conceptual constructions
5.
But ************ professor:
free association **** shticks
misfires, false alarms
are all art, too,
Like sticking a dagger into an apple,
Not the edible, but the technology.
6.
Go head, deconstruct the philosophy
Of oral cute-tification,
according to the Tautology of Leviticus,
With the same three half truths, pogroms
against biological deviant... FLAGS!
7.
Cryptic gospels of a ************
Where three F.F.F’s
Stands for six six six
Like how 1mg of juxtaposition
And a dose of metamorphosis
is the repertoire of a king of curmudgeon
‘cause even the Holy Ghost
drinks from the cup of Christ’s blood.
8.
Reading,
Self-flagellation gospel-manual of Pope John Paul II,
At shrink sessions under the daze of heron Piper methysticum blunts
With sweet phat butts like lit lickerish that droop eyes
Like the psalm of Valeriana officinalis root extract.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 12:46 PM UTC
They called her an attention ***** for the last time
As she put the gun to her stomach and pulled the trigger.
The fat girl
The bipolar girl
The depressed girl
The nymphomaniac
The airhead blonde
The discarded cheerleader
The broken hearted
The girl who cuts
The girl who cries
The girl who has a eating disorder
The girl who can't help herself
The girl who is always alone
The girl who gets yelled at
The girl who always gets *****
She just wanted love
But this is all she has
She has a cheating boyfriend
She has a horrible father
She has an abusive mother
She has a shattered heart
She has a numb mind
She has a lost hope
She has a sharp knife
She has a loaded gun
I'm sure they just wanted attention. I'm sure they were perfectly fine.
I'm sure they didn't need the helping hand. I'm sure they're just overreacting.
I'm sure she's dead. I'm sure you don't really care.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
if i was a girl i wouldn’t shave i’d be a tomboy ballerina with upper body muscles maybe a **** or surfer girl smell a little subtle i’d be tough learn to take a punch but i’d also be fragile sensitive intelligent i’d dress down like female ducks gray beige brown yet wear thongs boots bikinis heals girl stuff if i was a girl i’d be freaked out by ************ and even more freaked out by menopause depressed i lost my wetness if i was a girl i’d flash *** crotch drive boys wild be a complete nymphomaniac **** until i found the right guy he’d be strong gentle patient caring with a cute ***** i don’t care how big if i was a girl i’d learn to give blow jobs really good acquire a taste for ***** and play that skill as my trump card if i was a girl i’d find a job roll up my sleeves be a hard worker impress my managers become a manager quit i would find another type of work maybe a writer painter if i was a girl i wouldn’t compete with men i’d simply be more creative smarter if i was a girl i’d want to give birth as scary profound as that might be i’d want to be a mom a nurturing loving attentive mom i’d garden cook sew clean stand by my man my children devoted to home and hearth if i was a girl i’d cry a lot but not in front of anyone if i was a girl i wouldn’t want to become an old woman surrounded by other old women taking care of sick old men or no old men if i was a girl i’d want to die instantly in an accident or in bed reaching ****** age 82 if i was a girl
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 7:37 AM UTC
It was on Hallowe'en when we said we'd meet;
as we thought it might be romantically spooky;
and I trotted gaily along the pathway
through the dimly-lit park
where the predator gay *** maniacs roamed
hoping for a bit of backdoor action
and my excited little heart went
"YI YI YI YI YI YAAAAARRRGGGHHH!"
with eager anticipation
of a hot new nymphomaniac date.
We had been a-texting with
ever-increasing frankness
for several weeks and I was beginning
to get tired of wiping the keyboard clean
after each bout of frenzied
manual self-stimulation
which she had boldly urged me to
and the built-in camera was out of order
because of the damp ***** build-up.
I found the pictures she sent me
stimulating to say the very least
especially the one with the melon
peeping out from between her legs
and I found her blood-red eyes
rather exciting really
once I got used to them;
and I was quite looking forward
to the love bites she promised me
which was why I had washed my neck
with particular attention to the blackheads.
Promptly at the stroke of midnight
my putative mistress arrived
with a ******* great clap of thunder
and to say I was surprised by her sulphurous breath
would be putting it mildly
and the fifty-five inch waist
was a bit of a disappointment,
and I honestly and truly think
she might have mentioned
the suppurating scabs
and oozing boils
or at least hinted at them.
As I fought the ravening hell-bitch off
with the hatchet I had wisely brought
in my briefcase as a safety precaution
once more I rued my innocence:
how many times have I been let down
after such high hopes from internet dating
and yet - trusting soul that I am -
I had again let my heart go astray.
Once it was all over
and I gazed down at her hideous
and mutilated corpse bleeding
and twitching on the ****** bitumen,
I lifted up her skirt
just to check the melon photo
hadn't been a fake;
and although there was no large
piece of fruit in situ at the time
I could see it had always
been a very real possibility.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
Cancer, Cancer, Cancer
I know you well,
we go a long way back
you wanted to **** my mum,
starting with her *******
and then fondling my dad's *****
wrecking homes wherever you go.
Who's next?
We build rays to keep you out
what are you all about?
You like those children, too, you pervert.
Cysts, cysts, cysts,
he who will be kissed,
will be missed.
Who's next?
People blow on your cigarettes
while you **** the life out of them,
cutting their hair off, sending off moans.
Listen to their groans.
Why do you wanna see their bones?
Who's next?
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 7:26 AM UTC
Thanks thespis for another muse anew,
Filliping my soul with the spirit of a song,
To chant for the young world in these pepperish letters,
before my callous eyes on the skull of historical future
on my pykitonic torso of I another African pykin,
as I finish my coffin for the cadaver of poetry
that the law of poetry is a distorting neurosis,
neurotic abnormality its baseboard of time
giving classical balance for wondrous poetry.
Compensatory motivation a charm of its seed,
Taking dear eyes from the skull of Demodocos
Leaving songfull mouth his legacy for humanity,
Warped physique not short of history,
Teaching the world to drink in full pyrene spring
As hunchbacked dwarfism of Alexander Pope
was not in any sense dwarfism of his poetry,
nor club foot of Byron in ******* to Maugham
Byronic heroism to Europe of yester times,
That sired Proust, the Jewish neurotic
And Keats the most dwarfish and Wolfe the tallest
Of man and woman to the cultural matrix
Of Europe, the mother of art, poetry and synaethesia,
From which was born Pushkin that took poetry
Out of his nymphomaniac heart, to the solace of czars,
And Shakespeare the dear thief, luckily converted
Childhood kleptomania into royal theatre of King Lear,
The parallel of four brothers from the house of Karamazov,
Their father; impecunious penny penchant muzhik
In the name of Fydor epileptic Dostoyevsky.
A lull of the time to escape from world of rent and tax,
Gripped nerves of the duo to a new realm of art
wherein sensuous glory from ***** and Indian hemp
propelled the souls of Coleridge and De Quincey
to grandiose highness of poetry in the dreams of *****
bordering on the teutonic greatness of ritualistic breed,
poetry that transcended from rotten apples in the writing desk
of Fredriech von schiller the begotten son of Germany,
writing under the arms of Balzac dressed in monkey clobus,
that along with Milton in the lost paradise, gave him swaddles
only when the poetic vein of Milton flowed happily from nothing,
but from the ritualized autumnal equinox to the spiritual vernal,
as Coleridge was in full recondite of marquetry,mosaic and miracles,
the miraculous white male sheep, the white ram of Wole Soyinka,
that he gave as a gift to Achebe at the last anniversary, evil decoy
that become a car which deathly crushed Chinua Achebe
down to demise in the catacombs for the law of poetry
as abnormal human neurosis an equation of perfect art.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 8:26 AM UTC
My ex-girlfriend used to wake up scared,
More than often it had happened.
She used to tell about her nightmares,
She was really explicit about the dreams.
Oh yes, I remember each and every thing.
I remember when she told me about one,
I often sensed her strong interest in it.
More I deduced so after it is over,
My ex-girlfriend was a nymphomaniac.
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
Each moment give lesson certain determines to us,
Often it echoes on frequent level in my mind,
And tranquil measureless moans accumulated still o'er guess,
And embolden too the state of perplexity bind.
Standing aloof solitary, from the worldly affairs
Mainly I feel behaving tutelary this nature,
To thrive in life as section indicates,
And react perennial affectionate voice of warbler.
Setting sometime in lap of productive reach,
Enrich with corn-seed, paddy and sugar-cane,
I assume numerous hidden hymnal consideration preach,
Sacrifice for betterment glide making other sustain.
Swinging swiftly at the hilly terrible groves
Shrub and thistly atmosphere, provoking gorgon fear;
Ne'er contradict genuine a horrible warning relieves
Give support always deserving deafen destructive cheer.
Or sipping brine, before nymphomaniac watching zeal,
Dumb caution centralize, beware alluring notion create
Nip stiff witty desire render stigmatize deal:
Ye propel next to Him in power approximate.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 7:42 AM UTC
Her lips against my skin,
My hand caressing her ****** thighs,
This night where I am within her.
I'll bleed my passion into her depths,
As she ***** the breath from my lungs,
And the tides that bring her ecstasy,
The still night is broken as she cries joy.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
So that's what you think of me
How could I have thought for even a minute that I was respectable.
All this time I was thinking I was deserving of love and kindness.
Last thing on my mind was your opinion of me, and it hurt. It ******* hurt.
Look at you, sitting in a seat of power and leering over me calling me shallow.
On further inspection, yeah it was ****** up of me to get fresh with my counselor.
What's a shallow nymphomaniac expected to do otherwise? Riddle me that.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC
All the orphans sleep in the gutters. Black eyed women scurry the streets all night.
Mourning shadows gaze into the wake.. of a wave of traffic surging towards them.
A steel cold bank heist gone awry. From atop of buildings people attempt to fly.
A nymphomaniac is spreading his blight and Cardboard Pots play like they're alive.
Empty Cathedrals standing in line. Burning bridges leave your past behind.
Weeping waters are drowning out the eyes, of a boy who lost his dog tonight.
Lovers floating throughout the foggy heights.. Dollar soldiers take another life.
Creeping Monsters are Glowing bright.
Sculptures of stature overlook the night.. there's no where to hide under The City Lights..
Under The City Sky.. Watch The City Rise...
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:47 AM UTC
I might not seem to move on,
I might not be wanting her gone,
But definitely, I don't want her back.
I don't need a nymphomaniac,
I don't need a cheap cheat back,
For definitely, she's gonna cheat.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
COUNT ORLOK (my alter ego) gets light-hearted in Poem #9
I'm a vampire who likes to drink blood
And I drink more than I really should.
(I think biting necks
is better than ***
I'd drink yours if only I could.
The blood of a ****** is best
(it wins every possible test);
But I still like a tipple
From a bite of a ******
On a hot nymphomaniac's breast.
I'm Count Orlok the black vampire bat
And blood-sucking is where I am at;
I'll cause lots of pain
To your jugular vein;
I don't care if you're skinny or fat.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
With rubble in a desert Town,
Flowers,
Roses and Cacti Grow,
and like mold,
slowly descending onto a painting of a family from the 20's
like a male lover,
descending on another,
kissing his Vice lips.
A.M. Holy
A.M. Cursed
A motel sings mutely on a braille guitar
oh lover
of Cleopatra
birth sister
beauty of mine is obscure and faintly ugly
like a smile
of a killer
or a sky scrapper
who is exhausted
looking over beauty
studying the divine words
of Neruda and his over coat
hiding his pistol of Words
and nymphomaniac disastrous love affairs of the beauty of the human mind
digging
and sweating occasionally dying for the hope
for the hope
for the hope
of something Pure
like the moon
and its Phase
of light,
shining down,
and a man,
too drunk to love.
He descends into a place,
the Rabbit hole of imagination
where everlasting is clear
like a good day in San Antonio.
Like the Stream
where a boy,
found Divinity.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
If I behave unstable
It is not intentional
I blame it on you
Yes, on your narratives
That boys don't cry
You say men shouldn't cry
You see crying men as weaklings
Why shouldn't I cry my cry
Even Lions cry, so why not?
We have all been mis-schooled
Depression comes in different shades
Crying is soothingly therapeutic
So, let me cry my cry in peace
Or is it your cry?
One day, your time will come
If I sink into depression
Because I am being a man
When depression leads to death
Will you take care of my loved ones?
Can you legalise your promise?
I vented my anger on drinks
I became a chronic drunk
I laced it with womanising
I became nymphomaniac
I am first human, then a man
All you need do is ask nicely
Maybe we can be good friends
That we may cry and win together
Stand up for the boy child
Tell them it's okay to fall and cry
How do you cope with a falling grade?
I am single and unmarried
Married and unhappy
Do you have a nagging partner?
"Every Mallam to his kettle" please
Don't add if you can't help
I have a right to cry
It is not a weakness
It is a display of emotion
Ask women, they cry in sorrow and gladness
Stop the emotional blackmail
There is a child in every man
A tear in every gland
Boys lives matters too
Let me heal and cry in peace
Spread the news...
Do you know my story?
If you know my past
You will appreciate my pain
Then my praise
Boys needs help too
Failure is but school, learn
Suicide is not an option
Marriage is not by force
Singleness is not a curse
If you are hurt, cry your cry
When a breadwinner dies
A wife looses a husband
A child loses a father
A family looses a sibling
It's okay to cry, so cry...
Don't vent it on addictives
If you have ever been told
"Man up; boys don't cry"
You have been abused
Gather here, let's cry together
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 1:12 PM UTC
Daniel raced some ****** in the year of the monkey
For a brand new set of vintage strings
Beat the ****** real easy, took the vintage guitar
And smiled “hey man it’s just one of these things”
Placed the guitar over his shoulder, like a baby he held her
Closed his eyes and played some chords
With the chords came some lyrics, in the darkness he sat
In the center of Jensen Grand Concert Hall
The ghost on the piano, she preformed a haunting solo
Behind him was a phantom band
In front a phantom crowd
In the pre-warm up show, he rocked the empty old concert hall stand
Outside some kids from Coltman,
Drinking some beer and just smoking some crack
He and the phantom band headed home
Past the house of the Pocatello Nymphomaniac
Daniel walked up the stairs, sat on his chair, pulled out his guitar and played
Next door the neighbors sat with their ears to the wall listening to the midnight serenade
The old boy across the road in Jasmine Street opened the window, to hear the guitar crying
Listening to the sound of the junkies strings and the, silent neighbors smiling
In the morning he was still playing, his fingers red, they were getting tired,
The audience next door exhausted on the floor but, still smiling
Now back to the grand concert hall for his first ever gig, and the posters all around the town
Read Daniel and his 6 ****** strings are going to bring the house down
The local poet society, were reciting poetry to me, empty chairs in the hall, I stand on the stage looking for familiarity,on this day I’ve waited for
The first ones through the door were the neighbors who made love to my music
Tears still in their eyes from last night’s show, they took my gift of music and abused it
And the man from down the block he’s here too he shouted “Daniel this world needs more **** musicians like you”
Fat Shane from Mobile Alabama who’s just come out the slammer on day release to just see me
Soon the hall’s filled with 1200 faces all crowded in this space but there’s just 2 empty seats
One is for my mother who’s 3 years passed and told me son always follow your dreams
And the others for the ****** and the Monkey who lost the race and gifted these vintage strings to me
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 12:06 PM UTC
All women are beautiful to somebody.
All women have something beautiful about them;
They all have a beauty spot.
A reason why they will be wanted by men;
A unique style of hot.
Be it beauty, or intellect, or empathy, or whatever.
Any woman can be seen as beautiful; some like dumb, I want clever.
When the stars align and you see them in the right light;
You know they are the one you want, so you set them in your sights.
One man may say that she is ugly;
Another man might disagree.
The attractive quality they see as beautiful,
Could possibly, not interest me.
I see passion as very attractive; I see adultery as very ugly.
Some men would disagree.
Another man may want a meek woman;
Another man might want a woman who is willing to cheat.
Some say beauty is without; some say beauty is within.
It is without an undeniable, definite explanation.
Some women are more beautiful,
Depending on their nation.
Hispanic or Latino women to me are simply phenomenal;
Some other men may prefer blondes from Sweden;
To me that’s not desirable.
Some men prefer a different type;
But at the end of the day,
We all need somebody to become our wife.
I know what I want from the woman I desire;
I want the passion within her to burn hot like a raging fire.
Some prefer thin; I want voluptuous!
I want her to have any kind of long hair; except blonde.
I want her to be ***** whenever I am with her
And I want to be the only one who she wakes up to in the morning sun.
I want to see her love for me in her eyes and in her smile.
I want her lustful towards only me; I want her shorter than I.
Then I can put my arm around her shoulder,
When we walk under moonlight.
I want her to be a nymphomaniac; I used to want her to be high.
Now I want her on top.
She can have any kind of job;
Though she cannot be a stripper.
Only I can see her ****
I want her mind to be *****
I want her to desire to be true.
I would like her to be an artist,
But that is not high on my list.
It would just be nice if she was creative
And liked to read my poetry…and understood it.
I see beauty in her,
When she allows me to let myself go.
I want her personality to shine love;
I want her to be worthy of my soul.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
====================================
nymphomaniac
no, I am not but loves nymph
Childish mind's lust craze
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 12:21 PM UTC
Every single little **** who thinks he’s entitled to his own opinions
Eats liver on the back of the nymphomaniac’s forefront
Vulgarity for the sake of such
If there was anything I could tell you
It would be to go away
I don’t need you here
But who are you
And what am I?
And why is he?
And how is she?
Messages of forlorn from me to you
You and I
Sky is pi
And ridiculous atrocities through 10 story buildings
Russian mobsters break my wrists
And make it so my wings lift me higher
Let’s speak in forked tongues about the future
Let’s speak in future about tongues
I feel like I need more gasoline in my veins
I gotta keep going somehow
I’m not writing for you.
I used to, I used to,
I used to write for you.
I still poetically stutter.
Write for me, write for You?
Write for me.
Writing for me for now.
Hopefully there’s a shift in the paradigm.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
I am a
slave in forced
*** labour with a
crazy demon possess
freaking *****
A slave in
bonds with a
Nymphomaniac.
Here I am,
his forced mistress,
a *** slave.
He lied to me
and lay with me,
my body he took
by force daily.
I am her
slave in chains
and in pains,
a prisoner
pretending to love
a lunatic.
I can still
hear her groaning
and moaning like
an animal in
the other room,
while she waits
as i refreshed.
She's killing me
with her spells
and *** magic.
A slave to
a wild man.
A slave in
fetters,
locked up in
a *** dungeon,
abused daily.
But in my
soul i am free,
even though i
can't see the
day light or
the morning sun,
only a flicker
of light from
the doorway and
the incandescent of
the moon light
at night penetrating
through the cracks
of the window.
I am a
*** slave working
day and night,
but poorly fed
to satisfy the
wantonness of a
devilish man and
a whorish woman,
insatiable in their
****** desires.
Their appetite for
*** is terrifying.
Only a demon
possess freaking
prince and princess
of the dark
can match their
strength.
Free me now,
i beg of you.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme.
Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 2:40 PM UTC
Magic Stardust Nymphomaniac
This is simply my way of telling you,
My love for drugs has left me lost; but now I see through.
Deep into your soul I see in you,
All of the things I need for a love so true.
Unhappy not to have been here sooner; to aid you.
Give me love and take all of mine;
It belongs only to you, love of time.
Love of now and forever? This is not my,
Future to know; maybe my destiny to behold. I pray.
For in your eyes I see only love;
In your words I hear only trust.
Tempting, but scary; paranoia caused by drugs.
Temporary insanity, fades away to say goodbye to us.
If I lose you before I hold you, then I cannot just smile
And say she was just another girl, for I know myself to be a liar.
Set my soul on fire and burn all my hopes and dreams;
Sacrifice my trust to you I shall, if you would only beg it of me.
Complete devotion? Are you ready?
Showing every possible emotion? This is not easy.
But in you I see Heaven, so please tell me I belong to you;
Tell me your love belongs only to me and I shall always stay true.
I shall never need to leave, if you give me all I need;
I shall always need only you and a joint of ****
My need for **** is a part of me;
Like the funky *** beat,
My heart dances to when you are here to give me release.
It’s happy, it’s ecstatic, it’s jumping back flips in the sea;
Like a dolphin, swimming circles of celebration, or feeling ****
My heart wants to be with yours, entwined in love and magic;
It has already been bruised and broken, its story is tragic.
But in you I see something, unlike any other;
You shine so bright and blind this brother.
All I see is you, all else fades away;
To be cast away or saved for another day.
Talk to me in a minute, I have found Heaven and I need it within;
To see me through this life of mine, because I can’t live without.
So inside out, I believe, I doubt,
I wish, I lust, I could maybe love;
If she could only ever speak the truth to me and truly love…
Me. That’s all I ask.
Stay faithful and love me;
Then I shall always love you, my Magic Stardust Nymphomaniac.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC
I do love you, but not for looks of beauty.
You don't shine with womanly appearance traits.
I love performance of your storyteller duty,
With such entrancing art, that deeply penetrates.
In poetry you are both Messalina and Solveig, both nymphomaniac and nun,
You can be angel of the kind caress, or bully, thought provoking hooligan.
Sometimes you are a child, another times - soothsayer, your pride is mixed with gust of true remorse,
Sometimes you are black stork and witch, sometimes you are the evil's victim innocent white rose.
If you deny me of devotion to your art three times,
And with anathema my feelings cruelly betray,
I don't want to live to sobering sad day
When i forget the poisoned spoil of your enchanting rhymes.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
I think I'm a nymphomaniac?
I can't leave *** alone!
Whether it's text ***
Or on the phone
We're at it like rabbits...
In the bedroom
In the hall
Varieties the spice of life
I'll just take it all!
In the garden
In the lift
Under the table
On top of a cliff...
It's an endorphin hit
As long as I am active....
And he's young and fit!!....
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC