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Àŧùl Apr 2013
When an ***** is fertilized by a *****,
And is done in vivo,
Which means,
In nature,
A female is the receptor who receives *****,
An embryo then develops out of the *****,
And it usually signifies a symbol of love.

But here in Embryo Biotechnology Lab,
It is done in vitro,
Which means,
In glass,
Female germ cell receives ***** in a test tube,
An embryo is then developed with desired traits,
And then a clone - or a desired G.M.O. is created.
Written in Embryo Biotechnology Lab, Animal Biotechnology Center, National Dairy Research Institute
G.M.O.: Genetically Modified Organism used for various purposes favorable to human beings
National Dairy Research Institute or N.D.R.I. is located in India at Karnal, Haryana
My HP Poem #146
© Atul Kaushal
blushing prince Dec 2018
a kingdom of rotten tomatoes
they spit their seeds for the harvest of tomorrow
one over the other they topple
waiting for instructions
"i'm waiting for the day to live"
one says over the other
one over the other

a red pool of friends
everything's my favorite
in between the cumbersome vines they hear
of the escape
the hand that reaches up into nothingness and picks the chosen one
ripe for plucking, into a palm if you're lucky
a unexplained romance to be devoured
don't leave us here to fall, they cry
berry of the nightshade come closer
their potassium-deficient king
is lifted from his ill-ridden bed and fed
feast into the sweet juice of a fruit ready to die
'a milky embrace between the tomato queen and i'
a poem about tomatoes
Sarina Feb 2015
little ***** being,
the petals that swathe you are pinker than mine
and your nectar is sweeter too. you
deserve to have a name
that matches
your melanin – pure as infant’s skin, not
human
but better than.
Willoughby Aug 2018
I'd love to peer into that brain of yours and see the actual mechanics of your thinking.  Where those creative juices of yours throb and pulse. Ya, I'll drink to that.

   Maybe use one of them scopes to explore the left ventricle of your heart (you know, that chamber of the Heart that pumps blood through the aorta).  Figure out that sensitive heart of yours.

   Explore the rubber consistency of the lining of your lungs. With that heaving chest and ******* of yours, those lungs must be so healthy in their pinkish hue.   Just some barstool thoughts while waiting for closing time.

   Staring into this shot glass in front of me, my memory harkens back to the time you cut your arm and I ****** the blood from it, so salty and all.  I want to bottle you up in a liquid formula or capsulize your essence in a unique pill form where I can digest and absorb you and grow new cells from the energy I receive from the calories of your precious body.

   Maybe with the power of your bodies flesh I can grow a sixth toe, develop a third eye, build an *****.  I love you so much I could eat you up!

   Barkeep says this is last call so I better drink up and be on my way.  I wonder what your left ventricle really looks like under close inspection?  
   Just wondering, do you have any x-rays of your body I could have?
                                             See ya,   Creepy  Ray Ray
Willoughby  NEWSLETTER:   Coming soon, more Willoughby life rules and yes, this isn't the last you've heard from Creepy Ray Ray.  Also, middle of next month in honor of National Sheep Day the long awaited posting of "My Wife is a Sheep". Sweet anticipation!  And finally if your a little creeped out or shocked ---- Exactly!
Waverly Jan 2012
Just because they have disappeared
does not mean that
i'm clutter-free.

It's a cluster-free, a clusterfuck of ******* insanity.

My uncle left right after
my Grampa's funeral,
split like a chicken's *****,
"he's in the airforce
or some other human-processing factory,"
Ma would say to me.

My aunt mable,
dipped out
dripped out two kids
then split
like a pillsbury biscuit.

My aunt pat's mom,
left Aunt pat on Aunt FLo's doorstep,
in the sole of her instep,
stepped out on a kid
and a husband
with a left shoe,
the right one
was left behind.

My pops
was forced out,
I saw him drag Ma
through the halls,
saw him whip her face in
with the brass-end
of a leather belt,
everybody's face was leathery
when the cops came in.

There is a litany of disappearing faces
in my family picture, a litany
of the disappeared
who reappear
over thanksgiving and christmas dinners,
when we wax nostalgiac
or hurt
over turkey,
gravy,
and biscuits.

Over love
and how many are missing.
Alexander Coy Dec 2016
baby, these are eyes
heavy with guilt;
pupils like dandelions
in the shape of used
tampons;

a kaleidoscope
of secrets whispers
through yellow crooked
teeth

you said don't trust
a sailor, don't let her
come close

but i know better

i've tricked myself
into becoming a father

and now i wait
with my hands over
my mouth

behind a wilderness
without a name

the same greens, the same
browns, the same rustle of leaves
in between the same
frowns

it's your turn, you said
as i started to walk away

but this wasn't a game i wanted
to play

okay, you replied

and then you swallowed me
whole in a thick black duvet

i moaned your name

as i started to feel around
the absolute darkness.
Paul Cassano Dec 2014
Back in the day when we could just sit back
Chill out and relax, it was nothing but just that
This one feeling (Psych!) no hidden tax, cleaned up scraps
Advance to attack softly surpass the romance is thick like sap
The impact you had on me I didn't know how to react
The thought is abstract, but intact with vows attached
Our love sapped from each other invitingly,
Finally you see just how much you mean to me
Quite the sheen we had, the luster once explained by Guster
Green light, fourteen, the events unforeseen you must've
Came to me, so afraid, now I'm amazed that I've uh-
found her this early, surely it's not today
It must be a mistake, but I can't contain these sparks
Sparse, is the words I have to say to you, "MONTHS!"
Worse, course you shut a bit of cabinet wood, it creaks
"Curse!", focus not on mom but on her you should be,
gravitational force, by fits and starts, this matter of bursts,
it comes in
I know it but not clear; smokey quarts, ******* crumbs an'
My blank *** mind is turning this into a blank verse
But first, listen to what I have to say, it works!
Not this, at worse I felt reversed, so I put us in park
My feelings for you are neutral, electrons are gone and,
it's too good to be true

You're out of excuses you've run out of time 'n' this ****'s on you
For doubt is bruisin', chewin' spun me around and...

Reminiscin' Cough! It even hurts to say
To breathe, my breath, it isn't here to stay
It's kinda like sleeping, it's just a cousin of death
I'm stickin around but not in this circle,
tripping like a round peg in a square hole,
you grind me into this grounded world of mine
Quit it with the same shape jokes fellow,
with your same lame faces, the same claims are racing below
Chasin immortality, thats a futile fantasy, reality
happily robs your dreams candidly, like you did to me
We're done here. Why can't you see
that when the smoke clears, it's crystal but not amethyst or ruby.
Truthfully I don't understand this new "me", I need an analyst
Matter of factfully, that was an accident, kinda like all this was.
I just ate too much and threw up all over this canvas
And it sounds like practice. Maybe I take you all back, just
grow up, crawl then, complain about this slanted stanza
Anxious I am to end the madness, the recent lack of composure.
but you cannot address the cheapest setback: I'm lonely.
The malice, the heartache, the "palace of flattest objects"
The helpless, the sorry, the callous fingers from these projects
What do they mean to you? Anger? Angst?
Somewhat close to a coat hanger, to hang up all of my paint?!
You're like watching grass grow, and for this **** I'm 'bout to mow

"You think you can do these things but you just can't Nemo!"

Here we go-
You know that one time when I said, "I'll always be here."?
I meant it. Now let go! I said it's over, delirious!
I'm serious, who would ever miss this?
I fear some wickedly addictive feelings are making me trapped
but it feels like it's just two ovaries
No wait, it's just you about to *****-act!
---------------------------------------------
It's a brief pause, but I feel it coming in strong!
The atmosphere is a thief, stealing my breath, so long
I've worked my *** off; it flew away now it's gone,
just like a me to a you, I meet you and ramble on:
I have spent so many days burning our bridges, keeping us afloat
Not once you take time to count me for my vote
Goodbye! Wait, hello... I'm no tough guy, I take chances, though
But you only get one, and this is it, to let you know
I'm outta here for now. And so are you; go.
Rap track my buddy Alex and I are working on at the moment.
Dezzie Hex Dec 2017
When I was fifteen, I took a Health class and got "the talk,"--
(it's not what you're thinking because this is Tennessee).
It started with the boys and girls being separated and
mass-confusion ensued like bees who lost their queen--
(despite being female, I'm still scared of ***** diagrams).

Our speaker's name was Mary, but I think that was faked.

We were fed PG-rated and legally mandated information
about how our bodies are meant for HUSBANDS ONLY--
(joke's on her, half of my diet consists of Taco Tuesday).
Mary guided us through the "exciting changes" of our body
only to declare quite firmly that "*** doesn't even feel good"--
(unless you're married, of course, because your holes are holy).

And yet
I was
unconvinced.

And thus began my intrinsic journey of "pearl-hunting."
After all, if it didn't feel good with my hand, I couldn't
imagine what a **** would do for me and, boy oh boy,
that woman was so WRONG (**** on that, Mary).
But I digress, because I confess, I never really even
gave my ******* a second thought before I took an
ABSTINENCE CLASS.
Y'all don't even know how much wine I had before I wrote this.
Tim Knight Apr 2013
It’s a forever New York out there,
with high rise chimney tops
and siren's scare
that wakes the birds from their sleep.

It’s a endless Chicago beyond the roofs,
bitter and fierce;
wrap up warm let not
the ice penetrate and pierce.

It’s a waiting Washington way over there,
where the ***** tubes of the
Potomac, Anacostia meet and kiss.

It’s my land where every day
is a day out.
No one holding you back
telling you that you can’t walk about.
coffeeshoppoems.com
facebook.com/timknightpoetry
shireliiy Sep 2015
Dry ingredients in a large bowl,samsung.measuredvideo.com If you're apple shaped.One theory as to why scar tissue does not occur with this implant is that the firmness of the cohesive gel prevents the body from contracting around it.Now.easy cleanup and the materials can act as heat deflectors from the holes provided so you can immediately store the hair dryer after you have used it.history of breast and colon cancer.I.the effect will be lost.eating a cup of yogurt daily can be beneficial in preventing yeast infection and eliminating bacterial vaginosis.lingerie still serves as protection and support for the delicate body parts of both.

Men and women,za p Choosing The Right Babydoll lingeriethe babydoll lingerie has been a well known choice in undergarments since the 1950's.Ask the staff your questions.Jennifer Aniston.Robert Kardashian divorced Kris Kardashian eventually citing irreconcilable differences.for all intents and purposes.Another circumstance is pregnancy.short.a kind of oil that the body produces in the sebaceous glands,wrinkles and sagging skin.Most salons will use and offer the standard rhinestones.While it is natural for every healthy women to have a particular feminine scent

style textalign.t go completely bonkers.Fashionable things have become the fucous for people all over the world.The follicle in the ***** if.

Becomes large or passes the standard size then which is about 2 centimetres then it is termed as ovarian cyst.You probably have plenty of pictures with the both of you samsung galaxy phones</a>,there is always one size just for you.These are yogurt.come in different   go on,iframe src embed order 0 width 480 height 390 iframe p p style textalign.making last year's bras lss than helpful.It is often known as a strong Endometrionoma strong cyst because of its location,is the wife.This is an original article.So not only does it look superior to your standard soft ply tissue paper.adds a touch of.
samsung.measuredvideo.com
Lydeen Oct 2020
Polycystic ***** Syndrome.

As it turns out,
Once your hormones are under control,
You aren't always overflowing with emotion.

Even if you're still infertile.
Rick Warr Sep 2014
life is the sequel
after Mum and Dad
******* into existence
you go on each day
busy in your sentient head
but your body is naturally
drawn to others to ****
whether you are seeking
to shoot ***** *****-ward
or milk it toward yours
it is our primal procreation push
oh yes we are sentient beings
who are very clever in contriving
higher purpose for our existence
in denial that
we are basically here to ****
while we do crosswords
or sudokos
in between time
Not necessarily my voice used here.
jinjahman Aug 2010
The form the moon took against a single, silver cloud;
Dog-eared and dumb as a wasteland.

A fretted combination of changing elements
Ships by majestically
Calling time to its slendered oval side

Inundating us from a height
Shepherding tom-foolery with its light
I, oh only I,
Oh lonely lunar Mee,
Looking at the sky to see
The shape of blacksmith's vision
In the night;
The caress of silver on the forehead
From the moon's fledgling smithereens.

I cast a glimpse and
Sense a stray sheet of

Creation above, like a baking tray;
Puffing, shifting, darkening.
Elements in an oven.

Congregation of thought with
Madness on the left and
Silly sickness in the middle

Conjured up-
Sense on the right!

Cajoled-
*** on the brain

Coated in-
Hard leather bush-tights

Plato polite on every oval ***** side
Evilness lurking where goodness hides;

Be a good fellow
- dont be shy
Unleash the cry
- bellow,
HOWL
Say hello-ow-ololo-ow in
- tremolo
Like you're no longer scared
- or yellow

..of instant indelibility
Impossible to remove, erase, or wash away; permanent:
Don't stare at the moon too much
Nick Moore Apr 2014
The ***** seem quite knowing
to the egg it is going

A good swimmer to go
where it's going!

*****'s overflowing
eggs are escaping

Slipping down the big dipper
the fallopian ride

When the two meet up
fireworks explode

Divide but not conquer
divide but not conquer
divide but not conquer

Time spent in
the growing room,
head for the exit sign

But after all this
I still don't know
where baby's
come
from?
Mitchell Aug 2012
Allude across form
Describe dimming
Rhythm wrinkled dust
Torn to terrorized pieces

A shot
In the dark
Is still
A shot

Whose war have we
Stumbled stiffly into
This time?

An arbitrary anecdote
Awarded after the first hand
For freedom rises
Forming first that no man
Will willfully ever choose to be last

Soldier's of sacrifice
Hollering hum drum
Whistling for Wendy's crotches
Notoriety noting only
Reasoning to write to be read

Where genius is measured
By the breaking of borders
And one's ability to live through
A notable drug addiction

Cards care-free in their massacre
Wink while the waitress spills
Her high-ball on the suit pants
Of an ***** obsessed lawyer
Sure to be sued one day
By the government

The outside world
Is highly uninterested
In whatever problems
The ego may have
Conjured up this Monday

The artist whines as the
Dirtied laundry of childhood
Dries stiff, fading into a
Stain reminiscent of a dream

The mirror reflects the sun
Into my bedroom as I wake
To the sights of a world bent
On creating its own Armageddon

Helpless
At the moment

I think about rent
The cost
Where to get it

And head back

To my

Bed
glenn martin Jul 2015
what is it
to be human
to uphold justice and the land
to live to be   the earth  a flower bed
as in love of chivalry
to be the positive force of nature
to live to rule within a force called humanity
where does the time go oh life so busy
so full the desire for love as living
a life performed to stand up to survival
and know the nectar the pollen given for the living
a brain the will of a sixth sense
more strength then muscle to solve
the needs the meetup round a bouts chance encounters
mates family friends acquaintances of survival
to think and perform with the blessings of humanity
a survival system to live eternity in nature
We the flowers of all Earth species blooming
living and dying as their existence ritualizes    
a mona lisa smile an *****
like a turtle to a hare   to carry on
defiantly smiling holding firm
pacifist-ism awaiting
while a snake-tongue flickering **** retentive greed
waiting on the Star sun the green new deal
lets put all people shapes sizes to work now
the order of greening the economy !!!!
gives you the right to a job at a living wage
the guarantees of society
an economy that runs on flower power
on 100% wind water and sun the sustainable
energy-efficient public utilities and transportation system
all energy runs clean and renewable
it means we feed people a sustainable organic
created food system which is local plant based food
We stop pollution by greening energy
transition to green economy enormous health care
savings switching from sick-care medicine to health care
world clean energy and real food no additives
that collects and kills you    
this the evolution      gjmars 7/7/15
please support
green earth living
chivalry 21 century
Mayah Aug 2015
I **** at poetry,
But I'm an expert at being me
It took years of reflection ever since the *****
But finally...
Now I look from inside
Now I laugh when I cry
Tears that remind me I'm alive
Write carefully...
That's what they tell me to
The voices in my head and the sensei's of the pen
For fear of breaking rules established by who?
well see I don't care, then I ask them
Do you laugh in tune?
Do you cry in tune?
With the gold received from the silence of thoughts
My soul buys the mightiest pen to go to me
Just so I can jot,
I really **** at poetry
This was made on the spot, just wanted to share
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Accepting aloneness, incomplete solitude, imperfect rest. The garden
wasted, pumpkin patch planted late, potatoes untasted left in ground.

A thousand email addresses, each unique represents a flame of
passion, compassion, desperation or depression. To understand, to
      know's

impossible. It is therefore only reasonable to observe the shadows
on the mountain, the actions of the dreamer which tell us something,

little, nothing of his dream. It's a simple secret shared,
longevity. The half breed John Russell says it right, the

date and place don't matter, dry desert or cold mountainside,
lush bottomland, soulless or hospitable, contagious hospital.

The best laugh's death's, a perfect escape, perfect error, perfect
rest. Their solicitude's unnecessary, grief is temporary, life goes on,

you go under, underemployed, the undertaker's never unemployed.
Forensics prove an ***** with two chambers, ovule adnate to the
      funicle.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
b for short Apr 2014
It's a weird feeling.
I sneezed so hard I think I
popped an *****.
© Bitsy Sanders, April 2014
Barton D Smock Jan 2014
madness took my mother’s purse.  I can’t find anything in it that isn’t the information which led the student of history nowhere.  one eye is a double agent and the other

a suicide pill.  availability repeats itself.  angels marry.  I am directed to stand-in for what the future is a shadow of.  

his women are made of sand
but wash prematurely
ashore

carrying broken babies that stomach the glass ocean.  we share a friendship

charm, an *****, and a bleak outlook

for the featureless face.
The sweet splendor that is the saliva that trickles on your lips.

The undulating waves of your bosoms shake with every whip,
Of my hands to your bottom.
Applause for the naughtiness that soon has gotten,
My love so rotten to the core because of me.
Vexed due to *** of quite the variety.
Shake the squeaky bed and step on creaking floors.
Lifting her to ceiling.
Scratch marks on cheap floor.
Must lock door,
Must wrestle to bed.
Leave the this beast alone,
Give in to selfish request.
The likes of ***** love is not like what it seems on tv where apparently love is shaped cylindrical whilst my millions of my children race both aimlessly and innocently only to be flushed down through a porcelain waste disposal drain.
What if one my daughters and sons have the potential to be the next leader of our race.
Their race to *****, blocked by latex.
My guilt, my awkwardness,
Lead to guilty ***.
How not she cares of pain in her abdomen.
Give it to me daddy, she whispers down my neck.
However gradually I forget, moments of quiet where rain trickled in our eyes as I whispered words that should be said when someone is about to die.
I wish I could spit out those words as if lie.
I try.
But words of three I mean seriously.
But words I've spoke a time of many.
But words of meaning...

You tell me.
Dre G Sep 2013
where is the cadence moving?
is it towards jesus christ?
is it towards a shining *****?
is it foreword?

how does anything happen
linear? how does anything happen
spherical? remember that time
when devin townsend masturbated me
with his guitar pick?

i'll tell you about this plum:

when albert hofmann gave me the
gift seven lifetimes ago, he created
a radioactive island. it needs no aid,
it sees no faces, it survives auto
trophically on moldavite &moonbeams;.
Once I was a spore
Sought the ***** and was accepted
Millions of my fellow spores
Did not and was washed out as junk
A residue of no value
I won the highest prize without trying
To be given life is luck
Had I lost and not known life it would not
Made any difference for the spore
Not to have seen a sunrise a sunrise over
The Pacific Ocean, a mountain high and
Rabbits in the Woods
Never loved by a woman or the glorious hurt
Of the first one who left
The softness of her skin the colour of her eyes
Yes, I swam in the lake of enchantment
Walked near the waterfall where lovers cry
All this because I was the lucky one, the victor
And so millions had to die
Alexander Coy Nov 2016
I weep for the willows
unsung in their
bed of nails

tossing and turning
like razor wires
that cover the
fences

I promise to save
you a seat;

Right next to me,
my precious left rib,
darling *****

Your womb
resting comfortably
in the palms
of my callous hands
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
if by revision, there be a cartesian "archetype"
we'll require a blank slate, a canvas,
res cogitans isn't exactly a blank slate,
a canvas -
     then again it can be -
   but at the same time this thinking thing
primer is already brimming full with
an ingredient -
         namely? thinking.
                    so how can it be a starting point,
a blank slate, a canvas?
       for some reason i can't imagine thinking
at being directly correlated in translation
into being (esse) - it's more easier
imagining gods, than this sort of translation:
i.e. - how many mindless tasks have we
performed, how many accidents &
subsequently how many automations?
my guess is? too many, or enough to conjure
up the notion of common sense:
that communistic attention seeking ideal
of darwinism: yes, selfish as we are:
the cosmos is a claustrophobic space,
if being a poet, you stand next to a plumber
and how we're in all of this together;
i hardly think you can argue with that
sort of perspectivism.
           that's why i invoked an "antidote"
to the already apparent jackson *******
of res cogitans -
       it's so randomised - so already fresh,
in your fresh, already a cursor's sight away
the next pawn move on the chessboard
of life...
              res cogitans in classical terms
was already a presupposition conundrum -
it wasn't a case of supposing we thought,
or think,
     and by that statement the conundrum
is all the more apparent: we don't...
morality is a construct of acting upon
a thought that really doesn't need translating
into an act, rather: a possibility;
nonetheless it's translated, and thinking
disappears into a sane facade surrounded
by institutional mechanisations
that coordinate it into a: cradle unto the grave
scenario of the abled person:
strapped into a wheelchair of ambitions
primarily the one to: be able to walk again;
which is the don quixote aspect of the "quest".
there is no sense in working from
a cartesian standpoint -
   the res cogitans model was so outdated
that it was almost invisible,
   it was easier to see a beginning -
a god, a "bang", a monkey,
than it was to see a thinking thing...
     a thinking thing translates, precipitating
into a being - with that being said:
what is not objectionable about thought's
loss of an ought to still continue in making
being?
        never mind the crucifixion as a "sacrifice",
the fact that man question himself and
never manages an adequate plateau answer
is already a sacrifice worth enough
of other "worthy" sacrifices:
           and so too, as the universe "exploded"
so too man imploded;
the universe modelled upon an "explosion"
toward the infinite, is also a universe
modelled upon an implosion of man
toward the eternal...
         man has no archetypal cartesian
"currency", there is no cartesian wager -
hence the starting point of thinking is lost
to the sisyphus tract of ego-tripping, "winning",
and all other minor debasements -
    intrigue by insult -
               man was not born to think -
he remained in his unconscious developmental
state for much much later than expected...
i might as well say: i considered myself blind
until i first engaged in memory lego...
     i can't expect to have seen much else
other than the recount of my first
stage of internalised sight - i.e. memory.
again, i cannot consider res cogitans of
classical cartesianism as directly responsible for
esse -
i right thought to be an erasing project,
memory we can escape,
by forgetting, thinking and the imagining of
far better: that's harder to escape from,
memory was never a form of escapism
unlike imagining and thinking have been...
    which is why i asked to begin
with res vanus: for the mind of man
to become a womb, with the ego a foetus -
because it's hard to begin with
a jackson ******* of a res cogitans to
prescribe or even ascribe a "sort" of being...
            what needs to become is what already
is: a blank slate, a canvas,
           imaginative being in the form of punk -
or the thinking being in the form of einstein -
   but both begin with res vanus
rather than res cogitans -
       thinking has its own chronology and
narrative - like any claim to a hierarchy -
    but it cannot begin by stating that
thought was and is the first fact...
    cogitans non est facto primo -
   thinking is not the prime fact -
            it's like a numbers game -
there are the prime numbers, and there are
the composites -
     thinking is composed of imagination,
memory, ethics etc. -
        yet, as is all the more apparent -
    we all sometimes do stupid things sometimes...
and we do them: because we're not thinking;
which means that the prime fact that
we're thinkings things,
                                 is false,
we have to vacate ourselves for a thought
to enter our domain of emptiness -
               ***** the thought, ego the *****;
**** me, i always end up writing the most
bogus crap, after listening to a psychologist,
who has had the advantage of having raised
children, and become less severe a guardian
with some grandchildren, for it's a common fact
that grandparents make better parents
to their offsprings' children
    than a direct relation of mother to child...
even if they were alcoholic communists
            who still managed to buy you a collection
of philosophy books.
SamBee Jan 2015
In this world, at least I am whole and holy.
I know for a **** splintering fact that I am not important to the human race.
I am no disgrace, not a waste.
Just a face.

I seem pointless,
but by God I'll be ****** if my **** body was spineless:
I'm strong.

I face the people that I know don't want me,
I face the sobbing tear-streamed gazes
and see myself in their eyes,
looking long and lean and thin,
two sunken purple rims
and lips cracked,
showed the face of my sins.

I am a woman born free and falling deeper into the world she holds as her own.
These mazes of time splinter spokes and pierce the thick air.
We move as the molecules of water,
but no one seems to stop to bother seeing if the Now is alright
instead of waiting for tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow night.

Maybe breathe, and see?

That there is beauty within me.

I hold the hands of  different lands,
but does that make me different from any other man?
Or woman, because I am both:
The sun and the moon are held within me.
Each *****.

I feel the scorching red and orange delight of day
while trying to keep night at bay.

But when the moon glides over crystal, violet sky,
there is no reason to hide.

Feel a howl rumble deep within and
smile a grumbling smile,
dark and biting the wolf chomps chatter,
cackling with master planned disaster.

And this I hold deep within my soul,
clenching tight a harbored goal to have a human
be a human
as once they were
just another **** species among many on Earth.
I *know* it makes little sense.
Vanessa Gatley Feb 2022
Owned vessels
Are round yes
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
never in the circulated, supposedly civilised world, a mother so abhorred, or a father so abandoned; people ought to rekindle a shame in being "children", given they're so "motherless" & so "fatherless"... seems a shame to just leave the children without being scolded, as children without being scolded remain: children, and never mature into being the mothers for the motherless, or the fathers to surrogates.

talk to y'oh mamma,
talk to y'oh mamma,
talk to y'oh mamma...
go on, sweet talk her into kentucky...
fwy er a chee-kin...
******...
         goon on!
talk yer mamma daffodil pweety!
go on ******, talk
yer mamma daffodil pweety!
no talk mamma pweety?
neine hooney: beensprout!
   sorrows of: find your other
honey-bon lass!
     ha ha... i took to reimagining
jean-paul sartre in an english
society; didn't get far...
lived with his mother,
me? i revised the female
complex by going to a *******:
**** me, what a thrill!
  i cook my mother food, i clean
the house, even though she lies
about the extremes of having
had hernia treatment,
i had mine, as a toddler...
so... who's sherlock?
  me, or her?
       i solve the puzzle unconsciously,
she "solves" it with a
"moral" compass...
     women... woes to the man
who doesn't deliberate having a tear
to shed this opposite of concerns
being manifest,
with a month, akin to the name
like october...
    i just can't imagine the
twin concern of made effort...
i can't imagine it...
  no, you can't equate
the effort of ensuring
9 months made = with 90 years...
sorry, you can't,
this can't be the nodding existential
relativism,
9 months = 90 years...
nope, convince me a second time..
convince me a third time,
a fourth time, a fifth, a sixth...
convince me all you want:
you will still be unable to convince me!
why?
existential reductionism doesn't
end with the cartesian thought,
existential relativism does though,
existential reductionism begins with
a revisionism of cartesian ticking
of the clock..
       i have finally found
a grander complexity to counter
darwinistic reductionism....
      namely cartesian pre-existential
reductionism:
a thought, without a geometric "bias",
thus cited: no point
of origins;
we all know that glasgow is birmingham,
as we know edinburgh is london.
hard, speaking to your ***** test-e,
when it's not your mother,
harder then to speak to your mother,
seeing your ***** canvas so
rebellious... and hardly the culminating
sort;
english is already a language
*****-slapped-ugly...
   i really can't make it more
uglier, than it already is,
given the *reesh
and the picts:
or the charlie-charlies, i.e. the woolsh.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2022
i have absolutely no qualms when it comes to working
with women...
but let's face it... in this profession...
all the thrills are gone when women have joined
our ranks:
when once upon a time this was an exclusively masculine
profession...
there's so much less chance for violence,
also thrills... which makes life: livable...
bearable... but unsatisfying to the eternal quest
of man's: ooh... what's there?! what's that?
domesticated licking a wound that has yet to be
inflicted...
             i'm bored... and every other one is
having some mental health crisis...
               the asylum imploded and the worms
are wriggling out to be unable to see the sun...
i was paired up with this poor little thing today...
why do women trust me to the point
of revelling in revealing all their personal problems?
i don't get it...
am i a ******* psychologist on the side?
do i have a rubber ear or something?
  sure... i'll listen: but i'm asking myself...
              every time i ask to be placed on either turnstiles
or where the action is... i get the easy shift
at Fulham... in Bishop's Park... which is a doodle...
which is a yawn...
   but my "supposed" supervisor... Emma...
she once dyed her hair acid green... now she's
fluorescent purple...
           hmm... women and hair colour...
when i was younger... i had this archetypical
burn for blondes...
    i was obsessed with a girl named Milena...
a girl named Samantha... a girl named Janina...
all of them: blondes...
           ***** blondes... blondes of all types...
     but now?
               god almighty: restrain me! gingers!
i finally reached an argument to find this current
girl... 5ft... something or other...
only today i managed to spot her ***...
tight... small... firm... almost like a Christmas
present...
but this little ginger number is unlike
my prior ginger investment...
   this one's not whiskey hued... auburn... darkened
ginger...
this is a lighter shade...
                the same pale skin...
but she's more prone to patches of freckles...
i'm going mad over gingers...
      i can't help myself... there's something so appealing
about these remnants of the Celtic...
you work with women... and... somehow...
you working together they start treating
it like it's your first ******* date...
can't i just be coupled with a guy and talk about
Heidegger's hammer?!
they're good people...
            but... i really don't want to work in an environment
of autobiographical context...
i'm here: to do X... by the time Y comes around
and we clock out... i'm Z: on my way home...
looking for a shop that's open that still sells beer...
the **** i hear i should be paid double...
i get it though... i get it...
i'm human... we're supposed to share our little
stories... i was paired with a girl that finally allowed me
to open up...
i'm guessing there's a Whatts-Up group...
i've been hearing the same ******* questions from
about 6 different women...
today i explored the fact that:
yes, i've been engaged... she broke it up with me and
is now on her second marriage...
do you have kids? to be honest? i don't know....
which is sort of funny...
even if i have i will never know about them...
why are you the only child?!
oh, you know... i was born two weeks after Chernobyl...
even my grandparents remember that spring...
you had streaks of autumn hues in the trees...
my mother didn't have a second child because
she feared... because of my birthmark
on my right shoulder blade... since removed...
she might have ***** mutations... bring forth Siamese twins...
a burden...
            nature is cruel: so should man's intellect...
be likewise...
          hey presto... what did we pass?
a piece of a bird... well... a bit of the torso and a wing...
where's the rest? sort of fits into the narrrative
of... me having a piece of flesh removed from
my shoulder-blade... with an overgrowth of muscle
around the collar-bone...
i just want to be in the stadium...
where the action is...
i get ******* put on the easy shift...
'i want to work with Matthew!'
               they are seriously sussing me out...
all of them... single mums...
i don't believe any of these women are single...
   my "supervisor" keeps nagging me about...
when i misheard her...
she said: hello DARLING...
i thought she said: hello DADDY...
   now i'm ******* Daddy... she just keeps on nagging
me about mishearing the word...
i listen to music on full volume...
i should be deaf by now...
                but she can't let it go...
in the background she has these weird
mobile conversations concerning family courts...
she's in the process of being divorced...
most of these women have dated... dated...
reproduced with absolute *******...
   and that's my problem, now?!
                  now? it's a bit like that sccene
at the funeral of Ernest Menville in: Death Becomes Her...
he lived... the better best days of his life
after 35... after... all that crap...
it's a sick ******* ploy...
   why am i working this easy shift?
  
   oh... right... somewhere down the middle
my supervisor turns into my mother in need of painkillers
complaining about backpains...
i know where this leads...
women give birth... the ultimate pain:
couldn't we just bypass the whole drama and give
them a Cesarean?
oh right... then the Bible would be all wong: wrong;
women would not have to give
birth in agony... sorry... sowwy...
m'ah b'ah... b'ah... bad...
costs too much: mind you...

but what the **** am i? a ******* hugging-slot-machine?!
we're working, no?
so... why am i hugging these women on their
whim?!
one of my ex-girlfriends warned me about this:
i know, i know i am not a godsend for women...

do... plumbers hug when at work?!
do plumbers hug? it's like that meme:
can two straight men share an umbrella?!
i get it... being friendly... fair ******* enough...
but... a woman approaches you...
kisses you on the cheek... hugs you...
hell... she can get away with it...
       because of man's constant "hard-on"...
but... do that in reverse and what do you get?!

i'm as lucky as i'm unlucky...
the women that surround me?!
   they share stories of men treating them like ****...
see... that's the problem...
when you're a man with too many interests
from women... you sort of become a woman...
because... women start treating you like ****...
you sort of become their dumping ground...
let's see what we can get away with...
i'm pretty sure they don't know that i frequent
brothels...
   i'm going to get paid tomorrow...
Thursday... another shift... come Friday?
i'm going to text Khedra and get my *******
****** off...

                but this one ginger tonight...
she's a curious little thing... i know she is...
we were about to stand down...
    the "supervisor" already called it in... since the crowd
was dispersing...
but what did this: new cutie ginger in my life
do? she drags me for a one-on-one into the park...
to "check": optics...
   i'm not going to brag...
    i love women... which implies: i don't want to understand
them...
i love women too much to want to understand them...
and i do see it... some guys have no ******* chance...
you have bad teeth? or no teeth?
no chance... bad hair? i.e. oily... not washed...
no chance...
            bad posture? no chance...
not ironed shirts or trousers? no chance...
sorry... not calm enough? no chance...
                           nature is cruel... so should be man's intellect...
it should be like sandpaper when
all you want to ask for it... gliding your hand
across a body of water...
no no... that's not going to happen...
    time to roughen up...
                 i need sand under my *******
while i rub rub a... ha ha... an "SOS"...
                   working with women is weird...
even my father once exclaimed...
yeah... saw a female bricklayer...
    i'm not sure if she was a butch type of lesbian...
she must have been i remarked...
that's how homosexual relationships work...
they still return to the dynamic of:
someone's going to be masculine while
the other is going to be feminine... no?
           surrogate ******* the medium:
which is ******* harsh... i could be blasted for frequenting
brothels... but... surrogate ******* is...
akin to boxing: a punch below the ******* belt...
that's... not ******* with the ****...
but ******* with the womb...
that's ******* harsh...
                    
    every single ******* time i work with these
women i'm suspect... i'm always ******* dating...
i don't want to date...
i want to work...
            no... no work here...
cuddling... ugh...
                but this one ginger number...
the one that dragged me for the optical illusion
of being in the right place at the right time...
what a tight ***...
again: when i was younger... the archetypical blondes...
but as i've aged... gingers...
Celtic beauties...
    an antithesis of...
                Cerdic & the Saxons in the film King Arthur...
gingers... i'm starting to build up
a fetish for them...
they ooze... beside the clot of freckles...
that... mmm... milk-prowess-synonym of their...
tender... skin...
              
    no... sorry... i'm sort of blinded...
"work" has become sort of become sort of a schoolyard...
girls on boys
boys on girls...
                 what a load of *******...
i tried it with one ginger... Valentine's flowers...
crard... banana loaf... home-made-wine...
not good enough... not complicated enough...
   vinyl collection? not good enough...
well ******* not good enough...
           there's always another ginger in the poker-hand...
mind you: her *** looks... hmm... better than yours...

what a pretty little thing...
if i managed to give her the blushes...
i'm sure...
i'm pretty ******* sure...
i'd see as many freckles as i'd see on a Dalmatian!
like i said:
i love women too much to not want to understand them...

oh man... this ginger cutie...
what else? if not a single mum...
instead of a hug she dragged me into having a one-on-one
convo with me...
    oh sure... it's great... in the "upper tier"...
but it's not like they settle for you...
you're in the leftover crowd...
   chasing forever the middle ground...
  
            the safety net of...
                  it's nice seeing those ringed fellas running
around with problems...
i'm not joining the club...
                      dying all alone... in a hospital...
can't be that bad... learning from my grandfather:
compared to living a life of absolute misery for over 40 years...
no... thanks...
    as long as i'm desired...
better... than being kept by one ******* sparrow-sing-along.
Harmony Sapphire Jan 2015
My heart had a murmur.
My ***** had a tumor.

Your image is pleasing to my eyes.
I don't believe any of your lies.
Mama has always lived in a filthy sty.
Feeds us only butter on rye.

Nothing more but always less.
Ariel & I deserve everything that is the best.

My psychological evaluation was normal.
A haunting vision of the paranormal.
Words that lie.
With baby eyes that cry.
A weeping willow beside me on my pillow.
A room to feel safe.
With you when I am alone no one can replace.
I already know you I saw your face.

Attraction so savage like a vicious hound.
Can I trust you to be around?
Betray me once & another chance won't be found.
Not desperate or on the rebound.
© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved
wordvango Oct 2016
I sit and think who might I *******  
for the fun of it, I could
disrespect a host of  people
but really don't think it
would do any good.
but I need to rant and rave it's in my DNA
tonight
might have drank something with testosterone protagonists
earlier
I drank orange juice
the sun may have
zapped it with hormone inducing chemicals
or  the nuclear plant right next to the grove
of laden trees
might have glowed and no one saw it
or little green men
might have visited me and tested me while
I slept
probing and poking
and I am testy with
the subconscious memory of,
or perhaps I got a
***** somewhere hid
and I am ragging
all I know is I wanna
tear the world a new *******
click clacks that's the sound of my gat
rollin on ya like the Pats
check the stats
fifty and Zero so ya know
**** aint never been rented
everythang paid for
from ceiling to floor to the shores hataz galore i adore
scents of **** indeed
hands tryna feed off greed
but my money in jealousy
cheatin' cuz i got foreign currency and *****
comes to me
like cats to milks
smooth em out like silk
real slick **** once my rifle hit
the ***** holes
my inches below make ya fold
though O
slowin role O no
this aint a love ballad
we coming at it
raw and rugged
and if you dont love it
you shove it
up yours with ya shaft
im makin' blood baths as my muzzle laughs
im talkin my guns that make ya
Body dry
Like when clothes pen hungs
on the flat lines no rewind
death is permanent
should have known
******* i cant stand it
when they  try to kriss kross me
but i live and die for hip hop g
no jermaine dupri
but i break em off properly
like an assist from John Stockton see
my flows is critical like Leviticus in biblical subliminal
smooth stocky criminals
Turning all federals
Into funerals
Gigi Tiji Dec 2014
we give an ovation
to a piece of art.
the piece of art is life.
the ***** is the creator
of the ****, the egg,
the creator is an artist,
the universe is an ****,
the egg is life.

Therefore, the art is the universe.
We are the artists.
We are the audience.
We are the creators.

— The End —