"ovum" poems
a future promise
a hard on like bundled gym socks
in stuffed blue jeans
a future threat
a shriveled phallus wrinkled obsolete
she remembered fondly
being beaten drum chatter
and seized like slow roasted
fall off the bone pulled pork
****** raggedy Ann
catapulted beyond Euboean heavens
ravaging scrotums Gordian ******
with her wild fiendish mouth
drinking a river of
haloed golden showers
spit and ****
in a runaway hot house of glistening pink
buttery spires
engorging her macerated orifices
half eaten radish
chocking on hordes
of big do do *****
a ****** face; cross eyed
Babylon abalone
bashed Ashly mashed
begging for
a face full of swinging *****
like caped chandeliers
trotting faint giggles
in a constellation
of ruptured arteries
and thick sparked ****
on her knees
milk glitter faced
scared with happiness
she counted one smiling bruise at a time
her badge of calamities
black and blue silhouettes
grinning invitations like party favors
without a crease of shame
her skin rapturous
spackled patchworks
bled like torrential fountains summer tide
while every body had fizzy red ice phlebotomies
and steamed through her drooling tumble pie
lust ***** totem
house of winding labyrinths
honey pumped transfusion
flush on blush
opera of tangled limbs
red pulse wedding flowers
slick ***** palace
blood tongued orchard
caressing knotted mooned
**** spill
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 2:22 PM UTC
Let’s go to an antimatter universe
Where hot ice solidifies
Under the black light of the freezing sun.
A world where short giraffes hide beneath
The tall grass, amongst low trees.
See those high plains, watery deserts and low mountains.
Slow flies crawl over red skies
As turtles and tortoises speed around.
Here, hot sun is an oxymoron
And everything is downside up.
Or if you prefer we could visit a realm
Like on “Red Dwarf”
Where time flies backwards:
People formed from dusty death
To live and grow youthful
On the way to an inevitable birth
And death again
When parental **** parts from *****
Paul Butters
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 4:50 AM UTC
She calls Him her boyfriend
But to Him, She is nothing but a Body to ****
Good girls go to heaven but
Bad girls with big ****
are everywhere looking for ***** to ****
Looking for loaded ****** to ****
l have been [Patient] for too long,
l think lm [sick]
Sick of these ****** Pretending to love when all
they after is *****
Sick of these ******* Pretending to love when
all they after
is taste of Pipi
Sick of ******* who cant see they is play
ground
and ****** is rolling ***** like is ball
They tell you is Hot even when you is not
you open ***** Hole,
Sperms and STDs float inside the Vigeegee
now you is sick, if only you had been patient
if only you was Patience
Im sick of ****** pretending that girls *******
are padlocks
and them ***** keys going around unlocking
as if they are good looking
****** dont make love they are UNLOCKING
*******
Bitchesfancy that his Tongue licks the
Vigeegee
chill, that's just LUBRICANT to make it slippery
when He operates you
Fingers you to make sure you ready for it
Figures you want it, makes you **** it like lolly
pop. then He makes your ***** swallow it
Unlocks the *****
Kisses you, making you drink the alcoholic
poison from His lips
then you get drunk in love
then your blood gets drunk in ***
then your **** gets drunk in *****
then you skip your periods you call Him he
picks up drunk telling you to **** off then you
realise late that you were a Padlock and He
was to unlock you
and you realise late that You Were just a BODY
TO ****
He lost nothing, but your
Innocence, dignity and virginity
perished.
But then you smile coz you played with His
**** too......
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
You get back home weary from shocks,
You being impotent is not your tension,
But how two kids at home call you dad,
Basis of all your tensed thoughts is this,
Your wife still has two kids if not yours,
Your wife has the explanation to make,
May God curse the lying life of your wife.
You just get back home & draw your gun,
You load the fresh magazine in midnight,
Breathing long you put your feet silently,
But the door is ajar and she is fast asleep,
Your (or hers) children in the next room,
Your fingers tremble & you've flashback,
Many memories zoom through your mind.
You decide to use the pillow as a silencer,
You now calmly hold the pillow over her,
Breathing cautiously now you are unsure,
But her infidelity isn't what you expected,
Your heart tells you to introspect yourself,
Your mind changes after thinking about it,
Multiple times yourself have been cheating.
You pause & change your mind about her,
You have the gun now point at your own,
But now you see her stirring in her sleep,
Breaking from her sleep for water she is,
Your presence scares her to the hell now,
Your gun pointed at your heart she sees,
Mighty strength she gathers to ****** it.
You grunt and push her away from you,
You whisper, "Why did you cheat me?"
Before she replies to your weird charge,
Barked again yourself in a low whisper,
***"Your children are not mine now I know,"
"Your husband is technically impotent!"***
Maybe she understood everything now.
You remember that she is a policewoman,
You see her unload the gun and discard it,
***"The children - both - are test tube babies,"
"The **** was mine and fertilized in vitro,"
"Your ***** was used artificially as well,"
"Your DNA from your own hair was used,"***
Might have she followed the procedure.
It seems possible & you regret your actions,
But she just smiles & forgives you heartily,
***"It's okay darling, I kept it secret from you,"
"It's really a cute face you've put up now,"***
You now wish to sink down into the floor,
"You would forgive me for doubting you,"
Must be an angel to let you sink your head into her *****
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
Two ducks quack a lover's fued
Coffee steam is rising well away
From he that burns here in
Ashen lava pools my hand
Falls in and melts away only
To regrow holding a snowdrop
Unscathed by wrath which boils
She turns about and says speaking
Low to threat 'go then' I can
Only offer the flower which melts
In the act. I entreat the flames retreat
The belly of the world spits souls
Into fresh bodies morphet anew
From old, not so but middle-aged
Sacred **** lived beyond the reach
Of time that ticks and claws
All downward were it not for life
Anew time might win.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
do you know
how much light you have to have
to play in the dark
ask the lady of the moon
my trilling lover of comatose dreams
**** queen dressed in fallen roses
on her knees
her head a cocked jaw
throat; a giraffes
for shirts of skin and magic wands
she prays to be broken
split saliva jewel
kink clutch
little crying angel
hugging her ball and chain
shawled *** a trussed cathedral
bound in silk
a vomiting flower of *******
her feet bound
puddled black crimson
crumbling at every teasing cuddle
and darkened bite like ghost fire
flame on flame
her ****** buttered Kasbah dark fruit casaba
i take a bite
red teeth and stretched tongue
adorn the hood of lust
and sink flying
into blood scape's womb
she screams hooked on satin's *** nail
wailing; hideous mirth
and folds sweet and sour
siracha tang
her mouth a gagging river
of ***** and oleo tubes
eyes gazing globe video games
**** brewing perfume's of delirium
**** star ships at apogee
riding the glitter rim
my ****
a rabid swoon of towering babble
is full tonight
brimming with white blood
red and trembling milk
to fill your mouth my love
and the bitter honey of my soul
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 12:07 PM UTC
With the heart worn like an
old man's shoe
With the wind a last friend
of my second hand jacket
all blown and frail
I continue
to denounce the golden streets of disguised power
to trounce on hidden cops
to pounce on everything rotten in Denmark
to reek and to rage
like a rusting zoo cage
an overturned ****
a pensive white button
withering in my brain
a push cart filled with
burning accusations
I remain
street bound weary
I'm that secret little hope
gnawing at the nape
of your neck
Note: Re-written in Sofia, Bulgaria on the 14th of July 2012 after once again (after so many countless times) being followed and harassed even in front of my own house...I guess it's nice to know that some people read poetry very very attentively ;--))
Jul 14, 2012
Jul 14, 2012 at 8:49 AM UTC
my eyes are heady **** bloating
from within the sun
white embellishment lasers out
lending provision
setting life to the organic cog and clock
provoking muted growth to retch a bloom
leading
spending
seeding
my tread destroys nothing
each step frictionless
patterning little hovering eddies
a fraction above ground
minimal is my disruption
enough only to promote a deeper observation
tender fanning of the life that i am fawning over
how to feel this spritely at all times ? t'would be a spell
a fondled thing
it’s from our night of shared tether
our infection threw out an extra pleasurable souvenir
it carried its energy into the ensuing day
i am launched affection
beckoned into the true employment of my surroundings
carrying my socks and shoes in one hand
and my heart? it is a possession of the senses
i am truly led
i am emitting
Nov 4, 2022
Nov 4, 2022 at 9:44 PM UTC
Fear not your ************ young girl,
for it is the very evidence you seek
that you are the universe experiencing itself.
As I lay and bathe in a pool of my own DNA,
I watch the passers by.
A shark, a jellyfish, a fetus, a worm.
Tiny strands down the drain.
The fabric of my insides.
The ick to every man fearing the capability, the strength, the love and dexterity of a woman.
A strength so ancient and full of purpose.
So strong.
Constantly producing and relieving my **** of unfertilized greatness.
Discarded materials of my own internal struggle to find a love worth carrying my star-seeds to fruition.
A wonder it is.
A magic of this realm.
A sorcery so powerful that it has brought me to my knees writhing in pain.
The pain of creation,
The suffering of the body crying out
to bring forth life.
How gracious is this pain to teach us,
We are made of stardust and beautiful consciousness.
A woman thought to herself,
“What better can this world be?”
The answer, more.
It can be more.
There can be more.
More to love.
More growth.
Seeds to be planted
and watered and nurtured.
A harvest of joy and a family so plentiful.
More hands to hold.
More hands to create.
More hands to produce more love.
More hands to continue
this beautiful cycle.
And so she waits.
And every month, again,
she bore the pain of a thousand swords.
She healed.
She began again.
She kept growing the seeds
every season, awaiting
the crops to fertilize.
Afflicted with ruin,
she fell to her knees.
The beauty of this suffering,
Begging the universe, More.
To create and to love is all that she knows.
Fear not your ************ young girl,
You are building the universe,
You are experiencing what it means to be.
And so it is.
And so we are.
© KD
Nov 21, 2023
Nov 21, 2023 at 1:02 PM UTC
It is here at the point where no life exists
where shadows lurk and life is made
while Creation does nothing but watch itself
in a hole that never ends
Ether dances and joke at beginnings of dust
as we bring to life that which longs to smell
misty dew, try luck and fate on stages of illusion
Here we eat pomegranates in custard
apple skin, breathing in salty spice from
pink peas in tunnels of horns
here throats are channels of finality
columns of joy in hope
Here silence is the loveliest sound
sights contest to bloom on trees of golden chandeliers and flimsy nightgowns after
dinner mints
At this point of open fluid blueness
sightless serpents mingle with lights down
their spines
bracken love is made then broken like
crockery on a shelf overburdened with fear
At the beyond orange magic exists in
hair without roots, round and round
in bones without marrow, mouth to tail
as God puts together noses and arses
makes granite curves with candy floss fingers
Here man is woman, woman man
goddesses in curls and red sequined
slippers witness Tarzan at work eating
pineapple with prickles, tongue to tongue
Here a point becomes the only space
space falls into time, time into circles
numbers into letters, letters into nothingness
while black Persian cats cavort on blankets
of faith
At the beyond things jump and don’t move
spring by standing still, guitar notes run
along in blessed focus, locked in flights
of danger
Here you fall and fall, scream a soundless scream ~ blond lashes in a teacup filled
with **** and ***** where a flame is
not a straw to hang on
At the beyond it is so !
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 6:13 AM UTC
I imagine a fighting arena
Huge and closed.
In one cornered space
Tower Hegemonic Forces
Champions of dominant culture.
In other corners,
Trending,
Waxing,
Waning,
Anxious for their turn
To test their powers
Crouch the Up and Comers,
Ever-hungry crowds of Up and Comers.
Traction is slippery
On this tenuous battlefield;
Spittle and catarrh;
Blood, sweat, tears;
**** and *****
Fluid proof of bodies
Denied a single humanity,
Mingle to confound
Desperate din of strugglers,
Seeking clear divisions to conquer.
On-lookers, deafened in cacophony,
Cannot see the uselessness.
Careful observers
Can but surmise what the prize
Desired might be,
But always there is the struggle.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
*oh, and advertisement, καπριτσιολογια's natural ******* offspring works well with the perfectly pitched representation of the dynamism on the scales of cross-parallel social strata (i.e. "psychology" / social standardising en masse): a new york grid system: square square square, rectangle, square square square: shoeshine popsicle goldfish pig's trough.*
i found the investments of psychology
all too unfathomably capricious,
where the ratio of theory
to full-extent concrete proofs is a solution:
in that when one theory fails
another two emerge, and so on and so forth,
in that great existential ******
of dream interpretation, the golden cockerel
of freud glees with anticipation
to sprout a gigantic volcano gush of microscopic
life to enter the great **** eye that
cannot peer into itself and consider
both being and nothingness, as the great
ego eye of man does from the fully formed foetus
nimble footed and thumbs on the ready
in the grand coliseum of life - just a great
fishing net where once the mighty fisherman
st. peter caught fish, now herr anti-sanctus freud
catches foetuses of frogs - the womb the water
of these paradoxical amphibian representations;
psychology, the study of dreams, the extinction
of soul - apparently even asthma is unaccounted
for, the way in which thinking becomes
what thinking always was: a malignant capricious
medium pulverised by five vectors, and
the sixth a form of two selves: the selfless and the
selfish... dragged down to the molecular
degeneracy of explanation using genes,
but not protons neutrons or electrons - that's
reserved for the sun, the planets and the cosmos.
indeed, if psychology is the study of breathing
and not the study of thinking: imagine
what a hot snarling and wet breath raising
a voice in anger does to a cosy psychologist sitting
in his office, surrounded by ******* figurines
and african voodoo masks... sends him running...
the inverse form of asthma, asthma with words,
the angry asthma, of uninhibited thinking,
pure vocalisation of emotion...
no, i think less and less of psychology...
i think i'll just call it καπριτσιολογια:
the study of caprices, the study of whims -
e.g. a guy walks into a McDonald's, orders
a big mac in the following way:
- yes, but no lettuce, no mayo, no cheese, no
onions... just the bun the meat and ketchup.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
My fat, fleshy pale belly
pushes the inside of my shirt out,
and I'm ripping off Bukowski.
The sign for the travel section was far too obvious
for me to have noticed.
And you can tell you are by the woman's magazine section
by the perfume scent that burns your nose.
Strangers watch me type these notes into my phone notepad
thinking how superficial young people are these days
texting all the time.
And suddenly,
I am shooting **** into the current.
tossing my wedding band into the ocean waves
reflecting the moon like...
trying to write fast enough to catch up to my thoughts
and the words come crashing into them
a train going off a cliff.
And suddenly,
weaver ants are carrying eggs,
devouring albino widows.
Ochroma flower licked by Kinkajou,
insects lapped up from their grave of
sugary water.
Apr 29, 2011
Apr 29, 2011 at 3:09 PM UTC
Dare I spend my time with you
puncture my soul with your deep breath
feel the pain in your feet
walking the Earth and the universe with such love?
Dare I spend time with you
and risk falling into the abyss of deep sad blue
and losing my self in that fall
all with the chance that I will become
who I was meant to be from the start
of the ***** reaching the ****
Dare I spend time with you
laying myself out
on the expanse of your skin
feeling its coarse surface
learning its beautiful layers?
May I have the courage to take this small leap
to find you in the saddest and most joyful places.
If I dare to spend time with you
I will find myself in the strong grasp
of your immense reach.
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 10:33 AM UTC
Every body Knows that the Population of the Human is increasing every day.
In the Year 2016, the Global Human Population was estimated as 6.9 Billion approximetely. The Human Population increased upto 7.6 Billion approximately in the year 2017.
The total human population of the world is sharply increasing day by day. The birth rate of the Human Population is approximately 15,000 man every hour. While the death rate of human population is 6316 man per hour. The birth rate and the death rate of the total global population is as per data available in the year 2017.
This data clearly shows that human population in the world is increasing approximately 14,400 human every hour in the world.
Now it is a well known fact that every individual human is possessed of individual Soul. In other words, it can be said that every individual human needs one Soul.
Now as the Human Population is increasing at the rate of 14,400 human per hour. It means that 14,400 humans are being added to the total Human Population per hour. So by necessary implication it can be presumed that new 14,400 new Souls are also added to human population.
Just for example , let us assume that there is a room , where three people are sitting. Every man needs one cloth. If one people is being added each hour in the room, then certainly one extra cloth is needed each hour.
Now the question which perturbs my mind is that human population is increasing by Biological process of procreation. Then do the Soul also procreate?
It is said in the religious text that the Soul never indulge in ****** activity. Then it is a matter of surprise, how the new Souls are being generated for added human population?
What is the process of increase in population of Human Souls. Human Soul and Human Body is separate. By ****** activity, two human individual (a male and a female) give birth to a new human body but do not give birth to a Human Soul. It is said that when one ***** successfully penetrates the **** then the process of formation of an embryo begins. But it never initiates the process of formation of new human Soul.
When the Soul enter into the embryo from Spirit World, there is small spark in the Spirit World. This has been explained by Yogananda Paramhansa. It is clear that Soul is different from body. So has been claimed by Lord Krishna in Geeta. Body perishes but Soul is eternal. Thus Soul is different from Human Body.
As each human body requies a Soul, then increasing human Population also requires increase in population of Soul. The Human Body increased itself by ****** activity of procreation , then Question arises, how do population of corresponding human Soul is increasing?
Is it like that the Soul also procreate? Is that the Soul also indulge itself in ****** activity??
Religious Text deny such explanation. Then how the increasing demands of new Souls for increasing human population are being met by the God?
This can also not be said that Soul of animal, plant or bird are being converted into the Human Soul. This can only be possible when the total population of plant, animal and birds should proportionately decrease, corresponding to increase in human population. But there is no such evidence.
Then this question remain to be answered, as to how the the Human Soul population is increasing as per the demand of increasing population of Human. Do Soul procreate or there is any other process of formation of Soul? Do Soul multiply itself like Amoeba or like a cell? This is the question which is a matter of debate and evidence.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 3:13 AM UTC
I was once
Unconscious
Invisible
Limbless
Like a tadpole
I saw nothing
And heard nothing
I had a sole goal
I needed to reach the ****
Before all of them
Only the first one
Could Become
A Man.
I can tell
This tale today
Because
I am alive!
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
I want to end my life
In search of where to go
The subtle reverberations
Of faint murmurs from fantilion futile flagella
As if to escape their murky repose
Flap, furiously
At once distant, then endlessly so
From the warmth of what it must be
To be free; aye, lifeless
As if their yearning made it so
And our flagellum steered us true
But we're embedded now
There's only two things we can do
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 10:05 PM UTC
*the alphabet is incorrect when nouns come to use,
why necessitate the ordeal of a, b c... x, y, z -
the first sequence an order of literacy,
the second sequence an order arithmetic -
the correct lineage of letters from henry ii
to richard the i, to king john was written
in the minor carta of (bytes): tetra-, petra-, exa-,
zetta-, and crucially yotta-; everywhere transgressions
of the original standard arrangement of
the first memory placebo you learn at school,
placebo memories out of schooling,
ineffective memorisation swayed by the self,
and soon that lost too; memories that shall please
the doctrines, where once we were coalminers
of our selves looking for that nugget of cold,
by being schooled to restrictions, we found only
many nuggets of coal, and as they say: the cold
grey en masse realism of being suited and booted
with the sole reward: procrastination and procreation.*
indeed quantify in the realm
of ∞ (infinity),
but then express a quality
of 1 (the union disregarding
obstructions of centimetre,
millimetre and nanometre,
or the excess of gigabytes)
avoiding the kantian symbolism
of 0 - negation - of any
number to your liking given
power over the base:
with the squared acidic or otherwise,
mitigating ∞ of the unfathomable,
to search for deo sapiens
is to search for yourself
when others defined you in
the narrated enclosure of **** sapiens
and the 20th century's failures:
it's the pedantry of unlearning
praying to something and simply
thinking about it: secular ****
and you the wriggling anaemic tadpole.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 8:15 AM UTC
He knew it would take muchos huevos to play,
but his game plan was good, and he’d be okay.
Cause his were as big as the black or the bay
patrolling with tabletop backs that were stacked
with corrupt, hairy pigs who loved to talk smack,
and who bristled with weapons to fend off attack.
And, though the opiners would say it was rash,
he never could stand it to sit on his ***
So, he hurled his armored gelatinous mass
with a splurge of insouciance at all those legs.
The guards slung pejoratives – bent to fillet
his ovoid trajectory into a splay
of malfeasance – but their slashes only caught air
as he flew like a mortar past their stony glare
and that bold lettered sign he had read as a dare:
“Tis Forbidden To Sit On the Wall” -- the King
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
Let me thank my sweet mom
Daddy, dear Father! thanks.
Is this the world for fight
To reach at the chairs high?
Three lakh of sperms in race
Rushed to get a seat
There in the track was I
Who pierced the **** first .
Tests in life test caliber
Force of Lord’s Will that gave.
Tested my strength of nails
On ******* of mom’s breast;
White jasmine five front teeth
Giggled while mom snarled.
Kittens and cubs in joy
Test their might in the fight;
Is this the world for fight
To reach at the chairs high?
Let me thank my sweet mom
Daddy ,dear Father! thanks.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
A revolver bangs a silk bull
bucks her hanging
tactic steers away a million tongues
The nearest to heaven is your ****
that dances on a detergent blood vessel
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 11:35 PM UTC
I was born with curly hair,
a bubbly laugh
and a blue eyed stare.
I was born with freckles on my nose,
always a need to know
and a reason to share.
I was born as part of a vanishing twin,
always preferring to be by myself
and always knowing I wasn't alone.
I reabsorbed my other twin, the
chromosomal abnormality, a blighted ****
if you will.
I put my duality down to this abnormality,
yet, always wanting to know,
my curiosity always on show.
I wonder why I came to be?
With the other me fading away.
I look for others with my freckles, blue eyes and grin.
I've never found her or him.
I was born a half of a whole,
maybe it's why sometimes I'm light, other times dark.
My twin left its mark, but, I think I'm the dark half.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
Fragile and ****
Cold
Dark
Speed in between
Crystallized blue flame
Hard
Sharp
Mirror-shard dance
Beyond my eye-hand
Deep
Reach
Summer night dalliance.
Apr 4, 2011
Apr 4, 2011 at 8:35 PM UTC
Lost orders worldwide.
As religious beliefs take control.
Taken by the right hand.
Stirred up by the left.
Hurricanes and blizzards.
Under control of wizards and witches.
Potions that play upon minds of man folk.
An egg laid in season.
**** of twisters.
In my honest opinion.
Religion's a joke.
No smoke without the fires of hell.
Nor within.
Never can tell.
In the halls of Rome live garden gnomes.
Elemental systems of total control.
Metaphorically fishing for mortal souls.
And they say God has a plan.
(c)LIVVI
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
Big brown eggs
That most beautiful shape
**** Magnum
Its who you are
Its what absorbs me
All of me into you
Nothing else matters
But me with you
Seen through
Those earthy orbs
Porcelain domes of the land
Making me continent
And a martian planet
Inside and of them
And outside and apart
I love you none-the-less
I love you all the same
Let me kiss your eyes
And watch them fall asleep
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 6:15 PM UTC