"peck" poems
Their voice so harmonious,
Silent when no strings attached,
All the curves so very ****
Smooth is their texture,
Admiring their beauty with fingers,
You seat them on your lap,
Putting their arms around your shoulder.
Tickle them hard to make them peck,
They touch your heart with their sound,
Nibbling your ears in between,
The motion generates friction,
Friction generates heat,
So icy sweet is her music,
All over, you script success.
I talk of my guitars here.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
Leaning into the afternoons,
I cast my sad nets towards your oceanic eyes.
There, in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames;
Its arms turning like a drowning man's.
I send out red signals across your absent eyes
That wave like the sea, or the beach by a lighthouse.
You keep only darkness my distant female;
>From your regard sometimes, the coast of dread emerges.
Leaning into the afternoons,
I fling my sad nets to that sea that is thrashed
By your oceanic eyes.
The birds of night peck at the first stars
That flash like my soul when I love you.
The night, gallops on its shadowy mare
Shedding blue tassels over the land.
34.4k
Someday I'll hold you like you me charms
Look you straight and deep in your eyes
And let you know how much I lust for you
I'll pull your soft body with me masculine arms
Dead close to mine so that you realize
How glamorously my **** tightens for you
Someday I'll touch your neck with my teeth
I'll graze it so softly that you won't quit
And then pour magical whispers into your ears
The much I've dammed up all these years
I'll place my hard palms beneath your shirt
To softly hard caress your skin so that it'll sweetly hurt
Then I'll place my head onto yours and sigh
Because by this point I'll already be high
Someday I'll be this close and I won't miss
I'll peck your forehead but your lips kiss
You'll shut your eyes and savor my taste
I'll take it one step at a time with no haste
I'll patiently unbutton your outfit
You won't stop me for you'll feel me heat
Someday I'll **** at your beautiful *******
Draped like two cute oranges on your chest
You'll mourn like you're grieved at the pleasure
You'll beg me to quickly find my way inside
But I'll try and keep my control and decide
when to partake of your juicy treasure
Someday I'll explore further down your thighs
Me whom you much loathe and despise
You'll arch like a bow at every touch and laugh like a clown
Yet mourn as I navigate every street of tuna town
You'll beg me to pass through the tunnel of love
And just then I'll swiftly embed myself into nature's glove
I'll place myself above you,I'll be a long awaited burden
You'll hold my posterior as I plough through your garden
Since you say there's no love around here
Further apart your thighs will obediently split
While we make it
Someday we'll walk a thousand miles with no rest
We'll surf the ****** waves till we hit the viperous crest
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
Every day is the same; they wake up in the same bed, at the same ungodly hour, to the same monotonous ringing from the alarm clock.
They grumble their ‘good morning’s; whether they believe it is or not, rolling out of opposite sides of the duvet.
They dance around each other in the bathroom, the heat of the shower creating a fog through which neither of them can see; causing him to stub his toe on the toilet or the counter, and steaming up the mirror so she can’t apply her make-up.
They continue their ritual into the kitchen; flicking on the kettle, popping in the bread, pouring the orange juice; stirring the tea, catching the toast and spreading the butter and jam. Crunching and slurping together at the table, mumbling about what their days have in store; tapping texts on their phones, crinkling newspaper in their hands.
They peck each other a kiss goodbye and mutter a ‘see you later’ before going their separate ways.
But then Monday comes...
Mondays are different.
He knows she doesn’t like Monday mornings. It’s the very beginning of a new, long, tiring week. She never looks forward to Mondays.
So he changes that.
He sets the alarm on his watch a little earlier than other days; shutting it off before it can wake her.
He slips silently out of bed and tiptoes quietly into the bathroom to shower; leaving her smiley faces and love messages on the steamy mirrors.
He creates her favourite tea and makes her toast with raspberry jam; just the way she likes it. Picking a flower from the garden; whichever one looks the happiest and brightest, he places it all on a tray and pads back up to the bedroom to wake her.
She no longer sets her alarm on Mondays. She knows he’ll not let her oversleep.
He places the flower in her hair and drops delicate kisses; full of his love and affection for her, to the corner of her mouth, until she stirs gently.
She smiles on Monday mornings.
They eat breakfast in bed, covering the sheets in crumbs and giggling contentedly as the cat licks them up.
She hums in the bathroom while he clears away crockery, and always re-emerges with the flower tucked behind her ear.
It remains there ‘til night fall.
They never once look at their phones or the paper, far too focused on each other to pay anything else mind.
Their kiss as they part reminds them of their love for each other and of the good things in life; like strolls along the shore, strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, smiling sunflowers that open to a beautiful summer’s day, and of course, Monday mornings.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
It doesn't feel much like ****
when I text you the day after
the incident,
to say I left my card at your house,
and go to collect it,
with a quick peck on the cheek,
a squeeze of my ***
and its as if it never happened...
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
Love Making;Sex.
Text me;
****
You are;
next!
Bend backwards;
cheque!
Lips, tongue:
peck!
Take your;
breath!
It's no;
sweat!
******* your;
breast!
Touching your;
pet!
Like Imma;
vet.
Kissing your;
neck!
**** Toes?
yep!
Want Sum?
yes!
Mind blown;
trek!
We just;
met!
Can't ***
bet!
Toes Curled;
check!
One big;
speck!
Bed Sheets;
wet!
Lost your;
bet!
Love Making;Sex.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
#Airborne (Pt. III)
(The soaring heart of Jonathan Livingston Seagull)
Every ascent begins with exile.
To rise is to lose the flock,
yet find the wind waiting..
faithful, invisible,
unafraid to hold you.
The breath that fills him is older than dust,
borne through the reckoning
of one who first owned his own shadow..
Each atom refined,
each word made Light.
“To breathe is to bless,”
Jonathan whispers,
*“for every breath must leave the world
cleaner than it arrived.”*
His lungs remember Eden,
and the sky bends to his remembering.
Below, the drizzle hums its dull chorus..
the fat and the fed peck at comfort.
Jonathan breaks from the circle,
rising through their fog,
his wings burning clean in the cold.
“Fear not the thin air,”
he calls,
*“for only those who hunger for height
will learn how mercy breathes.”*
He learns the cost of air,
the ache of height..
and in that thin solitude
where only truth can breathe,
he knows at last
what it means to serve God
with the evil impulse:
*not by hiding it,
but by turning it toward Light.*
Before the Word becomes sound, it becomes breath.
And before breath becomes air, it remembers its Source.
This is the mystery of Jonathan..
the soul who learned that flight begins not in the sky,
but in the heart that has faced its own eclipse
and has chosen to turn toward the Sun
#
Oct 12, 2025
Oct 12, 2025 at 10:48 AM UTC
OPPOSITE my chamber window,
On the sunny roof, at play,
High above the city's tumult,
Flocks of doves sit day by day.
Shining necks and snowy bosoms,
Little rosy, tripping feet,
Twinkling eyes and fluttering wings,
Cooing voices, low and sweet,-
Graceful games and friendly meetings,
Do I daily watch and see.
For these happy little neighbors
Always seem at peace to be.
On my window-ledge, to lure them,
Crumbs of bread I often strew,
And, behind the curtain hiding,
Watch them flutter to and fro.
Soon they cease to fear the giver,
Quick are they to feel my love,
And my alms are freely taken
By the shyest little dove.
In soft flight, they circle downward,
Peep in through the window-pane;
Stretch their gleaming necks to greet me,
Peck and coo, and come again.
Faithful little friends and neighbors,
For no wintry wind or rain,
Household cares or airy pastimes,
Can my loving birds restrain.
Other friends forget, or linger,
But each day I surely know
That my doves will come and leave here
Little footprints in the snow.
So, they teach me the sweet lesson,
That the humblest may give
Help and hope, and in so doing,
Learn the truth by which we live;
For the heart that freely scatters
Simple charities and loves,
Lures home content, and joy, and peace,
Like a soft-winged flock of doves.
11.1k
Oh my dream home
A home full with abundant of love
Home with lots of sweet and unforgetten memories
Home where my wife say goodmorning sweetheart with a warm kiss
Where my kids say dad we gonna miss u while you go to work with a peck on my cheek
A home where hug means daddy, sweetheart welcome home how was your
day
Home where my wife,my kids,my mum,my dad,my granny and my friends accept me for who i am
Home where you got a real hardworking dad
A fabulous cook as a mum
A home where we wait for dads prayers before we eat dinner
A home where your uncle and aunt is ready to spoil you with all the goodies in the world
Home where where grannny love visiting in other to play with her grandchildren
Home where your loved ones got your back no matter what happen
In good times they are there very close
In bad times they even got more closer saying sweetheart we got your back
They give you reason to wanna live again
The smiles from your sweets kids says everything is gonna be fine dad
The warm hug from your beautiful wife says sweetheart we will get through this
Home where mum and dad are always there to guide you from making same mistake they made
Though it seems the pressure is high sometimes but they want the best out you
They want you to reach that height they couldnt
My dream home is a home of happiness
My dream home is a home of love
My dream home is a home of accepance
My dream home is a home of protection
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
Hey, met any hot chicks lately?
Yeah, that peahen is looking at me,
soon the others will too -
not at you, buddy…Oh yeah. Get real.
Just wait till I display my train of shimmering colors
and you’ll see the peahens making a beeline for me -
and you’ll have to bury your head
in the ground for shame
like those silly ostriches do…
All males have their self-esteem hurt in my presence, sure;
you’re no exception – don’t feel too bad…you’re just bad…
The last time I displayed my train,
hey - I caused mayhem in the ancient Indian forests
as the peahens went wild…
that’s why they’ve placed a ban on me
in the land
and how I ended up in this reserve
but I’m not the one to worry,
yeah, brother
you’d better step aside
and let me show you how
I call it the Kama Sutra of the Peacock Gyrations -
learn a bite or a posture and you might
be able to put your gene-stamp
on future generations…
now if you’ll excuse me,
I’ve got a thing or two to do
with these peahens clamoring
for a peck and a neck leading
vigorously to do
the mating dance with me
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
It's like the movie
part of me*
It tells me where I should
go and want to be
**Please note that I will say
Not a dark place
inside my suitcase**
"Robin Red Breasted" suit
Peck and nip and tuck in place
The rainbow iridescent
Suiting her taste wet rain tents
Everyone was Green with envy
**Robin/ Rainbow event lets hear
it for our Army so many
troops**
He was sitting politely
Like a salesman of suitcases
on her stoop
She was mesmerized
Living out of a tour suitcase
She wanted daisies she was
ready for fantasies
Of him in her suitcase
Tumbling through
Another time Postman
Singing birds to ring twice
Birds all in groups
Computer laptops she wanted
to be surprised so mysterious
But ready for love ingenious
He laughed not losing sight
Robin eats like a bird
so hilarious
She packed her sunshine
yellow ribbons
she was ready to feed
Those Brooklyn pigeons
Packed suitcase ready for
the love of God
Going frenzy from her fruit loops
Robin Birdie born traveler scoop
Well nested flying South
fully invested
Rocking her flight cradle
Wherever I go or whatever I do
Traveling packs meet
Mr. Ramen noodles
Getting silly splashing puddles
The Spiritual Zen
traveling boots over a shower
He kissed them high up (Eiffel Tower)
Rome Italy wines in love cahoots
The call I'm ready "Amazon" wild
Let us go, child, another story
But the wildcard fresh air
Oh! Dear
The lightness easy does it
feathering wings the clues fit
Packing my suitcase
Love is a drug of "Europe"
Perfectly fine wine
Always hope with cantaloupe
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
I'm feeling pretty *****
Or maybe I'm just desperate for an intimate relationship
And I fantasize about sensuality
because I crave the passionate love between two human beings
And I fantasize about skin rubbing skin
the sweat dripping between them
The mixing of two souls and the conjunction of two bodies
The beautiful slopes and curves of her figure
slowly caressing mine
The soft whispers of love that brush against my ear
And trail kisses down my neck
Her soft gasp as I trail my fingers up her thigh
my other hand grasping the back of her head, threading my fingers through her hair
Pulling her closer, ever closer
Her nails digging into my back
Leaving stinging red marks to remind me of her
when I leave for work in the morning
touching the scratches, I'll remember her
In the afterglow
Her arm around me, our legs tangled together
Her hair curled wild around her face
"I love you"
she whispers
Giving me a tender peck on the lips
Before blissfully surrendering to exhaustion
I watch her chest rise and fall
Her soft breathing lulls me to sleep
I'll smile when I think of her
Because I'll remember her words
"I love you"
They'll ring through my mind
"I love you"
Following me wherever I go
"I love you"
Lighting the candle in my heart
The flame growing brighter and brighter with each hushed word
"I love you"
or maybe I'm just *****
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 6:33 PM UTC
*** and cigarettes and bad decisions stained into bedsheets
A good idea gone rogue in a moment by the chase and retreat
Words bitten off before they emerge and a sudden sense of regret
The ins and outs and turns and twists confined to breakup ***
What feels good can't hurt you until its not good anymore
Reality doesn't touch the bedroom until someone opens the door
Grasping to skin like it's what we had and reluctantly letting go
The push and pull of dumb ideas and a lack of self control.
An awkward smile all the while thinking that this was a mistake
A peck of a kiss, barely a touch of the lips, and sanity far too late
Stains on the skin that the shower can't wash, they've soaked down to bone
The knowledge that gasps and quiet laughs doesn't mean we aren't gone.
*** and cigarettes and bad decisions stained into bedsheets
A good idea gone rogue in a moment by the chase and retreat
Words bitten off before they emerge and a sudden sense of regret
The ins and outs and turns and twist confined to breakup ***
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 11:11 PM UTC
*
*In the terrain of a barren forest
In the forlorn of a lost ship
In the godforsaken-ness of fate
In the inhospitality of people
Either sides of the dunes
There walks Majnun, in rugged clothes
There sings Meera, in wedded bliss
Both - immersed in the dreams of LOVEz
Both delicate, both innocent
Both pure, both true
Both fresh - like budding blooms
Both living in harmony with Nature
Waiting for Krishna's and Layla's arrival
Knowing their BELOVEDz will come
Both - still intoxicated in LOVE
Half closed, drowsy eyes,
Blurred vision, drunkard steps
They walk, dance, sing and fall
Awaiting their LOVERz call
Don't show complete callousness
Do not wake these LOVERz at all
From their disconsolate state of being
Let a dust-storm or lash of rain
Shake their heart and being
As if Krishna and Layla
Have shaken their soul awake
Startled at the LOVER'z touch
Meera and Majnun look around,
Astonished & glancing everywhere
Searching to find their LOVERz
"Where is Krishna? Where is Layla?"
They run wild - deliriously mad
Until they find a mirage & a silhouette
In the blank space of air around them
There they rest - sit and talk
They laugh and chat in LOVE
Only we realize and know that
There is no one around them
Yet only they can see their LOVERz
Only they can feel their BELOVEDz
To play a colorful game of LOVE
Let Krishna give Meera a kiss
Let Meera twirl one more round
Let Layla peck Majnun cheeks
Let Majnun sing one more new ballad
Thus till date they are remembered
As tragedy folk-lore's LOVE
Our tragic LOVERz-BELOVEDz
Our Meera-Majnun
All these happens on
Either sides of the dunes*
*
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 11:58 PM UTC
something as simple
as a peck on the nose
can make my heart melt,
your soft pink lips
pressing against the
tip of my nose,
it’s a warm feeling
the sort of feeling
that completely changes
my mood, the way you
smile afterwards, pulling
me into your warm embrace,
the faint smell of you,
a scent crossed between
the mint of your breath and your cologne
a smell that’s so comforting,
a smell that is my home,
here in your arms is where
i feel warm and safe,
it’s odd how something
as simple as a peck to
the tip of my nose
can set me off and make
my head spin
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
On the water's edge
a stork in meditation,
reality faces illusion.
Under water fish
peck at stork's reflection
reality tastes illusion.
Flying stork's shadow
swims on water plane
in competition, fish chase.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 6:56 AM UTC
Wrapped in your embrace
Drunk on your scent
Trapped in your eyes
My hands around your neck
You say you have to leave
Robin's calling her Finch
So you start to lean in
For a goodnight kiss
I get all confused
I loose my cool
You want a simple peck
And I was going for more
The moment still happened
Your face so close to mine
I stand there dazed and confused
...Well there's always next time.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
My work day woke to Monk,
the click of typing keys,
clock watched, Spotify playing,
random thoughts rose like bees
to freeze in these jagged lines,
then swarm in threatening flight.
Hours of data entry later,
on a stool, in a bar, a clock's
hands tock, I flick a wrist,
and slur my words concluding
an anguished monologue,
“They call it work, you know.”
Awash at home, in the strobe of
pixelated panel light,
visions surge and dissipate
with the pulse of the night. Osip,
were you tempered to embrace
attention’s fugitive caress?
You etched memory’s texture
with candle soot for ink,
and the gulag’s blackened gaze -
I type lines by hunt and peck
humming Monk’s WELL YOU NEEDN’T,
hoping for an adequate phrase.
Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
ALL I can give you is broken-face gargoyles.
It is too early to sing and dance at funerals,
Though I can whisper to you I am looking for an undertaker humming a lullaby and throwing his feet in a swift and mystic buck-and-wing, now you see it and now you don't.
Fish to swim a pool in your garden flashing a speckled silver,
A basket of wine-saps filling your room with flame-dark for your eyes and the tang of valley orchards for your nose,
Such a beautiful pail of fish, such a beautiful peck of apples, I cannot bring you now.
It is too early and I am not footloose yet.
I shall come in the night when I come with a hammer and saw.
I shall come near your window, where you look out when your eyes open in the morning,
And there I shall slam together bird-houses and bird-baths for wing-loose wrens and hummers to live in, birds with yellow wing tips to blur and buzz soft all summer,
So I shall make little fool homes with doors, always open doors for all and each to run away when they want to.
I shall come just like that even though now it is early and I am not yet footloose,
Even though I am still looking for an undertaker with a raw, wind-bitten face and a dance in his feet.
I make a date with you (put it down) for six o'clock in the evening a thousand years from now.
All I can give you now is broken-face gargoyles.
All I can give you now is a double gorilla head with two fish mouths and four eagle eyes hooked on a street wall, spouting water and looking two ways to the ends of the street for the new people, the young strangers, coming, coming, always coming.
It is early.
I shall yet be footloose.
5.6k
Not to neglect the one above
But the one just south has me
No reference to the man upstairs
Or his foe below
It’s evident the bottom
Was made in heaven
But tempts like the devil
Even though your lips are a pair
I find myself lingering down there
That bottom lip has its own heartbeat
A mind of its own if you will
And I will ... kiss it again
And again
Nibble a bit ... **** and peck
Lick my lips in retrospect
Lying in bed at night
Thinking of twenty different ways
That lip takes shape
And shows emotion
Almost upstaging your face
That gorgeous face
Sometimes lost in the background
For this soft and often pouty lip
Begs for attention
Almost screams for it
And I listen ... do I ever
I can’t help but fall victim
To that oh, so clever
Part of your face
That would make an angel
Leap from grace
And never look back
Not once ... I’d swear on this
For I know the power
Behind that kiss
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 2:22 PM UTC
Mesmerized.
No other word can describe the feeling I have right now but that.
The crickets chirping.
The sound of the wind.
The clairvoyant light cascading from the moon.
The cold wind against my bare chest.
The hot air filling my lungs.
The sound of the paper sizzle as I draw a breath.
Mesmerized.
I look at the moon, pondering something great,
longing deep into the moons light, looking for a
Theocratic meaning.
Mesmerized.
I notice a glimmer.
Soon another.
and another.
like a fire starting a chain reaction, twinkling glows slowly appear, joining one after another.
That moon is not alone I come to realize,
As it is connected to all the little lights.
One by one, as my focus clears,
dazzling lights shine over my fears.
A little light show all for me,
All dancing, wanting to be seen.
I bask in this euphoric moment, my prayers answered, I peer shyly at this gift that I have captured.
The wind kisses my ears, slowly going down my neck,
it kisses my navel, giving me a loving peck.
Mesmerized.
No. Not mesmerized, but in love.
In love with the beauty I have been able to witness, Her beauty.
I stare longingly into Her.
The lights in the sky seem to smile at me,
Knowing just how I feel,
Warmness filling my heart, creating a seal.
In love.
I am In love.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
Her body looks touchy in the light,
I urge to play with her all night.
Yes, she says and I hold her softly’
I take a deep breathe, to confirm if she’s ready.
She didn’t mind, and i proposed for a birthday gift, she can’t say yet.
I run one hand up her neck
touching her makes me wanna peck
For I love kissing.
Across her body, my right hand goes,
I have been practicing, believe me, it shows.
Another deep breath, the tension reduce
staying focus, every moment dues
Boldly toast her to the room'
She gently stand up, no offends and we move.
Getting to the room
I gently push her to the wall
I make her feel the groove
My vibes and my moves
Triggers her to do
With my two hands,
I grab her head while kissing her
She close her eyes and
French we go.
So deep and no, i need to go’
she pull me back.
The sounds and feelings grow more immense
The movements, become more intense
My heart stops as I see the door open
Her mom walks in and says;
Your guitar is too loud,
please turn it down.
And she reply’ ok mom.
Well, I’m a bad boy trying to be relevant.
She forwardly push me to the bed
Stylishly she unzip my jean and holds my ****
While she **** the head
She fingers herself and makes me lick.
At the long run, I inserted my sim.
She took her face off as she feels the hit
She screams and still pulling me in,
While I diligently *** her with styles
She wonder, who am I
Four rounds we go
Hard and slow
She feels light and dope
She’s smiles and says that’s your birthday *** BOB
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 11:12 AM UTC
• it's not that i don't love you
it's that when i was six, my mothers eyes were verdant fields illuminated by her laughter.
it's that my father came home that night, whiskey absorbed into his tongue, lavender lingering on his skin, the last two buttons of his shirt still undone.
it's that i always thought it was a tree branch caressing the windowpane at 2am.
when she was crying to the walls for help.
it's just that when he left, she started sleeping with the light on,
and her eyes died with winter's approach.
when they were together, her skin was a canvas for violet hues that burned like gin against your throat so she could never hug me.
it's that, last november when they healed, she painted them again - but this time in red.
it's that my mother didn't wear lavender.
• it's not that i don't love you
it's that my older sister doesn't leave her bedroom. i wonder if she misses the sunlight, or maybe if that's the problem.
it's that she told me that if people were colours he'd be red.
because she sees him in the sky when it sets.
and in the leaves that have been kissed by autumn.
it's that it's been a year, since she wrote that letter with scribbled letters and scattered thoughts,
talking about the way he said her smile reminded him of old movies,
and cotton candy.
and that she still loved him.
it's that last summer she went outside to feel his presence,
in the graveyard by the river - accompanied with lost lovers and broken hearts.
and it's that she came home and took a blade to her left wrist - heartbreak oceans leaving the sink painted scarlet.
it's that when the doctor asked her why she did it, she replied with:
"i forgot what red looked like."
• it's not that i don't love you
it's that once, my therapist told me about his wife.
and that she left him because her heart didn't beat for him anymore.
it's that when i told him my cat ran away last week
he smiled gently but with his eyes,
and replied, "don't worry, she's coming back."
like he had recited that phrase to himself a thousand times this week,
it's that i saw hope peck him on the cheek,
and ignite his eyes,
it's that i know they did that when she laughed like honey was melting into her tongue, or when she told him she loved the way his right eye was more green than the left.
it's just that, during my last visit,
he asked about my cat again,
and i had to tell him, "it's been months, i don't think she's coming home."
it's that he cried sapphire pools of misery,
because his eyes told me
he knew she wasn't.
it's not that i don't love you
it's that i do
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 12:33 AM UTC
So there’s this woodpecker
He pecks all day
Peck Peck Peck
Peck Peck Peck
Pecks his life away
Ever seen him stop and wonder?
At the glories of the world and beyond?
Did you ever see?
Him staring at a tree
And thinking about Joyce Kilmer?
Nope, can’t recall
Any such incident
So why should I stop
And smell the flowers I don’t see
Why should I write a poem
As beautiful as a tree
When no one else gives a ****
I should be hanging around friends
Rolling joints with the money for my rent
I should be the eternal narcissist
Like the one who sits above
But we’ll come to him later
Right now what I wanna know
Is what gives me the right to control
Everything I see
And everything I don’t
Coz frankly speaking
There’s a lot I don’t know
What gives me the right
To play with someone’s life
And blame it on ignorance?
I thought someone could tell me
Someone could answer
The stupidest question in the world
But if I ask someone
Why they’re doing something
They all say the same thing
Coz everyone else is.
Good.
So now we’ve got that cleared.
I’m doing what I’m doing
Because everyone else is doing what they’re doing
And everyone else is doing what they’re doing
Because I’m doing what I’m doing
To sum it up,
None of us know what any of us is doing
Or why they’re doing it.
Looks like we evolved backwards.
At least the apes knew what they were doing.
Sleep. Eat. **** Have *** Sleep.
That simple collection of words got what the people
Who call themselves the brainiest guys in the world didn’t:
Logic.
And I’ll tell you why they didn’t get it
Because they were the birdbrains
Who came up with the idea of a nuclear bomb
Which has really set the bar for human stupidity
No one can surpass that.
Because the ‘logic’ behind the nuclear bomb is
“You give me what I want
Or I’ll blow up your country”
People in the highest position of their respective countries
Spent money exceeding ten times the number of their population
On such nuclear bombs.
Which, in fact, they’ll never use.
True story.
Tell you the truth, I’d rather be a woodpecker.
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 1:37 PM UTC