"pegged" poems
Am I really that uncouth?
Have you lot yet worked out the truth.
The **** I write, it's so contrite.
I know you're dim
but I thought you might.
I've been feeding bananas to you all.
Big bananas, none are small.
All are bent, of course they are.
Enough's enough, it's gone too far.
Dear Voyeurs, to all my fans.
Some ride cycles, some drive vans.
for M&Y, yeah you're the guy.
So I bait my line and continue the lie.
But let's have it right, as well I might.
You wanted to play,
so pretended you're gay.
Now most I know aren't,
but one or two do.
Boiler repair guy with the twinkly eye.
Bent over in two, I spank with a shoe.
And all that he asks is, I call him Sue.
So I have him pegged,
for that's what he begged.
But now he knocks on my door
wanting much more.
Fuckin' Big Bent Bananas
by Kaydee.
(slurp, slurp)
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC
Penning naughty poetry
fills me with childish glee
pushing away boundaries
religion pegged on me
writing myself free
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
People say that I'm not the average black girl...
And I don't know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment
Am I not the average black girl because I am so well-spoken?
The fact that I am able to articulate my words...
Or that if a person misuses a word that I simply correct them?
Am I not the average black girl because I don't wear a weave in my hair with noticeable tracks?
Or that instead of me shaking my *** for the world to see...
I choose to make something of myself without diminishing myself?
Am I not the average black girl because I chose a path different from the other black girls...
The path of the dropouts, and being baby mamas at the age of 16...
What is the average black girl?
To me, there is no such thing as the average black girl...
The word "average" is what society has pegged a black girl as being the norm of what black girls are seen as or are supposed to be.
But me, I'm just a black girl
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
Snapshot memories of are past
having so much fun with the hope that it would last
To my best friend Nan,
a beacon of light to a hurting world in need of love
To the truest friend I ever had
those memories by the stonewall
Started playing together as friends
She had blue eyes & long blonde hair
I had brown eyes and brown hair
roller skating on the sidewalk with the attached rollers with a key
Went down by the brook to catch poly wags
we both went to the same school
Having sleep overs was a blast
a secret passage to get to her father's soda shop
Taking ice cream and delicious candy
everything nice and dandy with Nancy
Yours was are youth to be captured with a precious smile
Cape cod trips when Nan would drive
going to a trip to Provincetown
watching the folks dive for money
Big ships coming to dock
the men would get the money in their mouths
The island we used to go
in a row boat along the beach
Looking for young boys and we found them
went to dances at the Bristol Boys Club
Doing the latest dance craze the Huck Buck
Boys wearing pegged pants and girls wore skirts
To cherish those lasting memories of a time ago
getting married
Nan had three children
Ann had six
To raise and cherish the family united in love
Today we are in are eighties
both with medical issues
Yet remained best friend's after all these years
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
I strive to be the greatest
and have an audience rise up on their seats
with a deafening applause
and a desire to take that life changing picture.
I strive to be the greatest
to ax the driving darkness
digging into the center of my heart and soul
that my people have pegged
into my back.
I strive to be the greatest
finally able to smile in front of the light
that is but absent in this hole
of which only dreams thrive in.
I strive to be the greatest
that I can lie down
one last time surrounded in white
reliving the moment I smeared the world
in red.
I strive to be the greatest
so I can see you smile that perfect smile
and see I was worth the trouble
that I actually mean something
to someone.
I strive to be the greatest
so I can be part
of the 49% minority
and scream victory from buildings
taller than no other.
I strive to be the greatest
but I'm terrified of
**rejection
life
recession
failure
hate
disappointment
loneliness
myself**
so help me, God
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
(sonnet #MMMMMDXXXVIII)
Now moonlight glances in to splash from hence
My silent comforter, then floor, its pale
Eye keener than aught voiceless notice, frail
Calm frozen in reply with snow's pretense
Beyond these darkened hours, as if the sense
Ere waltzing through a pegged load on th'exhale
Which fingered jonquil nubbins like green's bail
Is gone as swiftly as our love's defense.
Oh Tyler! I could never dream as twere
Of all you held in soulmate, bashert to
A breathless fault, whom none compare to, poor
As saying is. You were all and more, aye knew
Me better than I dared to think, and your
Love in my veins, though dead, I love you too.
22Mar16a
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
O' Fiddlesticks, The Harbinger of Doom
Do the crows know your woe?
A sad party, a crow storm parade.
A forbidden power, a dreadful surprise.
A draining link, to the fool who tries.
A lonely puppet, forgotten pride.
A haunting fright, left inside.
You know no bounds, without a brain.
A scarecrow with wooden pegged legs.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
my life is beautiful, not realistic.
yesterday, i arrived on neptune
wearing big boots and dignity
the horizon was a nightmare of question marks
and gloomy witches;
i escaped from the religious enema and
pegged a choir boy on my way out.
i am no longer a pygmy goat on a foolish leash,
i take my paranoia seriously.
my journals guide me to a ruptured corpse,
never censored.
i have the ability to be given away on a whim,
but i am becoming a famous soldier, an intoxicating
ghost of dogma.
my dreams are beautiful, not realistic.
hallelujah, the hobos are wearing bathrobes,
the ****** pillheads are anointed with ****** and sewer cleaners.
i see a goblin grave advertised by
luscious lips and fishlike shoulders.
the texture of my dream is kaleidoscope and silver,
haunted by a fat sherriff who cuts the throat of the jukebox queen.
i have a personal god, and on her i bestow this passionate kiss,
i have a favorite enemy, with no goals and without ambition.
im sorry, i don't know any happy songs,
only the movement of her young sensitive thighs and
a nymph with an hourly rate.
i am a buffoon with a blugeoned harmonica and
weapons of sugar.
my life is beautiful, not realistic.
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 11:23 PM UTC
To kiss someone's lips
Or grab them by the hips
One must enlist
In the power dynamic
Inside every relationship
There are surprises
Of different disguises
I must ignore the lies of
Reachers and settlers
Stalkers and meddlers
Those who are aloof
And those who are goofs
The process never foolproof
When animals hide their hooves
I took that dubious bet
I thought it'd be fun
A game of Russian roulette
With a fully loaded gun
There were unfair rules set
That's how you won
A one hundred percent threat
I'd be hurt a ton
It started effecting my health
When I couldn't be myself
Because my self emulation
Amounted to self immolation
So I sought your consultation
For the vacation
Of placation
But you took advantage
At least from my vantage
I could see your rampage
Straight from the Stone Age
Like a time traveling mage
That summoned a cage
There was a pattern
We kept going around
Like the rings of Saturn
Until I hit the ground
You made me foolishly wait to test me
And then hated when things got messy
Now you claim that you're a blessing
For what you do after **********
You must be jesting
Confidence cresting
Never confessing
Or addressing
The emotional underbelly
You just like to undersell me
Saying that I'm underwhelming
I'm talking to a tundra telling me
That it makes me a better me
Apologizing not part of your plan
You tell me you don't understand
You must think I'm stupid
To treat me so putrid
My patience you've used it
So the dead weight loosened
Once I let go of your noose hand
You come back begging
You incorrectly pegged me
As forgiving not petty
I guess you never met me
Or at least said goodbye to the best me
After never acting on the behest of me
And making me think less of me
You've become a pest to me
Not part of my destiny
Just part of the generic sea
Of those I let be
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
i never pegged you for someone
swept up by razzle dazzle,
infatuated with muscle men,
acrobats, and stars.
your view on animal rights,
seemingly discarded,
for an elephant's tricks,
the lion tamer's whip,
the tent apparently blocking out
harsh judging light.
i viewed you as critical,
skeptical of spectacle,
squinting unsure,
behind those black wayfarers,
the image constructed in my mind,
supported by that vintage dress,
the style of your hair,
the music you listened to
on the car ride over,
how can you be satisfied
with this carnival fare?
frivolous displays favoured
over subtle gestures,
superficial appearances favoured
over chemistry,
hollow showman dialogue
echoing over loudspeakers
favoured over a conversation,
perhaps i'm a hypocrite,
your attributes simply skewed,
by my being swept up in the
razzle dazzle spectacle
of you.
(i'll be in the hall of mirrors)
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 1:38 AM UTC
I used to like you a lot.
i don’t know what ******* happened.
we’re children and you pushed me off the swings,
off the playground,
out of the park.
And now my best friend only wants
me for what i can say about you,
you sea urchin.
bouquet of prickling spikes
piercing my jagged rib bones.
rip through me,
feasting scoundrel,
you ***** you fox.
you viper.
wipe her from my soggy slate.
dinner plate? it’s empty.
everyone is the garbage disposal,
grinding my teaspoons of self-worth
into dusty pieces. i am the garbage.
and i never pegged you as one
to leave me in a
dark parking lot,
shadows curling their bony fingers
around my purple lungs,
but she found you making love to
him in the same car we sat.
the bull frogs saw what you did.
i’m warning you to stop pretending
like you’re still a fawn.
a doe-like female.
i can see through the speckles
on your face
and your mixed tapes.
i don’t have heart left for you,
you ******
kneel in front of his knobby
knees. beg,
*****
muck him up and then
lick him clean,
feline.
slink past me in the night,
in the broad daylight.
you are not a spy
i can see your arteries.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
His name was meant
for someone three times his age.
Someone who reaches into
the pocket of his sweater
for little hard candies,
amidst games of shuffleboard
and canasta.
I would have never pegged him
for a Walter or a Leonard.
(Wait, was it Larry?)
But then again,
the way he
sweet talked me into
his bed that night,
I would've never expected to
wake up alone
the next morning.
A post-it note balancing delicately
on the indentations of his pillow;
Had to go to work. Nice meeting you, doll.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 10:41 PM UTC
Farewell! Farewell!
The rest can go to hell.
And perhaps I should be chided
For being so small-mindedly pegged,
If it were left to me,
I would not care to see
Another Easter Egg.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
Och, you and your divine shape
How beautiful you are to me
You drive me wild with want
I simply cannot master you!
You are oft'times hard to get
But nary shall I quit you
Tune my heartstrings up a notch
Fret forever, I try to get it right
You quiver exquisite at my touch
A ravishing delight to my ravenous senses
Would you GIVE a STAR for my attempts
Don't over tease my nerves to distraction!
I slave intense o'er you, day and night
Yes, you're the one with the hold on me
Look at the inevitable shape I'm in
All 'cause-a you and your curvy shape!
The airline broke your sister's neck
Yah mon, I cried, mah Lord. I all but died, ha!
Caught in a quagmire of deep distress
You, my comely cutaway, pegged me up again.
Love to cradle you on my eager lap
My arms around in close embrace
A gentle, organic creature, such as you
I dare not grip you hard at all.
My fingertips so acquainted with your girth
Your rosette rings out my notes with charm.
Enchanting me with deep nuance
Without trying, she pleases so!
The sole bridge 'tween the world and me
My subtle love, only my Valencia.....
S T, 04 Avril 2013
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
in a desert pegged to a
loadstar, whose sands try
to scrape free.
with a sound the wind
scarce believes could
empty it out.
only loincloth and limbs
move toward her...with
lips the sun has lingered on.
for all his moving, he takes
her face in his hands...
setting down his mouth's
word on her closed eyes.
eyelids raw with
interlacing quivers.
visions of water.
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 8:59 PM UTC
She had **********
Down to a fine art;
Knew the nuances
Of kissing, or so
Uncle said and he
Should have known
As he had what you
Would later say was
An encylopaediatic
Knowledge of women,
Sufficient to put old
Casanova to shame.
Never treat women
The same, Uncle said,
They’re like precious
Diamonds, each has
Their own shiny bits,
Their little neat crevices,
Their own fine beauty.
Auntie knew nothing
Of this; she had the
Beauty of a dogfish,
Uncle often whispered,
Holding back a laugh.
The dame in question
Sure had you hooked
On her beauty like a fine
Art. You would dream of
Her most nights, have
Imaginary love feasts,
A fantasy laying of the
Head between *******
Pretend holding of hands
Before dipping in the deep
Gulf of her thighs. Henry,
Uncle’d say, women are
The high point of God’s
Creation, His claim to fame,
His special one off artwork.
The dame invaded your
Dreams and flooded your
Senses and ****** your
Juices; she had each aspect
Of your being pegged to her
Every move and shake of
Head and wiggle of ***
Henry, Uncle’d say, women
Are the reason for being,
The whole point of getting
Up in the morning and going
To bed at night, they are the
Reason popes or priests don’t
Marry, they are the pinnacle
Of humanity, the reason why
Your auntie runs them down.
Yes, she had ********** down
To a fine art, right down to
Her red painted toenails, right
Up to her dark brown hair and
You’d have made love to her
In your dreams each night in
Front of auntie’s ice-cold stare.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
I unraveled her kimono
As if it were a gift,
When hours earlier,
She’d bandaged my arm.
I traced her clavicle
With the only finger left,
And seconds later, would
Intimately grasp the music.
So I whimper within want,
And blame it on the pain,
Come an instant,
She’d pegged me a “liar.”
Then we’d love, we’d wed,
A naked knowing only moonlight,
And should the hours understand
“Later,” we’d know only dark.
So the sunrise ensued,
I folded her kimono, silk and
As if it were a letter, one
Parting gratitude and prior wander.
But the crimson and
‘Ever’d arrive later, and later’d
Arrived atop a melancholy’s mount,
Eternal and seasoned “regret,”
She’d passed, we’d passed,
And the night’s passed to know
Only “broken,” broken, the bow,
And how all and always unravels.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
Mid October takes its end of season's leap
into the solitude of post-tourism autumn.
The landscape shows its truer face to celebrate
the reassembly of local solidarity.
Tat and trim tucked into hibernation,
chalkboards erased,
scant takings totaled,
inflatables deflated.
Unsold crafts packed between pages of yesterday's
'Correio de Manha'
Shocked freezers stand open-mouthed
their diet of ice dwindled to a thin trickle.
Sunshades collapse in deep south style,
redundant loungers relax supine.
Kids slope back to school -
a mule-train of shoe-scrapers packed to the hilt
dawdles through warming scents of
post-salad indulgence,
sweet with the street-aroma of 'feijoada',
garlic, and aromatic oregano
pot-grown in a back plot, littered with
discarded placards and tired bikes.
Past men leaning doors, unsure of new routines,
idle hands and minds with new time to fill
mostly in cold bars for warm camaraderie.
Women pick fitfully at quiet-season's crochet
squatting to gossip under a white wash
slung and pegged, stick-sure
against thin bleached facades.
Under Planes, old comrades congregate
shuffling at a make-shift table,
tired eyes set on cards,
playing for cents under a limited sky
once defined by Salazar.
Car parks thin.
Beneath the russet canopies street-sweepers
scorn a reckless wind, where still sun-crisp leaves
gather in gutters, thirstily anticipating
the first deluge under autumn's gathering clouds.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2011
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 7:13 AM UTC
Blood rushed to my face.
Reminds me of hot steam rushing to the ceiling while I shower.
The child in me wanted to skitter away--like a wild, galloping colt tripping over its legs.
But the woman in me stayed, grounded by the hulking rock of my deep emotion.
...Just a small glance--
A sheepish grin
As I perceived it.
I liked the tenderness there.
Piercings below his lower lip accentuated the smile I witnessed.
The one that lit up my eyes,
It was the reflection of fire in a mirror.
The piercings were black-pegged snake bites
Blending in well on the face they adorned
Seeming
To invite me towards
The shy curves of
His dark lips
To explore them,
and the protruding presence of the metal that was so becoming of him.
Neither of us approached the other,
And this subtle exchange turned into our little secret:
A delicious,
Lovely,
Vulnerable,
****
Secret.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
I watched a movie the other night and a scene reminded me of you ;
There was a lonely sailor on a fluke
That had a lantern on its far end.
The fluke was delving into a heavy night.
The mist veiled the sailor
Till he looked pious enough
To have the faith to fight the sea.
It reminded me of you,
Because when I observed you fading away
It was like observing parts of me
Sailing the same fluke I saw,
Leaving a fiery trail behind
So when I go back in memory
I could remember that those parts were once there.
They were parts of me,
Before the touch of his hand-
Caressing the bumps on your neck
Suffocated,
Till all you can breathe
Filled only the volume of his grip.
Before your glances became stares-
The myth says,
If you look medusa in the eyes
You will turn into stone
And so you did.
I watched him killing you
Slowly,
Dying,
Blacking out…
I extracted pieces of you from my veins;
It took me a while
To clean them
From tight corners in my vertebrate,
But you were doing the same;
You pegged two hooks
Onto your heart,
Attached to a rope that he pulled hard
Only to make sure
That every piece of me vanquishes.
But in the process you lost yourself
And so did I.
Every time I look at you
I try to scan for left overs of my past-
Instead I find his finger prints.
And every time I hear your voice
I think about the songs
That we never sang
But it would’ve been awesome if we did.
I met a sailor the other day
He was and old frail version of me
With tired eyes
That grew land marks on the way,
With a wrinkled face
Like dry land with no signs of water;
On his chest I saw two scars
That bend like a tiger’s claw
And curves like 2 poorly implanted hooks.
I asked him where have you been.
He answered,
“a true sailor always finds his way back home”
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
I passed six Targets on my way there
a Lake was my goal, the best of the Bay area
I also passed Lawrence Livermore Labs named after one of the fathers
of the bomb
and I drove on, the pool was filling up quick
not with swimmers, but a flea market of vendors
a lady dressed in her own wares, rags sown toegther
So I thought I'd take my chances on the wild waters of Livermore Del Valle
I arrived and offended a ranger when I didn't believe the stuffed cougar
died of natural causes, there are only twelve left in the Bay Area
but that was 2008. I couldn't take my eyes off it, the fur falling off
it was dead,
The ranger was sure I'd get run over by a boat
I could tell he had me already pegged for dead
So I went North, and walked on the trail and waded in
and it was green and murky just like the last one
and there were fake waves, made by boats going way too fast
and people fishing everywhere
waiting patiently, boxes full of wares
and boats for rent, guys all around
and the sun was going down and a little girl and her mom
fishing practically on the sidewalk, or the lawn
started yelling, something on the other end of the line
and a huge guy helped them pull out the squirming dieing thing
and drop it on the ground, now covered in dirt
And a group of guys with their mouths open wide said
"It's a cat fish. So much for the boat."
And that was funny I guess, like the Dad who couldn't get the kids
to come out of the lake until he said "we're gong to do the cake"
But I went back to my car feeling sad
for the poor fish, lying there, dead
and I thought, I'll delete that fisherman guy online instead
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC
fromabove
itleaves
youbreath-
less:
suspended
on the
edges
of theknown
world aren't stars
cavingoutand
in
but rather:
tree
tops;
mountain
val - leys,
jag-
ged
cliffs
pegged.
eversoslightly
to the
earth
be-
low.
you.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
You play three.
Me, seven.
Fifteen for two.
This is where I lose you.
Your phone vibrates,
You leviate
Sitting across from me,
Making me an unwilling audience
To all the drama.
You vibrate. Your shoulders droop
Like the gape-toothed village idiot.
You gesticulate,
Fading in and out
In a semi-conscious awakening.
You're trembling under stones
Sitting on your chest.
It shows in your tembling hands.
*Twenty, for two...
Twenty-five, for six...*
I overhear your child is truant,
Another wants a ride,
Another a car, doctor or lawyer.
You're shuffling in your seat.
Not to worry.
Affter the stones are lifted,
And you're properly pegged
In the stink hole, the game's over.
Thirty, for twelve and a go. Game.
So deal with it.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
The bracelet curled around your wrist
skin embracingly ornamental....representing
eternity. I remember when we shopped
windows lit up to enhance the jewelled effect
Wore bright smiles, coats that salvaged
hid the chill from our bones. The cold air paid
a high price to gatecrash our sentiments,
it did not succeed and skulked off to bite
into the heart of one whose flesh was delicate
who wore woes, like parrots clinging to
Shoulders of pirates at sea...all at sea...for dear life
Clearly slipping in and out at sea level
I saw them pegged out, unaware of those tagged
Expressions, labelled on the outside
And me, fingers grasping the secret of our love
Affair, bought and paid for in gold
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC