"permits" poems
*****
I like ***** I like ****
before you touch, you must get permits.
Nothing like a nice pair of assets,
oh how puppies make nice pets.
Bazongas are ***** that are large,
strippers and hookers, will always charge.
Nothing like the perfect *****
but only on the perfect woman.
******* are yummy dark or white,
but first you must wait for an invite.
Some girls even have a third ******
do not squeeze says Mr. Whipple.
I don't mind girls on the itty, bitty, ***** committee,
on a carpenters dream, I show no pity.
They could be called a bust, some call them cans,
a woman's squeeze box, all men are fans.
Chesticles is a term I have never heard,
but everyday, I learn a new word.
I like cones, I like jugs,
girls with big ones, I give hugs.
Al Bundy loved calling them *******
at the restaurant, I wish I was one of the recruiters.
A girl with a nice set of knockers,
might find herself with unwanted stalkers.
Fergie sang about her lovely lady lumps,
a good set of melons, still give me goose bumps.
***** always come in a pair,
why do bra's, they have to wear.
Even men who smoke lots of crack,
still can appreciate a good sized rack.
I don't care if there fake or real.
in a crowded room, I always cop a feel.
Girls love showing off some cleavage,
I wish I lived in a ***** village.
Babies need breast milk to make them stronger,
if the mom is hot, they may do it longer.
In conclusion, I love *****
with whipped cream or melting ice cubes.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
We prosper by our connectivity
it permits us influence and involvement
which invokes within us a feeling of usefulness
a sense of purpose that allows us to believe,
we are worthy of being beloved
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
(the gate is a crowded mess, please no special requests, be thankful you got a seat, this flight is sold out and I’m beat.
I get up and stand on my chair and say)
*I give thanks for:
the uncommon greatness of common sense
for the steady approach of that wondrous day when
kindness is neither random or unexpected,
but the rule, not the exception
for our opinions and deeds, that are our own,
derived without coercion, born from our thoughts and observations and that
we are equal to both
owning them and to
changing them
that we live in a time that friendships can grow just through the quick exchange of words leaping bounds
for eyes that see deep deeper than skin,
ears that hear
what those ashamed wish you didn’t, hands that grasp regardless of distance,
the taste of kisses that come easy sweet
for the day when I at last knew,
the pleasure of giving
so far exceeded receiving,
that giving and receiving became
synonymous
that I learned that the best skill to possess is
to anticipate
the needs of others
that my lucky position in this world permits me
to act on the things for
which I am thankful*
that someday I will need no longer inquire,
are you my poem,
for the answer will be self-evident to us both
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 12:51 PM UTC
inspired by
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5120189/love-cannot-be-controlled-or-confined/
<>
Love is Meant……
and there, I stop…
<>
nnnnyup; continuing on,
this phrase
a self~sufficiency, is it not?
no conditional clause, dangling particle,
no conjunction peg upon to hang your wintered hat,
no adjacent adjective for summer's ending sadness,
no preposition to lead us to sunny places, where we search more
for nouns and pronouns, or to project/protect, in adjectives to clothe our irrationality in logic-e,
logic to define, logic to confine,
illogically
love permits one to say to another human, you mine, hu-mine,
[an aside: "you mine,' (really?)]
a preposterous prepositional insanity notion, that needs no explication,
love is meant, love is meant, love is mean, dream & yet, meant!
stadium sized. concert hall big, mini pup tent,
love is clean+dirty s i m u l t a n e o u s l y
don't you see the self~sufficiency in that?
yet you still seek definition, reasoning, seasoning,
love is meant to-be bent irregular straightaway,
love is meant, to be/not, cold 'n bot, silly hot,
lover is inert, hurt, ert,(1)
love is every point of,
of a sword's length
hilt & blade,
yet ironic,
the tip alone
is a self sufficient *****
to be full~on damaging enough to ****
to fully comprehend,
that love is meant
needs no further modifying defying
pointless phrasal modification of explanation…
s u n d a y
(if the week did not commence with a sunday,
hu-mans would have needed to create one,
to understand,
love is meant)
4:39am
Sun Aug 10
Twenty Twenty Fidelio (5)
in a new york city frame of mine
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 8:06 AM UTC
across the Liverpool plains
the gas exploration
goes on without
being contained
drilling is never ending
holes sunk
which invariable
cause in the farming community
a disquieting funk
Santos
cares little
for the environment's
well being
its pipeline
must garner
all the gas
in the stream
landholders and those in the green party
have banded together
to protect the agricultural lands
from the rabid abuse
which the company
will wrought on
the water table
flora
and
fauna
they cry ****
as the company
exploits
the countryside
making of it
a harlot to be pillaged
and misused
the state government
is at sixes and sevens
so many competing
interests
must be listened to
should it give
Santos
permits
to
**** and plunder
or
will
it
allow
the
broad acres
to
continue
without sunder
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
Offshore Oil Exploration
Months of preparatory work,
Permits obtained.
Maps explored, sited,
Ground and beneath scanned,
Each contour drawn, plotted, named.
Equipment assemblage.
Platform designed and towed,
Pre-commencement government inspection
Constant.
We test. Slowly, the loose, easy dirt,
Gives in. No rejoicing yet, premature.
The diverter in place, functions well.
The deeper the bit, the harder the resistance.
The camera's eyes monitor until
We reach depths too deep for their functioning.
The derrickhands order about the junior roustabouts,
Check the mud pumps, check the pH levels,
Do this, do that. The pecking order on board clear.
The kings of the rig, the drillers, in charge.
Then, disaster.
Oil spill.
Worse.
Not only smiling,
She has
Opened her eyes and
Ceased purring.
P.S. This would as is my custom be,
Re-entitled properly:
First Poem of the Day: Offshore Oil Exploration
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 7:02 AM UTC
A coffee shop afternoon can say it looms significant
In the steamer’s sweet humidity
And the idle legs pace for more
I hear the whispers of world-changers and gossip mix
Local color of a quiet little town.
Sit humble and lean, a fixture ‘till showtime
And ask lines around just we’ve they’ve been
And who they’ve seen.
There’s a poetry in the patron, come
My gaze permits and intervenes
Its narrative and scheme, in lover’s hand enweaved.
Graphite plays its frustrate part the writer
Seated far, far in a blissful nadir
Bristles in his pony tail like drawers end to no avail.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
armed and dangerous, 20 oz. of hot hot coffee, tablet on lap,
sitting on the deck overlooking the bay, and once again,
unusual for me, I am touched by the sanctity of the serenity
pervading, assuaging, by waves just loud enough to sway to,
the off/on chatter of the early bird's convocation of the morning's
blessing, have survived another night to greet greatly the outlines
of loveliness in the all~of~surroundings, which hacks my brain,
for I am by forty years of habitation more accustomed to a rough and tumble city boy trader, screamer of:
buy/sell/straddle/strangle/crush/kill/mercilessness, no quarter,
no mindfulness in me naturally, until nature robs my tools of
denial, and I smell the sanctity of fresh sheets laid on bed, the
warmed blood, vein coursing, suggesting just listen, listen,
the hot shower water eradicating the prior day's sinfulness,
the highly valued sensations of sensational emptiness, and
words drifting from the surround movie theater of a vista beloved,
coming for to fill and fulfill this always~in~mourning soul by the
overhauling of a crisp, cleansing day break
I, familiar with notions of perpetuity, and at best, conceptual, though
my mind permits a drift to the thoughtfulness that this place, this moment, this performance art of spectacular breathing of another
dawning day, after thousands upon thousand of its predecessors,
and the possibility, not remote, but not promised, to anyone, just may
occur at least once more, and one must learn contentment from but
that idea, and sip the cooling dregs of coffee, the sounds of human
interference, car door slamming, the heaving breathing of morning joggers, the wind rising, the white caps snapping, precursors and
signs that natural perfection is never permanent, always in transition,
and a whispery smile crosses my cheeks, as a silly thought invades,
nature is so very human~like and yet, immortal…
composed between 6:30 and 8:30 am this day
Wed Aug 20 twenty twenty-five
Silver Beach
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 8:34 AM UTC
~for the one who will know it was written for her~
muddy verb and adjective,
muddling and muddled
have you ever seen a pas de deux/deluxe,
one dancer, proscriptive,
and her partner, prescriptive?
the stage, of course,
exactly the width of your head,
from ear to shining ear
this couple o’muses dance en concert,
though their very natures are anti-logarithmic,
the value of their exponential activity is a
descriptive nomenclature
I am overly abstruse this Saturday morn,
mushing mathematics and ballet, verbal word games
as is my wont wanted,
everyone sleeping while I rise at 6am,
doing ablutions, seeking absolution,
pulling weeds from our respective gardens,
answering old friends I have yet to meet,
to whom I answer,
“still here, though long time no see,”
which is of course hysterical funny, inherently contradictory,
as the brain grasps well my
Red and Dead Sea brain cells, a splitting motif
muddling and muddled,
proscribed from getting on transport,
to deliver to you the proper healing prescriptive,
as if I had in my possess to diagnosis and correctly assess
even though one of my many passport names,
a requirement, to visit,
this inter-netting ether, that both combines and separates,
permits me safe passage,
over the historical lineage of borderlines of land and sea,
to deliver this message,
to you
woman
*I am here, waiting patiently, though long time
no see
like ever,
absentia, dementia,
both self-censure:
here, then, my cadenza,
dedicated solely soulfully for you,
as the sabbath sun rises over the East River,
saying, laughing unto me,
“still here, though long time no see,”
for though I cannot look upon her,
my sun, my sun, my son,
yet she, as well,
is everywhere-inside of me,
warmly illuminating
my muddled mind*
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 7:57 AM UTC
Let me to the Incarnate Mother must
The Eldest of Sudden Truth understand
One Day, which shaky Candles will delust
The Object's Manner of a Blackened Hand
I deliver Forceps to which Heart grows
What Heart's own Attrition dares to admit
The Mum of Three Promised Knights beknows
The Receipt of such Devotion permits
Verily, Age is a Factorless Sum,
Easily enclayed by a Donkey's Foot
And when the Festival lays down its Lump
It locked the Door to keep the Sorrowful.
Now, Elder-Mum, try to lift your Wise Head
This Extended Son, wishes your Love be fed.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:37 AM UTC
Scandal and Silence the Theme of the Night
When his Dive scorned my Innocence with him
The Endearing One was there - Red in sight,
Marking the Troll for his Disgusting Whim
Which I would agree if Extent permits
The Mirror crying my Conscience to wake
Trust, at my Pocket; Honesty, at brim
And a Cloud condensing to form this Lake
Now fill Evaporation's Time with Blood,
Squeezing the Hour we need to amend:
****** Holy, Smug Lot! Gossip's Cot Krug!
And whatever ******* left at Tar's Bend!"
Aye. Folly Love-Haskins takes one a-craze
And left the Diver-Boy swimming at maze.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
The outside world is a fast changing place
Plans made in the present will leave their mark and presence in the future
As of now in the present everything seems fine and better.
Time and tide waits for no one
Make a plan in the present and work it out successfully
Even after the successful execution there will always remain an odd that will come along the way.
Every plan made in the present will have it’s presence felt in the future even after an execution in the present.
Prepare for the future when time in the present permits to do the same
Let the present built on it’s own
In doing so, keep in mind the uncertainty about the future
A moment in time will come when the future will look certain
Important will be that moment in time then,
since present moment in time will be ripen enough to execute the necessary line of action.
When something is going on in the mind,
something certain,
definitely something needs to be worked up and worked upon to ascertain that something certain.
Plans are always be made, since to plan something becomes need of the hour
Important is to execute the plan successfully
This is when expertise and experience comes into application.
Within a stipulated period of time everything needs to fall in it’s proper place to see what are the results that one gets when a plan was made initially.
Definitely planning is important,
however, equally important is successful execution of that planning.
Hence it’s important to remember,
every plan that is made in the present will always leave it’s mark and presence in the future.
Important will be then at that moment in time to act accordingly
The other way round,
important will be then to make the next plan keeping in mind again the future.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 10:00 AM UTC
School's coming to an end,
and it's GCSE's,
using all my expertise gained through-out the school years,
It could all end in tears.
Teachers say it's a big deal,
that's what they convey,
it is for them, anyway.
The last few weeks of term and you hand in your coursework,
that was fine, I wish I could shirk the exams,
not very good at revising,
but our teachers are advising us to watch GCSE Bitesize,
but it doesn't really cover what we've learned,
which is a bit of a concern.
We all cram into the exam hall,
it's a bit last minute,
but I'm trying to recall my revision notes.
An Inspector Calls by J.B Priestley,
something's stirring,
Arthur Birling,
a public scandal is too much to handle,
Eva Smith,
Eric and Gerald both had affairs,
but the latter actually cared.
That's a start, I guess.
The exam invigilator sets the clocks,
and permits one hour and forty-five minutes.
The Science exams are multiple-choice,
Biology is fine, but Physics and Chemistry haunt me.
Geography next,
tectonic plates,
and the traits of EDC's,
as well as Less Economically Developed Countries.
That's all over,
we await our mark,
the best part is still to come,
everyone meeting down the park,
and that too me is the abiding memory of my school days,
one last time we're all together in glorious weather,
before going our separate ways.
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 1:54 PM UTC
231
God permits industrious Angels—
Afternoons—to play—
I met one—forgot my Schoolmates—
All—for Him—straightway—
God calls home—the Angels—promptly—
At the Setting Sun—
I missed mine—how dreary—Marbles—
After playing Crown!
3.3k
Why is it that Poetry has never yet been subjected to that process of Dilution which has proved so advantageous to her sister-art Music? The Diluter gives us first a few notes of some well-known Air, then a dozen bars of his own, then a few more notes of the Air, and so on alternately: thus saving the listener, if not from all risk of recognising the melody at all, at least from the too-exciting transports which it might produce in a more concentrated form. The process is termed "setting" by Composers, and any one, that has ever experienced the emotion of being unexpectedly set down in a heap of mortar, will recognise the truthfulness of this happy phrase.
For truly, just as the genuine Epicure lingers lovingly over a
morsel of supreme Venison - whose every fibre seems to murmur "Excelsior!" - yet swallows, ere returning to the toothsome dainty, great mouthfuls of oatmeal-porridge and winkles: and just as the perfect Connoisseur in Claret permits himself but one delicate sip, and then tosses off a pint or more of boarding-school beer: so also -
I NEVER loved a dear Gazelle -
NOR ANYTHING THAT COST ME MUCH:
HIGH PRICES PROFIT THOSE WHO SELL,
BUT WHY SHOULD I BE FOND OF SUCH?
To glad me with his soft black eye
MY SON COMES TROTTING HOME FROM SCHOOL;
HE'S HAD A FIGHT BUT CAN'T TELL WHY -
HE ALWAYS WAS A LITTLE FOOL!
But, when he came to know me well,
HE KICKED ME OUT, HER TESTY SIRE:
AND WHEN I STAINED MY HAIR, THAT BELLE
MIGHT NOTE THE CHANGE, AND THUS ADMIRE
And love me, it was sure to dye
A MUDDY GREEN OR STARING BLUE:
WHILST ONE MIGHT TRACE, WITH HALF AN EYE,
THE STILL TRIUMPHANT CARROT THROUGH.
2.6k
Moral pulls herself up
by her own bootstraps
on her high horse boots
with stir ups when I visit
and the rocking chairs
throw down newspapers
and stand to attention
in the name of Moral support
looking like we might be game
who holds the whip hand in this sport?
I straddle the fence
with her strict father
Duty
Duty gives the orders here
we try to carry them out
they're no heavy burden
not keeping mum Mercy
from being close
to daughter Moral
Duty is of higher rank
and gives Moral
direction
Duty sets the boundary
Mercy's bound to
follow
while Moral
carries the compass
and the compassion
of a conscience
Me?
I'm loyal
love enough
and
light enough
to jump the fences
with my own defence
Moral permits
This defence is
good for morale
but Duty is always on guard
for Moral
a perfect match
that can have
a deadly when ignited
bite to catch
those who are free spirited
When Duty's asleep
alone
he leaves a stern
guardian
off the safety catch
in Duty of care
for Moral
- Discipline
I must steal
this care
away
from the arms of Discipline
when Moral's involved
because Discipline
in the hands of Duty
would explode in the face
of neighbourly straying
should Duty do what he sees
fit
without Mercy at his side
But should Duty awaken
alone
to his Moral's
dilemma
I fear
his Moral Discipline
can be Merciless
Did we burn our breeches?
almost
we rode a city of them
chaste
off racecourse
to show
Moral Italy
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
The Mendacity of Beauty, Marvels of the Mundane
<1/1/2023 10:38 PM>
commissioned by Pradip^
<>
A special carnet permits the day,
though day itself unremarkable,
permissioning of a thousand,
even, tens of ten thousand
grasping new love poems
all mundane, all marvelous
an aborning of odes re the
vastness of sea, sandy sky,
multifarious penumbras of hewn hues,
vibrantly diverse, still, requiring the
expanse and pretense of “new”
adjectives and metaphoric
in combos recalculating
precisely, it’s the enormity,
of the difficulty of verbal capture
upon tablet of these natural treasures,
once, more, yet again, but in somehow in a new-never
quite-before conceptional~postulation-realization
I sojourn amidst both man made and natural beauty,
provoking, invoking, a steady stream of potable knowledgeables, performing as a hand-written-thank-you-note for the grace, the imagination of their mishmash existences addressed only to
“whom it may truly concern…”
I’m eager to confess that the poetry inherent in the
mundane, requiring not-so-easy mining, a sales taxing
innovation to capture the subtlety of less visible flecks of gold, that present a rarer challenge to the poet’s senses where glory abides in pyrite pebbles strewn and trod upon by most indifferently,
*ah, write of the marvel of the mundane,
**** dare you!*
<>
^Pradip: “writing of the mundane is mandatory for me…”
Aug 12 2022
Jul 1, 2023
Jul 1, 2023 at 11:10 AM UTC
*Her eyes
Her eyes
Oh those eyes...
They create something of a solar eclipse
A celestial rarity you may only look upon
When the universe permits
Rare and yet I’ve been told not to stare directly
Into the seductive light
Which makes it all the more tempting to take a peek
And become hypnotized
Once I look away from them
They become burned
Burned into my mind
So even with eyes shut I can’t help but feel her
Much like the moon dreams of her long lost lover
She catches briefly only at dusk and dawn
Living from the shadows
Of the very thing that makes her shine
To me this is not mere coincidence
And like the Fates I do not play with dice
When a jigsaw is tossed in the air
And all of its pieces land into their rightful place
I do not see chance
I see providence
I see the impossible
I see . . . you, staring back into me*
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
I, (Love Thy Neighbor As Thyself)
*how I would, honor this with ecstasy joy effervescent,
the simplest of methodologies, if only I,
reasoned how one safely permits
to love myself, if only I,
knew how to love an
I
to self love well,
not a university course,
no simple answers like thirst, yet how I thirst,
hunger, burst, curse for this peculiar wisdom, please,
instinct me to navigate murderous shoals of take but give
I
who teaches this to the children?
I, parents, teachers, not ****** or pastors or
TV the great substitute for all of the above,
myself is not a selfie, no glorying got in I,
I, burdensome, never comprehended,
love thy neighbor better, love actually, no mere pretense,
if well executed, perhaps is when the trapeze line is at last
cleanly indistinguishable,
your I, my I,
both wicks will be joined, brighter lit for it,
one flame, one godlike burning, fusing,
with neither consumed, wax fusing,
but teaching easy loving
to explode the
I,*
~
9:24am EST
6/2/17
airborne over the Western US of A
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC
I got drunk on life
This time, like every time
The old trick works on me
I am just happy enough
Until I have had one too many
Then everything is buzzing
Fuzzy thoughts and accurate feelings
I carry on
As if my gut still permits it
Before promising, I learned my lesson
From overindulging.
This time, I will be more vigilant
Life tastes delicious;
But I should sip gently
Unless it is yet another hungover
From decisions I could regret long after
Then everything is buzzing
Accurate thoughts and fuzzy feelings
Drink moderately, or else I will be
Easily intoxicated
On this plethora of life experience
This time, I shall only get a little tipsy.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
We think that
when a lover inflates his loved one
he or she is failing to acknowledge their flaws...
"Love is blind" we say ...
but it may be the other way around
You see ...
Love allows a person to see
the true angelic nature of another,
their halo,
the aureole of divinity.
Love permits
an extrasensory capability of looking deeper into the soul.
And for that reason,
Genuine love
could not be blind.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
*I have been studying how I may compare
This prison where I live unto the world;
And for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.*
-Shakespeare, Richard II, Act V.I
The world I fathom rhetorically orbits
around the whirr of a dust-peppered
triad of turbine limbs
inbreeding infinitely as electricity's
treaty permits
into a smorgasbord whirl of
processed plastic white
A remedial sun I compose
to counter outside's oven bulb
in the world I do not fathom
Heat's ****** of humidity
is not lost on me
with no canonized sense
even to establish it with
And even my own remedial sun
restricts a reality-knighting touch
with its ozone cage pried open
in unseen haste - a victim
of college's fugitive waltz
encased in the jazz fusion dance hall
of the world I cannot fathom
Is there a dual left-footed
interpretive dance of a carbon dimension
outside of reality's steaming kitchen
to fathom me?
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
As a man
A heterosexual man
I felt comfortable making the decision with her
To voluntarily share one of the most important tools for human flourishment
At 16
But as a man
A heterosexual man
I get uncomfortable at the notion
Of telling my best friend of 10 years
That I love him at 21
Unless we're both in a drunken stupor
Or a tragedy permits such vernacular
Am I a real man?
Do I stand rooted
In a twined thicket of contexuality
Or is my purpose on the course of infinity
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC