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Marshal Gebbie May 2010
So generous, thou, in reticence,
To caste my cares adrift,
Wondrous diffidence displayed
In judging, now, this slight wind shift.
That tender touched acidity
In holding back thy scything hand,
But a lancing of my sentiments
Despite concessions planned.

Bloodstain on the balcony
Grey torment in the mind
To miss the symptoms here, my friend,
Those blue eye's would be blind,
To wade in waters visceral
Whilst smiling to the face
Suggests a mind incapable
Of compassion's gentle pace.

Let waters flow beneath the bridge
Let time caress the soul,
Let detail's mass minutiae
Bury ruffled thoughts of old
But recall the blatant treachery,
Keep keen that secret blade
To exercise your perogative to
Put right the ****** wrongs made.

Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
22 May 2010
I HATE WHEN KOOMARRIS CUDDLE UP TO ME, CUDDLE UP TO ME CUDDLE UP TO ME

I ESPECIALLY HATE KOOMARRI MEN CUDDLING UP TO ME

SO I TOLD HIM I WAS STRAIGHT, AND HE TOOK OFFENSE

PLEASE KOOMARRI MEN, ******* IIF YA WANT ME TO CUDDLE

WANT ME TO CUDDLE WANT ME TO CUDDLE

PLEASE ******* KOOMARRI MEN IF YA WANT ME TO CUDDLE

I AM NOT GAY, AND IF YOU TAKE OFFENSE, WELL GOOD,

YOU’LL LEARN YA LESSON

I AM A STRAIGHT MAN WHO LOVES TO HAVE WILD PARTIES

I AM NO GAY, I AM NO SQUARE

I LOVE WILD PARTIES OUT, CAUSE, HOME PARTIES CREATE ****

AND I AM NOT GAY, SO ******* KOOMARRI MAN

I HATE KOOMARRI MEN CUDDLING ME, CUDDLING ME CUDDLING ME

I HATE KOOMARRI MEN CUDDLING ME, IT MAKES ME FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE

AND IT MAKES YOU LOOK SO GAY, LIKE A ****

YOU ARE A ****, YOU ARE A ****

I SAY THIS WORD TO PROVE A POINT

DON’T EVER CUDDLE BRIAN ALLAN, IF YOUR A MAN, CAUSE I AM, NOT GAY

IF YA TAKE OFFENSE, GOOD, YOU’LL NEVER BE CUT OUT TO EVER BE LIKE ME

A COOL MAN, WHO HATES, ****** ACTIVITY, WITH SAME ***, IT’S MY PEROGATIVE, DUDE

I HATE ANYTHING GAY, SO *******
Matthew Riley Jul 2012
They say drugs are for mugs, but are they
Really...?
Clearly...
There's a certain harmonic in narcotics.
When you **** on that spliff, or snort up that line
You have the potential to grow different each time.  
But each time this happens there's a point that you'll find
Your thoughts are synchronic that group you deride.

The trick's to distinguish...
The platonic or neurotic
The stable or psycotic
The chilled out and moronic.

However there's a rule:
Every time you grow, your reaction subsides,
so you have to increase the dose to match with the high.
So this is your choice now...
You can sit in a bubble away from the world,
content, but excluded as your life unfurls.
Stuck in a daze, watching that time,
tick slowly each day as you continue your mime.
Or you could break it, pop your head out the haze,
and with your thoughts unhindered do things that amaze

So this was my ramble, and here's how it ends;
There's no real benefit, you can't just pretend.
You'll find with no guard, no shield, no screen,
You truly can be whoever you please
Phim Jan 2016
You want to be pretty but not too pretty

But does it really change anything?

They **** you if you if you have on too little clothes

They **** you if you have on too much

There are so many excuses

She was asking for it

I was doing her a favor

I’m the victim here

Is there any way to be safe?

Is there any way to know that this isn’t the day that your entire life could change?
They whistle, they shout, they holler at you like you are an animal

But you can’t fight back
Three against one
So you keep walking
Praying they don’t follow you, grab you

Or even stab you because you didn’t return their crude remarks with a thank you
Society says that

We should accept ****** harassment as a compliment

But I don’t need your opinion on my body

I don’t want you looking at me like I am a piece of meat

I am not a ****** object made to please you

I want to live in a world where I don’t have to be afraid of men

Worried that smiling at them is interpreted as an invitation

Or by not means I need to be taught a lesson

I want my son to look at women as what they really are

Beautiful, brilliant creatures

And not by what society tells him they are

Objects, available for your pleasing

I want to be able to watch my daughter walk out of the house and

Not worry that she might never come back because a
 MAN decided that she was there for the taking

But we don’t educate

We don’t teach in our schools how common ****** harassment is

Or the effect that **** has on a woman because a man’s perogative is to get what he wants
Or how every woman is terrified that her body, her self will be taken from her

Why?
Because we’re uncomfortable

We don’t speak out because we don’t want to disrupt

I’m tired

I’m tired of these excuses
Inspired by catcalling pretty self explanatory
Martin Narrod Sep 2014
Subatomic
Silver smoky sauntering lovelessness
Spots on arms, purple and green
Sickness and sleepless
Wow-like, wicked witchcraft catching

Tones humming zzz'ing
Screaming across elbows
Tucked into the ****
Concrete carnivalesque berserk wildness

Ferally and virily.

U U U THANK U...............Rice Krispie
ANNDD BEATS LEAP CURIOUSLY HIDING
UNDER THE SHEETS

Perfervid fervency.

Idling- white crisps
Blinding silences
Sticky fingertips and lurid looks
Tape after tape of binded irises in the pupil symposium,
Where side-by-side the seams mend together

Innards scissor sideways
Upways downways
Exteriors in rhythmic sync

Tastes like lolli-pop rocks
Watermelon- dazzling gold
Front-step excited eyes binding.
See-cells intertwined and idling-pupils
Dance and discover
Wild hypnotic trysts of skins
Twisting in cotton scenes
Hours of comfortable comforts of living
Women and men handling
Fun funds 'n' bon-bons; investing in the bond.
And going back for seconds.

The head riffs over riptides and causeways, lip-lies and kisses on Broad Way.
Two cadavers, hog-tied. Kissing longways and long ways.
Perogative oxytocin. American Express massages scented oils and lotions.
Persons of interest abetted in sweating. Heaving torsos.
Throwing legs, arms, and sparklers. Redonkulous nectars are microscopic.
Sweet flavors on taste buds or lit by recessed black light optics.
Massaging the rhinoceros husk in this 21st century sarcophagus,
Whiles of Wilders' words were spoken
Nickels of wood soaking in splintered tubs
Thumbs under surveillance. Sneaking inches of suspicion
Leaves treated with lacquer, fables beaten within inches of their lines;

Live its Friday night!
Deviled veterans draped in moon-hide rise
Defiling puerile twenty-something lives.

These wild highs in debts of purs'd thighs
Vexed by personal lies. Hexed in white-out lines.
Riled midnight rides inside this pyre of redolent pie- stroke six and nine
Intertwine in one human form supine
While quaffing nectar wine from the vine
Rancor drives the crime and anoints bold creature types to dine
At the interstice of Sublime.
*** Poem Boy Girl Sublime Love **** Crazy Insanity Madness Hypnotic tryst victim antsy hatred smoking smoke crisp sticky come scissor *** sideways eat ******* ******* ****** erotica literotica eroticliterature writing chicago chicagopoets poetboys **** ******* sadism sade ******* pain brutalpain brutal brutality humiliation 21 oldyoung eroticpoetry Puerile Lurid Nectar Wine Vine Time Dine Supine Fire Pyre Lollipop Candy Drop upways down up left right screwedup **** ****** up NSFW
courtney jean Jun 2016
Autonomous you don't wanna miss
Synonymous with anonymous
Alcoholics drinking like the glass is bottomless
Lost confidence and gained higher consciousness
Now doing opposite to avoid consequence
Pertinent providence prominence
Profits from the pompousness of old profits of our fifth
They were out prophets then
Now it's promises
Back to provenance of our populous
No predominance
More contentedness with our documents with what's cognizance
And the monument of spiritual opulence
Wheather hypothesis
Or is what it is
To remain in the violence
Or turn optimist
All your perogative
Wish you well
Wish you rocket to the fourth dimension ****
But most of all wish you to close your eyes to hear what it says
Cause that you don't wanna miss
It could be your bliss
Reminisce but remember they're remnants
Fragments
Resentment you keep in your sentence
Is your penance
What you recieve is your resemblance
No regrets for pass but remembrance
Your true presence is endless
Practicing temperance
Life is tremendous
too good not to post, I don't take credit
Francie Lynch Sep 2015
It may take too long a time to write,
For the anxious future's now the past,
But the words are flowing out at last.
Composing verse on love and hate,
Death and youth,
And all of nature,
First and all loves,
All relations,
The beauty in all of creation.

I'm pleased to share
My P.O.V.,
On myriad subjects
That interest me;
A perogative poets share
At all stages.
We take liberties,
Endure indignities,
Being the voices
Of all ages.
The poor are suffering mate
In the city of Canberra
You see they sit there with hats
Waiting for someone to give 'em cash
You see it is cold in winter
And every day they will suffer
Yeah while the rich are drinking
Wine and talking
I know it is there perogative
To go out to people's houses
While the homeless are suffering every day then
The rich will take their skis
Down the snow
Which is fun but the poor are colder than them
You see they have hot soup
Cause it is a necessity
But the homeless only get it
Once a week
And fat people eat up their sugar
While the homeless are
Having problems every day
They want to have heaps of food
But they have to find a open shelter
I think people are fools ya see
Because they don't give a ****
For the poor
They sit in their rich houses
Saying **** the poor 3 times very fast just to show us
They don't give a ****
You see on Anzac Day
As all the diggers march
Saying the war was a bad place to be
But each homeless person
Suffers every day and night
And as they march they feel like yelling out hey diggers aren't suffering mate like we are suffering now
You don't care for our welfare at all
You see as we walk in the streets of this cold city
We see suffering in the hands of the poor
Nobody really cares unless
They are wanting these people to leave them alone
I always give money to the homeless because wheni I
Go to my nice warm house
There are loads of people without
The right wing government doesn't really care and
The rich who have everything
Really don't care despite taking
5 cents out of 1 million each week
You see the homeless are suffering mate
And we need to help them
Even if they buy ***** with it
Who flaming well cares
Just as long as they get what
They want
You see the people who
Complain drink as well
So why do they complain about
The homeless doing it
No let's help each homeless person 1 at a time
Because they deserve more than people with houses
sunprincess Dec 2017
A hypocrite is a hypocrite
and a sinner is a sinner


I believe a sinner does what he wishes
seven days a week

And a hypocrite does what he wants
six days a week
and goes to church to repent on Sunday

And then we have those who call themselves
Christians

In their own eyes they are Christians
They can do no wrong,
only find fault in others


And you ladies call yourselves Christians
I'm not so sure when you speak
of the pastor's wife that way

I believe she can wear anything she likes
including those tight leather pants
Cause it's her perogative
Jealous women at church speaking ill of the pastor's wife

Shame on you
Ken Pepiton Jul 7
Party line. Crazy conversation from a true believer,
left me feeling kinda prickly, so I got this high,
and looked back on all I was told to watch out...
Amen,
Indeed, at the mental sylabble, said meaningfully,
as mental activity, per se, aspiring to inspire, you,

dear reader,
the imaginary other,
on the other side of all I think we see,

when we look, this way, back through
this medium we mindtouch through,
thought through rough or furbished,

with a will to make a thing, a way
is often made known, as if we think a way

say, what if,
say wonder, the verb, we use, we know,
we make believe we can see it so,

just so, right,
as when we know
which hand to use, you know,

we swing our sensitivities, around
wondering how long one alone
would need to read all that has been

told known, put into the cloud as evidence,
any willing mind, taken to core as good manners,
and profitable methods to bore less as chores,
using knowledge originally intended unknowable,
by creator's perogative, declared, there'll be,

something, hellish, yes, where does that idea
reside, that sure knowledge, that we are all ******,

unless, yes, more or less, a few, feel the call to know,
eh,
why or how, eh

daily ordering of our domicile,
daily letting this mind be in thee, or me,
depending on the way the integral tale is told.
What ties ligament to bone?
In some situations,
there you are, thinking why you think at all,
and as you do, you think you did, so what.

Now, what, if we have wondered, now what
is what we got, for that effort, if you ever wondered

how the whole situation,
the cloud containing all the vastest data banks,
news draw interesting times from, for your attention,

click, and repeat, recall, the history of me, since
my first IBM readable responces on all 500 hats,
Red Ryder B.B. gun hangs on my wall, still yet,
child mind slips, slides us past the pressure,
feel the evolved will, to pass the scribal exams,
1954 baseline Achievment Test data, grade one,
first task, make thy own rural pen,
wait, now, make thy own smooth surface,
invent a reader for the marks to mean a thing…

- see, the kind of minds we have for use,
- literally all the learning proven conservable
- is at our fingertips, if you can read this now,
- some actual agency granted this technology

to flourish in families, for centuries, before we all
had access to this wave of wisdom, a dominion of ways,
perspectives on precepts used to shelter

ways to use sticky mud,
ways to use dry straw,
ways to use hot sun to dry fruits,

too far back to feel survival skills
sufficient to believe, life uses luck,
and words we both can use,
we believe we
have being in this atmosphere,
on the planet, third from that ordinary star,
only planet known beyond any doubt, where

what we are quantized particles at identifiable
points in the history of all that we, the information,
we, the persons involved at the evidence retrieval,

- the ceremony,
- ya'll come, we gather to retell our children,
- this is what we were when America was great,

We had the whole world in our pocket, Ike knew,
you know he knew, the monstors men can imagine,

when it comes to winning wars, primary purpose
along a chosen duty path to high value human status,

like a king, power,
under the highest commonly conceived,

authority. The writing on the wall.

Secret sacred excremental waste, ah,
***** plaistered walls in that awe-ful Irish gaol.

We all saw it, on telly, as true as Donald Trump…
we all see the *****, and we all hear those who eat it,
swearing it does smack of the promises to the righteous.

Made by a couple of Cromwellian Prime Servants.
The Blessed Few are duty bound to rule the disorder,

form a line, dollop of self con, fiduciary response, set
nil, no clue, nothing funny, Donald Trump is loveable,

easily as cuddly as Harvey Weinstein, party goers say.
I think one who donates money to either candidate is working from an agenda.
And I disagree with all the excuses they use for themselves/ we must have better choices for the role.
WE, THE PEOPLE HAVE BEEN AT WAR FOR CENTURIES. WE LIE, CHEAT AND STEAL FOR SENSELESS REASONS; GREED, BETRAYALS, ABUSES, RAPES, TORTURE, MASS DESTRUCTION AND GENOCIDE.
RELIGION HAS GIVEN US MINIMAL TRUTH AND A GREAT ILLUSION OF SEPARATION IN DISCARDING OUR CONNECTION TO THE DIVINE AND HUMANIZING OUR CREATOR.
WE, THE PEOPLE HAVE BEEN MADE IN GOD’S OWN IMAGE AND THAT IMAGE IS LOVE.
LOVE DOES NOT JUDGE OR PUNISH OUR FREEDOM OF WILL, IT IS PURE AND ETERNAL AND LOVE LIVES INSIDE EACH OF US. IT IS OUR PEROGATIVE TO CHOOSE WISELY AND RECONNECT WITH OUR INNER DIVINITY.
WE, THE PEOPLE ARE MAGNIFICENT AND WE ARE ON THE THRESHOLD OF A NEW PEACEFUL ERA WHERE COMPASSION WILL REIGN AND TRANSFORM OUR UNIVERSE, WIPING AWAY ALL DISEASE AND SUFFERING.
WE, THE PEOPLE ARE DIVINE SOULS IN A CORPORAL BODY WAKING UP TO OUR TRUE POWER AND CREATIVITY.
NAMASTE
Jane Mar 2021
1 2 /3 4 /5 6 /7 8/ 9 10
I count my steps as soon as my feet leave the bus and carry me home, not thinking of my path, it's ingrained in my body
4 counts of ten and 3 to the traffic light
Balancing on the kerb-edge, anticipating the Green Man - the only man to keep me safe in the dark
7 steps to the other side, a small blessing of lockdown is the lack of noise and stale ***** and rowdy laughter spilling out of the four pubs I'd pass, no swerving or increasing my speed, shoulders up at earlobes and eyes trained on the concrete, whole body screaming
Please don't notice me
The streets now are eerie, the silence brings no comfort
Only heightened awareness of every rustling leaf in a city battered by easterly winds
And I can't catch my breath
6 more 10s and 8, 9
From the corner of my eye a shadowbeast grows and on instinct (self-preservation, conditioning, societal training) my hands are bitten by metal teeth in my pocket
A painful protection, the irony is not lost on me that my only protection outside my door is that which keeps others away in my absence
But the shadow is someone moving to their car so I relax infinitesimally
There are still more steps to go
Coming up for the park, what they call a hot spot but hot for what, all I feel is cold and alone
It's badly lit, filled with teenaged hoots and hollering, kids letting off steam and who can blame them couped up and schooling at home
But their shouts and laughter ricochet sinister and all I can think is What if no one hears me scream?
Finally hurrying past the playpark and the swings creak with too-big boys hanging from too-old frames
I look away and press on, my feet subconsciously pounding with the music blaring from a phone
Disembodied voices decrying the ******* and hoes to silent replies
Another 60 steps and the rats scurry in the bush, I used to shudder but now I recognise their twitchy anticipation, ready at a moment's notice to drop their morsels and run for cover because the intention of the passerby is not my perogative
And the underbrush serves rodents well for hiding in the dark
My own camouflage comes in reflective patches seen by the street lamps, a token honing beacon to oncoming pavement traffic and cars on the roads
I Am Here - See Me
But also don't, let me merge with the stone and concrete that I may pass unnoticed, unwatched, unlabelled
The earphones hang heavy, empty, a prop in the farcical show - blasé ownership of the ground I travel
This is my space and you won't take it from me
This is my body and you won't take it from me
This is my life and you won't take it from me
Not a statement but a plea silent and screamed and etched on my body and painted on my face
But you won't see it in my eyes because they are married to the cracked tarmac and tree-root rebellion pushing against obsidian skies
At night there is no connection with strangers unless their feet fall like yours
pretend power and child-in-mother's-heels certainty
These are inherited steps, a legacy of communal mourning and communiqué
The last street to cross
Cars are few, but ritual demands I take in this T-junction
Safety First
I am king of the road, watch me step
1 2 3 4 strides to the homestretch
So now I count the doors
Only 9 chances of being pulled into a close
8
7
6
5
I'm blinded by a car at full beam
The secure garage door opens and I am trapped
Rabbit-hearted and deer-spooked
Unsure who's behind the wheel, if I can pass ahead
I wait, lungs filled with lead until only brake lights are visible to me at the road end
I'm jumpy tonight, I note
4 doors
3
2
1
And I turn into the carpark
Sticking to the lit pavement
Weaving quickly between vehicles and I'm at the building door
Two flights of stairs and a landing between take 29 steps, I skip a few in anticipation
8 more strides in pitch black - none of our door lights work just now and despite the secure entry system I still speed up
Until the sweetest sound of all
That familiar metal click
786 steps to safety
And as I rest my head on the cool wood interior, I count myself lucky that in here I am promised security
Unlike the thousands of others whose homes are no safer than the streets
A sure sign of the long road yet to be travelled, whose destination may promise a world where we matter

— The End —