"profuse" poems
I think about my death.
The seed of life
is so
profuse,
and that
is
my demise.
I might live,
but I will die.
When I dream,
I dream
of Judy Greer.
She's been there
talking
about
love and *******
and death
and hurting.
So what can I say now,
when bulletholes
of lightning
people my dreams.
When a couple
shots of whiskey
have put me on the edge
of missing you
over memories.
I moan
and dream,
because dreaming
is a moan
for hope.
And being in for a bid,
is the same
as your lips
to
my
lips.
So I evade promises
and dribble
into traps
of
depression.
I've had this problem
for so long,
it seems inconsequential
that I might
wring my neck
by an electrical cord,
or by the chords
of your heart..
Because i miss you
and that
type
of
thing
never lets go
to much.
I stare at humans with an anchor in my hands.
I don't know if I should break
their noses,
or
tell them how it got there.
Don't hate me,
just be grateful;
that I told you I'm so sad
and worn out.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 7:48 PM UTC
She is a landmine, of profuse love;
No precautions necessary.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
Look at all the parrots--
Parroting the words
Of all the other parrots--
Of all the other birds--
Parroting profusely
All the same refrains--
Parroting the constant patter
In their parrot brains--
Parroting the preaching
From the pulpit to the pews--
Parroting their parents'
And their parents' parents' views--
Parroting their leaders
And their pompous platitudes--
Parroting their peers'
Pretentious attitudes--
Parroting the patriarchs'
Proselytizing that'll
Put your teeth on edge
With their pathetic prattle--
Parroting the poppycock
Of trite pontifications--
Parroting pernicious
And sly manipulations--
Parroting the pretty birds
Whose pageantry and glory
Appeal to their prurient tastes
In each pathetic story--
Parroting the songsters
With parasitic pleasure
And counting out the rhythm
Of every pitiful measure--
Parroting the powerful
Whose ploys are so profuse,
Leaving the powerless
Pummeled with abuse--
Parroting with passion
Presumptuous prophesies
With putative contrition,
"Humbly" on their knees--
Parroting themselves--
Together all in sync--
How they love to parrot
So they don't have to think!
- by Bob B
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
People held hostage, always living in fear,
The barrel of a weapon, is always near.
Riding the train, a blood curdling scream,
A deafening noise, and a bright light beam.
A violent shock wave tears open your flesh,
The lucky ones, receive skin grafts with mesh.
Your arm torn off, artery bleeding is profuse,
A dying thought is, what was the use?
What was the purpose, to **** all these people?
In the name of Allah, perched on a mosque steeple.
Radical extremists don't care about life,
By murdering people they increase human strife.
Wasting resources, bringing the Earth gloom,
Look at faces on a plane, many filled with doom.
The last thirty five years I don't understand,
Middle Eastern countries, together they band.
Bringing terror and hatred towards cultures of the west,
We accept the need to feel your ways are the best.
Pray all you like, cover up a women's face,
Stop trying to change America's philosophy and place.
Once the oil is gone, and the land again bare,
Back to living in tents, flowing robes you will wear.
Your tactics are old, soon you may feel,
The burning of skin, this inferno is real.
A nuclear explosion will end years of frustration,
No longer putting up with terrorists indignation.
Revolutions reveal, the world ending in flame,
Enough with this nonsense, put an end to this game!
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
A peach, so sweet, one I would love to eat.
My hunger for the nectar of life, the sugary taste making it hard to retreat.
A peach, so tender and soft, making it far too easy to get lost.
In the delectable flavor of the juice, so sweet, oh how I long to eat one, profuse.
A peach, so ripe, I could eat peaches in the day or the night, either is alright.
Never have I seen, a peach so clean and eatable, colors just like a roses petals.
A peach, so neat, eating a certain one is a special treat, almost making me weep.
Speaking of spotless, where is your mind, I speak of fruit, who's in the gutter this time?,
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
O mighty-mouth'd inventor of harmonies,
O skill'd to sing of Time or Eternity,
God-gifted organ-voice of England,
Milton, a name to resound for ages;
Whose Titan angels, Gabriel, Abdiel,
Starr'd from Jehovah's gorgeous armouries,
Tower, as the deep-domed empyrean
Rings to the roar of an angel onset--
Me rather all that bowery loneliness,
The brooks of Eden mazily murmuring,
And bloom profuse and cedar arches
Charm, as a wanderer out in ocean,
Where some refulgent sunset of India
Streams o'er a rich ambrosial ocean isle,
And crimson-hued the stately palm-woods
2.7k
Oh Bard, wielding a tool mighty and spiky
Mightier than either the sword or rod,
You reign as monarch in fancy’s domain
Sketching life in all variety and mode
Which with pain and strife fraught
Or bright with gaiety and grace
In finer yarn than the gossamer thread
On a fabric of words in befitting verse
You steal away from the noisy crowd
Into the stillness of the cloistered cell
To dwell with Fancy’s mystic charms
Weaving downy dreams at will
You recount forgotten tales of yore
Of ****** battles won and lost,
Of lovers united, amour defiled,
Conjuring memories from abysmal past
You hearken to the moans of lovelorn souls
And sing of beauty in ditties fine
Triggering sparks into flames grow
In umpteen hearts that pine and whine
Babbling with the brook rushing swift,
Racing with the deer loping past,
You wander into mysterious woods
Where flowers, their richest odors cast
Your ears intent on the song of birds
That comes floating from the far off groves
And the whir of cicadas on the bark of trees
Breaking the calm of twilight eves
Alone you saunter the stretching strands,
Watching virulent breakers in fury heave
Often your heart dancing with the tide
And swinging with the rhythm of rising wave
You feast on the gleam of the auburn sun
And the speckled blue of the infinite skies
Watching the day dying in flame
And the night in a diadem of stars vies
All that’s lovesome meets your eyes
And commune to you in profuse delight
Which you turn into rhyme and rhythm
For the whole of mankind to devour and digest
From your harp flow symphonies sweet
Songs of longing, love and lust
Of idyllic happiness, peace and bliss,
Fuelling hearts with vigorous zest
Though outlawed by the great sage of Greece,
Branding the poet, aberrant and a fool
Oft beneath the façade of his wayward thoughts,
Lie heaps of wisdom for the discerning soul.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 6:01 AM UTC
Vertebrate beginnings,
I collate each chordates morphological traits
Striving to understand their profuse, evolutionary attributes.
Memorize the fusion of Latin and Greek roots
Interwoven just enough to complicate
Instead of differentiate inarticulate invertebrates.
Inhibitions confine to an educational institution
Discombobulated and ready to *******
graduate.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 12:57 AM UTC
hammer me
hammer me
hammer me to the ground
hammer me
hammer me
with your hard hitting pound
hammer me
hammer me
hammer till I cry
hammer me
hammer me
blacken both my eyes
hammer me
hammer me
break my jaw with your clenched fists
hammer me
hammer me
so my face contorts and twists
hammer me
hammer me
I so enjoy the bruising pain you dole out
hammer me
hammer me
with your forceful clout
hammer me
hammer me
so that I bleed most profuse
hammer me
hammer me
keep imparting your gross abuse
hammer me
hammer me
hammer me
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
Love cautiously, the Oleander,
from a distance, behold its blooms.
For within its vibrant grandeur,
death's brew does certainly loom.
Profuse clusters of pink, red and white,
are not for your table setting,
Let them be a backdrop delight
for desert landscape planting.
Lush, evergreen, they grow year round,
wild, tall, with abandon.
Or prune them down, so they stay low,
a hedge with blooms embolden.
A poison beauty without compare,
The Oleander draws attention.
Thriving in the dry desert air,
Touch? Remember warnings, here, I did mention.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 5:02 AM UTC
The hot boiled rice
With brown gram curry
The nutty smell of sesame
Oil shrills in hurry
Deployed on a thrice
larger rounder plate
For a boy's belly deplete.
"Can't eat this much rice!"
He shouts with a surprise.
“You can do my son sure.",
Her firm voice enssures
The boys look measures.
"The remainder you keep aside"
Her remand saves his pride.
A monthly forty rupees
Should not be pretty reason
For a lodger's liberty to please
Among two of her teen sons
Than a welling spring of kindness
A heart huge in roundness
Larger than a stainless steel plate
With a profuse heap of hot rice
The smooth boiled brown pies
Oiled with fragrance fleet.
For how he fully did feat it?
How she purely predict it?
The stomach of a young one could hold
The heap of love on a stainless steel mold.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
Spring dawned after the biting chill,
Beams of sunlight filtered down,
Flakes of snow melted away,
The Earth bathed in brilliant glow
He came,
The dainty Darling of our dreams!
With promises full and hopes in store,
To fill the void,
within our souls.
To burst the silence,
with the clatter of sounds
To dispel the gloom,
that hovered on
He came,
High from Heaven,
like a cherubim sent,
with the glow of umpteen candles lit,
He came,
To gladden our doleful hearts,
To deliver us of our blighted state
He came,
Like the first rain on parched ground,
To drench the arid lands in profuse shower,
To ease the ***** of sweltering heat,
To put out the fire of growing drought
Marveling over the seizure of treasure,
long hidden within the crevices dark,
We stood, so pleasantly taken aback,
over the gift, ere vouched, but long delayed.
Like an eagle in its aerial route,
flew my spirits in ecstatic rounds
Like the Swallow, soaring high above,
my fancy took wings and set to fly.
He lay close to me, the bundle of joy!
His dark little eyes poised on my face,
full with words on silent lips,
and innocence on his glistening visage
I peered into that cute little face,
the face I had long fondled in my dreams,
I whirled in the feel of prime feed,
and swam in the current of maternal bliss!
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
I have never been a man of many words.
That is you would not call me by any stretch of the imagination bombastic. Nor would you refer to me as long- winded. I try to be as concise as possible.
I feel that most people have a select few adjective to describe themselves.
Personally chatty, diffuse, discursive,flatulent, loquatious, palaverous, pleonastic, prolix nor verbose would be on this list.
My words are not ample aplenty bounteous bountiful generous plenteous plentiful profuse or super abundant.
And when i make a speech it is not oratorical or overblown...
I am not pompous...I try to be as consise as possible.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
Collaboration's implicit excitations explicate expectations
Unity's myriad augurs geomancy's indications
Demagoguery's ostensibly intuitive impetus coordinations
Extravagantly exorbitant panaceas appreciate exaggerations
Prolifically profuse profundity's autonomous gestations
Empirically emulate epistemology's exogamous creations
Intrigue's imperative promulgation's quantum fecundations
Fealty's ephemeral enunciation's explicit complications
Hypercritically exponential prophylaxis protocol's interpretations
Sacrosanct unary's preternatural predilection's extrications
Eventuation's evocative illuminism avant garde's ostentations
Corrupt costume counselor's indicative explications
Assimilation's synthetic synthesis' ascensional implications
Ominous phenomenon portrayal detinue's integrations
Umbrage ultraism's penumbral platitude's objectifications
Futurity's spontaneous flamboyance's apotropaic expiations
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
pull back the thin veneer
of pretense that obfuscates
this holiday season
profuse excuses of joy and peace
are hollow and brittle and leave
bitter proof of our lackluster compassion
expose the specter
of greed
dormant in capitalism
vestiges of a dying culture
the refuse of an apathetic
American people numb
to the trauma inflicted
by megalomaniacal leaders
consent given implicitly
in the complacency of obedient conformity
will we refuse to acknowledge
the stains on our hands this Christmas
red liquid misting our faces
bloodlust and endless war
there’s no
rhyme or reason
to these
sycophantic intonations
deafening these words of treason
in vain attempts to assuage guilt
with endless iterations
of false hopes and puny gods in
brainless trying to defy reality
we belie our true intentions
our self-serving obsessions
and inane consumption
hazes of the mundane
in suburban graves
if the greatest gift is giving itself
we won’t find solace in the holy temples
of strip malls shopping centers
and corporate retail palaces
a Friday as black as our fractured hearts
witness the death of humanity
choking out all we were
grateful for the day before
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
Deafening breathing silence
Window tappings
Like echoes scream
Of inner redemption
Thorny rose hips
Flowing meanders
Of tears and salt
Profuse secrets
Settle gentle as silk-webs
Over closed
Iron made door frames
These secrets
An orb of light
Amidst a gaping
Black hole
Of serenity…
Surrounding chaotic
Withering shutters to the mind
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 4:20 PM UTC
He took her to his cabin up in the northern woods
so no one could hear her scream
when he tied her to the four post bed
to live out all his dreams
now she calls him Master
when he unbinds her from the bed
but still he makes her subject to
the whims inside his head
Now and then he lets her run
naked on a leash
but locks her in the spider hole
when it's time for him to teach
He knows she'll never get away
He'll make her love his hell
searching for what makes her smile
'neath his Stockholm syndrome spell
He F 'd her up and beat her down
until she finally came around
So beautiful in her black and blue
She whimpered "Master, I love you"
Then he knew
Her Stockholm love was true
He gently kissed her ****** face
and the bruises he so carefully placed
Held her in her broken disgrace
because her Stockholm love was true
Now they're always together
with their twisted violent love
He finally truly fell for her
and she can't get enough
Stockholm love!
He hits her with a rubber hose
She bites him on the thigh
scratching her name across his back
he slaps her 'til she cries
Stockholm love!
They love that they are lovers
profuse! profane! profound!
and when she finally got the chance
she tied her lover down
He loved her like no other
She understood his love
So she f 'd him up and beat him down
until they'd had enough
but he didn't comprehend
the depth of her Stockholm love
She blew him away with a shot gun blast
just so she could ***
Stockholm love!
Look out! Look out!
If you see her in your town
She won't be charmed
and she's always armed
so don't you stick around
She'll F ' you up and beat you down
Until she gets enough
Stockholm! Shot gun! Love!
Roosty
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 10:33 AM UTC
*Ecstasy seeped into vena
The purloin of senses
The profuse thud of a heart
On edge
Igniting bedlam
Doused in consequence
Of a shattery bliss.*
18/08/2014
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
Penguins painted pink,
peacefully practising pragmatic pebble placement.
Perfectly pointy piles, please!
Profoundly pious Pandas ponder pancreatic problems,
predict potential palsy.
Prognosis? Perilously poor.
Pale porpoises proudly plunge purple pools,
placidly pasturing petrified plankton.
Poor protozoans perish.
Portly, paunchy, plumpish, porcine, porky pigs
populate putrid puddles,
Pulverizing pumpkin pies.
Purposely Prickly porcupines pursue palatable plants,
pin-pointing precisely.
Puce petunias preferred.
Pill popping puppet people perpetuate planetary perdition,
pardon profuse pollution.
Pretentious ******
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 11:22 PM UTC
Sweet wisteria
Weakly protesting their death
By covetous hand
Never had they bloomed
In such profuse abandon
Till those last three years
Trailing sad windows
Lush purple riot of vines
Struggle to protest
One morn I woke to
Roar of angry bulldozers
At the empty house
Nothing there remains
One brief hour quickly shattered
My belovèd home
~Hilda~
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
First impression, first date.
You come late, a major sin in your own lexicon,
tango dancing redesigns your hair to curls atwitter,
despite remedial ministrations in taxi,
you text apologies profuse en route,
but you have been outed, and
I am charmingly amused
A warm December eve,
a local Italian eatery,
table by the window,
red wine floes melt your defenses,
allowances made, you're intrigued,
enjoying our dinner of
charming amusements
But really you like my understated swagger.
I like that you like my understated swagger.
Walk home armed, arm in arm,
your paintings I must come see,
Immediately (!),
You offered this as desert, instead of biscotti,
a tour of your new apartment, sleek/simple,
messaging that this is me,
if you ever want to be invited to stay
Inspection over, my smile is a knowing
that this first foray deserves a concessionary accolade,
So in a mode so gallant at the front door,
Adieu you are bid, and devilishly clever,
I merely shake you hand,
leaving you delighted by this gallant, modern,
charming amusement
Looking at my watch, three and half hours
have passed.
Maintaing that in your ways set,
Early on, I challenge your rigidity,
Turning your hair from curly,
Into spun straight Rapunzel gold liquidity,
By asking politely, humbly, on bended knee,
You give in happily,
Charmed, amused at my ferocious insistence
Looking at my watch,
I too, am delighted, charmed, amused, to discover,
It seems my watch is running slow,
For it is now three and a half years later
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
Time slipped away in the spring, in the muddy puddles and the rain, in the sweet-smelling flowers and the rain.
It rubbed circles into the small of my back,
whispered bittersweet apologies and tacked a sticky note to my corkboard.
“Remember to call.”
I forgot.
And I sit under the blooming tree
my bare feet soft against the grass
Time left me in the summer, in the sunny skies and the rain, in the sweltering heat and the rain.
It ran somewhere unknown, far, far, far away,
while I treaded chlorinated water and prayed that the fall would come sooner.
“You can call whenever.”
I didn’t.
And I sit beside the verdant tree
my bare feet hard on the pavement
Time was gone in the fall, in the whispered breeze and the rain, in the crinkling leaves and the rain.
But I had company in a glowing screen,
And as days turned to weeks turned to months I forgot about time altogether.
“Someone is calling.”
I hung up.
And I sit far from the dying tree
my bare feet resting on the couch
Time slept in the winter, in the miserable cold and the rain, in the blustery wind and the rain.
Numbers and names disavowed,
As “today” and “tomorrow” become “now” and “later”
“What is the word called?”
I don’t know.
And I cannot see the empty tree
my bare feet asleep on the carpet
Time has returned in the spring.
It looks me in the eyes,
profuse apologies pouring out from its lips.
“But you didn’t call.”
I blink. Didn’t I?
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 12:52 AM UTC