"prostate" poems
I bought a cruiser bike
instead of a mountain bike
I’m a sextagenarian
not a 30-something
so every morning I pedal
to the corner across from the Ritz-Carlton and the Montage
next to the high-rent Pandemonde Café
and count the Ferraris roaring by.
I never had a Ferrari
but I did buy a ’96 Mustang once
and souped it up with a supercharger
which was around the time
my doctor took me off testosterone
because my prostate specific antigen
was way too high
You have an inoperable prostate malignancy, he said
after the biopsy
You can’t take hormone replacement anymore
It will **** you
And as I lean on my bike
depressed about missing the rush
of another boost of synthetic male hormone
I enjoy watching the Europen speedsters streak by
so proud of themselves
in cars that cost more
than my house.
I used to wish I was them
used to feel like them
when I was younger and charging hard
but now I just utter prayers
for each Lamborghini that goes by
and I say
I hope your car is faster than cancer.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 6:45 AM UTC
part, the first; serve
a good conversation is like a good game of tennis,
(with no winner) the ball drunkenly goes from side to side.
coffee shop, asking to pass the sugar,
the serve is delicate and precise, making it is key.
acceptance with the splenda is passed along with ‘sure’,
the receiver must lose their name, anticipate the arrival
following up with such a statement, a vocational inquiry
title lost, the ball has been struck and thrown as response.
part, the second; dance
the game has truly begun;
the beginning is not the serve,
but the response to.
back and forth in endless banter,
meaningless question,
to meaningless answer.
secretly, both don’t want the volley to end;
not often does the
passing sugar trick work.
part, the third; point
a fatal slip- achilles heel:
remembrance. no appointment is worth
losing a point, even
one for a prostate check (despite common opinion)
good thing then; the score
does not go to a single point, it requires
four or so completions,
though by four they will not count score
(and will drop the rackets).
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
What is the best Gift?
"YOU ARE IN MY PRAYERS",
Means you are in my thoughts,
I love you,
I care for you.
I prostate before God for you,
I speak on your behalf,
I pray for you with sincerity,
I pray with trust in HIM.
My prayers will do three things,
My prayers will be answered,
Will bring a blessing for you,
Will ward off your difficulty or calamity.
God loves each one of us uniquely,
HE chooses what is best for us,
HE sends an Angel in human form to answer your prayers,
I may be the Angel who prays for you.
Ameen.
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:52 AM UTC
blueberries gasoline and prostate gland
breast cancer Wonderbread and pacifier
controlled experiment space travel and honey
peanuts inductive reasoning and electricity
tornadoes torture chamber and biscuits
copyright car radio cantaloupe
golden eagle lunch break tomato
Romanian songbook rhubarb and barbed wire
always hungry nevermind meat loaf
goosefoot mango juice Ipad
mosquito bite city street and broccoli
Chinese cabbage female *** drive water sport
pure contralto goat yogurt new year
black death white light and green tea
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
U gave me that leaf, & said u were never gonna leave, Cause we were meant to live, now I have to Outlive & conceive the pain of grieve,
Who are u to tell me when to meditate? Please go your way and don't dictate, I have been born to innovate, Learn from me and don't aggravate,
Why dig into my past just to excavate things and deliberate , Yet you imitate and commentate and say it irritates, Never hesitate to prostate, Cause it elevate and motivates my innovative.
Even if your silences grieve so loud in my ears, I will never freeze, I will always leave, Because I never lived, I am never relief, I can't be pleased, Even when u sneeze. It only aggravates my pain when I eat, Dats the reason I refused to breath.
How can you call me fake When that's what you are, What you are is what I say , What I have seen is what am saying..
Fake, fake, fake, Fake u are like fanta Colorful yet distrustful Great pleasure Hidden smile, Full of Fantasy, deceitful u are.
You said u were my friend, then why stab me twice and expect me to talk once, U have twined &twisted; me, Enough of the Glossy bossy, mischievous in motivation, Malicious in thought,
Why judge when you can settle to be a judge in a jungle Stop been unjustly, & learn to be justifiable,
Now it's time for u to leave , superstitiously I have lived suspicious u have been, Dangerous you have become, Unpredictable you are , You're definitely a ********* You're never my friend
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
Number 7 in the ORLOK series and one of the best
O how I relish the taste of blood
****** out from the devastated jugular
But there is more, much more
When the victim is a nubile ****
From a Transylvanian village
Where ****** morality
Is quite ******* thin on the ground;
And that is how I met my fate.
'Twas on an October eve
When I met plump Esmeralda
And (having fed my fill from her neck
as she slept in her hut
under filthy rags stinking of stale *****
I sank my fangs into her naked belly
Ripping into her bloated guts
With my accustomed gusto;
My tongue slurping its way
Over her twitching ****
And finally I descended joyously
To her odorous spunk-encrusted *****
For the last rites,
Before the final curtain
To her worthless life of peasantry.
But then, as my excitement mounted,
And just as I was on the verge
Of pumping out my vampiric *******
I felt an agonising, mind-blasting pain
As a major stroke swept through me,
Wrecking my synapses big time,
Turning my brain into guacamole.
And now I am a crippled ******
Just a spasticated old vampire
In my second-hand rusting wheelchair,
Courtesy of Romanian Social Services,
Drooling helplessly
Into my swollen pissy crotch,
Waiting for another enema,
My sole remaining pleasure
And a stimulus to my jaded prostate.
But, hurrah! hurrah! new hope arrives:
A miracle occurs as I read of
The new wonder pill from SuperDrug
Available only in private practise
And guaranteed to rejuvenate the jaded
Or your money back, no worries.
Orlok will fly again to pursue
The pleasures of the flesh
And especially the botty-zone.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
C'mon! Spank me like the naughty little girl I am!
**** ME! **** ME! Stop being a man!
See this? Right here? My tight little hole?
Put it right there, baby! Homosexuality makes you whole!
Put this on your tongue, this seed of pomegranate.
Have a little fun! Let loose your granite!
Ice shavings and ice cream, my sweet little angel,
Come closer, come closer, let me study your angels,
Put your **** in my mouth. I'll **** you off.
*** in my mouth, and let yourself loft.
I'm not one for chains and whips,
But I'm more than up for shafts and tips!
*********** sliding in; so sweet;
Pound me harder with your big, strong meat.
The good'ol in-out in-out ~ The rhythm of life.
The dullness of cream ~ the glint of a knife.
Petrifying pangs of pleasure; cross a prostate ~ pouring,
Sweetly like ~honey~suckle~ Alluring
Breathe, my darling, like music, like a breeze.
Like the blood in my ears; like the wind in the trees.
In the closet, we are allowed but seven minutes.
But that is not enough! By the time its up, I won't be finished.
So for now, my darling, put your lips on my cheek.
And allow me one, little, innocent peak.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
she said that she should be laying prostate before me
i said prostrate
it was ruined from the start
her favorite song
"mohammed was a truck driver"
disgusted me and she knew it
i could pretend that when she ***** her teeth
it didnt make me want to stab things repeatedly
i should back up
we met on a carousel
i tripped over the lion and
she
and she
stopped me from losing my two front teeth
still ate **** though
laying prostate at six flags
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
For volleyball games with our kids
and the grit of dirt slipping through your teeth
like a pancaked hand flat on cement surface.
Ball. Court. It is a good morning and
the sunrise rises to give life to the game. This game:
ours. We run and jump and sing; old bones
made to jog its memory. Bounces the ball and we run
again. Laughing like children. Next to the children.
Leaping after them. Watch as the ball rises high
in the sky next as outstretched arms give chase
to them: its hands caked with dirt; gravel on nails
from the swept cement rock and line paint. This we
share like a communion, a church service. Young
and old, here and not here we rise and we
fall prostate next to the prayers of the net, the brush of fingertips
against fabric against rubber, each palm
of the ball a Sunday chorus stretching, congregation, religion,
swept from the sky and made to kiss ground where
the gods of our sweat and grit belong.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
with the lust
of a 14 year old ***** boy
playing hooky
eyes blink orbs
riding the bumpy
**** grind yields
a mental representation
*her ***
a Coney Island ride
reciprocity of tongue and groove
a big dipper
and a hot dog
in a bun eating contest
i eye the shape of her legs
brahmana of form
**** cake butter scallops
with a prune skin ****
***** dark little sister
going along for the ride
with hidden talents
*om shakti om
holy donut with a zit*
rubbing myself
a peripatetic command
like I had the junkies itch
in a bearded clam sea
of black nail claws
like musical notes
that tear flesh
hegemony of *** art
*make me bleed *****
Tangula The Exotic Shake Dancer
moves infallible hips
and dancing hands like octopi
tickling bloated *****
ta-ting go the finger cymbals
smiling she called pip squeak
colossus of her dreams
flick tongues the meringue
licking the
shimmering tantra pistol
finger up the **** hole
brings a prostate exclamation point
and a throat gag lyric
for a wagon train
of wrap around lips
zooming spit and spray
wet like scungelli
her *******
like cloud cookies
****** my mouth
gasper boy
chokes on
a marshmallow fire
i kiss her feet
and work my way up
the slippery slope
a starved dog
…
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 8:54 PM UTC
epitomize
and optimize
imitate
and recalibrate
streamline
and recombine
the evolutionary "line"
fireflies
and theorize
circulate
and gyrate
guideline
and divine
the galaxy and the stars
moonrise
and clockwise
death rate
and procreate
sunshine
and lifeline
laws of nature are defined
maximize
and re-size
penetrate
and migrate
bloodline
and decline
the story of our world
allies
and despise
prostate
and dictate
enshrine
and benign
generations throughout time
endings
and beginnings
losing
and winnings
and everything
in between
is what we find
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 4:44 PM UTC
Look into my crimson eyes, they despise the suns glare,
they prove I am not human, and certainly not mere.
My teeth are as sharp as daggers and as white as an albino,
their unrelenting force is not to be matched by anything less than a rhino.
And speaking of force I have one unmatched,
t'is the sheer power and might of my **** thrusting thine ***
If such a force could be measured it would be dubbed unstable,
last time I got it on I shattered a table.
Its sheer size would frighten most men,
but my father and uncle... they could fend off about ten.
I tried it one night with my brother in song.
His body was moist and his tongue was so long.
I slipped my sweaty hands through his crack,
and as time progressed I started fondling my sack.
I ****** him hard and broke through his ******
i'm getting ready to show this guy my full spectrum.
As we continued our adventure I felt something sublime,
I tried to pull it, but it felt like I was wasting my time.
But then it happened, I pulled with zeal,
and what hit the floor made me hunger for a meal.
T'was his prostate it felt ever so soft,
I ********** on it and licked it all off.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
Oh Lord I get down on bended knee
I prostate myself to thee
I ask that you help me
find my way back to thee
I have gone astray
It is not intentional Lord
It is just that I am lonely
I hear you tell me
My dear Child
Come back to me
On Bended knee
and I will never
leave nor desert thee
You are very precious to me
A poem of reconciliation
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:12 PM UTC
sunspot
sunrise
sunshine
moonshine
i lick you off my lips like strawberry
pineapple
grape juice
a fine wine that i’ve never drunk.
asteroid belt
orion’s belt
daddy’s belt
i am opening the door a crack for you only to slam it in your face—i am
waiting for you to knock
to pound your fist against the gate
to break your hand on the wood
i am waiting for you to say that you love me
and i am waiting for myself to believe it completely
(i think you do but i am still afraid you might leave me)
((jupiter has 67 moons and i think that i might be
each and every single one of them)).
oort cloud
smoke cloud
the burning ash of my father’s lit cigar flicking onto my hands
i am awake at night and thinking about how you no longer taste like lung
mouth
kidney cancer.
my grandfather almost died of prostate cancer
my friend is dying of brain cancer
my father will probably die of liver cancer
there is not enough space in the cosmos
for all of us, is there? … God?
meteorite
meteoright
i am trying to sleep without your face in the back of my neck
hand on the back of my hand
leg tangled around the back of mine
i am trying to telepathically whisper my secrets into your ears
but the only problem is that i have not yet
mastered this form of communication—
i think that everything would be so much easier if i just didn’t feel.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
+91364727-37474838
BLACK MAGIC, **** YOUR WIFE, **** A TEENAGER, *** TO MOUTH, FREE PROSTATE EXAM.
Try writing from your heart, with a hand that won't quit shaking, and lungs that might explode from anxiousness, only to see your words
be drowned out by a combination of words made to make cents, but heavy lacking on sense. A mind that cycles is like a firefight with your synapses looking for that spark. It's electrifying and mind-blowing, these moods that take months to overcome. Electrifying are the manic months, ones where you hide bank statements, where you penetrate a woman both mind and body. Mind-blowing is the depression, and the barrel of a pistol clenched between your teeth, as you open up your junk mail hopelessly searching for a letter sealed with a kiss.
But it doesn't exist.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
They burnt the entire house down
But the screams still ring out
The atrocities committed, permitted to happen
Can never be taken back, by a simple apology
And a promise to never let it happen again
The deaths, the humiliation they suffered
Are imprinted in their heads
By the time they find out
It would have been too late
A man with a boy's heart
has been set free
And he shan't stop till
He's taken everything
This world has to offer
*(- secretly, he wishes that
he'd burn and the world,
the world would burn alongside him
his brain fragments
united for once, only once, in misery)*
He chances upon others, his victims
They prostate in-front of him
They mirror the screams inside his head
For a short while, his retribution is fulfilled
But the screams soften to gasps,
Cries of mercy
Till they harshly grind to a halt
As he is painted crimson,
The screaming starts again
- It never stops. It just fades
into the background for a little while
For a second, he knows
Something is wrong
Something doesn't feel right
Right before he finds
Another prey.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 8:19 AM UTC
Fall displaces our sun
Hidden behind a sterile vale
I wait in ignorance
Wolves chase me
Tear me through the open
Long drawn out dashes of red
Streaks on the cheeks of the river
She soaks in the end of a prayer
A dried ball of cotton dyed into other
Ways of being And matter
The stone Buddha smiles
Red ink in my palms with thanks
An offering made in prostate
pose like the subject to the question
Answered with distilled teeth
Unclentched the tongue soft
Under the lips of a kiss in the winter's day
To be given Not had
This thanks of dubious nature
Red tape outlines the past
Red like the ink in your pleading hands
Red like the cotton in your mouth
Red like the beginning of your life
It comes swiftly into her eyes
Against the blue and green
of our days in thought
The candle wax
red too
Holds the negative space
Between the pages
A promise written to home
"My child is born today"
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
scribbling through pain of
wrist and tensed forearms
brought bettered by repetition
thru peddled death of calves
and ruined bowels of pre-
cancered prostate. constant
film of excreted toxins and
another cigarette only suffo-
cates these already humid-
battered lungs. another trip
out of doors only brings
realization of the heat inside,
buried deep beneath time-
pressured skin. some heart
forcing beats even though
cells have hardened via emo-
tionally evolved polysaccha-
rides. perhaps times' gain of
addiction finds lack of release
of toxins, perhaps the devel-
opment of a superior being
detached. lies, and realized,
wholly-owned and flawed
chitin formed of prior life,
formed of shared chemicals
of plasma-like water shed.
and called abrupt ending,
and lack of self-perspective
found lead-in to ending the
reign of self. ending some
reign of I the Destroyer.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
You can't beat deep prostate massage: just ask any gayboy.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
perfect sunny day--
insects sing so loud!
as i surf the web
pond water--
my hair dries as i click,
getting hot again
One summer years ago, at my childhood home, in a nudist colony whose so-called 'co-founding' is my family's only legacy--perhaps right before my grandmother had passed, or when my father's prostate was scheduled to be removed and he thought it best to hire someone for a last-minute memory (despite his sex-negative crutch-christianity, just in case the operation cost him his jive)--i googled, 'prostitute,' while looking for **** and the atrocity i found took all of a second to challenge my complacent illusion that i could remain separate or disconnected from the global oppression of women and girls while i consumed the products (i.e., fantasized about having *** with and/or 'making love' to simulacra-women; masturbated to pictures of them) of an industry whose widespread lack of any substantial commitment to fairness, safety, legal recourse and work-place equality has contributed to a new generational acceptance of the ancient memes that perpetuate bigotry:
dismembered girl
on an open body-bag--
why does this exist??
the insects clacking,
droning in the grass--
summer can't hide death
her hip bones' marrow showing,
young prostitute's corpse--
limbless
her legs gone--
the image chokes me
from speaking
my sisters, too young to tell--
who do i tell?
why should i tell?
i read she'd run from her ****
they put her in the river.
young girl,
her blood still--
i can't feel my heartbeat
young woman,
her torso bare--
unfeeling stumps
young woman,
her legs gone,
skin gray from the river
young woman,
your legs gone--
i choke on words
.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
an item of importance
has just come to hand
so listen to the article
which is on the news stands
preventative health message
maybe of some use to all
paying attention
to your private parts
is the call
the ******* and the prostate gland
require a little investigation
every now and then
to ensure that they are
in good working order
for all you ladies and gentlemen
regular
*****
and
prostate
examinations
detected
abnormalities
which
are
abominations
pick
up
the
telephone
and
make
an
appointment
with
your
family
GP
if
you
discover
anything
that
isn't
quite
as
it
should
be
early detection of cancer cells
may mean a longer life
putting off an examination
may shorten your life
the ******* and prostate gland
need you to take care of them
heed
the
call
all
you
ladies
and
gentlemen
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
A second ago I was 1 hour younger, I remember it well.
The few gray hairs that I have accumulated atop my head, were not there pas' a moment,
This wrinkle in time adding yet another wrinkle to my brow, I have become wiser for it.
My innocence of youth has been unfairly taken, Oh how I long for the days of yestersecond.
I remember the clock set back to maybe a millimeter, my prostate was not quite this large,
And congress with my wife seemed to last for hours, but now mere minutes leaves me spent.
We used to jump into bed and sleep in the **** seems just an instant ago, but now
The coldness of aging has us encased in flannel pajamas, we sleep dreaming of yestersecond.
I awoke this morning to a brighter outside, the early birds singing, off kilter, unfamiliar;
Not synchronous at all with my hot cup of Kona, I scratch my chin anew with stubble.
For in such a short time, the moon waved forlornly goodbye, the sun bid faintly hello.
Mr. Meowgii, my cat, chasing the birds outside, thankful for the passing gift of yestersecond.
My kids, now practically grown, (9 & 13 +60 minutes) I envision car keys being handed over,
Challenges to my authority, relationships of their own, with the passage of this long hour.
"For The Times; They Are A-Changin" - Dylan -, though now for a clock he would sing.
A hiccup in the fabric of the space time continuum, indigestion of memories made I search.
Looking forward, come October late fall, when we all can regress, yet again,
Reclaiming what we have lost, one hour from yestersecond.
-----ChawzzyScript
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
in one ohh the flightly finister
interjerk’t offorthwith united
unloosed upon the messes
who rains with string
of erring do
believe the ortho doxie
catamount the femail glory
moistens packet interfury
trump-ettes blow
the suction from their barrel oblesk
look slively tortice hand out for brood
scooch the dead **** down
impesh with dis-ire
marakesh the claim to sane
and leak brainoil smartly
for aft andall
whomake it threw
until deadneck cycoil
tweet totell interlie
the diff is how’d it hung
to a peel at the court
for reci-prostate-parity
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
I made an appointment, I was worried
Off to the doctor in a hurry
Doc I have a strange affliction
Sort of weird-beard word addiction
When I speak, every time
The words I say, they have to rhyme
Can you treat it, is it serious,
Or is my query simply spurious?
Doctor drew a heavy sigh
Looked at me with weary eye
Take these pills and in a day
Your condition will fade away
I said look doc, I think it's catchin'
Did you know your words were matchin'?
He said have you had your prostate checked?
I said I'm sure it's fine, backed off and left
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
*don't do it, it's modelled like speed-dating, i've been to one of those horrid Loserville events and it wasn't pretty - please don't get ****** into this vortex where you reveal everything about yourself, what music you like, what films... you're just showing me everything i'm not supposed to know before i even meet you, it creates a complete and utter lack of conversation... all the fun stuff to talk about comes flying out of the window... all the good stuff, all the DVDs and CDs and books in a suitcase... and all that's left in the house is your ***** laundry... and on dates all you end up talking about (crucially) are your ****** problems!*
it just got me thinking about prostate cancer
and how they shove a thumb up your ***
to see if your prostate glad still has a hard-on;
the western illusion of "not enough time",
not enough time to speak about music, films and books?
i guess the new thing is psychology and how
many diagnoses you can think of,
a symptom of a: not taking interest in philosophy beyond
quotations, maxim, toothpicks instead of pine trees.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC