"pubic" poems
the witches
they don't take no ****
feminists with a wand
made from a femur
wrapped in ***** hair,
fingernails, and spit
no
not good little passive girls
although amused by a good spanking
for laughs that titillate
from a red wicked dicked old man
with slippery fireballs
like a spicy cherry pepper
that slurps filths coves
through a black tongue
and open-mawed bite
Femdom's queens
oiled torsos and bond fires
drenched ornaments for laughing snakes
that spread like spider webs
while the whips flash licks
hells tender blood kiss
insatiable prayers
and
************ rituals
mixed like bones in broth
with intricate sigils and saliva red
menstruum her holy sacrament
that shapeshift crones into young girls prancing
and bind water to stones
her spell can crack your skull
like a mules kick
and melt your eyes
like nuclear skies
no
the witches
they don't take no ****
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
Permanently fixed to the rest room wall,
waiting for the golden rain to fall,
oh you've many a tale to tell,
The stains on your sides, the distinctive smell,
That gum in the drain hole, spat out in haste,
The crown and glory ‘mongst the human waste.
All those members, large and small,
have hung over your orifice, you've seen them all,
Your starting to choke on the ***** hair,
While drunk men with whiskey breath, look down and stare,
no one seems to notice your vitreous gleam,
under the constant haze of the ***** stream,
you just suffer in silence and long for the day,
When you’re no longer needed and they take you away.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
Hidden behind my desires.
Fantasies of ecstasy
frustrating me.
My body tempting me sensually.
Sexuality turning on me,
arousing my entity.
My fingers betraying me, ****** my body eagerly.
Probing between my legs relentlessly,
consuming my whole body; selfishly.
Weakening my flesh; this tantalizing energy
claiming the deepest depths of my *****
Scandalous imagery, mentally ravaging me,
seducing me, teasing my lips,
guiding my fingertips effortlessly,
long fingers dip, disappearing;
deep inside of me.
My ***** tightens, the feelings heighten.
Warm liquids drip, stone hard ****
pulling and rubbing it.
Wrist twist,palm grinding against my *****
legs clasp, my insides amass giving way,
As I spray, my exhausted body collapses.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
multimedia macramé
sloshing propaganda sewage
on the unsuspecting public
***** lice infest ****** hill folk
west Virginia outbreak threatening the world
as we know it
flesh altering nonsense explicitly graphed
charting movement of microbes
on air, land, and/ or sea
global currents the new deliverer of death –
infected immigrants sit smiling
internment camps providing nutrition
never before experienced
as non-natives negotiate freedom
by submitting to vaccinations baths
and the standard delousing powder –
paranoid hand-sanitizer users
glued to the **** tube
spray their shoes with disinfectant
praying to an absent GOD for health
while shoveling GMO corn chips into ever widening
mouth holes
pharmaceutical companies lick lifeless lips
as Congress recognizes their humanity
while rejecting the concerns of the poor
…..no money in it –
outlandish claims of outbreaking Ebola
flood the mainstream outlets
fear: version – infinity
one more plague plan to stimulate new legislation
more law
no touching
even looking at the infirm can be cause for isolation
radiation treatments
courtesy of Fukushima, reactors 1-4 –
new found focus on fracturing the shale
releasing new oil reserves
and old bacteria
dinosaur killers
free-radicals
radically changing the genetic code
humanity altered
once again –
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
I tripped on a forest of roots & lost my clothes.
When this happened, I felt less a lady
in shame of uncovering from pink, frilly things
the shelter like feathers on a peacock or
ribbons track-marking a braid –
I was enclosed in such a house that I must have
become it myself. **** I saw tiger-stripes
eating their way from my hips to bottom
and made a big taproot, a radix to the physical
me, as rosy as a flower in the dead of spring
even billowing as petals will for wedding vows –
the single, womanly cavity I concealed
how together we became such a dollhouse
for nature and its ***** hair:
I, taught to play with my own frilly, pink thing.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
These words they cannot be rewritten to bright beat the minds of pop culture fiends
Against the steel wall of the infinite Hollywood signs, dripping blood,
Until the creative mind is bled dry.
Then working the street corners to pay the corporate copies far too much for a strip tease by a fat transvestite, night after night;
But we never realize there is no end,
No end to the ***** **** being shoved down our throats —
Though we think there will be a ***** at the end;
Except there's just ***** hair stuck in our teeth,
And along the way we've forgotten what it is like to have an empty mouth,
Without **** coming out of our mouth and *******
Such that now it feels right.
Look up at the man in a suite holding the camera,
Like the attention you get from the broken world.
One man ass-fucks another then gets ass-fucked himself;
Then bumped further in by a third,
Till the world is united by **** and *******
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
All alone laying in wait, for your dreams to come true, the dreams of your Daddy, to come and take you to a new place.
As I enter your room, the darkness is erased, my power you feel as reach for your hand, bring you to your feet look at my face.
Quickly, I wrap my ropes around you, encasing my body in an elaborate web, criss crossing the rope no more mobility.
Arms tight behind you elbows together, I lay you gently down as I stand above you, admiring my work and my ability.
Laying on your back fully pinned down your legs spread wide exposing my very special kitty in all of its naked glory
I begin to finger you as I kiss and **** on my **** two fingers in you making you nice and wet, I look up with no worry.
My lips **** up your wetness, I come to you and share your taste, you lick my lips before I take you and kiss you deep.
Your lolli is hard, ready to pounce, but I will have to wait, your pleasure is my only concern, even though it starts to seep.
**** galore spread all in you, I press down gently on your ***** bone, as I enter a third finger which is nice and tight.
You gasp as you adjust to the size, dilation begins you are opening up. Wider for daddy as he makes you feel right.
Kissing you softly stroking my kitty, look in your eyes, blue on blue, lost and in your gaze, ready to give you some more.
Slide gently the last finger in, slowly my kitty begins to expand, I wait a bit longer as I give you all of my four.
Twist my hand, slightly to the side, as I tuck my thumb under my fingers and begin to slowly press up in to my hole.
I stop for a moment as you whimper for the discomfort, I ease your mind, your pleasure is my only true goal.
Relaxed you now become as I get my hand fully in you, My first is buried as I massage your spot, you try to buck.
Bucking against my hand you are bound too tight, my hands is in you, beyond my wrist, now baby girl I will ****
I **** you hard in and out, you start to scream in pleasure and delight, as I re position myself to give you a salty treat.
My **** placed deep in your throat, ****** starts filling you full, don’t lose a drop, or suffer you will, no more defeat.
My kitty tightens down on my hand, I feel it pulsate, it clamps my hand, my hand aches, i pound harder, deeper inside.
You scream out wanting more, I push harder as you bite down on the pillow, you are for sure daddy’s pride.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
Red flags in the beginning are easy to turn into little sticky notes, notes for later that sometimes lose their adhesive and fall to the ground much like my current tolerance for ****** dudes
The first known use for red flags was by the military to indicate they’re ready for battle, unfortunately I’ve seen enough red flags to start the next world war
I should’ve known
When I came back from Arizona and he said “you must’ve cheated on me because your ****** feels different”
Not because he’s insecure
or
because he doesn’t know trust
or
because he’s trying to assert control
I should’ve known
When he asked if I “had a problem getting wet because it seemed like that was a thing”
Not because he doesn’t know foreplay
(side note: **** doesn’t teach you foreplay)
or
because he doesn’t actually turn me on
or
because fun fact!- women can be turned on and not be wet
I should’ve known
When he said “if you shaved, then I’d go down on you 24/7”
Not because he was scared that choking on my ***** hair reminded him he’s with a real woman that grows hair
and humans inside her
and ideas
and opinions
and strength
and my body is not yours to give me ultimatums of
I should’ve known
When I asked if figuring out my pleasure was a burden and he answered “actually, yes it is”
Not because he’s too lazy to actually want to pleasure anyone but himself
or
because his only ****** education ended with a .com
or
because no one has ever expected more of him
I should’ve known when he said
“What I want out of a ****** partner is someone that wants me inside of them as soon as possible”
Not “inside my soul”
or
“inside my thoughts”
or
“inside my memories”
or
“inside an intimacy he will never know”
I should’ve known when he said
“Let me show you how Rachel did it”
Not “this is how I like it”
or
“can we try this?”
or
“opening your ******* mind to how another human being moves around you”
I should’ve known when
He spit on my ****** the universal sign for disrespect
Like I deserve the same fate as tobacco swollen cheeks
Like my ****** is your spittoon,
am I the end of a tobacco session or a fancy wine tasting?
these things matter
Now I find it symbolic men are taught to spit while women are taught to swallow
Swallow our reactions
Swallow our feelings
Swallow our voices
Swallow his releases
Swallow his spit
Swallow us whole
When you see a red flag do not ignore that it means battle
This battle is not a healthy one, this battle will leave you bruised
Uproot this flag and take it with you to remind yourself
You can lose every battle and still win the war
11/28/2016 Amanda Powell
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 8:59 PM UTC
Here comes the bride
Proud down the aisle;
If she knew what I know
She wouldn't smile.
Here comes the groom
Such a handsome gent;
But I know his secret
He's warped and he's bent.
*(Refrain)
Fountains of beauty
Such a handsome pair;
I hope someone told them
To wash their ***** hair.*
There stand the couple -
See them plight their troth
Shall I tell you something?
I've had them both.
There stands the priest,
Dressed like a swell;
He's nothing special:
I've ****** him as well.
*(Refrain)
May blessings from Heaven
Downwards descend;
But don't let the best man
Catch you if you bend.*
**(Final Chorus)
Here comes the bride
Legs open wide
She's no vestal ******
As I think I have implied.**
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 1:06 PM UTC
my
poor
ugly fat
sister with her
ugly fat body blotchy
body and ginger ***** hair
yells in terror futilely begging
'no more Daddy, please, no more blows'
as my drunken old ******* of a stepfather
lashes her wobbly *** mercilessly as he yells
bible-inspired obscenities and hatred from the pulpit
of his demented brain and I am powerless to intervene or else
I know I shall be next and my many wounds from last week's thrashing
are still so tender and unhealed so I sit and watch and gently
********** myself under the cover of the odourous blanket
but things are taking a different turn this evening
as I see dear old Daddy taking out his ugly ****
and then ravish my sister's bloodstained body
and this really is too much even for me
to bear so whilst he is occupied with
the edifying task in hand I reach
for the rifle and taking aim
I blow Daddy's **** off
in filial love
and then I
come
with a grunt into my snot-encrusted handkerchief
OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!!!
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
I awoke
with mountains in their heights
that spoke
of memories that wove
through knees
thighs
and ***** bone --
to the inky waters of the lake below.
In that cabin
where the sable pines enclose
and all about
from coral-white
to grayish
turquoise-blue
snow.
That scene:
on the edge
where the stillness
Knows.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 10:17 PM UTC
I opened my laptop
to write a poem about a windowsill
and I found one of your ***** hairs.
on the space bar
it was a happy moment.
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 5:50 PM UTC
HaHA, I've done it! I've created a device
That can tap into my subconscious
and translate it for all to hear.
I will win the Nobel Prize!
I will be rich beyond my wildest dreams!
People will LIKE me!
So let's see here....I put on the cap, set the throttobombulator to 8.
Adjust for fuzzy dialation...set the circuit threshold to .79, make
sure the lucid translation synapses are firing...and yes. The next
words you hear will surely be written in History books one day,
much like Thomas Edison's first phonograph recording, or the
first telephone call!
Neural connection is active. Transmitting
**TRANSGENDERED KANGAROOS FORNICATE IN THE
PURPLE SHADE OF BETTE MIDLER'S THIGHS. PLEASE
PERFORM ******** AT THE BEHEST OF BUDDHIST
MONKS WITH LISPS. COUNT TO TEN AND BECOME
A BUXOM BLONDE ***** WITH BOUNCY *******
WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE, CINDARELLA IS
ON HER KNEES AND ELBOWS BECAUSE IT'S ******
HARD TO GET LOW ENOUGH TO PLEASURE A DWARF**
Oh dear. This can't be right....now where's that 'off' switch?
**JACK AND JILL WENT OFF THE PILL SO JACK COULD
BE A FATHER. JACK WENT DOWN TO LONDON TOWN
AND PUNCHED THE DALAI LAMA. EDIBLE *******
GIVE YOU INDIGESTION. DO YOU KISS YOUR MOTHER
WITH THAT MOUTH, BECAUSE YOU SHOULD. (AND USE
SOME TONGUE THIS TIME)**
Oh My...Ladies and Gentlemen, It's clear that my invention
is experiencing technical difficulties. If you would please be patient---
**SATIN BRAS DON'T CHAFE. NONE OF THE SMURFS
HAD BLUE ***** THANKS TO SMURFETTE. I WONDER
WHAT MARY MAGDELINE WAS LIKE IN THE SACK? **
STUPIDSmashPieceSmashof GARBAGESMASH
DoNT LikE iT? tucK iT bAcK!!
Connection Lost
I...erm...clearly have some more work to do before it is ready
for the pubic--er..public. I have run into some...translation
errors...and need to re lubricate--CALIBRATE a few things.
Please don't tell my mother.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 12:12 AM UTC
We walk along the beach at night,
Arms entwined and hearts entwined,
Waves lapping 'gainst our feet,
Pebbles scurrying like sand ***** 'twixt our toes.
Talking about ***** we are both
A little tickly in the naughty bits department,
As the gentle summer breeze
Wafts through our matted ***** hairs.
Just a brief hour or two ago,
We were strangers at the Pier disco,
And now our histories are to be
Inextricably linked by fate.
I do not know that, in a month or so,
I shall need to send you
A little yellow contact slip
From the Margate Hospital special clinic
Informing that you have been exposed to
A most unpleasant social disease
Which, with a bit of rotten luck,
Could easily rot your insides.
But, for now, our thoughts are far away
As we laugh and joke together
In our new found post-coital,
Youthful lovers' camaraderie,
Not wanting to speak too loudly or disturb
The copulating pair by the nearby breakwater
(Not that they'd be put off by a thunderclap
Seeing as how he's on the short strokes by now).
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
One time within thee grass
I bent to wipe my ***
And where the paper thou?
For this I shall not know.
I sat in much despair
My muddy ***** hair
Drenched in a mud of brown
My whole world upside down.
Across the field I call
A fair maiden and where all
The grass spread like ROM
This maiden was my mom.
Alas! I called to three
A motherly lady
Who gave me parchment for the ****
I thank thee maiden, For not wiping is heinous.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
Golden rivulets flowing over milking *******
my lips ******* on swollen pink *******
moans emanating from one then the other,
farther down I kiss your silky middle,
my eyes are lost in a ***** brown mound.
I seek out magical miracles that bring you
to heights of unending ecstasy that let me
taste Beethoven's adagio composed for
you and me. The moon, you, and I provide
for all three of us a trilogy of **********
as robins greet the morning sky.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 1:19 AM UTC
Moist and monochrome, clouds are gathering
On a Sunday afternoon.
Look up idly from my browsing, at the building 'cross the pool
Winds picks up, the monsoon breezes
Lick at the curtains twelve floors up
On the terrace, woman standing
Arms outstretched, grasp the rail
Legs stressed back, footloose in sandal
Lightly muscled, slightly formed
Kimono slips from lighted shoulder, designer ****** strawberry brown
Fabric glides across the hip-line
Revealing all to me below
Wearing nothing on the landing
Hint of shadow, ***** mound.
From the sliding doors behind her
Steps a man not quite unseen
Waist encircled in one movement, undergarment stripped away
Rigid stillness then the thrusting
Tension mounting at the breath
Woman gasps the O shape forming
Through her silent, varnished lips
Mahler moaning on the ITunes
Waves are forming, silent sound
Thrusting, busting, flexing, ******* arching back crescendo reached
Sun comes out, just at that moment
Roads diverging in the wood
Disconnecting, and uncoupling
Might and maybe should and aught
Trembling fingers, taught in temper
Blink the eye and pop the top
Shaking hands that hold the taper, to the unformed smoking spliff
**** the wreaths in, breathe the thought out
Bottle clinks across the teeth
Unbelieving, unconcealing
Unrelieving, unreleased
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 4:38 AM UTC
“i wonder what she looks like naked” he thought
it was 11pm
he had been in the shower for 10 minutes now
letting the water get hot
turning his face and skin red
he had sat down
he stared at the blue rags in the corner of the shower
one was used to wash his back
the other to wipe his *** when he ran out of toilet paper
another to scrub his face
Now they've grown mold
They've almost grown together into one big rag
He stared at the hairs on his legs
He stared at his ***** hairs
he closed his eyes and let the hot water cleanse him
He felt good
Looking through the Showers obscured glass
he was able to see the toilet
it was Blotched
zig zagged
smudged by the glass's perception
He felt good in here
he understood things looking through the showers glass
He understood that things were there
but are in many forms all at once
and that perception
is the most beautiful thing
standing up he grabbed a plastic cheap blue razor
sat back down
avoiding the molded rags
and shaved his face
Chin
Left cheek
Right cheek
Above the lip
Neck
He Felt Clean
He felt like a boy
a newborn baby
Unsure of the things around him
but understanding
the unsure was nothing to be afraid of
nothing to worry over
That the unsure was good
It meant you were still curious
He stood up
turned the water off
stepped out
stared at his naked hairy body in the mirror
looked at his face
it was clean and smooth
The things outside of the shower glass window were smooth and cleanly perceived
But the understanding
was the same as a man, naked with bright blue eyes
looking through his warped shower glass window
wondering what her ******* and legs look like.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 1:12 AM UTC
Don't shave your bush,
your fat hairy bush,
your thick matted bush of twine.
Don't mow your lawn,
of 70s ****
your afro of ***** sunshine.
Your hedge of rough stems.
of tangled tough vines,
your tight web of spider like lines.
Its secret sunk well;
I delight in to smell,
and careful, my fingers might find.
To lap at its stream.
To eat of its fruit.
To climb through its branches
like a snug fitting boot.
Don't shave it I plead,
until it grows like a ****
Until it grows, until it flows,
until it blooms like a rose.
Until who knows, I've planted
my seed.
Don't shave your bush,
your wonderful wild bush.
I thrill to search your garden.
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 3:09 PM UTC
My green fingered great uncle Maurice
ran away with a stripper called Doris
she takes off her clothes
wherever she goes
and she's got ***** hair like a forest.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC
Moist and monochrome, clouds are gathering
On a Sunday afternoon.
Look up idly from my browsing, at the building 'cross the pool
Winds picks up, the monsoon breezes
Lick at the curtains twelve floors up
On the terrace, woman standing
Arms outstretched, grasp the rail
Legs stressed back, footloose in sandal
Lightly muscled, slightly formed
Kimono slips from lighted shoulder, designer ****** strawberry brown
Fabric glides across the hip-line
Revealing all to me below
Wearing nothing on the landing
Hint of shadow, ***** mound.
From the sliding doors behind her
Steps a man not quite unseen
Waist encircled in one movement, undergarment stripped away
Rigid stillness then the thrusting
Tension mounting at the breath
Woman gasps the O shape forming
Through her silent, varnished lips
Mahler moaning on the ITunes
Waves are forming, silent sound
Thrusting, busting, flexing, ******* arching back crescendo reached
Sun comes out, just at that moment
Roads diverging in the wood
Disconnecting, and uncoupling
Might and maybe, aught and should
Trembling fingers, taught in temper
Blink the eye and pop the top
Shaking hands that hold the taper, to the unformed smoking spliff
**** the wreaths in, breathe the thought out
Bottle clinks across the teeth
Unbelieving, unconcealing
Unrelieving, unreleased
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
Cruising through busy yards under gloaming
orbs blink one by one inside a submarine of bony tissue.
This is the rent in body, too.
This will be a myriad path until obsequious jaundice seeps & burrows not so calmly.
Instinctive cigarette,
naïf animal intentions for an eager ******
Reassured, still.
A neat rest on top of ashes
Lion's tawnies understood the shared blanket,
the cat under his crotch,
lazy
& me petting his Lion
collecting ephemeral drips in a dish.
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 10:40 PM UTC
Wah wa wa wa wa wa
Wah wa wa wa wa wa
Wah wa wa wa wa wa
I remember morning
Peeping through the curtains' awning
As I just lay there
With my gal just begging for it bare.
Every Texan city
Where I've dropped my pants
Ain't so ******* pretty
Without love and romance.
I'll ne'er forget Amarillo
Every night I'd grease her *****
I dream dreams of Amarillo
And the girl who ****** me there.
Is this the way to Amarillo?
Where I kissed an armadillo
Crying over her huge *****
And sweet Edna's ***** hair.
Wah wa wa wa wa wa
Wah wa wa wa wa wa
Wah wa wa wa wa wa
And the girl who ****** me there.
There's a church bell ringing
Welcoming the KY-gel I'm bringing
Though I may be poor
I'm the guy who's coming to do her.
Just beyond the highway
There's an open door
And I can't stop running
To **** that little *****
I can't forget Amarillo
And Edna's mighty *****
I dream dreams of Amarillo
And the girl who ****** me there.
Which is the way to Amarillo?
I've been weeping on my pillow
Clutching to her huge great *****
And sweet Edna's public hair.
Wah wa wa wa wa wa
Wah wa wa wa wa wa
Wah wa wa wa wa wa
And sweet Edna's ***** hair
Wah wa wa wa wa wa
Wah wa wa wa wa wa
Wah wa wa wa wa wa
Lovely Edna's ***** hair
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 10:16 AM UTC
Under a receding hairline
His blue eyes charm me
gazing up to meet mine
gray moustache mingling
with my silver ***** hair.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
His shirt is too small.
Not too small in the sense that he is a ******* who
Should have bought the right size.
No shirt seems to fit the pit stains
Swallowing his arms with the perfume
Of first date nerves and the awkwardness
Of the soggy must of locker-room-penises.
His beard is patchy.
Like a boy sprawled along the floor of the barber shop
Collecting bits of people to glue to his face.
It resembles the ***** patch of grown men
Running their hands over rough denim
Until their crotch all over his face.
He has Jesus tattooed on his arm.
As if he is some new-age-badass Christian
Who is thuggin’ for the Lord.
But Jesus was probably far from his mind,
Probably all the way over in Jerusalem
Shouting like a refrigerator buzz,
While his macho representative
Swallowed his first ****
As far back as he could go.
As deep as he could go.
He wears glasses and button up shirts.
So he probably looks out of place in the circle
Of drug addicts and alcoholics where
It only takes twelve steps to stomp on your soul
Like a child kicking up rainwater from puddle to puddle.
They have a dance that has only twelve steps
To sway all over the grave of your homosexuality.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 6:09 AM UTC