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Taÿpen Sep 9
My Queen your throne awaits you
Come take a seat on my face
You don’t want to be no place else
Climb up on it and make yourself comfortable
You won’t be going anywhere for awhile
After I’m done you won’t feel your legs
You hang my prize above me and out of reach
Teasing me as your juices soak through your *******
I peel them off and pull you down
Don’t try to fight it I’ll make those moans slip out
As I put my mouth on you coaxing out every cry
I don’t care who hears I’m all ears
Ears that are currently being crushed between your thighs
Kissing and licking on your sweet spot
******* on your **** got you clutching my head
Pleasure taking over as you guide me to your destination
Legs shaking with elation
Eyes lidded with glaze
Drunk off your taste as I clean you up
From all the mess you made.
Marieta Maglas Aug 2013
She stopped to sit softly on a jutting rock near the lake.
In that fine damp mist, she felt the need to take a break.
Then, she pulled back her sleeves of scales having to kneel
To sculpture in a clay like that one used on a potter's wheel.

She kept altering and shaping it into a beautiful male head.
The lines of his face proved that the man was unreal or dead.
Then, she pulled her sleeves back down, and started to walk.  
Her aunt, a witch, approached the sculpture wanting to talk.

Come here, aunt Surah’, said Jezebel. ’What do you think?’
Surah unbuttoned her neck telling her, ‘My dear, I need a drink!’
‘Is this sculpture your deep secret?’ Surah smiled as a feline.
’ He’s the man of my dreams, and his face I will never reline.’
(Jezebel started to sing)
‘I still can hear his very sad low wail,
In a sleeping forest being of no avail,
In searching for his bride he can fail,
His bride is caught in the time's gale.

When a castle he sees in the sun's rays
Keeping two decades of sleeping days,
The beauty sleep leaves him in a daze.
'Come and take your bride', the oak says.’
(Surah became nervous.)
‘My dear, it’s a very strange dream, believe me.’
Said Surah, looking as tired as being after a hard pull.
‘Tell me, sweet child, in this dream can you see
Something about using a drop spindle to spin wool?’

‘No, never! By the way, what means a drop spindle?’
‘You must promise me to keep your mouth shut,
Or the demons in the forest a dead fire may kindle.’
‘I’ll keep the secret, or the tip of my tongue you may cut.’

(Jezebel started to dance singing another song this time.)
Come and dance with me between the daffodils.
I can hear the strong wind coming from the hills,
And never let die inside you your inner child.'
‘Sometimes, this princess wants to be really wild!'

(Surah got close to Jezebel having a book in her hands.)
'This book is a precious treasure’, Surah said.
'It always cries loudly in order twice to bake its meaning,
And we must be strong, when these words we read.
This book explains the whole history of queening.'



(Surah opened the book at the chapter: Spindle)

To begin spinning on a bottom whorl drop spindle,
You must attach a leader by tying a piece of yarn.
The best wool's colors are black, white, or brindle.
Moreover, wool dresses may be difficult to ****.

You must take the yarn over the side of the whorl.

You must loop it around the shaft underneath and back.

Over the side of the whorl, it looks like a hairy natural curl.

By the way, there's a spindle in the tower having a crack.'

(The castle where Jezebel lived)

The castle was in the forest, at a high mountain.

In the approach to the front door, there was a natural fountain.

The castle had a ditch and a bridge allowing people to cross.

It had a first gallery having the marble slabs nice cut across.


The gallery was situated between the great and the little tower.

The towers had thick walls being protected from the wind power.

The south-west side of the castle had a perfect hexagonal shape.

The northeast side had prisons, from where no one could escape.


There were four storeys formed around the hexagon on all sides.

There was an interior courtyard for the people wanting to turn aside.

In the center of this courtyard, there was a well and a natural cave.

In the cave, there was an underground lake, fossils and an old grave.


In the mountain stone, there was a subway leading to the great tower,

Which was a secret place having nothing alive inside it, even no single flower.

Banqueting House was a hall having a colored fireplace of marble,

Where the king and the queen entertained their guests, stories to garble.


The stained glass in the windows could share the sounds of many *****,

And many secret meetings took place behind those enigmatic walls.

At the top of the stairs leading from the wall, there was a passageway

Guiding into Dining Room having painted ceiling light over its walls' gray.


King's Hall had the throne in front of a screen with arched openings.

It had an oak chair and a footstool for guests to sit when they were coming.

It also contained some royal portraits, expensive furniture, and tapestries.

Here, the aristocracy came to enjoy their feast, and to share formalities.


Near it, a big Lobby having walls covered in rich fabrics was used

To entertain guests with sweets, while the jesters made them be amused.

After the meal, Great Hall was a huge space for singing and dancing.

It had monumental stone arcades in the light were really glancing.


Behind the arcades, there were the staircases leading to the upper rooms.

Those rooms were used by the guests to rest, and to dress in their costumes.

They had wooden roofs, and tall windows that were looking out upon the garden,

A domed pergola, shrubs, gateways, pavilions, and a forest of pine marten.
ConnectHook Sep 2015
Rebellion – for too long the status quo,
is, in our day, a predictable show.
Antichrist irony, absurdity
shockingly daring incongruity
no longer shock the bourgeois, you know…

Alone in the temple of glass with a rock,
you’re out of traditional symbols to mock.
Surrealists did it much better than you –
and it meant a lot more in ’32.

You chew your cud on the cattle-wagon
overused shock-tactics (moo ! ) now draggin’
(or herding) aboard the iconoclast train
(b)lowing through boxcars your bovine refrain:
“to, um –  make people think…”  Oh Lord, how uncouth.
Nihilist narcissus – tell me, what’s Truth?
Must creative always be subversive?
I discern, in your frenzied discursive,
a dull and predictable lack of life.
While you brandish that plastic butter knife
I  seem to note, in your constant ******,
dearth of artistic ability.  Must
bohemian acolytes (some yawning)
ever be deer in the headlights, fawning
before the ironic gesture? It’s sad;
the bitter is sweet but the art is bad…

They circle hors d’oeuvres on opening night
like moths around white wine in candlelight,
cerebrating in a modernist void:
contemporary aesthetes, overjoyed
to know once more that life has no meaning;
the planet is doomed; that kings are queening;
that chic just arrived, escorting philosophy
(Forgive us, Duchamp, for all this monstrosity).

I long for Hudson River School sunsets
Old Dutch Masters, religious art, portraits,
Red, green, or black propaganda-art?  NO !
The view does not merit the price of the show.
I’m dada-ed to death, beyond the surreal.
Conceptual gimmicks have failed to conceal
your want of ability, values, and faith
In the book you despise it is written: “thus saith
the fool in his heart: that there is no God…”

You: Postmodern Art – **to the firing squad!
http://tinyurl.com/ogn6354

  ► ¡ BANG !
Public opinion

Confusion reigns until his lordship explains
that our best interests are served by
remaining in service

no education for free for this
subject,
subject to decree from
her highness,
most royal majesty

Informally known as Lizzie.

His lordship is marking our card,
we must work very hard
get little pay
not too much noise
and
no *** on Sunday,

what a way to have to live
they take, take, take
and we try to live on
**** all
they live in a bigger hall
which still means **** all
to me.

I'm voting
one way or another
I'm voting

boring into the dead wood

Breadcrumbs.
I am Hansel and Gretel being
dead good.

Liz gets down to the business of queening,
cleaning the silverware'
getting rid of the peasants who get in her hair
tending to Phil
having her fill of kedgeree
and sod all for the likes of me,

She's off my Christmas list

if we were a republic

A peasant? revolting,
his lordship puts the boot in
but
the fault's in the system
we all need rewiring.

I'm going to Grimsby
that place will suit me
fish, chips and a
mug of tea
bye bye your majesty
don't wait up
I'll be home late.
Matthew Oct 2020
two a.m. on a temperature chilling October morn
sitting in a Lovecraft silence of
beastly creatures
sleeping in the earth
under bed and basement
the earworms dig in
with Steven King ambitions
as my lids slit to stay awake
the draping Wes Craven curtains
part to my next dream sequence
falling into hell's revenge
the Clive Barker pains of
pinhead punishments
feel believingly real
though I'm dead to the world
in a Jordan Peele trance
stiff with only mental movements
at the wheel of a Detroit demon
flaming down the to slow
to get away pedestrians
who's evil doings have done me wrong
I'm alive in the thrill of the ****
to **** without remorse
with Anne Rice stirring arousal
seated shotgun
queening the dammed
the fallen the unbathedsouls
getting bathed in the endless
bloodbath of her draining rein
to empty their cold dying hearts
hopelessly trapped
in her dark minded chronicles
I found was the ending road
with no uturn from the limboed
feasting humanoids
in a Abraham "Bram" Stoker scenario
thirsty to **** the lifeliquid
from limbs and neck-vines
shockingly terrifying me
from my zombie like state
eyes wide open and breathing
in a pandemic like panic
darkened with the next dusking day.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2020
as fast paced as: not necessarily rhyming -
which is all that rap is...
talk quickly and mishap -
i take another refill:
arrogant sloth borrows me once more:
it must be something to
be born in westminster:
i tend to visions of the countryside...
i'll cover 10 miles in under 3 hours
and sweat to the point
where my tip of my trousers
at the belt height are drenched...
it's all about pacing and writing
to some music:
or better still... i start talking...
and the music comes in...
i'm still not rhyming nor detailing
any event of "poet"
as being "europe": a funnel for
squeezing in some ottomans
or some mongols...
the hordes of huns and germanic-
prior:
rubbing a history like it's
aladdin's lamp: there i'm also
rubbing a lamb with some
oil salt and rosemary...
perhaps i have an anemic language...
forever this pangs of
shortcomings:
to a reply:
        well what if i had to be
less of a beheading:
literally talking - lyrical...
not this encryptic: ego-cipher
bilingual "muddle":
as ever i forage for eyes and not
the ears...
i'm slow pacing:
she's over there gun glazing
and reshaping cotton into copper
into easily agitated listening:
a democracy of being left behind...
heaps of scraps:
whether metal or charon ligaments
and sinew...
i write nothing to elevate hearing:
sometimes i will burden myself
with technicalities
my own name is a technicality
of nouns under the hubric of:
tetragrammaton / ha-shem
         for some people...
  will i invoke the caron S
            or merely... delve into more
bilingual nightmares for
the tongue to endure...
seems i have my niche: prospect of
interest:
once more it's not about
the people it's about
grammatical technicalities...
and... you... really can't rap about
that sort of crap...
it must require leisure:
eyes crying or eyes bleeding...
and time beyond: beyond time of my
allowance for anything
to achieve a stature of: ripeness...
such that: in the immediacy of
composition: it's necessarily
mediocre - it's just agitating enough
to know it exists without
it being agitating enough
to be given a phonetic palette of
gurgling: rumble-rumble-oh...
a tongue that trills the R but can also
mimic the numbing tarantula bit R of
Woah-don... all Lone Escapee
not literally: the river that professes
a tide but not bulging at the seams
of a monsoon seasons...
it flows in... it flows out...
it's murky greyish matted zenith for
the eye to peer at...
            again: what's lost this
conversation was never started...
                all these nuances of "jealousy"
and of... limp-**** echo jolting...
it's forever a team-up
of shaking hands with my shadow...
perhaps from fear of "impotence" - aside, aside...
now this really is  relish:
a solipsistic exhibitionism model -
but at the same time:
skim reading into beauty:
that there is: always in traffic of...
let me allow this grand word an outlet:
democracy like in school
when we were told:
it's better to draw a straight line
with three coordinates...
       "just to make sure"...
          i see straights line all the time...
it only takes... from A through
to a B...
unless: the copernican veil:
it always has to become
so grand and devoid at the beginning
then so humble and hollow self
and minding the numbers
for: but reinviting the old
geocentric model for:
our drama of huddling by a fireplace...
orate me this...
i can't reach this focus group
attentiveness for entertaining crowds...
not this writing perhaps
escapes into fiction: but all that friction
i'm back... armed with an x-ray
of words and an oyster for
where the brain is supposedly at work...

- hyphenated new entry: supposedly
either verse of paragraph...
it's a telling sign that i've come to abhor
that i write... juxtapositions any
new tenures of the supposed unexpected...
it's still this inverted "claustrophobia"
of "verbiage":
now bounce... bounce *******
for the suffix -phobia...
to groove into details of:
how best to walk...

    for all the exotic details of
a well composed night... in that all of them
are detailed with people awaiting
hindering... talk of people and people
the gross misjudged inconvenience
of "individual"...

if i don't borrow some cyrillic
or some greek i'll become head from
a guillotine utilised as
canon fodder...
that's me... head limbo tongue
squiggling worm-esque:
now that language has an image
i can't talk briefly: i can't rap
and conjure fudge details
for the membrane...

i write as quickly as the eye deciphers
what can be: limitless
in literacy...
given... the priestly caste kept me
from this, apart, for so long...
i can... wait a little... borrow some blues...
but then by 34 years old
i'm this disgruntled stereotypical
loath... mein zunge ist nein neu...
i'm parrot-phrasing some:
Horace... conversation overtones:
because i hardly think it's necessary
to ingest a tongue through the ears...
sometimes it might require
an eye...

i start drinking i demand of myself:
to forget to blink...
and then... as that happens...
i hardly expect to find my own voice
trapped in giving democracy
for: flowers or bricks or ****-soiled
mattresses my own: echo... prince...
it's so impossible to:
an-ti-thesis...
                ff...           ff: thrist for...
                alTHough...

            V's up a welsh longbow man victory
salute... i look at the corner of
my room... it spells out a geometry of
Y...
         i look at a serpent's tongue...
Y slithers into my tongue...
i curse the sound of J...
in english...            it's beside a dryness
excvated...

now i feel inclined to be
the most workaholic...
the best performing plumber...
i want to be a daily post-office cue:
"anon" walking marathons to no end...
since the day:
the day that paper had to reach
for a route of the horses:
how they are still kept...
to saddle... but hardly... to be exploited
to work...

they... just... graze...
equestrian... in the english "freely available":
i've walked the routes where horses
****...
lucky for me... i have yet someone
arrived at a speeding porsche scenario...
to own... a horse...
but to never... sit in one...
at a gallop...

poland has cheaper details concerning
renting out horses...
and... for all the awe-sigh-pondering...
one would expect...
being able to... saddle up a horse
for prizing a gallop...
two heels digging into the torso
for a "gear change" bravado...

as it stands:
i'll go to either hungary of the czech republic
to take care of dentistry...
then i'll go horse riding in poland...
too little of me investing
in... yachts...
         then again... yachts...
or pedigree dogs... proper...
rottweilers or alsatians...
                and such legs as i have
to walk either genus...
        
not in england... though... these
animals
have been grazing long enough
you'd start thinking...
what if... we... re-painted all
those battle canvases...
with men having mounted...
bulls...
what if we replaced
all those horses
with the charge of men
adoring bulls...
and took to eating more horse-meat
than... these poor castrato beef
hulks...
what if?
it's only impossibly: what if... isn't it?

- such that i delude myself with
my antagonist...
the ferocity of youth and health...
that i cling to shadow like
i might cling to blinking...
prior to old age i am...
walking around a choice of trees...
i tend to burden myself
with birches...
on the continent... furthest east
before you encounter russia:
you can find patches of forest
reserved for birches solely!
not in england... "though"...

well... so much of my life is but
a memory that...
so much of it has to invoke
patterns of debilitating stressors
in the vein of: exaggeration...

which is not... but since so much
is the same:
to the point where... even a *******
in a brothel would have to remark:
'but... you haven't changed!'
i read that as her giving ear to...
a kierkegaard's the changelessness of god...
for that matter: most assured...
a stone is... a mountain a sea...
a river... a man can also...
change very little...
but then again: what are the habits
of mountains...
what makes us... stale impersonators
of a supposedly exciting: yesterday...
last autumn?

i like the idea of being undisrupted:
a mimic a replica...
no clone will ever touch this
crimson lent caricature should
shame dethrone my brows...

they might just... drop off...
it can almost be deemed agitating that
i remain as constant as:
an inanimate object...
prostitutes should know...
you haven't changed...
unchanging is hardly an impasse...
being thus is...

yes... it's enough to pet animals
in order to doubly appreciate
the patience that's required from releasing
oneself from being a music *****...
as to how i became...
the benevolent misanthrope and
not... this... overtly-protectful:
scheming philantrophe...
beats me...

             i supposedly signatured my
presence to a gynocentric / heliocentric...
world order... or a patriarchy / geocentric world...
muddle spaghetti toasted figs monster...
blah blah return...

i am a misanthrope...
but at least i'm not a meddling philanthropist...
quote: mickey microsoft yates
"might have said":
by the time the second wave hits...
they might know... etc etc.

quote me on god:
i intejectd once... big mistake...
i had to satisfy myself with...
let them settled their own battles...
i will not take sides...
they engaged themselves
with crafting the pyramids...
they can escape concentration camps...
it's not like they will be alone
in the endeavour... it's not like
other people will not hear their plight...
the end...

how does this supposed "god" work...
the genius sadistic ingenuity of
the demiurge: new atheism citations
of parasites...
that wriggle into the eyes
of lambs...
        god is not a c.c.t.v.: please put
your chewing gum into a designated bin!
do not! spit! your chewing gum!
onto the pavement!

this is the vain attempt to convert
atheists?!
hyper-escalating
the already hyper-escalated
omni- litany?
  what of pause for death?
can't death be given a romance
and an angelic personification...
it has to be so ******* sterile?!
so... ha ha! alias... "godless"?

the stone becomes godless because...
the cat starts to fiddle with its
tongue for the prospect of reclaiming
genitals: by a smear of a tongue:
and that's why i kosher! chicken protein
pulp used in... a kentucky fried
wings: pigs don't fry:
sort of a spectacle...

             minus one "point": *******
to that...
they start decapitating french history teachers
who are presumably arsonists...
the 'acking ****- has a quest
to re-noun the dire straits
of telling me:
what the concept of reconquista
implores! let alone... implies!

we have achieved a fever pitch
with what book burning provided...
at a time time and a whine
when the monotheistic gods
don't have enough to **** or therefore
enough to settle for...
**** on some sand and let's call it
glue and a sand-castle:
**** it... let's call it...
a kettle of boiling water...

you heave this monstrosity of certain affairs...
you heave this... diatribe of
diabolical quests...
you become this figment
of invested life...
this crease wording...
that has to be met with ironing:

this antagonist hebrew motto
prior to: how their pride...

nasze kamienice: wasze ulice...
our tenements: your streets...
this is how the jews spoke
in ******-land... prior to their great
expulsion:
as most people do when
they talk with a wounding of their pride...
i still acknowledge the testimony
of the hebrews:
god-fearing folk are not...
their-god celebratory allahu akbar esque:
shorthand for...
if you were... circumcised upon
salvaging an inconvenience of marriage:
as to how...
Kant made the bachelor rite
a status juncture... for... right...

i don't own a porsche...
   it's not status symbol: it's not a klup necessary...
but if i owned a horse...
i'd know how to gallop with it...
break a neck etc.

this will not make it for the
egravious, larger, audience?
oh.. sorrow woo for you too...
paid for... mr / mrs. netflix
queening and boisterous king-ish...
no?
  then... pay for your own
******* bread... let me conjure up
mine!
critique for what's freely available is
a bit like:
terming in ******* when it rains
and you're not equipped with
an umbrella...
because... it has to be necessarily:
raining over saint tropez...

****** wriggling await...
for a hand-job cold fingertips
sort of gimmick...
****** of sorts...

i suppose there might have been
an audience... but... the again...
supposing there was never a supposed 'un...
i proposition: i...
i heave a conjunction: thought...
i don't allow myself an
immediacy of "reliving the past":
most immediately...
with: think or thinking...
i brush up on all over
the moral nuances...

and... hey presto!
                      a body of work... of wording...
best left completely ignored...
ergo... moi... or a germanic upper
tier variation: m'eh...
here's to!
how tulips dare to resound
in... keel-y-anyah.
i've never been...
but i'm betting
the lithuanians and the ukrainians
will give me... auxiliary / sputnik...
tabloid press hive mind-set
preemptive details to:
concern myself over / with...

here's to finger-crossing goo!
Qualyxian Quest Jul 2021
137
It's probably apophenia
Meaning my need for meaning

UFOs, thar she blows
Tolkien be tweening

Quixotic Quest, quiet rest
Life is lonely leaning

Still I seek, Susan Meek
Quiet sacred queening

                 137

— The End —