"quips" poems
he said/begged,
make love to me just like a woman!
kiss me toe to head, linger on my neck,
trace my waist, begin at my lips, pause at my hips,
quibbles intersperse, quips and licks on eyelids,
nibble me, near me, close and closer yet
unto the glorious victorious near death experience...
whisper me sweet everythings
before during after and over again,
when you must pause to exhale, blow all their warmth
upon thy fingers and bring that warmth inside
Columbus
me with tongue and eyes,
take me slow then again,
even slower, for thy pleasure,
than execute summary judgement upon me
falsely accept, then deny, deny, deny
my every appeal to
oh my god
for anyone's mercy!
adjudge me then guilty yet again,
and to the tower take me
to drown in mine own lashing lamentations,
thy incontrovertible evidence,
mine own uncensored revelations
execute me twice,
slowly, goodly with lengthy and lovely measures
*she said, and so I shall, eventually,
do what you beseech, what you most excellently seek
but you may recall, somewhat earlier, I called out
shotgun
so you must start my dear by following
all the precise driving instructions you just stated,
and bring your GPS^, and, oh yes,
I'm waiting...*
too wit and sod this!
he gruffingly huffingly, hurrumphingly, replied,
*all hell and damnation,
treat me like a woman just once pity-please!"
*can't can't can't -
she be-witchingly cackled!
then sang to me the lyrical words of a
Nobel Prize winner!*
"***You fake just like a woman
Yes you do, you make love like a woman
Yes you do, and then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little boy**"
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
I'm starting to dream in color
swimming in Silvia red night gowns
and dancing into silhouettes of purple and crimson.
psychedelic actually,
if you take the time to think within that perspective.
it's like a toned-down rave set in slow motion by overdose.
and where are you?
are you passed out on the lawn in front of some closed down swapmeet?
did the flicker of insomnia turn you off like a light switch you hadn't paid the bill for?
who now, will answer your phone or pay homage to your quips
or late night phone calls to God?
I wish I could say that I relayed the message
but my nerves never were enough.
I wonder if the angels ever picked up on the twisted games you played on their names.
Many people never bothered to decipher it all.
But on occasion I did.
When the time was convenient,
when the moments were dull.
I delved into it.
I tried anyhow.
Forgive me for never letting you pass.
For standing arms and legs wide apart to halt the inevitable.
I wish for so many seconds
that I was there to do something,
to show something,
some inkling of understanding through sarcastic grimaces.
To you, who will read this and play dead for flair,
may you call upon me from the imaginary casket when you get this.
Fore I do see that you could never leave like that.
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 9:56 PM UTC
Everyone’s peddling something, she complains...
And I a bicycle for two, I reply.
You’re so short-sighted, she retorts...
But I may have missed you were I not, I say.
You’re too happy-go-lucky, she quips...
But I think I’m lucky-to-be-happy, I grin back.
You poets are so unrealistic, she says...
On the contrary, love, we breath life into realism.
You’ve got your head in the clouds, honey...
But I was just looking for you, my angel.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 2:44 AM UTC
She is My cream nicotine
The
Surging through our blues
The fluidity of divinity
Juxtapose
Whoever said love was easy…
Yeah 'Ol Chap, they Sure had it right,
Because no man or lady can ever Subtract
Once their hue has mixed it can never go back.
2 Whipped Cream and Other Delights.
And why would you?
The dregs are bitter,
The milk too sweet.
If you water it down then
All flavor retreats
Life is just better off Bitter-Sweet,
Cream never asks coffee
On how it should mix
Why do we attempt these liquid alchemy tricks?
The intrusion is dilution of the Makers choice
Through imperfection comes the lesson
Learned perception with each sip
The air red dried truth
The
Words stuck to the lips
Tasters Digest the last drink drips
Yet I question why I am so subject
to infusion
Her meaningful quips
Why we attempt these liquid alchemy tricks?
Still I question why I am so subject
to the infusion of Her
Dips
Sometimes I call it Love
Sometimes I call it Quits
For You My Dear
Let's Cheers Another Grip
of
Seared Buds and Belly Aches
and
Lactose Licorice
So
Pour Another! while the Argument still in Air
and
While Dilutions of gratification Grind into Frothy Despair
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
Why should I care you're there,
Or anywhere.
It was you who interrupted the night;
I watched you stare down the fire,
Scrape your initials in the ashes.
If it weren't for family,
The confusion and strained dialogue,
Like appearances,
I wouldn't see you at all.
Stay you do, everywhere.
So I tell a joke or two, one line quips,
And you were smiling,
While you're there,
Where I should no longer care.
What would be the aftermath of such a collision?
One wreck towed off.
It doesn't bother me in the least,
Our complimentary pauses
At the four way stops,
Or roadside memorials,
With faded yellow ribbons and thirsty flowers
Pinned to a styrofoam cross.
There is no rest, and little peace.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
The curves that could **** a man
Aren't at her hips
But dance around her lips
As words that serve neither to stroke nor strangle the silence that tangles inside your grip, but sings and breathes beneath wings of wit from
Those casually crafted curves
Weaving a wind into a wave
Never tumbleweeding out
But either darting
Or floating
To and through you
As an inner voice would
Had you not muffled it with music
And reduced it to one or two loose lipped quips and semantic antics
Curves, warm with form and with friction
Neither liquid or gas in state
With no mass but with weight
They're past but don't pass away
They lay aloft, lingering in the light they were given unto
Or, did they bring the light to you?
Oh yes.
Sultry sounds of synchronizing synapses
Seep and slide deep inside, into the spaces
That two souls so similar, long have sat
Seemingly separate from the infinite vastness
Telepathic, though she doesn't act it.
Hourglass figure, go figure
The hourglass smashes
Or remains undetected, in those seconds
The curves that could **** a man
Form the words that could resurrect him.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
Every day, a new sentence
prepared in our heads
We try to plan out our lives
but they never coincide
I'm looking up to the sky
With all these questions why
thinking that I'll get answers in reply
I can't seem to think straight
Thought I had all this sense
But I can't find the change
And every day I check,
that a new day has come
But I'm a song stuck on repeat
one that sticks in your conscious for weeks
Why am I not living life the way I should
Seems I’m stuck in traffic Morning and night
Work all day just to come home to sleep away the night
Is this really all I'm meant to be
Used to think I was meant for greatness
Now I just can't see, that being me.
Feels like I've left this all too late
I came unprepared to storm this gate
Better turn back now,
just let this dream fade
Always thought greatness
was where my life would lead
But now I see, I didn't need greatness
To feel fulfilled and succeed
Thought fame would be away
To achieve everything I'd need
But fame just brings disaster
and attention I really don't want
So I think I can be happy with what I've got
And this is no real story
Just thinking out loud
Through fingers, I keep typing
Hoping this will connect
Maybe someone out there
Needs something to which they can relate
And I've felt those feelings
where you spiritually connect
In others writings, It's a talent
Which is a blessing to possess
I'm trying to find that spark
That helped me light up the dark
Haven't written in so long
But I know this is somewhere I belong
Why am I not living life the way I should
Seems I’m stuck in traffic Morning and night
Work all day just to come home to sleep away the night
Is this really all I'm meant to be
Used to think I was meant for greatness
Now I just can't see, that being me.
Feels like I've left this all too late
I came unprepared to storm this gate
Better turn back now,
just let this dream fade
Always thought greatness
was where my life would lead
But now I see, I didn't need greatness
To feel fulfilled and succeed
Thought fame would be away
To achieve everything I'd need
But fame just brings disaster
and attention I really don't want
So I think I can be happy with what I've got
I've written a bunch of verses
Unfinished works, Sometimes it truly hurts
losing motivation for something
you once so dearly loved
It got you through all those hard times
Now you won't even take the time
To write out some lines,
think of some quips and rhymes
Try to define yourself as a poet
Get those emotions out
With a pen and paper now
So that you can show it
And all those who need to read
So that they can see
there not in this alone,
They're in this with me
Why am I not living life the way I should
Seems I stuck in traffic Morning and night
Work all day just to come home to sleep away the night
Is this really all I'm meant to be
Used to think I was meant for greatness
Now I just can't see, that being me.
Feels like I've left this all too late
I came unprepared to storm this gate
Better turn back now,
just let this dream fade
Always thought greatness
was where my life would lead
But now I see, I didn't need greatness
To feel fulfilled and succeed
Thought fame would be away
To achieve everything I'd need
But fame just brings disaster
and attention I really don't want
So I think I can be happy with what I've got
©2017 Written By Benji James
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
In the depths of the night, where shadows creep,
Lie tales of darkness, so hauntingly deep.
A moon cloaked in mist, a chilling wind's wail,
Where spirits awaken, and courage may fail.
Beneath gnarled trees, a graveyard awakes,
Where restless souls wander, their rest at stake.
With hollowed eyes and whispers of despair,
They yearn for release from their eternal snare.
Amongst the tombstones, a figure does tread,
A specter in black, with a cloak like the dead.
Her name is Lilith, the mistress of fright,
With a wicked grin, she conjures the night.
"Oh! Hear my call," she whispers in the dark,
As she weaves her spells, leaving her mark.
Bats take to the sky, their wings spread wide,
Guiding lost souls, to the other side.
In the haunted manor, spirits do dwell,
Where echoes of laughter turn into a knell.
Ghostly footsteps echo down the hall,
As the present and past collide and enthrall.
The clock strikes midnight, the hour of dread,
When the veil between worlds grows thin, it is said.
Ghosts emerge from their slumber, seeking release,
Their ethereal presence, a haunting caprice.
In the flickering candlelight, shadows dance,
As witches gather, their potions enhance.
With cauldrons bubbling and spells on their lips,
They conjure enchantments, with mystical quips.
Oh! Beware the night, when the jack-o'-lanterns glow,
And spirits arise from the depths below.
For Halloween's magic, a captivating lure,
Where darkness and mystery forever endure.
So, as the moon rises, casting an eerie glow,
Embrace the enchantment, let your fears go.
For on this haunted eve, when the spirits unite,
We celebrate Halloween, in the shadows of night.
But tread carefully, for darkness is near,
And the spirits are watching, with ghoulish cheer.
Enjoy the thrill, the ***** and the fright,
On this chilling Halloween night.
Oct 27, 2023
Oct 27, 2023 at 9:12 AM UTC
we are not the
embodiment of beauty,
despite the way
your
quips dance with
my vagary,
or how
our bones are trophies
built from the
same bits of shrapnel
from explosions,
forged by hands
who never learned
how to fashion empires
out of anything
but fragments,
no,
we are much more
than beautiful,
we are
isotopic, enigmatic,
we’re magnetic and
eclectic,
we are
the sum of all things,
a compilation, a mosaic,
we are a
memoir of the universe,
we are fate,
we’re algebraic,
we’re the intersection
of two lines
without a destination,
but
when i follow the trail of
freckles
up your spine,
i find the root
of my
elation
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
Rendered offenses
Sweat in the opinion, sakes
And due attention, to reason amends
Acting only a little saner, the stark stare a host makes...
Do you notice, evermore?
Anyway, the truth we prepose of...
Has a callous beginning, too sore
For a challenge of wisdom, that even does?
Prayers of dour anger...
For the aspire and means we favor
With a realm to a touch, tough knowing you and life's danger...
The reality of another fight, with sin as the futures flavor?
Speed has a question, dwindling in the wind
Suspect days, to redoubt and list the scope of an argument
That has the silence we afforded it, to keep the shadows of kin
Proper is as proper had, the hush of simple tomorrows, a problem to relent...
Toward sharing, the taste of a hoping kiss...?
That when recognized, sympathy is an answer; only a heed can tell...
The prayer of estrangement, has become a chastity's wish
Will a savior in love, know the better of kindness; here's your hell...
With a baring lip, that has suggested a toothsome reply to quips
And hearts to accept the solace of terror, a harrowing finish to past lies...?
That began and ended with a promise found in the bolting and gray wits
Of a dread simplicity, still running to wisdom's charity, which requited...
Sep 21, 2023
Sep 21, 2023 at 8:55 PM UTC
Honesty is the best policy,
One we've chosen to abstain.
Honestly I'd rather you be honest with me;
Walking on eggshells we could refrain.
Tiptoeing around so we don't step upon the cracks in our floors,
Holding our breath tight so we don't breath in the thick truth-
God forbid we just speak honestly anymore,
God forbid we let all of the unsaid thoughts loose.
Honestly I can't say I know you like I once did,
And that's absolute fact.
All because we have absolutely forbid
Ourselves from a backtrack-
Backtracking to when we could actually talk without thinking before speaking
Or worrying about what we have said.
No worries of the truth leaking
From our honest hearts and heads.
I don't want your meaningless quips,
Your aimless remarks.
I prefered the small notes on slips,
Our conversations in the dark.
Honesty is the best policy,
A policy we tried and found true-
A policy we have declined to upkeep,
A policy we once knew.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
Words run down rutty cheeks and phrases pour out of ears and snotty clauses pool on a top lip. A sleeping lizard with tough skin fills the mouth with a little bit of space for the foot propped up against the molars in the back. Some magnificent ******** can part their jaws to let cascades of magnificent sense pass from them. This unfortunate individual, however, cannot stream any quips out of the correct orifice. If some promising witticism manages to squeeze past the big fat iguana under that palate then the bitter thing would flick at the uvula with its tail and the witty remark would be gagged out in the most broken form it could possibly take. The lie it cultivates is that everything inside is at least a little embarrassing. Desperately romanticising about growing a soft, lizard-less mouth must somehow cure the hard working mute someday. Because what the hell else is there to do when one needs to be undaunted and well-spoken?
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
The garbage in my room
Smells like embarrassment
It’s the hot Cheetos bag that sits in my desk
It’s the q-tips with earwax
The ideas that float around in my head
And my roommates toenail clippings
The garbage in my room
Clutters the free space
Taking up room that it should not take
The shopping bags and boxes
That held beautiful things
Now empty and cumbersome
The garbage in my room
Takes up my memory
Forgotten blog posts and poems
Fill the hard drive in my brain
Silly thoughts and quips
Only attempt to clear it out
The garbage in my room
Sits in the can
Thinking of ways to grow
Out of proportion
Waiting to spill out onto the floor
And start crawling up the walls
The garbage in my room
Needs to be taken out.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
The ten count is over
He's down for the count
The Greatest is gone from this world
But, we will remember
He will stay here forever
As we think of the quips that he hurled
As fast as his fists flew
His lip was much faster
He rhymed with the greatest of ease
Parkinson's slowed him
But, we will remember
The Greatest of All...ALI
Known by the masses
After his time in the ring
He was an angel sent to this earth
He had his convictions
Became a man of the people
He showed what a real life was worth
A true gentle giant
With the speed of a mongoose
The Louisville Lip...that was he
We all know his trademark
How he floated and stung
The Greatest...Muhammad Ali
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
quips scrawled on scraps of paper, written
during a come-down stupor. something
she wrote, and then proceeded to destroy.
(i gathered all the pieces but have become
too lazy to care how she upset herself)
drawings drawn in between sentences,
in between words. in between syllables. drawn
to obviate thought, to put me somewhere
between Zen and poser. (the drugs obviate titles,
but i’d hedge my bets on the latter)
the remains of the Urban Squirrel Hunter –
a mythology of the Grey Fox –
shredded in the maw of a blue heeler-mutt.
written while ****** drunk, and heat-stroked.
poetry of a homeless kid.
ramblings of an alcoholic, ravings of a tweaker,
with commentary by the one who is just visiting –
self-destruction is all we can ever be certain of.
religion created in a notebook while
doing research on a chemical. figured out what
near-death means, found life by dumb luck.
found life via pocket valiums,
gave up religion while sweating in the snow.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:41 PM UTC
I espied the wisps,
whisper with their lips,
quivering their golden hips,
orbiting blooming tulips,
to provoke me, with their quips.
Taking out an old crock,
stalking behind a rock,
I trailed those glowing beetles,
whiffing the fragrance of myrtles,
skipped across the backyard,
to catch the fireflies, flitting haphazard,
Humming and buzzing, I could hear,
with luminous insects tickling my ear.
Losing my faith, I turned back home
followed by an unknown kith, adventuresome;
He sat on my finger, glimmering with radiance
wish he did linger, while I stood
hypnotised, under nature’s brilliance.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
When I was young,
I thought that one day
I'd learn to shave my face
and wear a polio brace.
This might seem absurd to you,
but I just thought it's what you do
when you become a man.
My father wore one of his own,
His left leg, withered to the bone,
and Dad was the first man I knew,
so I thought that was just what men do.
He walked with a limp,
but his head held high.
He looked life, no shame,
right in the eye.
He didn't let a moment pass him by,
because that's what men do.
He went to college, and got a degree,
and earned his keep most honestly.
He never asked for charity,
though he said "there's no shame
if you have to."
He was always humble, but not insecure,
of mind and body he was always sure-
for he kept them healthy, kept them pure,
because that's what men do.
He was always smiling, and quick as a whip,
his dinner parties were always a trip-
watching him and his guests exchange quips;
he was the funniest guy they knew.
And if a loved one was down and out,
he was the first one there, without doubt.
He said you should never let one do without,
because that's what men do.
He had a strong mind, and the heart of a bear,
He faced even tragedy with savoir faire
But his strong calm demeanor didn't hide his care,
The world knew his heart was true.
He stayed faithfully by my mother's side,
as the cancer took her and she slowly died,
I understood, when he finally cried,
that that is what men do.
I grew up and learned how to shave my face,
but not before Dad went to a "better place".
Still, til his last breath, he faced life with grace,
with a smile on his face, and a polio brace,
because that's what men do.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
You had me watching your mouth verbatim.
The way your lips formed the words I could hardly focus on,
because the corners of your mouth curled in a way I haven't yet seen.
Our adventitious exchanges were works of art,
painted by filthy minds,and fueled by my own flushed face.
murmurer à moi, mon cher
I'm taken aback by your quips,
and how easily they make me want you.
I'd be lying if I said that you saying my name
didn't make me think evocatively,
of what would happen, were we ever alone.
murmurer à moi, mon cher
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
smiling though the lamps fade fast
smiling with white teeth against the night
to and fro they are dancing and
the dance is not wasted on us
white and silver marking your silhouette
touching though hands are pale
hums in rhythm to sad musicals or
distorted lullabies for grown ups
the necklace in your mouth is weeping
bleeding like my heart is now
dancing though the night's gone
the stars rock us away
he's rocking with his shirt undone
he's rocking quips and ego oh
it's a long way home from here
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
Can I, oh can I please—
Tell you about my sweetest dream?
Oh-woah, the sweetest thing
The setting sun; sky of purple, orange, red
Two lovely figures, down by the swing set
Oh-woah, the sweetest thing
Their eyes are locked, their hearts are tied
Nothing else in the world to make them satisfied
Oh-woah, the sweetest thing
One thing alone is missing:
Gentle delicate kissing
Oh-woah, the sweetest thing
But a quick little peck on the lips
Is amongst the cruelest of quips
Oh-woah, the sweetest thing
When passion is present and passion is pure
A little longer, a kiss can endure
Oh-woah, the sweetest thing
A little push, a little pull
Each wanting the other to know
Oh-woah, the sweetest thing
Your lips tasted so **** good
So strong I could not have stood
Oh-woah, the sweetest thing
I wanted more, but it was more than enough
Oh-woah, the sweetest thing
Your lips, your eyes, your heart
Oh-woah, the sweetest thing
Our passion or love; my nighttime dream…
Oh-woah, the sweetest thing
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 4:40 AM UTC
Over time I've realized I'm the type of person who can draw anyone in
Mysterious, yet comforting to be around
An altruistic listener, an effective conversationalist, a trusted confidant
Modest as I may be, I do understand where I stand with most people
I'm the person you call when you're having a bad day, or need a ride, or even to bask in the glory of your successes;
a promotion at work, a new fling
I'm that person
The person to go to with your something;
your need, or your news
Intriguing from afar
Many want to delve into the depths
Uncover the story within
Until they realize that there's more
There's always more
Like a black hole pulling you in
Only to find that it's expanse goes on indefinitely
After a while my quips, my quirks
become exhausting
To others
No one can fathom traveling the distance
So they don't
They turn back
I willingly release them
of my gravitational pull
Then we both float on
In opposing directions
It's funny how one can be too much
Yet somehow, never enough
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 9:46 PM UTC
Tiptoe timidly,
oh my tongue.
Speak not the words
That toe on your tip.
Swallow the surplus,
you swift little thing,
And mind that these slivers
Are given to slip.
Forget your fidgeting,
Fingers of mine.
Flee from the keystrokes
You’re fighting to flip.
Quiet your queries,
Your qualms, and questions.
Kith care not for clinging,
Nor for your quips.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 4:23 AM UTC
~
Gumby, Wood Woodpecker and Me
~
somewhere in the mother lode
of a thousand poems scripted,
lies a pen-pained tribulation, an old ode,
to the taming of the shrew,
the shock and awe of my new born,
slept-on hair mode
Ogdiddy,
she says,
rise up quick!
thy self to the mirror dispatch,
see what god hath wrought
upon thy head this brand new morn
blessed am I,
at this late stage,
in posses of a
goodly and shocking amount
of hair au naturel
each of my body's parts has a mind of its own,
my hairs, each one a different opinion and resultantly
an amazing new creation born come dawn
sometimes straight up like Gumby
she quips,
sometimes a shocking tail to one side
in the style of one Woody Woodpecker,
she mockingly cries!
and on and on each daily
a new cartoon characterization proposition,
until one day in feigned wrath I do reply
*just you wait Mrs. Higgins, just you wait,
you will rue the day my do
will be best described and descried by you
as akin to that of one known as
SpongeBob SquarePants*
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 9:01 AM UTC
Take a chance on me, my love
Let's see how far it goes
I swear to open up my heart
But vow to look in close
Explore the depths of my soul
Find the places where I hide
Tear down the walls I built
To keep out the irresolute of heart
Probe the edges of my mind
Peel out my layers one by one
Collect my broken pieces
See past my cold facade
Know the silly stories I keep
And what makes my eyes light up
The quips that make me giggle
The ploys that make me laugh
Learn the words that speak to me
And the tricks that make me smile
The tunes that pull my heartstrings
The scenes that make me cry
Honey, take my hand in haste
Like there's not a time to waste
Keep me safe inside your arms
Like I would never come to harm
In turn, I'll lie beside you
And be there when you want
I'll be your little sunshine
To cheer you when you're down
I'll know when you need to be alone
Or if you need someone to care
I'll take pride in your achievements
And delight in all your quirks
I'll believe in all your dreams
And trust the words you say
I'll savor all our moments
And please you in every way
Take a chance on me my love
Let's see how far it goes
If you find you still don't love me
I swear to let you go
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC