"raggy" poems
kisses on your warm sweet mouth
tender lips caressed
exploring your ******* and raised ******* ..
belly and thighs enveloped
those eager dark delicious places that i covet so
your musk erogenous
the path to your hungry soul
eater of the poison apple
your eyes widen bright with delight
a strange synesthesia you say
your smile a hypnotic alter
you prone
back arched
belly willing
as i drag a curved blade slowly across your winsome flesh
worshiping you
breathing your warm breath into my mouth and nostrils
come now
you coo
i am sheildless
then little strangles that excite
to see how you do
will you love it
adorations twisted mind
she demon
a wizened dizzy Venus
please yes
her **** drenches the bed
a warm viscosity
legs widen
feet piqued
*****
exotic delicatessen
Heralded
i enter with long sweet butter strokes
the sabbath of desire
I swear
i wont let you suffer...
never !
why you say?
because i love you
lovely scythe you call
as if lulled to sleep
whispering dreadful incantations .
i ache to close the curtain
to lifes scalding chatter
wrap me
in a raggy shawl
impale the throat
like ive alway dreamed
a last exhalation
flood gates pour forth
as deaths dark fold
dissolves all
i rock you drugged
absinthe and wormwood
a last ***** of candles flame
white gauze cinched
lips on a lost mouth
eyes a static pyre
i linger
wishing you still plush
an animated glow
so that i could feel your arms,
now milky white relics
only to take you all over again and again and again
dreamer of the abyss
yet you stand
aberrations, smoke ghost
sacrificially swaying your hips
calling from Hades
dancer of ritual copulation
i melt like wax in the sun
wither
and die myself
marriage Italian style
dead bells in love
blotted out by the Sirens of Mara
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a ***** play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway . . .
He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o' those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man's soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that ***** sing, that old piano moan--
"Ain't got nobody in all this world,
Ain't got nobody but ma self.
I's gwine to quit ma frownin'
And put ma troubles on the shelf."
Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more--
"I got the Weary Blues
And I can't be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can't be satisfied--
I ain't happy no mo'
And I wish that I had died."
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.
4.1k
I am a miner. The light burns blue.
Waxy stalactites
Drip and thicken, tears
The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.
Black bat airs
Wrap me, raggy shawls,
Cold homicides.
They weld to me like plums.
Old cave of calcium
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,
Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the fish----
Christ! They are panes of ice,
A vice of knives,
A piranha
Religion, drinking
Its first communion out of my live toes.
The candle
Gulps and recovers its small altitude,
Its yellows hearten.
O love, how did you get here?
O embryo
Remembering, even in sleep,
Your crossed position.
The blood blooms clean
In you, ruby.
The pain
You wake to is not yours.
Love, love,
I have hung our cave with roses.
With soft rugs----
The last of Victoriana.
Let the stars
Plummet to their dark address,
Let the mercuric
Atoms that ******* drip
Into the terrible well,
You are the one
Solid the spaces lean on, envious.
You are the baby in the barn.
3.3k
Too many bottles of this wine we can't pronounce
Too many bowls of that green, no lucky charms
The maids come around too much
Parents ain't around enough
Too many joy rides in daddy's jaguar
Too many white lies and white lines
Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends
Super rich kids with nothing but fake friends
Start my day up on the roof
There's nothing like this type of view
Point the clicker at the tube
I prefer expensive news
New car, new girl
New ice, new glass
New watch, good times babe
It's good times, yeah
She wash my back three times a day
This shower head feels so amazing
We'll both be high, the help don't stare
They just walk by, they must don't care
A million one, a million two
A hundred more will never do
Real love, I'm searching for a real love
Real love, I'm searching for a real love
Oh, real love
Close your eyes for what you can't imagine, we are the xany gnashing
Caddy smashing, bratty *** he mad, he snatched his daddy's Jag
And used the **** for batting practice, adamant and he thrashing
Purchasing ****** grams with half the hand of cash you handed
Panicking, patch me up, Pappy done latch keyed us
Toying with Raggy Anns and mammy done had enough
Brash as **** breaching all these aqueducts; don't believe us
Treat us like we can't erupt, yup
We end our day up on the roof
I say I'll jump, I never do
But when I'm drunk I act a fool
Talking 'bout , do they sew wings on tailored suits
I'm on that ledge, she grabs my arm
She slaps my head
It's good times, yeah
Sleeve rips off, I slip, I fall
The market's down like 60 stories
And some don't end the way they should
My silver spoon has fed me good
A million one, a million cash
Close my eyes and feel the crash
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 12:06 AM UTC
On this soil where grows struggle, I hawk my sweat,
Investing my sufferings on the stench of wretchedness;
Can these green leaves bring me beacons of wealth?
I'd build my hope on the ants and termites from this train,
Its train track attracts multitude of bees with honey;
Aside this soil full of thorns, I've no other place to hawk my sweat.
Is there any hope for hope, when I am stripped of my gain by tax locusts?
All my hope is invested in the honey of bees who buy my sweat,
I fear not the tempting sun, for her smiles has become my hope;
But how can I survive the scorching economy, when I barely earn?
Even the spot on which I tread my sweat, is become an empty sea,
Aside this spot where the rain molests me, I've no hope of survival.
Beside this rusty train, where hunger steals the day, I hawk my sweat,
If I don't pressure my struggles, how can I survive the rainy days?
The sun feasts on me, cause I made her the hope of my gain,
No matter how hard I am molested, I'll never give up on my hope;
Though I hawk my sweat for living, I'll never forget my dreams,
Aside this raggy soil, where suffering is bred, I've no hope of survival.
Can I really continue hoping on hope, for not even my profit is fair,
The bees who bred honey on my sweat are now richly penniless;
Is there still hope left, as I tirelessly tread my hawking sweat?
The burden of life rests on my shoulders, for I must struggle to live,
Despite all my investment in suffering, I still can't save a penny;
Aside this soil, where I hawk my cheap sweat, I've no hope of living.
On this hardened soil where hardship is sweet, I hawk my sweat,
If I invest in my thoughts of trashing my retired cheap items,
How then will I survive the night when hungers knocks at my door?
Though I'm hawking my sweat, but I can't even feed my mouth,
Despite all my investment in suffering, I still can barely survive,
Is there still hope for me, as I solely depend on hawking my sweat?
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 7:48 PM UTC
if a goddess from above and lucifer had a kid, it would be you.
every weekend with you was new, but always started with you giving me a face full of make-up & one of your raggy shirts that i so desperately loved but you just picked up from your closet floor, not even thinking twice if it smelled or not. i didn't really care though, because even if it was ***** & smelled like your usual pack of malboros that i hated, i would try to find the slight smell of your lavender perfume that your ex-boyfriend got you from a cheap kiosk in the ****** mall we refuse to enter.
every time i come over i have to wake you up because you always oversleep whenever you take a nap before we go out, leaving a half-eaten bowl of soggy cereal in your lap & i always wonder how the hell it doesn't fall on you but then i remember that whenever you sleep by yourself you never move because when you were eight you were scared of monsters sensing you in the dark & you didn't want them taking you so you never moved from your spot in your little twin sized bed.
you made sure to always take your moms car quietly whenever she fell asleep which was usually around ten at night & i always listened to your instructions on how to follow you because i didn’t want you to be angry with me because you were known to have anger problems & that was one of the reasons you were sent to utah for a year.
you gave cats & sinners feet the path to run into mischief. you gave them wrath & you gave them love leading both to leave you & me wondering where you are now as i sit here writing this. hopefully thinking you’ll be in that little twin sized bed with your cereal & ***** shirts the same way i left you.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 5:51 AM UTC
Do you see the reflection of my face?
It is red. Simply red.
I care not to change it, it can be red
If red is what it would like to be.
Unreadable red—the stereo type
Of love and of passion.
I am sick of such redness—
This red I am not.
Can you see my fight inside?
It is orange, simply orange.
It is fiery and weird—
The orange place I have not explored
Orange, orange is my indecision
Orange peels in my place
In my burlap stomach
Orange my guilt.
Can you see the light on my chest?
It is yellow, simply yellow.
Yellow like sun in January
When grey passes.
Joyous yellow, where marigolds play
Where milk is churned to hope
And where smiles wade,
I roll in yellow.
Can you see the rage in my eyes?
It is green, simply green.
Green like emerald glens
And raggy earth.
Seductive green, my flute
My dancing color
In gentle waving grass
My green bed lies.
Can you see my shallow cheek?
It is blue, simply blue.
Blue like frost bitten morning,
All a’ sparkle
Patient blue, the color by which
My skin is velvet.
Blue interrupting my eyes—
Inconsiderate blue.
Do you see my sagging arms?
They are purple, simply purple.
Purple like complacence.
My purple love.
Pristine purple, holding on
To all it tends
My confidence, sweet,
Dearest purple.
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 5, 2011 at 11:20 AM UTC
The witch that lives down the road,
Has such long flowing red hair,
A Raggy Doll that cries a lot,
And a talking Teddy Bear.
I’ve seen her using a broom,
But only to do the sweeping,
I don’t spy on her all that much,
Just a bit of playful peeping.
And also, she has two cats,
One striped, and one jet black,
She talks to them all the time,
I don’t hear them answer back.
Once she gave me chocolate,
That I ate: I’m kind that way,
Sharing with my imaginary friend,
Who vanished that very same day!
I’m sure she does magic spells,
Making it sunny and the sky so blue,
With a breeze to dry her washing,
She does: I tell you it’s true!
Also, she has her own boyfriend,
I bet she made him from an ugly toad,
I wonder if she’d make one for me?
The witch that lives down the road.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
Walking through the regiments of
old red,cold,dead
tenements
giving compliments
to the planners who put spanners in the works
of parliaments.
The ghosts of raggy arsed kids still play football on the grass,
not caring a rats *** for the 'no ball games' sign and
lining up for 'nitty Nora' the bug explorer,
lice ain't nice even in the afterlife.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
ruh roh raggy
re taliban ris taking rover rafghanistan!
RAGAIN!
rey say rey want reace
i rink they're rying, raggy!
Aug 23, 2021
Aug 23, 2021 at 9:59 PM UTC
I curse that day but I bless this one!
though of course just another day in the system
cant find no friends guess god must of switched em
We judge the sins of mankind but I'm the only victim
In a world full of sinners they threw rocks but they missed one
daughters of man rise up and give life to the son
the road was raggy and the way was weary but the wars won
with a sigh of relief I dispense strife and grief,though they be heavy I turn a new leave,lifting my head to the rising Sun!
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 9:43 AM UTC
Be careful what your words speak be weary what your eyes see be afraid of your thoughts when they let you dream.
Remember that soft touch that made you blush and lust, learn from that soft touch that ended up hurting your confused heart.
It becomes hard to stop trying to understand were to start, the bottom of the food chain that pit is rough. It shattered me to shreds broke me but made me tough.
You ask your self why? You feel like a raggy old cloth your questions are pointless you always stumble and drop.
Tumbling and falling ending up on the same spot, you a raggy old doll back to front forgetting what it's all about. This poems a "Mixed Salad many lost meanings screaming out.
Is it truly amazing the poetry I'm creating? Does JidosReality attack every thought you try hiding?
I watch you standing there looking at your clock whilst it's ticking, you watch me over there paranoid at what I'm thinking.
Tick tock don't forget that time don't stop I think it confuses you trying to understand what my poetry is about.
order a mixed salad the menu ain't as dull as you are.
JidosReality 14.5.15
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
We are children of beggars
we have no choice but to automatically harness our little talent
or what we know it as
knowing how to beg and prolly wash cars
Since we’re surrounded by poverty
penury, and a radical outlook of insanity
We live our lives with no strings attached to it
all we do is just for us and those in our surroundings (family)
We’re children of beggars
Life’s hard those on the outside
They complain of mere power outs
But then, do we even know what’s called light?
In here is pitch-black
our raggy clothes own their rags
Even us is black and dark
Life for us is to black that it’s gone stark
Please help we children of beggars
We don’t know what is called life
To us, it’s just pure strife and massive plights
But with your help, we can have in life, better times
©Emmiasky Ojex
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 7:24 AM UTC
raggy,
risten to rhis,
"rells rike reen spirit"
r-I ruv rirvana raggy
rotgun to his head
now Rurt's dead
Sep 28, 2021
Sep 28, 2021 at 2:47 AM UTC