"ramming" poems
*she said
being a feminist
i have forsaken the temples of normalcy
for dark gratifications and base seduction
and discovered that those who know the pleasures
of objectification
and frenzied ****** lucidity with strangers
are wiser then the children of sweetness and light
as marriage betrays the need to satisfy
secret dark labyrinths desire
and in its place
repeats ad nauseum
blunt fortitudes
in dim sunless rooms
for fear of the transgressive
satans *** nail
is conventions essential creed
exhaustions hand maid
rendered imagine-less
bereft of the new
until a mere stand in
for true desire is left
like a starved ghost
on a dead moon
a desiccated morsel
left for a hungry mouse
is romantic marriage a poetic conception
by love starved victorian imbeciles
vanquished in increments
by petty spats of blood and thunder
who know not the joys of the whips blood toothed kisses
purgation's brutal sensuality
and a creel
of ramming butter **** gang bangs
in secret fetish gardens
of cries and coos
that leave the *** wilted
and the soul lite
like a butterfly in heaven
slave girl asks
as hips sway
to sacred dionysian storms
in the smoldering pangs
of the heart
as backs writhe and arch
flex and sweat rhapsodic
and viscera panic with desire
are not such delicious degradations
pleasures ravage despicable
cause for an ecstatic celebration
kindling
fiery vapors incense
en-flamed dragons blood
for drooling kisses
that talk in tongues
in a language that everyone understands
infinitly preferred
over the rolling eyes of disapproval
in the tepid marriage bed*
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
I am sitting, alone, on a chair in a lonely room.
The walls are brown, the ground is grey.
Every time I hear something, I quickly try to
find, searching, where the sound came from.
The sound was nothing but a movement of
the building, changed, affected by the wind.
The sound returns more frequently as I make
my way, walking towards the door without a handle.
Suddenly I cannot hear it anymore, I'm sure it's there
So very sure, but I guess I am finally used to it.
My mind is at ease and everything seems better than before.
I tried ramming, knocking, bashing even beating and
pounding but this door just will not budge. It is not
that I am too weak, deep inside, I just don't want to leave.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
Put you there
slide deep within my thighs, warm and dampened
kiss me with your fingertips hands feel me inside
Fingers deep and as strong as you
find my moans
Let the river flow
Thoughts at the speed of light only a genuine lust can conceive
Sparkling skin, wetter with every touch consume my physical soul
Screaming lips and a caressing tongue don't save me now devour me whole
Movement sweeter then any slow dance, the power and precision of any known art
Bodies closer then my own flesh
Gripping hands led only by fierce eyes and *****
Rip me open ramming stealth
Quicken me till my breath won't allow
Hurricane tongue soften and drink
Take my nails and craving teeth
Slow and steady, rough and and hard
Take it all
Give and give me all
My skins tingling take your ravenous bite
Drain me now as I drain you
Finish with a rhythmic pattern
Beat us colliding shooting thunder
Bind us with our rain
Drain drain drain us
Till beautiful pain and sensual screams are no more
bodies release, and fall weak...
Want no more...
Don't kiss me sweet
Kiss my feet
Goddess, queen
You my king
This marriage is only our bodies vow
Natures wonders all of them felt
Echoing forever sinful smile
Lingering passion I'll savor
In my most precious darkest liquid dreams
And when we meet again...
No sheets
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
maple-cured, smoked, rawhide hands,
tarantula hands bulldozing rice onto
tines like an icebreaker ramming through
glacial bergs, Holly
Golightly on the tv, on
mute, and oh those hips,
that figure, in that black dress,
banana hands cracking Alaskan king
crablegs and ******* the juice and eating
the meat, legs spindly and hairy
and soaked in butter, dripping,
liver cooking, roasting, sloshed on gin,
cribbage board patinaed
in dust, he eats his liver, downs
another gin, cracks another leg, crab
hair caught in his teeth, Holly talking about
getting the mean reds but he can’t
hear it, his luck run out,
his luck a prize from a box of ******* Jack,
and the snarling throb in his head,
cinderblock face, cinderblock house,
3-day-stubble, has he had enough (to drink)?
not by the stubble of his
chinny-chin-chin,
liver is gone, crab is gone,
so he eats the eyes,
dowsing his ******* Jacks
in gin, yesterday wine-in-a-box
and Cheez-Whiz, sprayed right into his
unbrushed maw, a one-person wine-
and-cheese fête classy as it gets,
he’s Mister High Society,
Cheez-Whiz crust in his stubble,
and a cinderblock CRASHES to the floor and it’s
lights out, and Holly, still no one
to hear her, saying
she’ll never let anyone put her in a cage.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
The many martyrs of boredom
make haste to their next death,
They nestle in their noodles
Over bowls of ramen
Ramming their frontal lobes in their palms,
In hazy rooms, staring in the hearts of tinted corridors
Dim lit lamps stand courageous,
Smoking kettles,
alarms the listener to lunge merrily
to,
his lazy lagoon
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC
They've stopped burning churches and
Ramming knives into one another.
Now they visit the woods without corpse
Paint and disposable cameras,
Eating Norwegian mushrooms around
Fires, boomblasters blasting
'De Mysteriis dom Sathanas' out into
Pinetree forests.
Media turned Black Metal into "satanism".
Inspired the weak.
One scratched the back of the other as newspapers
Sold more than ever, and
Small egos acted beyond their sizes, trying and
Dying for coverage.
Sometimes I feel the remains of vikings,
Battle worn and anti-christian still, after death,
Moaning: *No. It was never just for
Show.*
They've stopped burning churches now.
Perform with unpainted faces.
One final
Protest.
The devil is ink on cheap paper.
Money and newspapers are barely wood.
Some say they burn like old Norwegian churches.
Others just like their music raw and real.
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
Fixed on salad ******* armpit ****
Passionate diaper ***** dodging queefs
**** fat farts and **** sipping
Squiggly nips dangling from a pig
coffee spitting ***** kids with sticks
sticking sticky ***** in **** like a *****
*** cream pageant queens spewing ****
Chris Kringle's candy cane **** tip dripping on lips
sweet **** water for your daughter
************ to Aaron Carter
**** the rest
I'm all out of ******* to step on
best be getting home to *** on my own chest
test the taste and throw out the rest
I tickle my intestines till I **** out hot stew
putrid black goo with nut chunks and fiber skins
stretching ball skin over my **** rim till it's all one
sack
use bread and sauce from a snack pack to make a sack
sandwich
hold the lettuce between my cheeks and toss my own salad
picturing *** ramming ***** spewing out tasty *****
gluey pools of chlorine smelling salty bliss
I picture gargling ***** while lesbians crawl all over me
vibrating fake skin ***** deep in my **** cave
if you misbehave I'll rip off your face while I squeeze your
**** in my teeth and make you sit on my face after you clean
your *** crease bleached and sweet
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
Another year closes
and the waves of pain invite themselves
for one last wash over me
a host of words and phrases un sugar coated
calling back the dire pain
duly survived and noted.
and as much as I walk that higher road
it never lets me forgive if I forget.
endless vengeance haunts me for its exaction.
And pain is a nasty ***** to comprehend
it's not who I am
or who I want To be
or what I want to send
but it is on its way.
I can't stop it.
I don't really want to anymore.
I want to feel the rush of satifaction
with the ramming of my metaphorical fist into your charmless faces
a barrage of covert assaults on my good character
well congratulations you win.
Jokers and aces
I'm the bad *** on all of your cases
ran myself into the ground
and not an ounce of gratitude was found
now karma won't listen to me
my great pain howled
and the injustice has been heard
the trade has subconsciously been made.
God help you all there's no way back from this
it is what it is...
a brand new year,
and with it comes resolution and how
the restitution I used to abhor
sits so **** comfortable with me now.
There's More pain ahead,
I'm so conditioned I wear it like a crown on my head.
Well done I applaude you
you intolerable *****
let fate do its will
I ain't holding it back
let this tidal wave crush you
in your tracks
so you can feel my pain
and don't call for me
I wont remember your names
like the years torn from my soul,
my children, my love, my home;
I won't feel it all in vain.
im giving it all to you
the very deserving orchestrators
of my cruelly wrought tidal waves of ******* pain.
Yours sincerely,
Really ****** off.
.... Original write below:
Another year closes
and the waves of pain invite themselves
for one last wash over me
a host of words and phrases
calling back the dire pain
duly survived and noted.
and as much as I walk that higher road
it never lets me forgive if I forget.
endless vengeance haunts me for its exaction.
And pain is a nasty ***** to comprehend
it's not who I am
or who I want To be
but it is on its way.
I can't stop it.
I don't really want to anymore.
I want to feel the rush of satifaction
with the ramming of my metaphorical fist into your charmless faces
a barrage of covert assaults on my good character
well congratulations you win.
I'm the bad ***
ran myself into the ground
and not an ounce of gratitude was found
now karma won't listen to me
my great pain howled
and the injustice has been heard
the trade has been subconsciously made.
God help you all there's no way back from this
it is what it is...
a brand new year,
and with it comes resolution.
the restitution I used to abhor
sits so **** we'll with me now.
More pain ahead.
I'm conditioned to wear it on my head like a crown.
Well done I applaude you
you intolerable *****
let fate do its will
I ain't holding it back
let this tidal wave crush you
so you can feel my pain
and don't call for me
I wont remember your names
like the years torn from my soul,
my children, my home, my love;
I won't feel it all in vain.
im giving it all to you
the very deserving orchestrators
of my cruelly wrought tidal waves of pain.
Yours sincerely,
****** off.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:13 AM UTC
I stretch, and stretch
up towards a place where my head is far
further above so
that I cannot hear the jet engine of your words.
I hear my bones creak
with the effort to get
away from the pollution
of your coal train ramming me.
I hear only my body
cracking like spring ice
as I rise, rise -
rise above your noise toxins
that settle like limp and sodden cardboard crowns
worn about your tortured head.
High above your hollow community
above your entitlement park,
above your tiny-
tinny voice.
I hear it. Your hateful sounds like poultry jibber
so far down in
atmospheres
below.
I laugh to hear your wordless squawl!
I stretch but now to bend
and see you
beneath my squishy toes.
Bend at the waist
to see who's nipping at my ankles
and I cry a tear of mirth.
A white rapid that
whisks your bitter apple groove
far away.
I stretch you gone.
I stretch you indifferent.
I grow myself pardoned, I grow my self free.
sahn
2/15/15
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
Oil of clove and wing of bat
Eye of newt and hair or cat
I bet she mumbles to herself
As she shops like everyone else
Rams her cart into everyone
A proper witch she has become
Wait until she checks out today
And sees what treats have come her way
For ramming your shopping cart into me
Wins a prize for you he he
The check girl is all a singer
For KY jelly and some rubbers
At 80+ you should know better!
Do not leave your cart unattended
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
What happened in Georgetown stays in Georgetown.
Judge Kavanaugh, that's what you said.
But maybe that's not always the case,
For now you see that stories spread.
If you are the goody two shoes
That Republicans say you are,
Prove to us that you have what
It takes to be their shining star.
Gang rapes? Drunken parties?
Serious charges for a youth.
What happened there behind closed doors?
We just want to know the truth.
Survivors are merely asking for further
FBI investigations
To get to the bottom of all of this.
These are serious accusations.
One thing that they have done
Or at least say that they will do
Is take a lie detector test.
Maybe YOU should take one, too.
"This poor man's life is being ruined."
That is what your fans are saying.
They ignore how others' lives
Have been affected. That's dismaying.
Look at the hollow hypocrisy
Of members of Congress who turn their backs
On women who have struggled to
Survive violent ****** attacks.
Some say that the Democrats
Are experts at how to lie and cheat.
But we've seen that Republicans
In Congress are masters of deceit.
Holding back pertinent
Information is not the best
Way to show that a nominee
Makes the grade--passes the test.
Judge Scalia's position was kept
Open for over 400 days!
Now they want to rush to judgment,
Ramming you through with no delays!
A thorough study's important, but
Republicans don't give a ****
The confirmation process here
Has turned into a real sham.
-by Bob B (9-25-18)
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 11:06 AM UTC
I sat with a dynamiter at supper in a German saloon
eating steak and onions.
And he laughed and told stories of his wife and children
and the cause of labor and the working class.
It was laughter of an unshakable man knowing life to be
a rich and red-blooded thing.
Yes, his laugh rang like the call of gray birds filled with
a glory of joy ramming their winged flight through
a rain storm.
His name was in many newspapers as an enemy of the
nation and few keepers of churches or schools would
open their doors to him.
Over the steak and onions not a word was said of his
deep days and nights as a dynamiter.
Only I always remember him as a lover of life, a lover
of children, a lover of all free, reckless laughter
everywhere--lover of red hearts and red blood the
world over.
1.2k
The way your skin prickled -tight- over your hips
and the plunking -wet- noise of water
forced out of a cave
are what I remember about that December, lovely, oh, lovely.
Your -blonde- hair rippled and shook loose
with each ramming pulsation and throb -stab-
but your hair -curled- tight was rough. -Unmoving.-
below, dripped More, now, more.
Your toenails felt like ice -pink, red, buff- on my calf
they drew dragons between the forests of my -leg- hair
circling around, bumping –bruising- and chanting,
Be full, full.
Until –after- we lay limp and glistening in -love- dew
the floors creak and winds scratch -outside- too loud, -empty-
but,
We, -thought- we are whole.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
I want to tell you something
but my lips are flicking sparks
like a lighter draining fluid
and I want to bombard you
with all my ragged knots
of truth but the words
are stuck in traffic
giving each other the finger
ramming bumper to bumper
so they can reach the nearest
exit and my nerves
are a rickety jalopy
almost flipping over
at the sight
of any speedbump
and I'm ripping
at the edges
like the pages
of a Lynch script
because
I want to tell you something
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 11:47 AM UTC
Forged by the blood upon the ramming ships bow
Gun smoke rising from fired cannons, port side
Missiles launch, starboard side, skyward bound
Raise, 'O Raise the First Naval Jack
Quickly up the flag pole aft!
Lights shone from signalmen fore
Bring flashes from rifles by ****** port side
Naval fly-boys on the starboard side, ** coming about
Raise, 'O Raise the First Naval Jack
Quickly up the flag pole aft!
Cut 'em off and Capture the Savage
So don the iron, Monitor, and defend the 'Sota
For the Midway is close, the codes broken, the ships sinking slow
So, Raise, 'O Raise the First Naval Jack
Quickly up the flag pole aft!
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
I could ramble ceaselessly,
Head ramming concrete walls,
Of all the bruises and of all the strain.
I could curl in agonized frustration,
Fists pumping unsplinting doors,
From all the unresolved questions and searches.
I could sulk and fret,
Tears carving creases in youthful silk,
From all of the wrongs left without vindication.
Or
I could accept the lashes,
Sudden, sharp razors across raw flesh,
Acknowledging that this too shall pass.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
I feel like ramming my crowded thoughts
Into a red brick wall
But somehow I feel that would only cause more pain
And wouldn't help at all.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
At the end of a tunnel, you are spent, dried and weary,
Waiting for the wave, the aubade to come wash you away;
You are finalized and resolute in realization,
In somnolence, you epiphanize, you tabula rasa, you blanken
your slate to transcendence!
But
At the end of a tunnel, you revert to the beginning.
You become inversely existential, and
you rush to drive again, passing foot to gear, go!
Meter ramming, miles against minutes or so...
Cruise,
Slow, Insistent, salacious, caressing the wheel, just you,
And the road, not wide open, just
Close, or, variable, toying, experimenting , with
The road, just it, and you; In the darkness, swerve,
Quick! Stop...gauge...go! Learning tread marks, Scorching,
This is
My road, my car, no cold-stone truckers,
Just me, and the dragon, Self consuming.
Solipsistic ideals become obsolete.
Consciousness becomes archaic and Freudian
Reins,
Its Id superbly egotistical, an ephemeral presence
Of an amorphous reality, erected with pillars.
At the end of a tunnel,
You become resurrection.
You become tautological.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 9:24 AM UTC
1
effectless
hampering
tongue is in the chattering molecule
of my dapper skull.
i hammer verbal clumsy spit into post nasal void
just likely
the stately emblem of young thoughts
and i'm new blood
unwet tranquility
like the rain
like the sun
like the dry crevice
of clean filthy electricity
ramming carefully between my arms
the slight perfecting bodice of your
soft vehicle
and i placate it succinctly
by pink rinds
slipperying on the wailing
cotton
of you
most erratic brevity
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 12:50 PM UTC
as if the neurons in my brain
joined rank and gave me
a synaptic 'fuck you'
as if the god's turned their backs
while Zeus shot lightening
bolts through my computer screen
as if the Earth gravitated to *her
new lover* Mars while
the saddened Moon
watched from a starlit view
as if the page was the curved
ivory tusk of an untamed mastodon
charging from the left indent
as if the blinking cursor was a dagger
ramming itself into Caesar's back
as if the word processor itself
was a ticking time bomb
with enough explosive force
to rip through the loose-knit fabric
of literary space-time
and as if the words themselves were locked
away in some distant prison,
sitting in death row,
waiting to be executed
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 11:30 PM UTC
Once was a man just a young boy,
He threw and he drew in the lost playgrounds,
Here is where people met,
They collected stories and secrets that they kept,
It was a vast field of majesty,
All who ever walked on its paths never ceased to live,
But only few have ever died,
Ceasing to exist while the heart still beats,
Breathing softly and surely until their presence turns to mist.
He,
He was one of the few,
He tried to save the tiny compassion left inside a rotten dew,
But alas he was in turn corrupted by the nectar of its dark and creepy hue.
He forgot what it meant,
What it took,
And what it is to be real,
Concrete and strong as steel,
Burning with a passionate spirit of Courage,
With succession he twisted and he toiled,
Ramming the hills of the land and crashing into it's mountains,
There he presumed a title that was astounding for the sound that it makes,
Fearless,
Fearless are we,
Fearless are they,
Fearless with no light,
To embrace the dark fully,
Here his spirit lies,
And his spirit decays,
Never to see a more shaded day,
Brimming with a look that shines more dull each way,
Each way he went it was just mere,
Utter,
Non-sense,
Never was a day that was bland as that,
Until that fateful eve,
Where only downfall would rise with the Sun,
Alongside the humming of the Moon,
Where the cosmic embodiment of Death soon became,
Paranoia juices flowed into place,
For whispers of deceit foul the mortality of the brain,
Corroding the mind until it took him away,
That was the night,
Where one of his deaths took stage,
That was where,
He should have been brave,
To face all in his mind,
And to follow the whispers that were holier than you or than I,
Because that was the end,
Of the truth on his plane.
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
Oh It started quietly
Lines crossed, back and forth
Tempers frayed, voices raised
Then came the skirmishes
A few at dawn, more at night fall
Whilst the day was full of exchanges
In the days that followed it became more intense
Violent clashes and casualties
No more warnings, full on ramming
Clear and defined as if at the wheel of a ship
Collisions and screaming, then came the peace keepers
Dressed in geeen and red to try and calm the situation
But to no avail
For only when the last toy or the last mince pie was bought
Then only then on December 24th was the battle of Christmas over
An eerie truce then held until haloween.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 9:26 AM UTC
Julie was walking
down Oxford Street
with you
one of her hands
was in yours
the other was holding
a cigarette which she put
to her lips and drew on
and exhaled the smoke
and said
pushing smoke
into the world
do you think Christ
ever came?
of course
you replied
the whole calendar
of the Western world
is spilt before and after
his coming
she inhaled deeply
and stopped to peer
in a shop window
don’t like that dress
it’s too **** middle class
too safe
you looked at the dress
in the window
at the colours and style
would your mother where it?
you asked
she’d wear it
but I wouldn’t
be seen dead in it
she said
moving you on
squeezing your hand
reminding you
of the quick *****
and *** in the small cupboard
off the ward
where she was staying
while trying to kick
the drug habit
she spread out
amongst brooms and boxes
and you there gazing at her
wondering if some domestic
would find you there
well? do you think
Christ really came?
she asked
yes
you said
he split history in two
he made people
either love him
or hate him
and want to destroy him
and what he stood for
she laughed and said
you certainly got him
under your skin
I don’t think he came at all
she said
before inhaling
her cigarette smoke
I think it was all
a big joke played out
on the Jews
to get them riled
she inhaled
her cigarette smoke
and was silent
as you walked on
down the Street
it was no joke
being crucified
no joke hanging there
on that cross
you said
she pulled you
into a shop doorway
and kissed you
and said
oh forget about him
and his crucifixion
I’ve had enough
of the parents
ramming him
into my brain
over the years
and she kissed you again
and you looked
into her dark eyes
where you thought
many a dream comes
and drowns
and dies.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:20 AM UTC
friends sing so sweetly
and I fall in love with the serenade.
it's m
i s
l e a
ding
if you act before you think
and then spend all your time thinking about which move to make next.
I think progress starts at two points:
the beginning and the ending.
everything and nothing.
One thing to make me feel something
and another to destroy me.
I've given up on trying to be friendly
and gone straight for that same bitter harsh of honesty
that
got
me
in so much trouble before
that I forgot existed
because I let myself slip
rather than pushing out
what I knew wasn't good for me.
wanting to please everyone.
loving the pleasure in pain,
got lost in it, got distracted,
became detached in the same direction more than once
and became less than I should
more than I should.
it's a swallowing of seeds without chewing.
with all this stimulation brewing
around the stitching of my pocket,
crooked lines, a few things slipped out.
marbles in the kitchen, in the bathroom,
on the floor. you carried me up
and down stairs.
cried
when
I
loved
you
and
screamed
when
I
stopped.
But you didn't stop ramming
jamming
jerking
thinking
sneezing
wheezing
leaving
thoughts
behind.
Helping remove your mind
I tried to look inside.
Your ego ****** you into
a black hole of questioning.
Left me answering
that there was nothing left of me.
Found myself in the absence
of bored and forgetful silence.
The ending
is the beginning
for me.
right now
it's all finally happening
right now
the moment's been festering
I've finally finished and I'm free.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 12:19 AM UTC
I walk along these halls,
Bright, blinding white all around
My breathing quickens and tremors
in a panic.
I feel trapped in all this sheer
blankness,
I scream and bang on the walls,
begging to be released
I slam my palms into the walls of this
cage until I'm exhausted
and on the floor.
The only thing that is still ramming
and breaking and struggling is my heart.
Searching for a way out still.
Foolish thing.
The heart has no thought to know it's
useless and no eyes to see the
futility.
Calm, I breathe. Give it up, I whisper
to my panicked heart.
Ushering it to be still.
Give in, it's okay. If you stop, this will all go away.
I promise.
Slowly, slowly the blood in my heart
stopped thrumming and I bled out into
the whiteness.
Staining red the blank, empty
whiteness these halls were.
-Oh well-I think through the fog
-My heart is stopping, there will be
peace again.-
With the last few soft thumps of my
heart I smile at the halls.
There will be no more horror or
blankness or pain in here.
It will be gone with me.
I smile.
It's a white smile. But it isn't evil or
strangling.
Gentle and soft. Warm.
The girl is happily dead.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC