"reek" poems
he drank wine all night of the
28th, and he kept thinking of her:
the way she walked and talked and loved
the way she told him things that seemed true
but were not, and he knew the color of each
of her dresses
and her shoes-he knew the stock and curve of
each heel
as well as the leg shaped by it.
and she was out again and whe he came home,and
she'd come back with that special stink again,
and she did
she came in at 3 a.m in the morning
filthy like a dung eating swine
and
he took out a butchers knife
and she screamed
backing into the roominghouse wall
still pretty somehow
in spite of love's reek
and he finished the glass of wine.
that yellow dress
his favorite
and she screamed again.
and he took up the knife
and unhooked his belt
and tore away the cloth before her
and cut off his *****
and carried them in his hands
like apricots
and flushed them down the
toilet bowl
and she kept screaming
as the room became red
GOD O GOD!
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
and he sat there holding 3 towels
between his legs
no caring now wether she lft or
stayed
wore yellow or green or
anything at all.
and one hand holding and one hand
lifting he poured
another wine
32.1k
Eyes of pale celadon
refulgent in the dusk
lips of skin so thin they grin
around the tips of tusk
Jagged saw-like teeth
beneath a sagging beastly jaw
the putrid reek of flesh and cheek
he's gobbled - nights before
His pointed nose will point his toes
when he snuffs you shuffling by
the fright enough will be so tough
your legs will lignify!
And once he's done he'll click his tongue
his mood enhanced by food
he'll walk home late and ululate
his deepest gratitude
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
T'was the night before Christmas
The gifts were all wrapped
When the smell, well...it hit me
Our new puppy had crapped
I knew I could smell it
It was not just a ****
The puppy had dropped one
I awoke with a start
I could hear a slight rustle
As he went to his bed
But, the smell made me nauseous
And it turned my eyes red
I could hear a slight jingle
From the dog tags he wore
It was then that I found it
In the hall, by the door
I had not put on slippers
I had not hit the light
I just hope I could see it
Try as I might
But, as puppy bombs go
this was one for the ages
It had started out loose
And had grown in three stages
My foot found it first
And before I could halt
It was between my toes
And it wasn't his fault
If I'd turned on the light
I'd have seen it, no sweat
But, now, I was hopping
With a foot, brown and wet
I was off to the bathroom
Hopping mad, so to speak
when from out of my bedroom
I heard "What's that reek?"
It was worse than it started
Now, I'd helped it along
It was me, now in trouble
And somehow, that was wrong
Down in the kitchen
I could hear the dog snore
While, I was still hopping
On one foot by the door
My wife, said "go shower"
And clean up the rug
I hopped to the bathroom
And sat down, with a shrug
It was the night before Christmas
I should be out like a log
But, this is my life
Because I own a dog....
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
Christmas is traditions
some last and others die
some leave you feeling fuzzy
others leave you asking "Why?"
There's rules that must be followed
And most of them we know
About gifts and cards and Christmas trees
and then there's mistletoe....
We all know the tradition
We all know what it is
You meet under the berries
And then you both must kiss
But, there's etiquette surrounding
The dreaded mistletoe
And there are things you aren't aware of
And I thought you all should know....
Always kiss your Aunties
Do it quick and on the cheek
Their lips are full of slobber
and sometimes they just reek
Grandmas, get a quick kiss
And ignore the sounds they make
Don't hug Grannies too tightly
They are brittle and might break
Avoid the pervert Uncles
With hands and eyes that roam
They act one way at Christmas
And another way at home
The little kids, won't kiss you
So, it's fun to give them chase
Make sure there's lots of slobber
So, they can wipe it off their face
Make sure kissing Grandad
That he has got his teeth
That they're not somewhere in a glass
or worse, smiling from a wreath
Always kiss your Mum though
Beware, Mums will always cry
and they will get you going too
No matter how hard you try
Kiss the one you came with
Let them know just how you feel
That your love for them's eternal
And your love for them is real
Kissing is tradition
and at Christmas can be great
But, don't kiss all the women
And forget about your date
The most important rule of all
If you don't want your bell rung
When kissing 'neath the mistletoe
DO NOT USE THE TONGUE
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
test me
my waters have remained constant
rippling, reaching
as far as the eye can see
into the horizon; the water surrounds me
my knowledge is useless
when drowning in these waters;
i can only flail desperately
as my movements create ripples
out into the open sea
all these efforts
all in vain
all in my vein
blood rushing out
like the sea, light then heavy
then strong
like the sea, with a strong smell of salt
this time, the waters are red
and they reek of iron
test my waters
they’ve been stained crimson
with my lifeline
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 12:20 PM UTC
Your caress is silky and creamy like butter
And my darling, I'm afraid that your lingering touch will give me diabetes
Your heart crumbles like flour when I press mine against it
And beads of sugar hang like dew upon your lashes
Maybe if I blended you up into cookie dough
And baked you at 350 for 15 minutes until you were golden brown
Then I wouldn't be afraid to stroke your resplendent face
Perhaps I wouldn't wince at the thought of pressing my ear against your chest
Just to hear your confectionary heart quiver
And there wouldn't be the slightest trepidation when I kissed your intoxicating tears
But I'm afraid that I'll leave you in for too long
And your saccharine core will harden and reek of soot
And with the slightest touch, you'll be reduced to ash
And your cremated remains will get frightened at the accusatory wail of the smoke detector
And they'll seek refuge in my oven's crevices
Never to be seen again
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC
Toting the mysterious bundle and sporting a sore back
I drag my feet up the last few steps, expended of vigour
I almost couldn't resist prematurely looking through the sack
Remembering the words from the wise old seer
Grimacing I walk a slow gait to get to the table
Set the bundle down and relieve my weight onto a chair
Parched throat but wait longer I am unable
Curiosity takes charge and into the gift I will tear
Blood is pumping along with an increasing heart rate
Fingers scrambling clumsily over the strings that bind
Nails digging frantically into this package bearing my fate
Gnawing thoughts of uncertainty flooding my mind
At last my fingers win the battle that lasted
The final string has fallen... Obstinate knots all undone
I pick the cloth by the edges to have it unfolded
The contents inside reach out like rays of the sun
Corners of the cloth open up like a fully bloomed blossom
Exposing the treasure that lay solemn and quiet inside
Common objects we'd normally perceive as random
Petty things now important as they attempt to guide
I pick up the first and notice an engraving on it's stem
Between my fingers - an unassuming feathered quill
Barely legible, such little space the words do cram
"Here is your sword... Draw blood and let spill"
More riddles, I sought to examine the next
A flat bottomed vial filled with jet black ink
On it is a label with scrawling of time worn text
"Here is your blood; let flow what you think"
Lastly, lay bound up sheets of yellow stained parchment
They reek of age-old herbs; intoxicating slightly
At the top of the first, a note scribbled not so recent
"Within these pages, you must bleed to find Sanctuary"
Staring down at the objects laid in front of me
In hopes of discovering something I should miss
Then finally it struck me, so plain to see
I'm using the instruments now, writing to find release...
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
A hippodrome as smoke adjourn
those can wrap Havanas blunt
while Manila fish for sordino
they reek of harvest yet exhume Moro
then San Mateo shall not a maraschino bane
whether they've sought bastion in Italy then
once their hopes shall keep ships ahoy
and Sabatini sing San Marino here
that sandcastle star await his lover in
"The Sea Hawk" a fine costume whence sail
those Antilles with a conquistador as buttress
in this play they call Those Philippines alas meet
El Duarte in a duet with his song set aflame with
great sleeves in such kleptocracy worldwide again.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC
Lust is just a moment for you
Don’t think I don’t know that it is true
So take your heat and leave behind
Just dust, for its not worth of mind
No anger I feel, tis only I see
The only truth you’re able to be
Not one of substance, tis not your way
Thank God, I’ve mind, to lead not astray
Don’t worry, someone will hold your hand
Believe your lies, no mind she stand
By you, with eyes that can never see
How you, no truth, you can never be
For now, I’ll take my leave of thee
And thank God, He’s allowed me to be free
So take your mind, and share with some
Who has no sense, completely dumb
To know you have no heart to give
You’ll find no peace, as long you live
So do you wonder of whom I speak?
For those who question, are those are weak
And whom who reads that smile take forth
Then you alone, are a friend of worth
For you know that it is not you I seek
The ones I curse, with loathe doth reek
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:51 AM UTC
.
Quiet! Shhh!
Can you hear it?
The animals are talking.
No, they are panicking.
Can you smell it?
The Forest is on fire.
My Forest is aflame!
I run, following nostrils singed with heat,
against the tide of the fleeing fauna.
Reaching the blaze I see....
eight of them.
My anger rises and erupts.
'STOP!' I bellow. They turn and draw swords.
My eyes narrow and a look of pure disdain unfolds.
I continue.
'I am Rook, Lord of the Forest Kingdom.
How dare you, enter my domain with no permission
and reek havoc on my Forest'.
A step is taken, toward me.
The eyes of a fighter glower, at me.
The point of a sword raises, threatening me.
I punish.
'For your transgressions and your destruction
you shall stand as stones, for eternity,
and as a warning to others'.
A scream pierces the air as a foot,
then another, compresses to rock.
The rest join the chorus, agony,
as each become statues,
twisted and contorted as
the Ancient Oaks they had destroyed.
My Oaks.
This is my Anger.
Would you care to see my Love?
© Pagan Paul (2018)
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
The mist rolls in
and the sun comes out,
the flowers bloom
and the wylde things shout.
The beasts roam
and the thunder quakes,
the stars dance as one
the ground beneath begins to shake.
The calming air
the wondrous air
the peaceful air.
Ode to the beauty of this fresh
mountain air.
The cool breeze so fair
flowing steadily
from the mighty peaks
Of earth and sky
rock and water,
ever does it reek.
The green of the hills
And the shiver
of the river's chills
The sounds of the forest
and the roar of the beasts
Ode to you oh ye so fair
Ode to you
oh perfect mountain air.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
That morning, when I awoke, I had not a clue,
That the things you claimed you'd never do,
Were exactly what my day was leading too,
Though, as we shared that bed, my alarm was right on cue,
And as I got up, I noticed I smelled like you.
I told my best friend about that night,
That for once, holding someone was comforting, felt right,
Laying there, with you clinging to me so tight,
Was the first time intimacy didn't come with a shock of fright.
But, of course, the truth comes out,
Stunned, standing, the visage of a lout,
So lost in all that's come about.
That afternoon, when I got home, what was I to do?
So many thoughts, so many feelings to get through,
I turned on the shower, watching the dancing water spew,
And, just before the water touched me; deja vu,
I noticed that I smelled just like you.
This couldn't stand, and I scrub and washed till I felt alright,
Dirt, regret, and your scent wash away in the dim daylight
At last I didn't smell like that night,
And didn't reek of lack of foresight.
Now, I'm left with only an internal emotional bout,
Wondering if I can even shake this doubt,
To decide whether or not to keep you in, or out.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
Red tailed fox striped jewelry box,
but these jewels shine of coal.
I keep trying to feel,
but I got no hope
in my heart
or in my soul.
Red tailed fox striped jewelry box,
you sit next to the bearded elf.
Third from the right, seventh shelf.
I carry you around like a babydoll.
Ragged dress with a hooded eye;
you reek of destruction,
but like a prized possession
I'll carry you to my grave when I die.
Red tailed fox striped jewelry box,
may you spare me one key?
I beg of you to open up,
Please, please, please!
Shed some light for me.
Golden
Grown
Sewn
and
Shown.
That's how our hearts seem out to be.
Dripping wild, red cries of kerosine.
Their voice sounds of dusty rust
when they sing.
Tripping over the finish line
their broken back
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
cracking.
Red tailed fox striped jewelry box,
but like a door
this box holds much more.
Much more than a box has held before.
The secrets that lie
rest behind
dark, evil crescent moons
like the sun reaching an eclipse.
Typhoon lips.
Untouchable kiss.
Half of a whole.
Red tailed fox striped jewelry box
shines of nothing
but a bunch of coal.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 9:02 PM UTC
You worth more than a thousand golden crowns
and continent wide silks
and all the brighter, wilting stars in the dark
and had you pulled the universe to you,
it will surely crawl under your thigh
as a machination made only for you.
And you worth more than the ten thousand horses that I had slain
and I pulled them onto your sheets
as whispery faeries gnawed onto its skin
onto its slippery vein
gory, but lovely all the same.
Alas, you worth more than another ten thousand of them running
hooves clattered across the impenetrable glass of auroral dome
and I saw you rode on another ten thousand that had not deserve you-
as you deserved gold and stars
and all the greater fury of this land,
not treachery and I.
Gold was the color of your ruse
and your words deify scorching stars into bloom
and you reek of rust — the finest yellow there was.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC
Remember curiosity,
The reek of home,
Sleeping with a
Mouthful of fevers.
Remember gold,
Roasted muscles,
The shackles in your thighs.
Remember me,
When you discovered
Hearts of past lovers
Live in your fingernails.
Remember you,
A mad-driven star,
Biting waves with such
Honeydew eyes.
Remember patience,
Threaded into your skin with
Pear tree splinters.
Remember:
Even God knows limits.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
All my poems are
The same, aren't they?
*"You're being lied to by a corrupt,
Imperialistic government,
Corporations own your soul,
We're destroying the planet's
Natural resources, making
It uninhabitable, to ourselves and
Driving other species to extinction,
Capitalism is unethical, and
It subverts the potential
For real democracy,
Yada yada yada yada
Blah blah blah"*
Maybe I should write about
Something else, but what?
I like flowers,
Flowers are nice,
Especially orchids, but
Not those weird,
Smelly ones that grow
On Callery trees... no
Those things reek like
Stale **** and sour milk.
Ah, but who could deny
The pungent and delicate
Fragrance of a rose?
Someone with anosmia,
That's who.
What, you didn't
Stop to think about,
People with disabilities?
How incredibly
Inconsiderate!
What are you?
Some sort of
Overprivileged, straight,
White, cis male ableist?
**** off, you ******
You might as well
Be a fascist. I would
Tell you to go back
To **** Germany, but
HEY, NEWS FLASH,
It's 2015, buddy,
Grow up and join
Us adults here in
The real world.
Wait... where was
I going with this?
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
Ophelia, Ophelia,
voracious daydreamer,
how dare you
upset this delicate orbit.
your hands were the kiln
for my sloppy and misshapen mind,
but that was nothing,
relatively, compared to the way
your eyes reflected lost souls.
my dear, it's a catastrophe.
now when the moon chides me,
and the stars reek of your smile,
I run my hands across
the fronts of empty dresses
that you wore years ago.
Ophelia, Ophelia,
I recall the way your eyes shone
like the peak of madness
and how your shoulder blades
touched in a subtly avian manner.
how simple are the remnants
of your existence, of your melancholia,
I cling to them like a ***** to touch-
and I know they will bring you no closer.
stale shadows haunt my lingering eyes;
where you should be standing
I see only lost time.
Ophelia, Ophelia,
smoldering star in my hindsight,
stone in my chest-
I'm sad to see you go.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
Absence of imagination,
the End of independent thought.
Cities reek of corruption, ******
and the greatest of sins.
They raise and **** in
by the millions
yet onlysome men
seem to win.
Glorious eyes
of curve-free posters
used as wallpaper
for the cleanest streets.
Looking up
to their Father
all good citizens
try to weep
the plain and empty tears
the Party demands
them sheep.
Maybe it will soon end,
but I'm never able to trust us men;
maybe weeks will tell,
but I still can't seem to hear a bell
Inside the people's empty homes,
Fathers, sons left alone.
Big Brother dominates,
he commands,
a billion voices
in one hand.
Behind the money lies the pain,
into fields fall the rain.
With empty pockets
walk the road
a thousand stories
left untold.
Blood can be found on every street,
death and life here meet.
Maybe it'll someday end,
but I'm never able to trust us men,
maybe years will tell;
but I still can't seem to hear a bell.
A hungry stomach calls for meat,
rotting, green, foul or sweet.
Rank food from the kitchens,
will be served,
millions of peoples
have reserved.
Between the alleys at the mass
the cross’s shadow isn't cast.
Those booklets burn easy,
use them well,
let vain ideas
fry in hell.
Maybe it's will oneday end,
but I'm never able trust us men.
maybe our grandhildren
shall one day know,
Their grandeparents wept
but did not
sow.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
Living in a world of invertebrates
A shadow that reeks cologne
Upon those who reek none
The benefactor of the scent
Is for himself, herself, both, or nil?
A fool in the box
No time to help
But time enough away for a guilt to shine
But outside shines introspection?
A plastic model
No generosity for a spine
Two hands in beyond displace
A smile where it should grace
Asleep in a heart of a child
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 3:37 PM UTC
Angie works the alleys that reek of greasy sausages and ****
where beer-bellied men appear
and vanish into doorway varnish of invisible rooms,
spitting on their own doorsteps, stubby fingers
running over stained vests and wire wool guts.
Harry lives out yonder where plastic bags’ ballet shoes are made of glue;
he is sharing a hit
with a dreadlocked kid, just another invisible face,
a phantom-surfer nurse, to assist him in
chasing the ultimate high on highway number twenty-two.
Invisible, hairy hands hold her down; Angie has to swallow,
she can feel the pulsating vein
of a softening **** over her tongue and swollen lips –
she gives it a good old slap against her cheek,
grabs the package, and makes sure no one follows.
Harry’s clawing at a face in that place where reality floats
between the tip of the needle
and the desperate edge of chemical dependency -
his little angel taps him on the shoulder;
he turns around, and stabs her in the throat.
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 11:32 PM UTC
Pooey, pooey, poo. Gee, I smell you. It's time to take a bath now.
Stinky, stinky, doo, you friends do to. You reek and oh you stink, wow!
So could you hurry to the shower and rub some soap all over you *** Don't hold back!
And if you do remove the peu you'll find your friends won't gag and hack. That's a fact!
So pooey, pooey, poo. What will you do? There's a bathtub fillin'.
Stinky, stinky, doo. It's up to you. To wash off that penicillin.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC
Push another button
I dare you
I'll be gone before you can mock me
for leaving.
But I'll probably stay
long enough to make it harder to leave,
And still walk away,
Forgetting to breathe.
But I remember to keep
An easy stride
so easy your pride
might not survive.
I doubt you and I
don't trust you and I
don't think you are real.
You are crazier than me:
You soak in my zeal
Run your thumb along my greatest appeal
explore the cloaked
cliffs and plateaus, and yet
feel no love towards me.
I am too weak
To stand tall and reek
of eagerness to speak
with no constraints.
I bare my greatest pains
to enslaved brains
that manipulate to gain
something that flows freely
from me.
At the throw of a stone,
I'll walk alone.
I'll fall and crawl and bawl alone
But I refuse to throw another bone
your way.
I might confuse again your joyfulness
as mine
and accidentally stay.
Push another button
I dare you
But I know you won't
make it so simple.
You'll plead when I run but
Still bleed as I burn
everything on my shelf
to sterilize the needle
needed to sew your brittle ego.
I weave a steady thread
of lies and secrets and hope and dread
over and under.
You won't stop bleeding
As if to say " See? You can't help me, either!".
At least I tried.
You've clutched your lies and secrets
hope and dread.
Good for you, you have held onto
your head.
Mine flips 5 times a day.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC