"reprimands" poems
**Here I lie wide awake,
thoughts pouring through my mind.
How sweet the touch your body,
when craving after mine.**
*Playful eyes and dancing toes,
wrestling to shed our clothes.
You bite my neck and I taste yours,
we slowly kiss, our tongues explore.*
**I toss and turn, try to ignore,
these visions now vibrate my core,
the chance I'd take if you were near,
to breathe you in as though you're here.**
*Lips running down your heartfelt chest,
caressing them along your breast,
excitfull moans begin to flow,
the further down I go below.*
*With grace I trace, my love expands,
this sanctioned sin, no reprimands.
You feel me now, passions run deep,
quietly your sounds they speak,
and as they do,
I follow through,
through the depths of reaching you.*
*As inner thighs,
quiver and quake,
salty sweet your taste I take,
your fingers running through my hair,
you pace my face,
and steady,
there!
You groan in ecstasy,
your love receives the best of me.
I slowly give my all to you,
with rhythm we begin to move,
clasping our hands, you sway your hips,
you raise them up, as we eclipse.*
**It echos through these deep elations,
driving in intense sensations.**
*Entangled we begin to dance,
form beads of tropical romance.
You rain on me, and I on you,
our bodies moist like sultry dew.*
**Tell me now, where have I gone,
this feels like some celestial bond.
I'm but alone, in my own bed,
yet here you are inside my head.**
*Joining rapid beating hearts,
pulsating through our tender parts.
Increasingly your warm breath's felt,
together we begin to melt...*
**I must expel this lustrous notion,
to sinfully vow my devotion.
How can it be, to have not met,
yet yarn for you, without regret.**
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
Lazily I sit naked on my favorite carved antique chair,
by the writing table, fully immersed in Kamsutra zen,
the randy one barges in, with a smile,euphemistically reprimands:
"Man, have a heart, your ****** is being unfairly wasted again"
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 6:58 AM UTC
When your words sting through my heart and leave me broken
- I love you
When the distance between us feels like miles even though we're near
- I love you
When I think of how many fights we've been through
- I love you
When you can't control your anger and burst it all out
- I love you
When the volume of your voice increases and reprimands me
- I love you
When you speak of words of love and gentleness is in your voice
- I love you
When you make me feel the luckiest girl in the world
- I love you
When you give me hope and encouragement
- I love you
When I'm wrong and you set me right
- I love you
When you love me
- I love you
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
how come we struggle with equality,
when everyones looking for lifes perfect quality?
society cuts down gays down and reprimands,
forced into silence by a government that doesn't understand.
why cant they can't marry?
i mean come on, is gay marriage really that scary?
people should be who they want to be,
not be hiding in a closet unfree.
it's not polite to point and stare,
seriously, why do people care?
they're the same as you and me,
their ****** orientation is just different to some degree.
society needs to take a good look inside,
we need to support LGBT pride.
because supposedly we are "free,"
but how come thats not how its been lately?
(a.f.)
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
I know a bit about
*learning to dance in the rain
like nobody is watching*
but...
I know way more about
dancing like a *****
in the kitchen
despite the warden
standing aghast
eating up his own
billowy firebreath
soliloquy reprimands
I earbud block
shimmy, pivot and pop
raising vibration tornado
toss it a flippant middle
and cheeky smile
without breaking stride
devil dismayed
lips keep on syncing
as if I can hear demeaning
demonic procession
but I already know
what he’s saying
*stop dancing like that
in front of our son*
you mean…
to the beat of my own pulse
shaking divine creation
diffusing rainbow throes
undulating radiant orbitals
all for my own blissing?
one day that boy
will be a man
who knows
better
than to ever
call a goddess
a ***** in the kitchen
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
moving inland far away from
the coast temptation doth bring
deeper in land the head seems consumed by everything
nearing the coast it's the heart that sings
though inland, my love, you will find me
away from the bogs or the shoals o' herring
holding you at bay with *****
keeping me next to me
wanting tomorrow to be the better day
my mind, an island for tromping shores
different from desert sands
when the tide of your concern reprimands
on this island the shells
are smaller and there are no dollars,
the sea, a shrunken plastic expanse of
syringes and lip balm containers,
soft fluid-filled bodies turned into
sopping brown-bag skeletons,
revenges
of modern life.
there is a rivulet further up shore
do you feel it?
follow the inlet wind
near a candescent pond
there is a house
open the door
if you fall in
a home can be found.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 1:37 AM UTC
_A_ _fat_ _little_ _girl_
....
A small little child with curly brown hair
Chubby, pink cheeks with skin so fair
Eats, enjoys, indulges and more
Everyone says "she's full for sure"
_A_ _fat_ _little_ _girl_
....
A sweet little girl, with long pigtails
Sees all the girls, and wonders why she fails
They all have friends, but why doesn't she
How come they're all so happy
_A_ _fat_ _little_ _girl_
....
A shy little girl, afraid to face her school
Everyone laughs, she's fat and 'uncool'
Sitting alone each and every day
Wondering why they treat her this way
_A_ _fat_ _little_ _girl_
....
A mature little girl, much for her age
Looks at the number on the scale enraged
Hating herself and what she's become
Wishing to see all her bones such as some
_A_ _fat_ _little_ _girl_
....
A fat little girl, no food on her plate
Determined as hell to lose all this weight
Her friends and her family, see her each day
More and more frail, withering away
_A_ _sick_ _little_ _girl_
....
A skeleton of a girl, who once was happy and bright
Her eyes now dark and hollowed at night
Clinging to life with her small, bony hands
Regretting all childhood reprimands
_A_ _dead_ _little_ _girl_
....
A dead little girl, now merely a corpse
Leaving everyone behind feeling remorse
A closed casket service, nothing left to show
Wants to be be remembered as we all know
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
In loving you, no apologies I make,
My heart breaks, its pieces start to ache.
Meeting you, a bittersweet delight,
Knowing I'll never be her shadow's light.
True love knows no bounds, no demands,
I accepted you, flaws and all, no reprimands.
Yet, as you choose to return to her embrace,
My heart's agony, I struggle to erase.
I'd **** I'd die, I'd steal for you, it's true,
A love so deep, a bond that still holds true.
Forever and a day, I'll be yours to keep,
Even as my heart shatters, my soul does weep.
Aug 6, 2023
Aug 6, 2023 at 9:29 PM UTC
a cyclist avoids a dog
but takes out
a table
of garage sale
figurines
as a drought
pamphleteer
reprimands
a child
for *******
on a hose.
I haunt my faith.
according to my father
my father
isn’t alive my father
eavesdrops.
except for talking
he’s been silent
until
in pictures of her
as a young woman
his mother
is dead.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
Wing clipped at birth, domestic birds they were.
Farm and spacious pen bound together six years.
She a prodigious egg layer, Don her attentive,
aggressive defender.
Daisy one day predator killed,
old Don outwardly mourning her loss
became a very different bird. All alone
for the first time in his Duck life.
We opened his gate and let him free roam.
A lonely flightless fowl only earth bound.
All aggression subsided with no mate to protect,
he became more social, needing a friend.
Crossing the yard from the barn,
when ever he may see us there.
He hunkers down in the shade
while I tend to the garden,
him like a supervisor, chortling occasional
reprimands or encouragements, I can never
tell which. All just to be close to some living thing.
He will chase after wild doves that land near by,
sadly mistaking them as perhaps a new mate, they
fly quickly away, him wondering what social Duck
blunder he might have made.
When finished in the garden, Don and I to the
barn retire, I ladle out a cup of corn for his pleasure.
Then it's back to his always open pen where his
bathtub sits, I turn on the hose and his excitement
ramps up. Excitedly he squawks and ***** his wings,
jumps into the tub, dives below the surface, reveling
in the cool spray of man made current in his artificial lake,
and with our few moments of companionship shared.
Him doing what ducks do, for a while loneliness abated.
It's almost as if I can see a smile on his pleasant Duck face.
Most days he sits close to the chickens pen, watching
the laying hens, scratching and moving within,
perhaps wishing he was in there with them.
I fear that if I open that wire door and let him go in,
that those ladies would peck him bald or even dead.
No matter how much a lonely Duck wishes he were
a chicken, they remain birds of a very different feather,
and a Duck can remain but a Duck forever.
A thing we might all remember....
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 5:29 PM UTC
TV’s going in living room
Talking about our doom
We’re laying on the front lawn
Yesterday’s long gone
Woman showing skin
Too fat, too thin
She can never win
Throwing up yet again
Listen up man
We’re all ******
Re-repeating reprimands
Demolition on demand
Locate security
Trying to make camp
In independent infidelity
Strutting to the bank
Cashing in corrupted currency
Stock markets sank
Guitar man teary eyed
Rock and roll came and died
Record producer’s big old lies
Broken dreams and wasted time
Colorado Smokey Joe lights a bone
Faded out to the ozone
Smoking on home grown
Got glaucoma? Get an O
Shut up dude
We’re all *******
Forget the olden days
Give marriage to the gays
Let go of the narrow minded silly ways
Let it be as common as classic Frito-Lays
Rolling in the new waves
Is it God who really saves?
Is there even one big deity?
Guess there is if you believe
Be born, live life
Go to college, get a wife
Get job, sacrifice
It’s the norm, is it right?
Have a kid, then have another
Father, mother
Sister, brother
Try to tolerate each other
Watch your back bro
Because I don’t know
Undecided, undeclared
Run in circles, running scared
Take a risk, double dare
Love needs to be redefined
Unanimously agreed and signed
Peace in the heart and the mind
Going down the rabbit hole
Striving for that same goal
Anti- bullying campaign
Kid comes home blood stained
Toughen up
Enough's enough
Individuality
Opposing mainstream reality
Wiseman taken as a fool
Becomes another social causality
Feel it
Taste it
On the back of your tongue
Hanging by the gallows martyrs hung
Climbing up the ladder’s rungs
Foul smelling whiskey bums
Grab a *** and stash it
Looking like your bat ****
Steal a car and crash it
“Always wash your berries before you eat them and fly toward the sun”
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
I will, for I can, go beyond my station now
Wherefore should I be confined? And how
You will wonder at me in the future,
Which I shall make my present, forgetting the suture
That has held my mouth - It is not a scar;
And I have a million things to say as they are,
Or as they might be - I will ape Almodóvar
And outshine Solovjov, and will I go far!
I will be She of the next generation;
But I must get beyond this station
I must move beyond the static,
From the bedroom to the attic,
And from thereon, to the world,
When my courage has unfurled;
And I will seize this with both hands
And deal you wonder, charm and reprimands:
I will paint you images, and write you songs,
Celebrate your joy, and right your wrongs,
Pick at the intricacies, and throw the obvious,
Show humankind as honest and oblivious,
And I will do this all, and watch me so -
I just need to ready, set, and go.
Mar 23, 2022
Mar 23, 2022 at 8:43 PM UTC
hard to play the idiot; likened to Mr. Bean
taking the role from
Angus Daily into a Blackadder
hurrah who? ha, ha, ha!
my eyes never
left me baffled - or washington prone:
*** to a stirrup - furthermore,
or Rushmore:
Atilla with an entourage
worthy of Genghis: of prone gravitas -
i too santa's little helper
and sinatra's
five p.m. flamingo strut's
worth of martini -
when said slavic eye then lessened
germanic white-boy fisheyed to boot...
i mean less binocular and more concentrate...
but
there's me as a fifth of Nevada in Siberia
that's always the: **** we sold Alaska!
Nicolai! oh Nicolai! Alaska! **** or
of what was the Crimea, of what is the Kremlin:
k, c, k, c, s, c, k, c, k, c, Vlad, s, t, u, v, k, c, s,
Rasputin, k, c, k, c, Boney M....
i'm still fidgety about the third ethnicity in
europe... i have to gather them attune to being
southern slav, or pseudo-turkish,
Finns, Latvians and Greeks... sounds like
falafel: all guidance to the subsequent reprimands
of necessarily tongue-tied whiplash -
gravitas with the kink and jeopardy of a gimp
fetish on the loose.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
Silence ebbs
Down the street
By my side.
By my pride.
Shattered not
By the patter on
My umbrella,
Down Avenue Isabella.
And silence flows.
The crooked sidewalk
Grabs at my feet
And my pride snickers.
Silence breaks not
For your ambient
Bickers.
A door of wickers'
Make
On Avenue Isabella
Swings to regression
And silence flickers.
For whom
The bell tolls
My pride reprimands.
The dead need no
Gentle hands.
And on
Avenue Isabella
Porous souls are steeped
So deeply in
Their own pretension
To fill the lonely holes
That the bell tolls
To a harmonious roar
Of crowded silence.
Dead
Silence.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
I knelt down and cried, within His gentle, multi colored hands.
Confessing to my sins and hoping He would understand.
I realized my own forgiveness was at my command.
I had been harder on myself, with my own reprimands.
Gently, in multi colored hands, I cried and knelt down within.
He said that my beliefs, were not looked upon as sins.
For was He not a part of everything we had been given?
And was He not at the core of every Sects religion?
His multi colored hands, gentled, as I knelt down within and cried.
For God has not one Nationality, nor one color, I realized.
And I did not see a sign that read Only Christians Need Apply.
An all encompassing love, was his way of a reply.
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 5:29 PM UTC
*They say I write for love for I am in love, and they love the works I wrote.
But I can't help but be a little peeved, though still I smile with the gratefulness it connotes.
I wonder when will they hear the reprimands my heart whispers. That I do not write for love because I am in love, but I write of love because of you.*
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
These days in doubt
my sanity proven
culled from my lovitude
or should I say attitude
maybe solitude
'cos I thought I was on guard
Until fall I did
without a thud,
slowly the fade began
until the voice stopped
no more reprimands
questions stopped
conscience slept
and I roared
happy to soar
then it returned
Fear,
pain,
uncertainty
and I retraced my steps
not without scars
for this haven we savoured
with its perks and glints
now hold ashes
for me,
us,
I can't sit still without thinking
of purity sold
guard let down
to lovitude's joy
as sorrow flooded
The wasted me
I might not relate to this
but I do translate it
can I still sit in your arms
without regrets of disappointments thrown
of regrets without end
for that moment this madness began.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 4:43 AM UTC
The ticking clock runs slow
Time seems to slow with it
Heads nod as the professor teaches
Pencils slow as class runs long
It should have ended an hour ago
No one realizes that the clock has stopped
When will it be over?
No one knows, everyone cares
The professor looks up at the clock
Sighs and keeps teaching
Stuck at 2:55 the second hand twitches
Some one checks their watch its 4 o'clock
They try to let him know
He reprimands them
Finally he checks his own watch
It is also broken
He keeps teaching
And teaching
We go through a weeks worth of lessons
Its now 7 o'clock
Some one tries to leave
He shuts the door
Still he teaches
How I do now know
Eventually the lights go off
Now we can leave
We see him smirking as we walk away
He knew all along
He just wanted to see if we would stay
And we did
Just like good little sheep
Doing everything the shepherd says
Without a second thought
Maybe not next time though
Maybe he won't get away with it
But we are the sheep, we do not think
We do whatever he tells us to
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
They push us to the sea
amongst their garbage and their humanity
there is power in the depths of what you don’t understand
decline all that isn’t cash in hand
you push me, you pull me along
but when I straggle, like an old man, you do little to help me along
to the grave that awaits me in this dirt
to the mother and her clay earthen rebirth
for this I cannot stand
for you or your foolish demands
I find my legs pulling me into the soil, into the sands
To a core of nourishment, as the earth reprimands
My spirit
And unprofitable wisdoms
Nursed off these primordial urges
Sprung from these primordial waters
They wish to nourish you too
Take you to the land your ancestors always knew
But take what you may, take what you can, you’re too fast to sit, to reminisce, to even understand
The power, in your ways
you dismiss
your mind is despondent, to you, your body and your long days
Disturbs and aches away
The life in you decays
The irritation in your eyes flare
For the young and the ancients to prepare
For the rains
They do come
From the druids and their amphibian lungs
The chieftains move in their sunken ocean bed
Heave their damaged corporeal forms unto the shores
As far as their breath can take them and their blindness can see
To where that body dies, and the eternal walks eternally
To walk amongst you, to change you and heal the old and the forgotten ones
those you’ve left cleaved and torn
From the wisdoms their ancestors had weaved for them, to be worn
To you, do we sing
Those who are connected to a place that feeds the heart and the mind
Clears all of which was not fore-designed
For this body, for this soul, for all of the wonders the earth ponders to show
Do your deeds
Do them well
If they serve your soul
The earth as our united soul will tell
We have contract
our secrets, with composure, will yell
Amongst the rolling rocks, to the aggravated layers, to those that move above you, to those that travel in the thin air when you kiss.
You would do well, not to dismiss
To no longer remiss
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 7:26 AM UTC
An old friend sleeps
somewhere you've not been.
He may be seeing
awful things
or lovely ones. Of course,
you've no discernment,
for you dwell outside
his sphere now and outside
his dreams; for that matter,
you cannot sleep at all.
When his body gives
the sudden ****
you tiredly await--
when he falls
from the hammock
and breaks his arm,
will you reprimand him
for his fault?
Yet, could not you have told him
when he asked
for your advice
those years ago
that you doubted him
in the first place? that
his ambition frightened
you? that high-up hammocks
are beds for the foolish
more often than not?
Through the pain
of malbent joint and forced
awakening next to you
where you've watched
from the ground,
will he learn only then?
What if he reprimands
you, then, upon consciousness--
what then? Or what if it's his spine
he damages, and Something Goes
Very Wrong, and he cannot speak,
but it is in the misery of his eyes
that you can hear him declaring,
"You could have spared me this!"
--what then?
Or what will you say
if he never comes down
at all? And when? How, even,
will you know that he has woken?
--that he's happy? --that he wishes
you had come with him,
hopes that you might yet?
An old friend sleeps--
or seems to sleep--
somewhere you've not been,
and as you ask yourself,
"What became of him?"
he looks to you
from his high perch
and also aches to know--
as someone below you
asks of you;
and someone beneath him
and someone beneath him
and someone beneath him...
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 2:01 AM UTC
Glassy gold eyes, perfect porcelain face, ruby red lips, a raven spill of tresses.
Slender white arms, lengthy legs, miniature black shoes, a golden buckle.
Knee length black ruffles, puffed sleeves, a sparkly gold sash snug around my middle.
Round teeny cheeks, a tiny gold bracelet, dainty gold studs punctuate my ears.
A little rouge gives my eyes some life.
Master smiles.
I am a doll.
He checks his pocket watch; my new family is almost here.
He poses me high on a shelf in a pitch black room, my face and limbs giving off an unnatural luminosity.
The ****** of the shop’s bell tells me they’ve arrived; they’ve come to take me home.
An impatient child squeals.
A mother reprimands.
The anxious child gives a quiet complaint.
The mother inquires.
Master answers and comes for me.
The darkness floods with light.
Master’s hands gently encircle my waist.
He whispers caution and presents me to my owner.
The excited child snatches me from his hands, jerking my head back awkwardly.
The daughter of Queen Elizabeth I’s fourth cousin, twice removed.
“The most spoiled brat in all of England,” my Master might say.
She stares into my eyes.
She greets me with joy and a flicker of fear at how lifelike I stare back.
Her mother pays and I am cuddled and cradled.
Over her shoulder I pull back my ruby lips, my sharp grin flashes privately for my Master.
We leave the shop and stroll into the night.
The sound of his laughter echoes triumphantly in our ears.
In the sitting room, the dying embers in the fireplace cast a red glow on their lifeless features.
The door in the foyer creaks, opening.
A smile lights my face.
They have paid the highest price and Master has come to collect his favorite toy.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 6:52 PM UTC
My love of the morning
my love dressed in dawn
My love early risen
and risen, so still
My love whom only
the noonday could ****
My love of an hour
my love in the dust
My love who only
does what she must
with a folded lily in folded hands
my love whom the afternoon reprimands
My love of the dusk
my love of the evening
My love barely listening
my love barely breathing
Who is my love whose love only leaves her
and lingers in shadows where no one receives her
My love of the night
who desires the moon
and the stars all gleaming
through tired trees leaning
My love of the earth, my love of the grave
my love of the sky, the blaze, the wave.
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 9:31 PM UTC
[if I want any **** out of u, I'll squeeze ur head]
There is another class that is acceptable to the boring,
by a single look I can see the ******* ******** Apostolic Letter
of the skin test [Mestizo ipsum dolor sit amet] the water of wisdom,
sister clings to the child worthy of mourning
[_Anda_ is said to be the dignity of the excited _Zambo_], in my opinion,
in the night, he purposed to slap the crazy fun female,
as the plague of the sea & began; the tamale had a dream
in the kitchen of the angels of [in stock of the praise of God]
the writing disguised woman as a mustard seed,
you're the only ****** now; crazy & put in the last cell on Tuesday
hot sticky storm in heaven fueling creatures face down
& *** up, the fish's twin leg lifts cause tremors on the avenue
golden glass voice heard the man's father, the owner
of my floor, choosing his friends moments to
creation, believing that the process of the beast
should contribute as a picture on a close grip
of your Pap nectar on the night when he
reprimands the seriousness of _cam pereira_,
I will not quarrel over the sublimation of the
selling remedy for the cold sand
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC