"rimming" poems
Some people say ******* is disgusting. **** 'em, I say.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
Humming gumming
******* drinking;
her lambent face
which blink in melody.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
I always thought I'd fall in love with a poet
A man who loved me almost as much as he loved words
Who composed verses in his head
While ******* my ear with his tongue
Instead, I fell in love with a fisherman with
crackerjack hands and icy morals
An Othello, not an Orsino
He loves me more than he loves love
Because we don't always fall in love with ourselves
Thank God.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 6:49 AM UTC
The snow leopard mother runs straight
down the mountain.
Elk cliff. Blizzard.
Hammers keening
into the night.
Her silence and wild
falling is a compass
of hunger and memory. Breath
prints on the carried-away body.
This is how it goes so far away
from our ripening grapes and lime,
coyote eyes ******* the canyon.
Yet
we paddle out in our ice boat
headed toward no future at last.
O tired song of what we thought,
stillness crouches like a prow.
We break the ice gently forward.
If I want to cling to anything
then this quiet of being the last
to know about our lives.
Copyright @ 2014 by Jennifer K. Sweeney. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-a-Day on June 27, 2014.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
Banality reins supreme
In our children’s dreams.
What do you expect
When principles defect
And brand names
Mark the scene,
When rock stars sell their souls
To executives in suits,
Make perfumes
From their dance room sweat
And wear expensive boots,
Then slap their name
On random ****
And sell how nice and cute
Their clothes look on baby girls
They know we can’t refute.
As if they write their music,
Or pen their awful hits,
******* souls for millions;
Tear integrity to bits.
When art is lost for money,
And the formula is the norm,
When thousands gyrate madly
To aural chloroform,
When children posture wildly
In photos with no shame
And send them to their idols
Who don’t care to carry blame,
When all we know is taken,
Corrupted and perverse,
And all our keen philanthropy
Is squeezed into a hearse,
When there’s nothing left
But adverts on our doors,
And mindless dancing robots
Falling to the floor,
Then we might just notice
How much we had to lose
When we turned our children loose
To tie up their own noose.
No matter how steep the cost,
There’s always room to climb
As soul-less music moguls
Wrangle for a dime.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
caramel skin
like the sweet scent
of toffee & warm sugar
during a summer festival.
you called me exotic,
with black eyelashes
******* my even darker
raven eyes.
no other woman
could ever compare
with my soft voice,
strong principles,
and thoughtful nature.
you called me exotic.
but I wonder if you know,
I am a stranger within my skin,
within my community.
I am exotic
in an unsettling way--
halves and quarters,
of thoughts and ideas,
and never whole enough
for anyone.
my parents
are whole people
with a fragmented daughter;
to them,
I am a stranger--
I am exotic.
I am both
sickened and liberated
by my difference.
but mostly,
terrified.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
It was that widescreen sort of moment,
where the night sky stretched like navy blue silk
and the stars bedazzled through the atmosphere,
the perfect scene to begin the end.
With leather hands upon wooden handles,
the tense preparation rocked to and fro,
and each sibling knew they needed to state their vows
before there were no hands, big or small, to follow.
Like she had all the decades of her life,
the sister sprinted head-first through the pack
and began the ceremonial encounter,
tears already ******* the outlines the eyes.
"My warrior growl would have simply dwindled,
my loving strength would have never surfaced,
were it not for the development
of my watchful eye towards you.
I give you a thanks that spans across galaxies
for making me realize that the woman running in this heart
could delve much deeper than her surroundings,
and form a bond that gives much too pride for one lifetime."
With a breathless exhale tinged in red excitement,
the brother nearly jumped from his rocker,
more than ready to begin his greatest wordplay
and make them both depart with a bang.
"I don't know how my life span would have thrived
if you had not looked me straight in the eyes
and made me realize that layers are nothing
but barriers for the tangled lands of your cock-eyed innocence.
You were not just a pillar of strength;
you were a carrier who made the human spirit contagious.
If they could not quiet you as a mortal,
Lord knows how they'll try in Heaven."
So each said their piece,
and with the peaceful fog
clouding both of their minds,
they realized it was time.
It was a quiet disintegration,
with each participant smiling, eyes slowly closing,
freeing themselves from their bodies like stardust
towards their own constellation in the sky.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:47 AM UTC
And again you fall up.
Fall up into your own head.
Your tangled strings of thoughts
Slither and snake around themselves and choke
Themselves out with a pressure twisted
Tighter than boy-scout knots
Ebbing around painful snaps of rubber band nerves
Looping around the tennis ball of your brain
And as you fall your foot snags on the ringed
End of a threading needle and as you kick it deeper
Into your soft red pin cushion mind
You are hanging with your legs pointed up
With your fingers just barely *******
The edge of that whiskey bottle
The needle breaks.
And you fall down into that drink
Dousing your brain with boiling hot liquid
Hoping that your knotted thoughts will
Melt into spaghetti, soft and loose
Barely circling the fork of your brain
And finally unravel the pressure of
Being the only person who falls both ways.
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 8:46 PM UTC
Eyes lock on to eyes,
Tears ******* the solemn orbs;
Breaths, ragged and harsh,
Cough out,
Awaiting that final
Gasp for air.
The comforting grip
Of a friend's hand in hand.
The smell of death,
Now closing in.
Eyes lose focus, blurring,
And shut one final time.
Farewell...
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
Sharpest incisions never hurt at first
Only the cold, stark shock
The snapshot of gaping flesh
The temporary absence of pain
Lending necessary time cushions
Beckoning denial . . .
Til delayed despair descends
Overflowing through lips and eyes
Bursting blood vessels
Bubbling & burping out of
Tear ducts & cracks in skin
Til, empty now
Nerve endings dry and wither
Mutilated muscles cure into jerky &
LAST LIQUIDS congeal into flaky crusts
******* the orifices
-- Quivering --
As LAST GASSES **** out the
Top and bottom, dissipating --
Silence settles after
LAST ECHOES . . .
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
reality is funny
allowing our minds to swim
into storms of our dreams
just to shake our hearts
_with thunder_
our Love starts to flow
bursting from under
all we could have been
_with them_
and as soon as we begin
to summon our whim
it’s pulled out from under
_our feet_
and it feels like it all
could be falling apart
in the ocean they left
that keeps *******
_our heart_
but then we remember
that we have a choice
an option to own
in the depths of
_our bones_
that we don’t have to drown
in the leftover uncertainty
that we don’t have to sink
in the unknown
_they loaned_
because we were gifted
our own four limbs
and born with the skin
to swim out
_alone_
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
You cannot look into my eyes without seeing burning, lustful sparks
Filled to bursting
With what you want
To be love
But all i see
Are limp
Loveless
Ponds
Algea
*******
Them
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 1:15 PM UTC
man and his science, exploring the vast unknown
wearing his space suit, platinum white, fishbowl over his head
Jesus and all the deities in those old paintings
clothed in tunics, holy white, gold ******* their heads
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
tear me apart, like roughened stained glass, ‘cause I’m not of paper,
instead, I’m of sand from the shores of your heart,
embered from the fluid of your ******* blood.
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 7:48 AM UTC
Delivered as Child
I am to be a son
I am to become a man
I will cast the role of my old age
I am rage...
...not unfurled, curled or the world’s it is just another twirl into the vapor of godly entrails hopping bartending spirits remaining aghast at the cross firing back sparks of the universe, the remarks it takes for granted, the relationships it stains with the revenue of heartache and the generosity of the insane I remain uninterested in Time, in the mind of nature resting itself between the toeholds of gravity on the breeze, the wheat, the fleet of glances I cast her. The ever after crafted by poets and thieves and the deceit of my pleas ******* the gaze of eternity...
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 4:33 PM UTC
Can you please tell me
What are you doing here?
Exposing yourself like that
Am I supposed to feel shame?
How can you dream
Of beeing a writer
When you can't write?
Is that poetry
Or a ******* chart?
Read a dictionary or two
And then come back
Am I supposed to like
A work full of spelling mistakes?
To be sincere
I'd dispose your work like party cake
Trow your tantrum
After reading this
Please, just understand
Someone has to put sence into your head
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
the huntress arrives underneath the inky sky
clad in black with dark kohl ******* her eyes
slowly making way towards her prey
a predatory dance under the crescent moon
she smells blood in the air
metallic like the stone cold surface of her sword
she senses fear emanating from the injured mortal
the wounded creature drags itself mournfully on the snow
“pathetic” she thinks wryly
her boots clank on the ice as she gets closer to her target
finally face to face with the beast
her past right in front of her
for she remembers who this was
who she used to be
a shadow of herself
a forgotten silhouette
a fragile spirit
one which easily broke
a fickle being
one which easily caved
“you no longer serve a purpose”
she raises her sword high into the cold night
an evil look on her face
which sends shivers down the spine of her victim
she brings down the weapon in one swift motion
the creature’s eyes go wide
it’s body turns limp
a maroon stream begins to flow
the mission is complete
the damage done
her destiny fulfilled
the huntress mounts onto her black stallion
and rides away in the witching hour
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 12:56 AM UTC