"romp" poems
Goodnight green eyes,
Your dreams await you in Silver-Lined skies,
Dreams of dragons, and fairies, and me,
and hopefully just a touch of mystery.
The sliding colors slipping silently through silky seas,
gliding gracefully over gallant gull wings,
whisking you away with a gentle breeze.
You see dragons and pirates,
fairies and gypsies,
tricksy little gnomes,
and flamboyant pixies,
you see them all tucking away,
hiding in there homes as their thoughts start to stray.
and as you glide gracefully over the sea,
your thoughts start to wonder what tomorrow will be,
will there be adventures or heart ache and loss,
or maybe even a romp through the moss,
you might not know now,
but theres something you do,
that someone you love,
is waiting for you.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
My mind never turns off
Like light from the stars after dawn
My conscious switch has been stomped
By the force of biology
And I can’t get a grip
My thoughts continue to romp
Out loud, and I scream them
Cause they scream at me too
I have no control of it
There’s nothing I can do
Conscious and subconscious?
I don’t believe in separation of the two
I think a mile a minute
My mind is a rendezvous
For both of their needs
They help fuel me,
And segregate only when I refuse to be free
I must say,
It makes everything more fun
The sky seems so vast
And every single blade of grass
Is just as interesting as the one next to it
Every rain drop of dew
Shines with a light
On lawn where it grew,
From the sun that shuns
It’s growth, when it hides beyond the clouds
I breathe it in when it decides to come out
It’s life
I just want to sing the thoughts I have
Because I don’t know
How to say them all, without forgetting
In the next few minutes,
When my mind is burned with then need
To explore even more
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
When I feel the thunder crashing
I imagine it's the thrashing
Of my sweet sadistic lover
Snatching me out of the covers
When I hear the storm winds howling
I imagine it's the growling
Of my lover in the night
His eyes filled with evil light
When I feel the rain drops falling
It makes my mind start recalling
Tears my lover brought to me
From pleasure and pain mixed expertly
When my lover leaves me bleeding
Fully sated but still needing
Another ***** romp with him
But next time I'm S and he's M
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
On the surface
I look like an American
But
I've always felt
I've always known
That deep down inside
I am Italian!
••
For the sake of continuity
I'll still write as Jeffrey Robin
But I am now
SIGNIOR GIOVANNI FRANCESCO BELLADONNA DE LA BAD *** DUDE!
(Oh yeah
I'm Italian Mafiosa!)
••
I feel liberated!
PURE
••
Oh yeah.
There's one more thing
You know how I'm always writing these highly sensitive intelligent poems?
Well
I've looked deep down inside myself and realized that this isn't me!
Deep down inside
I AM AN IDIOT!
A FOOL!
••
Out of the closet!
At last!
Free!
••
This is the first poem I've written reflecting my newer
Truer
Status!
••
••
Let us romp together joyously
To the DEATH CAMPS.
Beyond the Hills!
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
You ask why I believe in Jesus.
Well why did you believe in Santa Claus as a kid?
Because he brought you gifts right?
Why question something that brings you gifts right.
That's why I belive in Jesus.
He brings me life.
Allows me to dream endlessly.
Gives my mind freedom to shut out the ghosts because he has plans for me to prosper.
But most of all ignites my soul and allows my mind to romp all the days of my life.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
It is easy to romp and play
In lighthearted levity
When the sun doth shine so merrily
And the mallard flies so free
Yet to laugh when the stygian dark clouds grow
To dance when the gale winds blow
To smile & bow to the Reaper spurned
Is staunch strength well earned
Is God's fuel well burned
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
I never knew here to be one who would accept my roses
Or even one to exchange kisses like Eskimos, rubbing noses
But I could tell you it was her smile that gave her away
Even amidst the mud on her cheeks she gained throughout the day
She was never one for dresses, no, her jeans fitted just fine
Her figure flattering, though her clothes modest, humble in her design
And she would sooner throw a punch than look for rescuing
Yet she showed her princessly ways every time she'd sing
She would rather raise a mug than a cup of tea
And romp around, laughing all the while, on the bed with me
She'd giggle when I burped, and defeat me all the more
Then lie with me to look at the ceiling from her bedroom floor
But when she cried... oh when she cried... there crying she would be
And you would see no figure that was all the more dainty
No words said as she'd bury her face deep into my chest
Strong is she, all to me, in sorrow or happiness
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 1:28 PM UTC
Riding...
Riding bikes in the mountains is fun
Riding bikes in the desert with sun
Riding the trails up and down
Riding the trails around and around
Riding the trails north and south
Riding the trails with dirt in your mouth
Riding the trails east and west
Riding the trails with no time to rest
Riding the trails with pumps and drops
Riding the trails with sand and rocks
Can't get enough of this crazy, crazy romp
The more that you learn, the more you can stomp
Brian Hill - 2019#126
Inspired by my craze over MT Biking
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
Becoming... hmmm...
what am I... becoming...
is this the enlightenment
of my trip? hmm...
journeying through the seasons
of inner time and place...
therein which lies... a space....
not that sort.... not the sort of the
spicky icky spacky... space...
it's the... hmmm... sleepy space...
I sit and wonder... this place is where I... ponder...
fabric... the fabric of this life...
I AM FLOATING INTO THIS CHAIR
CONCEPT BANDS
CONCEPT ALBUMS
THAT'S WHAT I WANT TO SEE I AM JUST LIKE TIMOTHY LEARY
... but that... that is only a character.. the outlook I assume in..certain moods...
that state of worry... that's what I mean.
I am the wind
the sea
...
speak friend,
enter...
speak...
speak to me.
'I see we meet again... hmmmm...'
The music keeps changing my moods, you see...
Subconscious... I must be more mindful...
'Increase mindfulness'
I must bring the feelings... out
don't shove them away...
don't shove me away...
on this normal
squashy day
Love your dark shadow love the wolves
streams of consciousness I must cut up all of these streams
I worry too much about the future... am I crazy? or just afraid of being...
telepathy
Here's this concept that I have that represents all of these feelings that I have that I tell
to you and you receive as whatever feelings you associate with said concept
and hope they match up
I only write when I have something to preach... a sermon, you see..
yet I write every day...
to preach a sermon to me
'Does it make me bad?' this way I am?
does it make you.. mad?
mushy swampy bog filled mushrooms
I sag into the soppy plants in me
this world is my swamp
and this swamp is me
into the swampy swamp I romp
All day I ravage roam
I stomp
jive my vibe...
Exotic exodus execution
into the deep reeds
paddling the little cellophane canoe
Must... move...
Must... go...
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
We stomp and we romp
with our filthy, bare feet
we jump and we bump
in the high summer heat.
Just skin, nails, and teeth
stop when we see blood
we are the ***** girls
rolling around in the mud.
We're queer, we drink beer
in the park in the dark
we yawp, twist, and shout
and we jeer and we bark.
We **** for the thrill
in the sweet with sweat season;
we say it's revenge,
but we don't need a reason.
Saturated plum flesh
bursting between jaws,
we are boundless, we are seeping,
we are love without laws.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 12:19 AM UTC
I love to sit in the bogs
and listen to the frogs
I love to hear the sound
as they hop upon the ground
Their croaks "music to my ears"
it always brings me to tears
The place I like to romp
inside the darkened swamp
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 8:21 PM UTC
**"His mind would never romp again like the mind of God."
The Great Gatsby**
Does he fret,
Does he sweat,
Does he pay his bills
On Time,
Even tho his personal stash
Of anything,
Inexhaustible and
He bills himself?
Is he lonely,
So when he romps,
His greatest pleasure is
Inventing new kinds of pain?
Does he like to watch butter
Snowmelt,
Does he turn the honey jar
Upside down
Because viscosity is
A turn on?
Is he lonely?
Of course he is,
Is that why he endlessly
Tinkers with creative destruction?
Does he put strawberry jam
On his watermelon?
Salt on his wounds,
Caramelized onions in his
Cologne and parfumes?
Does he watch reruns?
The bombing of Dresden, Hiroshima?
The shaving of the heads of the French women?
What's his fav. late night host,
When he can't sleep
And. his damaged dreams
Become our unfortunate realities?
Acting childish, a métier,
So he can scold himself?
Does he keep score,
Ever say no more,
Contemplate suicide,
Or just murdering his sons?
Did he kiss Shakespeare's lips,
Or just his fingertips?
Does he sing a Capella
With Holly and Cooke,
Let Beethoven play rock n' roll?
What is he best excuse
For playing with
Tormented souls,
Making so many wonderful things
Forbidden fruit?
Does he worship regularly at the altar?
Irony his faith and skin his vestments?
Are his twisted straight,
His late, early?
His order disordered and when bored,
Does he just close his eyes and
Let us live in peace?
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
Can she hear me?
See me
Feel me glance her swerves and curls
She has a sweep from her meniscus
A bend so perfect, I see math
Silent curves smooth as jazz
Her angles romp and swing
In consensus with the beat of my heart
The music creeps up my skin
Inaudible sounds are seen and touched
Never before has an opera of perfection
Made my gut dance
My tongue slides back in my throat with electricity
Harmony rules from head to toe
I crave more of this girl's symphony
To taste the sound of her voice
The drama of her sculpture
The melodious song embedded in her arch
Create a concerto of romance
Or a home for the warrior poet
Passion composed from gunfire
A rainbow of smoke engulfs these eyes
What does she see?
What does she feel?
Can she hear me?
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
i've spent months like moths between poems
sacrificing gods for endless answers
but always losing the light or dying on a too-hot bulb
unable to comprehend infinity as a spiritual fly-swatter
but i'm learning how to surrender to silence
diminish into campfires
wash in busted fire hydrants
meditate inside the figurative dumpster of solitude
perhaps forever this time
but my attraction to her is raw
like the sun today at 3pm
burning away my anxiety and shadows
not fueled by selfish lust or vanity
but by surprising vacuum
she is frightening in her beauty
her mind filled with incandescent chaos
her voice a softly spoken flute singing in a canyon
her hair a delightfully suffocating gas
her belly, her smell, everything from
her nostrils to her feet marching
through my tingling limbs
she was from the far end of the universe
a dream of the temporal lobe
polluted by the spike-and-wave blips of computer music
halos around mouths chewing ecstasy pills
her mystic lips curled and eyes lightly fluttering
over a simmering can of cherry coke
my hands an unsteady inch away from
her heated and heaving rib-cage
my lips whispering breaths onto her ivory throat
after a 4am romp donald duck explains
childhood memories from a buzzing television box
the smell of man-musk and sandalwood
spilled whisky and patchouli thicken the air of the room
as weak dawn light streams in through philodendron stalks and fingered leaves arrested by the wind
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
The scene:
http://beautyineverything.com/5064159807
Here, in the meadow,
we as children,
(even me)
romp and frolic,
in happy dreams.
Care free, here,
all of us together,
jumping and playing
in the wildflowers,
weeds and sprigs of heather.
Ethereally, I ponder,
(the only way i can)
these sweetest of wishes,
these most daring of dreams,
here inside my heart of good-bye kisses.
It's all that's left,
(of me, you see)
just such brief snapshots,
of sweet wishes lost,
and daring dreams soon to be
forgot...
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 7:14 AM UTC
Ruby Jeffords was cutting a rug
To the music played by hubby Bub.
Four guitars and a moonshine jug,
Bass fiddle made from a wash tub.
And the music they play is not
Headed out for Carnegie Hall.
While it may not be sophisticated
Everyone is having a ball.
There’s two stepping and stomp
And a lot of big cowboy hats.
It’s a country and western romp
And it don’t get better than that.
The fiddle player is sawing
Like he’s cutting a cord of wood.
The onlookers are clapping hands.
They’d all join in if they could.
And the music they play is not
Headed out for Carnegie Hall.
While it may not be sophisticated
Everyone is having a ball.
The dance floor is so crowded
Some people just sit this one out.
But they add to the joy and spirit
Because they clap loud and shout.
They feel the music and tap toes
Falling into the music and beat.
Bub playing, and Ruby dancing
Everybody tapping their feet.
Ruby Jeffords was cutting a rug
To the music played by hubby Bub.
Four guitars and a moonshine jug,
Bass fiddle made from a wash tub.
And the music they play is not
Headed out for Carnegie Hall.
While it may not be sophisticated
Everyone is having a ball.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
It had rained all night
And drenched the land outright
Leaving puddles and pools,
Here, there and everywhere.
But the morning saw
The sun blazing ever more bright
I watched the water
Flowing silently away
With no ostentation
Along channels, furrows and waterways
Cavities, crevices and culverts
And through ditches and drains
What little remained,
Seeped down unnoticed
Through innumerable pores unseen.
As prisoners from narrow cells
Suddenly released into boundless space
Or troops from a garrison
On a spurt of fresh attack
The children shut indoors
Came out in gangs
To romp, jump and play.
Unmindful of anything,
They soon lost in a wave of giggles.
But how sudden was the change!
The sky over cast with dark clouds
Fired out like a water cannon.
Once more the rain,
Cascaded down with greater vengeance
Each drop weighing gallons
And the silver needles pricking deep
Making the children flee
In directions all round
Like autumn leaves
Scattered by the wind!
The rain continued to pour
Inundating the low lying lands
Oh! Mother Nature
How erratic are your moods
How unpredictable
How like a child throwing tantrums
And how quickly appeased!
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 5:36 AM UTC
~~~
His eyes are growing dimmer
He doesn't romp and play so much
Although he is still a beggar
His eyes are growing dimmer
They're almost the color of azure
He does still love my touch
His eyes are growing dimmer
Now his paws don’t seem to clutch
~~~
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
If you venture out at night in the Louisiana swamp
You better be careful of where you do romp
Out in this swamp where the tree moss hangs thick
You better step lively you better step quick
You better beware
You better take care
I'm gonna tell you just what in there dwells
You can't trust your brother, you can't trust your friend
You can't trust your family, no not none of them
For in that swamp lies a mighty curse
It's not like a nightmare it's much, much worse
It's big, 10 feet tall
And hair covers it all
Part man part dog, wolf, and demon
If you see it, it'll start you to screaming
It's a curse laid on man
You'll never know who wears the brand
So don't go out in the silky black night
Your heart might not be able to take the fright
For it's name is the Lugaru
And it will be coming for you
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
Love Function
Love function.m
----------------------------------------------------------
*function *** hopeful (pain, pleasure)
% xxx A romp through the meadows below
% perceived as a token invitation to
% the gates of heaven and hell back, enjoyed.
xxx.plans=...
['kiss', 'touch', 'play';
'hug', 'grope', 'nookie'];
duration= 45.00;
awk.silence= 480.00*pleasure;
rest= 0:1/pain: duration;
love = [ ];
for i= 7:length(pain)
pain = pleasure (u);
if (pleasure= 'kiss' && pain= 'touch' && pleasure= 'play' && pain= ''grope' && pleasure= 'hug' && pleasure= nookie')
%checks for comfort
continue
end;
[ii,uu] = find(pain==pleasure);
moan = cos(2pipain(ii,uu)duration) + cos(2pipleasure(ii,uu)*awk.silence);
love = [love, hate(2,awk.silence), callback]
end;
maybe(yes,no);
relationship(love);
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
At the stroke of five o’ clock
The crew begins to trickle in the door for
Josie’s Slumber Party.
Hand cut finger sandwiches adorn
The chestnut coffee table already brimming
With nail polishes and eyeshadows
In hues of peacock blue and bubblegum pink
And temptress scarlet red. The girls
Romp around the room like ballerinas
Dressed in everything from soccer shorts to
Mama’s high heels. Two sizes too big.
Practically ladies as they gloss their lips but
Girlish giggles and squeals reveal their
Youth: Age ten; age eleven; age twelve.
And in the middle of this fine affair
Polished nails are used to pick at teeth;
Makeup adheres to bangs, braids and ponytails.
Bare hands brush through the knotted hair of
Any and All. Beauty – of course – is collective, yet
Dignified.
As if to call the girls over, lure them in so painfully slow,
The sprinklers awaken on the front lawn and spill forth
Waterfalls of childhood memories. Running barefoot
during the searing summer dusk. The girls are under
The Spell. Feather boa and lipstick at hand, they make
A mad dash for the lawn. The squeals are louder, more
Vibrant than before. With grass stains on their gowns
and water re-tangling their freshly styled hair, these
Ladies could not be any more proper.
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 3:37 PM UTC
.
Scurrilous birds fly by,
To nest in the little painted
Houses left clear for them,
In awkward circles they romp
Their peculiar dramas
With ****** wings.
Do they even witness
The skies revolving canvas,
New masterpieces each day,
How the light shimmers
In the sparkle rays of sun,
How the golden fields,
Of vales in sighted sweep
And dance, airy etudes,
By the windfall gusts
So suddenly arising?
These visions are marks
For but few, who hear time
As it plays in stepped quartets
Of the spiraling seasons song,
For the lone mercies, gifts,
To ones most gentle, merest,
Spirited eyes who gaze deftly,
Deep in sacred days,
From a window.
.
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC
I want to take one day
To just go out and play
To forget about the grown up ways
To run, jump and romp
Pretend I'm Godzilla and just stomp
Or be a creature from the swamp
Make mud pies let them bake in the sun
Flap my arms like a bird when I run
**** it I just want to have fun
To see the world again trough the eyes of my inner child
When everything left me so beguiled
To see things in that why,has been such a very long while
Innocence left me at age eight
Since then all I've seen is hate
On a scale my misery would be hard to rate
Is it to much to ask for just ONE day
To go out and have some fun and play
Just one single solitaire day without the gray
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC