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Song one
This is a song about tarzanic love
That subsisted some years ago,
As a love duel between an English girl and an African ogre,
There was an English girl hailing along the banks of river Thames
She had stubbornly refused all offers for marriage,
From all the local English boys, both rich and poor
tall and short, weak or strong, ugly and comely in the eye,
the girl had refused and sternly refused the treats for love,
She was disciplined to her callous pursuit of her dream
to marry a mysterious,fantastic,lively,original and extra-ordinary man,
That no other woman in history of human marriage ever married,
She came from London, near the banks of river Thames,
Her name was Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill, daughter of a peasant,
She came from a humble English family, which hustled often
For food, clothing, and other calls that make one an ordinary British,
She grew up without a local boy friend, anywhere in the English world,
She is the first English girl to knock the age of forty five while a ******,
She never got deflowered in her teens as other English girls usually do
She preserved her purse with maximal carefulness in her wait for a black man,
Her father, of course a peasant, his trade was human barber and horse shearer,
Often asked her what she wants in life before her marriage, which man she really wanted,
Her specification was an open eyesore to her father; no blinkers could stave the father’s pale
For she wanted a black tall man, strong and ruggedly dark in the skin, must own a kingdom,
Fables taken to her from Africa were that such an African man was only one but none else,
His glorious name was Akhatembete kho bwibo khakhalikha no bwoya,
When the English girl heard the chimerical name of her potential husband,
She felt a super bliss in her spine; she yearned for the day of her rendezvous,
She crashed into desperate burning for true English love
With a man with a wonderful name like Akhatembete kho bwibo khakhalikha no bwoya.


Song two

Rumours of this English despair and dilemma for love reached Africa, in the wrong ears,
Not the human ears, but unfortunately the ears of the ogres, seasoned in the evil art,
It was received and treated as classified information among the African ogress,
They prevented this news to leak to African humans at all at all
Lest humans enjoy their human status and enjoy most
The love in the offing from the English girl,
They thus swiftly plotted and ployed
To lure and win the ******
From royal land;
England.




Song three

Firstly, the African ogres recruited one of their own
The most handsome middle aged male ogre, more handsome than all in humanity,
And of course African ogres are beautiful and handsome than African humans, no match,
The ogres are more gifted in stature, physique, eugenics and general overtures
They always outplay African humans on matters of intelligence, they are shrewder,
Ogres are aggressive and swashbuckling in manners; fear is none of their domain
Craft and slyness is their breakfast, super is the result; success, whether pyrrhic or Byronic,
Is their sweetest dish, they then schemed to get the English girl at whatever cost,
They made a move to name one of their fellow ogres the name of dream man;
Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha no bwoya,
Which an English girl wanted,
By viciously naming one of their handsome middle-aged man this name.

Song four

Then they set off 0n foot, from Congo moving to the north towards Europe abode England,
Where the beautiful girl of the times, Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill hail,
They were three of them, walking funnily in cyclopic steps of African ogres,
Keeping themselves humorously high by feigning how they will dupe the girl,
How they will slyly decoy the English village pumpkin of the girl in to their trap,
And effortlessly make her walk on foot from England to Africa, in pursuit of love
On this muse and sweet wistfulness they broke out into loud gewgaws of laughter,
In such emotional bliss they now jump up wildly forgetting about their tails
Which they initially stuffed inside white long trousers, tails now wag and flag crazily,
Feats of such wild emotions gave the ogres superhuman synergy to walk cyclopically,
A couple of their strides made them to cross Uganda, Kenya, Somali, Ethiopia and Egypt
Just but in few days, as sometimes they ran in violent stampedes
Singing in a cryptic language the funny ogres songs;

Dada wu ndolelee!
Dada wu ndolelee!
Kuyuni kwa mnja
Sa kwingile khundilila !

Ehe kuyuni Mulie!
Ehe kuyuni mulie!
Omukhana oyo
Kaloba khuja lilia !
They then laughed loudly, farted cacophonously and jumped wildly, as if possessed,
They used happiness and raucous joy as a strategy to walk miles and miles
Which you cover when moving on foot from Congo to England,
They finally crossed Morocco and walked into Europe,
They by-passed Italy and Spain walking piecemeal
into England, native land of the beautiful girl.

Song  five

When the three ogres reached England, they were all surprised
Every woman and man was white; people of England walked slowly and gently
They made minimum noise, no shouting publicly on the street,
a stark contrast to human behaviour and ogre culture in Africa, very rambunctious,
Before they acclimatized to disorderly life in England, an over-sighted upset befell them
Piling and piling menace of pressure to ****,
Gripped all the three ogre brothers the same time,
None of them had knowledge of municipal utilities,
They all wanted to micturated openly
Had it not been beautiful English girls
Ceaselessly thronging the streets.



Song six

They persevered and moved on in expectation of coming to the end,
Out-skirt of the strange English town so that they can get a woodlot,
From where they could hide behind to do open defecation
All was in vain; they never came to any end of the English town,
Neither did they come by a tumbled-down house
No cul de sac was in sight, only endless highway,
Sandwiched between tall skyscraping buildings,
One of the ogres came up with an idea, to drip the ****
Drop by drop in their *******, as they walk to their destiny,
They all laughed but not loudly, in controlled giggles
And executed the idea minus haste.

Song seven

They finally came down to the banks of river Thames,
Identified the home of Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill
The home had neither main gate nor metallic doors,
They entered the home walking in humble majesty,
Typical of racketeering ogre, in a swindling act,
The home was silent, no one in sight to talk to
The ogres nudged one another, repressing the mirth,
Hunchbacked English lass surfaced, suddenly materialized
Looking with a sparkle in the eye, talking pristine English,
Like that one written by Geoffrey Chaucer, her words were as piffling
As speech of a mad woman at the fish market, ogres looked at her in askance.

Song eight

An ogre with name Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya opened to talk,
Asked the girl where could be the latrine pits, for micturation only,
The hunchbacked lass gave them a direction to the toilets inside the house,
She did it in a full dint of English elegance and gentility,
But all the ogres were discombobulated to their peak
about the English latrine pit inside the house,
they all went into the toilet at the same time,
to the chagrin of the hunchbacked lass
she had never seen such in England
she struggled a lot
to repress her mirth
as the English
never get amused
at folly.




Song nine

It is a tradition among the ogres to ****,
Whenever they are ******* in the African bush,
But now the ogres are in a fix, a beautiful fix of their life
If at all they ****, the flatulent cacophony will be heard outside
By the curious eavesdroppers under the eaves of the house,
They murmured among themselves to tighten their **** muscles
So that they can micturated without usual African accomplice; the tweeee!
All succeeded to manage , other than Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
Who urinated but with a low tziiiiiiii sound from his ***, they didn’t laugh
Ogres walked out of privities relaxed like a catholic faithful swallowing a sacrament,
The hunchback girl ushered them to where they were to sit, in the common room
They all sat with air of calm on their face, Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
led the conversation, by announcing to the girl that he is Victoria’s visitor from Africa,
To which the girl responded with caution that Victoria is at the barbershop,
Giving hand to her father in shearing the horses, and thus she is busy,
No one is allowed to meet her, at that particular hour of the day
But he pleaded to the hunchback girl only to pass tidings to Victoria,
That Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya from Africa
Has arrived and he is yearning to meet her today and now,
The girl went bananas on hearing the name
The hunch on her back visibly shook,
Is like she had heard the name often,
She then became prudent in her senses,
And asked the visitor not to make anything—
Near a cat’s paw out of her person,
She implored the visitor to confirm
if at all he was what he was saying
to which he confirmed in affirmation,
then she went out swiftly
like a tail of the snake,
to pass tidings
to her sister
Victoria.


Song ten
She went out shouting her sister’s name,
A rare case to happen in England,
One to make noise in the broad day light,
With no permission from the local leadership,
She called and ululated Victoria’ name for Victoria to hear
From wherever she was, of which she heard and responded;
What is the matter my dear little sister? What ails you?
Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya is around!
She responded back in voice disturbed by emotional uproar,
What! My sister why do you cheat me in such a day time?
Am not cheating you my sister, he is around sited in our father’s house,
Is he? Have you given him a drink, a sweet European brandy?
My sister I have not, I feared that I may mess up your visitors
With my hunched shoulders, I feared sister forbid,
Ok, I am coming, running there, tell him to be patient,
Let me tell him sister just right now,
And make sure you come before his patience is stretched.





Song eleven

Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill almost went berserk
On getting this good tidings about the watershed presence,
Of the long awaited suitor, her face exploded into vivacity,
Her heart palpitating on imagination of finally getting the husband,
She went out of the barber shop running and ululating,
Leaving her father behind, confounded and agape,
She came running towards her father’s main house
Where the suitor is sited, with the chaperons,
She came kicking her father’s animals to death,
Harvesting each and every fruit, for the suitor,
She did marvel before she reached where the suitor was;
Harvested ten bananas, mangoes and avocadoes,
Plums, pepper, watermelons, lemons and oranges,
She kicked dead five chicken, five goats, rams,
Swine, rabbits, rats, pigeons and hornbills,
When she reached the house, she inquired to know,
Who among them could be the one; Akhatembete Khobwibo
Khakhalikha no bwoya, But her English vocals were not guttural enough,
She instead asked, who among you is a key tempter go weevil car no lawyer?
The decoy ogre promptly responded; here I am the queen of my heart. He stood up,
Victoria took the ogre into her arms, whining; babie! Babie, babie, come!
Victoria carried the ogre swiftly in her arms, to her tidy bed room,
She placed the ogre on her bed, kissed one another at a rate of hundred,
Or more kisses per a minute, the kissing sent both of them crazy, but spiritual craft,
That gave the ogre a boon to maintain some sobriety, but libido of virginity held Victoria
In boonless state of ****** feat, defenseless and impaired in judgment
It extremely beclouded her judgment; she removed and pulled of their clothes,
Libidinous feat blurring her sight from seeing the scarlet tail projecting
From between the buttocks of the ogre, vestige of *******,
She forcefully took the ogre into her arms, putting the ogre between her legs,
The ogre’s uncircumcised ***** effectively penetrated Victoria’s ****** purse,
The ogre broke virginity of Victoria, making her to feel maximum warmth of pleasure
As it released its germinal seed into her body, ecstasy gripped her until she fainted,
The ogre erected more on its first *******; its ***** became more stiff and sharp,
It never pulled out its ***** from the purse of Victoria, instead it introduced further
Deeper and deeper into Victoria’s ******, reaching the ****** depth inside her with gusto,
Victoria screamed, wailed, farted, scratched, threw her neck, kissed crazily and ******,
On the rhythms of the ogre’s waist gyrations, it was maximum pleasure to Victoria,
She reached her second ****** before the ogre; it took further one hour before releasing,
Victoria was beaten; she thought she was not in England in her father’s house
She thought she was in Timbuktu riding on a mosquito to Eldorado,
Where she could not be found by her father whatsoever,
The ogre pulled Victoria up, helped her to dress up,
She begged that they go back to the common room,
Lest her father finds them here, he would quarrel,
They went back to the common room,
Found her father talking to other two ogres,
She shouted to her father before anyone else,
That ‘father I have been showing him around our house,’
‘He has fallen in love with our house; he is passionate about it,’
Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya was shy,
He greeted the father and resumed his chair, with wryly dignity.


Song twelve
An impromptu festival took place,
Fully funded by the father of Victoria,
There was meat of all type from pork to chicken,
Greens were also there in plenty, pepper and watermelons,
Victoria’s mother remembered to prepare tripe of a goat
For the key visitant who was the suitor; Akhatembete,
Food was laid before the ogres to enjoy themselves,
As all others went to the other house for a brainstorming session,
But the hunched backed girl hid herself behind the door,
To admire the food which visitors were devouring,
As she also spied on the table manners of the visitors, for stories to be shared,
Perhaps between herself and her mother, when visitors are gone,
Some sub-human manners unfolded to her as she spied,
One of the ogres swallowed a spoon and a table fork,
And Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
Uncontrollably unstuffed his scarlet tail from the trouser,
The chill crawled up the spine of hunchbacked girl,
She almost shouted from her hideout, but she restrained herself,
She swore to herself to tell her father that the visitors are not humans
They are superhuman, Tarzans or mermaids or the werewolves,
The ogre who swallowed the spoon remorsefully tried to puke it back,
Lest the hosts discover the missing spoon and cause brouhaha,
It was difficult to puke out the spoon; it had already flowed into the stomach,
Victoria, her father, her mother and her friend Anastasia,
Anastasia; another English girl from the neighborhood,
Whom Victoria had fished, to work for her as a best maid, as a chaperon,
Went back to the house where the ogres had already finished eating,
They found ogres sitting idle squirming and flitting in their chairs
As if no food had ever been presented to them in a short while ago,
One ogre even shamelessly yawned, blinking his eyes like a snake,
They all forgot to say thanks for the food, no thanks for lunch,
But instead Akhatembete announced on behalf of other ogres,
That they should be allowed to go as they are late for something,
A behaviour so sub-human, given they were suitors to an English family,
Victoria’s father was uneasy, was irritated but he had no otherwise,
For he was desperate to have her daughter Victoria get married,
He had nothing to say but only to ask his daughter, Victoria,
If she was going right-away with her suitor or not,
To which she violently answered yes I am going with him,
Victoria’s mother kept mum, she only shot miserable glances
From one corner of the house to another, to the ogres also,
She totally said nothing, as Victoria was predictably violent
To any gainsayer in relation to her occasion of the moment,
Victoria’s father wished them all well in their life,
And permitted Victoria to go and have good life,
With Akhatembete, her suitor she had yearned for with equanimity,
Victoria was so confused with joy; her day of marriage is beholden,
She hurriedly packed up as if being chased by a monster,
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
A few of you
have seen my face

One of you
has kissed my cheek

so ***
you can now see me
in full frontal ******

I am the ruggedly handsome
man,
who as usual
is on the floor looking for
something to hug
beside the *****
the new banner photo up with a real recent pic
Allyson Walsh Jan 2016
Decisions are kind of a funny concept. Some people believe that everything happens for a reason. Others believe that each decision has a domino effect on other parts of life. Have you heard of the butterfly effect? This idea believes that every decision leads to various outcomes, and that there are multiple paths a person can take. I like to agree with this statement.

Decisions are what make a person. At least, they're what show a person's character...

I observe ordinary character on a regular basis. I work at a liquor store in a town of roughly three-thousand people. I know the regulars by name, and I can tell who's had a rough day or who is excited for the weekend by what they purchase. I know when Barb is furious at her husband because she buys two liters of *** and the smokes he hates. I can tell when Dave is on good terms with his fiance because he skips the Fireball and heads straight for his 24-pack. Bob... is really just Bob. He comes in and buys a liter of coke, a liter of Bacardi, and a pack of Marlboro reds every day at 4:30 on the dot. Each of these regular's decisions display part of their character. Many of their purchases can be influenced by their emotions... but what part of life isn't?

You're probably wondering when I'm going to get to my point. That'll be a couple hundred words further. You of all people know how great I am at ranting.

How is my minimum-wage job connected to decisions and character? That's a good question. Each decision leads to a specific outcome. These decisions are based on the character of a customer. Their character is displayed in their decisions at my dead-end job. Anyway, back to your decisions.

Decision Making
Relationships are basically a hurdle of decisions. Deciding how to sleep together. Deciding the best way to kiss despite the height difference. Deciding what to say when meeting the in-laws. Deciding when to say "I love you". It's decision after decision after decision.

I like to think that each decision can lead to various outcomes. For example, if I would have never lost my virginity to a one-night-stand and cried about it to the girl living across from me, I would have never met you. So, if I waited to take off my clothes or if I cried about it to my roommate instead, this last year would have gone a lot differently.

I'm beginning to work my way to your decisions. First, let me state that you were the most indecisive person I have ever met. You were passive. You were lukewarm. You were flat. You were only certain on one thing: your admiration for college basketball.

I have to admit that you were decisive on your verdict to be with me... for a time. I guess I have to give you a little credit. You weren't all bad. There was a lot of good in you. But, there was a lot of rottenness underneath your tall, dark, and handsome physique.

The Beginning of the End
You decided to avoid a decision from the very beginning. Sure, it was me that you wanted. I mean, I was great. I still am. I may be biased, but I don't care. You wanted me... but you didn't want the price-tag I came with.

What did I tell you from the beginning? Let me refresh your memory. We were sitting on a lime green couch in the lobby of our college. It was close to midnight and I was exhausted but didn't want to be without you. I told you that I expected you to:

1. Be honest.
2. Be faithful.
3. Pursue me.
4. Make me a priority.

I didn't ask for much. I was searching for... Oh, I don't know, a relationship that sounded pretty standard in my terms. I wanted something serious, but that doesn't mean that I wasn't looking for fun or liveliness. These requests were normal, in my mind.

I then asked you if you would choose me over your mother. I knew you were close to her... and I hadn't met her yet. Also, for some reason, I already had a feeling that she despised the thought of me, and the idea of her little man bringing a girl home... (God forbid she have a brain on her head).

I didn't want to be tantalizing. I believe I am gentle in nature. But, if everything worked out, I wished to be the number one woman in your life... not your mother. I restated my question after a few beats and you continued to ponder the thought. After a few seconds you told me, "No, probably not. But I might change. I want you." That should have stopped me in my tracks.

But it didn't. We were together for about a year since that night. We kept things quiet for a few months before becoming "official" or whatever. Your decision or avoidance should have sent me running... and it did... to you.

I think part of myself knew that I deserved better. Also, part of myself believed that there was beauty in maltreatment. But, I saw potential in you. You were my best friend.

You were... I was in love with you.

I was willing to fight for us. I was willing to fight for you. I was willing to battle it out... and I saw myself coming out victorious, like the warrior I truly am... but, you were a battle lost from the very beginning.

Whatever "Fighting for Me" Looked like to You
Things got worse when confusion arose between your mother and I. She thought I was sleeping with you (when I wasn't). There was a lot of yelling... most of it was in Spanish. I was scared. I was petrified. She believed I was ******* up her perfect son. This put us on unsteady ground.

This was also the first time I saw you cry.

It was a battle between what she wanted and what I wanted. She wanted me out of the picture. I wanted you to stand up for me, and to stand up for us.

You chose me. This would be the one and only time I came out as the number one priority. I believe this was because you were over three hundred miles away from her piercing eyes and thin lips. It was easy to put us first when she wasn't there to "knock some sense" into her son.

Your mother didn't speak to you for months. She was furious. She was angry. Her dislike toward me grew with every passing day.

Letting the Bruises Heal
For the next six months, things seemed to get better. We fought but made up. We talked of the future while understanding that we were still young. We grew as lovers and as friends. We made promises and kept them.

But, the semester was ending. The snow was gone and the grass was nowhere near green. Three months of separation were just around the corner and I knew of the trials to come. I also knew that if we could make it through the summer, that we could last. That is, if we could make it with your bitter mother by your side.

Seperation Leads To...
Three months of fifteen minute phone calls every once in a while dragged on. I was patient with you. We were both working our tails off. I was taking summer classes. You spent any and all of your extra time off working for your dad or training for soccer preseason. Still, I was patient.

We saw each other twice during the summer. Those days were some of my happiest within this past year. Distance really does make the heart grow fonder. Those first moments of seeing you were like revelations. All of the time away made sense. The eight hour drive to see you made sense. We made sense.

It was during your stay at my house when I realized I didn't want to be with anyone else. Ever. It was the first time you told me you were in love with me. I felt the same. We didn't just love one another, we were in love.

It was during my stay at your house, a few months later, when I realized things were heading south.

Temptation
We fought. We fought a lot during the month before I drove to Wisconsin. It was almost daily. Somehow we made up... somehow. You were stressed and I was anxious. I was anxious and afraid.

But, I came down to see you, nonetheless. Most moments, I believed we were healed. We could conquer anything. Others... I knew your mind was elsewhere.

Although, when we said goodbye, I believed we were true. You made me a promise I was sure you would keep. Our goodbye was the second time I would see you cry.

Looking back, I think I know why. You were tempted. You were more than tempted.

Decisions and Indecisiveness
The day after I got back home, you said you "wanted to take your promise back".

Two days after that, you left home to go to a camp I knew nothing about. You "couldn't take your phone" but I knew better than that.

We went an entire week without talking. And I knew something was wrong. I had never felt so sick in my life.

You eventually returned home from camp. But, it took you two days to respond to me. Once you finally called me, you told me you "couldn't do this right now". Then you hung up. That's when I knew it was over.

I was furious. I was jealous. You were tagged in pictures on social media with a few girls in particular.

1. Phones were allowed.
2. You were awfully close to one girl.
3. You were lying through your teeth.

We met up on campus a few days later. I had a list of questions that just about vanished into thin air when I saw you. You were ruggedly handsome... And I was still in love with you.

You greeted me with a hug. I just about cried.

You explained to me that your parents gave you an ultimatum. It was me or college. Stay with me, and college was out of the funds for you. Break things off with me, and college would be paid for. You told me you chose college.

You explained how you "needed to do this for yourself".

You also told me you didn't love me anymore.

You decided against me.

The Entire Truth
I was confused. I was heartbroken. Nothing made sense. It was like you gave me a puzzle that was missing more than half of the pieces. I spent the next month trying put the thing together. I came up with one single solution... but I didn't want to believe it.

My hypothesis rang true through a friend. I believed you cheated on me. Yes, I was sure your parents pulled their big levers; but I believed you were hiding information from me. You were.

I can't go into the details because I don't know all of them. In fact, I probably never will. I've ran through every scenario a thousand times in my head, and I still come up short.

All I know are your decisions. Your decisions show your character. Your character is flawed. Your decisions broke a large part of me. I am still attempting to put myself back together.

Out of all of your indecision, out of months of tug-of-war, you were so decisive on leaving. You were set on cheating. If anything, I wish I could ask you why.

Why did I always seem to come up short? Why wasn't I good enough for you? Why did you choose money, college, and your family over me? Why did you choose her over me?

So many questions I will never get closure on.

Deciding to Decide
I have moved on... for the most part. There are still days (like today) when I miss you more than anything. But, I am stronger. I am certain that I was good enough for you, even if you couldn't see it. I am also certain that you were the first person I was truly meant to be with.

Remember when I mentioned the butterfly effect? I know that different decisions lead to various outcomes. We have the choice. We decide where our life goes (or we choose indecision).

Your decisions led to a different life. A life without me.

And I think, as of right now, I'm okay with that.
For WY

Not poetry. I don't know where else to put this.

Insanely long. A lot of ranting. A lot of heartache. A lot of decision making.

I can't pack our story into one piece... but I tried.
sparkjams Oct 2012
Here we have knives
here we have a garlic clove
pass it on to the next target and mentor
perhaps it is turnip's turn
possibly a dreamcoat

you know
I haven't eaten you in weeks
this last decibel from my banjo-guitar is joyous and ruggedly pleasing to my pear ears!
and I don't feed on mortals

steep is an overshot
this cliff will knock you backwards, refreshingly
teetering on the edges of my fingernails
where aren't you headed, anyway?

Walking and pondering along
questing to the hindering goal
march march for words
tell me a heart
tear out apart

get to the ice creed! This will be cruel
cautious yellow fondling off-white egg beater
he sneezed for me, please
thanks, I mean!

troubadours dance lightly in my mind
feet, feet, focus on their feet
that's a loudest saxophone. that' s a loudest horn
I'm
Scared
heavens no I don't smoke cigarettes!
We do this for a living.
You like my bird-sung gardens: wings and flowers;
Calm landscapes for emotion; star-lit lawns;
And Youth against the sun-rise ... ‘Not profound;
‘But such a haunting music in the sound:
‘Do it once more; it helps us to forget’.

Last night I dreamt an old recurring scene—
Some complex out of childhood; (***, of course!)
I can’t remember how the trouble starts;
And then I’m running blindly in the sun
Down the old orchard, and there’s something cruel
Chasing me; someone roused to a grim pursuit
Of clumsy anger ... Crash! I’m through the fence
And thrusting wildly down the wood that’s dense
With woven green of safety; paths that wind
Moss-grown from glade to glade; and far behind,
One thwarted yell; then silence. I’ve escaped.

That’s where it used to stop. Last night I went
Onward until the trees were dark and huge,
And I was lost, cut off from all return
By swamps and birdless jungles. I’d no chance
Of getting home for tea. I woke with shivers,
And thought of crocodiles in crawling rivers.

Some day I’ll build (more ruggedly than Doughty)
A dark tremendous song you’ll never hear.
My beard will be a snow-storm, drifting whiter
On bowed, prophetic shoulders, year by year.
And some will say, ‘His work has grown so dreary.’
Others, ‘He used to be a charming writer’.
And you, my friend, will query—
‘Why can’t you cut it short, you pompous blighter?’
Ronald P Chavez Oct 2010
An old cowboy who was ruggedly cute
Was bedding down his best friend’s wife
Having the time of his life
Drowned in rot gut *****

Mistakenly thought his wrangler buddy didn’t give a hoot
Until the sudden moment his ex-best friend began to shoot
But he was in luck with uncommon fate
When St. Peter let him in the gate

Knowing he was just a crazy old cowboy coot
Drinking heavenly whisky straight out of his boot
First published in Time of Triumph.  www.timeoftriumph.net
blue mercury Dec 2016
i read your poems, but i can't read you.
what's the point?

other boys, they call me pretty-
well,
sometimes they do.
but still,
other boys, they touch my hand,
they like my hair,
they think i'm funny.
but they're not you,
and that rips me up.

the boy who once said i'm not his type
doesn't think
you are good
for me.
but
he doesn't know you.
he doesn't know
your pretty
folded
inside out
folded
right side out,
folded
into the pit
of my stomach, giving me butterflies.
oh, my god, i think this is what love feels like
when you’re stuck on the rewind
of a cassette tape,
because the player
doesn’t auto-stop,
and you don't feel like getting up,
so the tape snaps or tangles or knots.
either way it can’t be the same ******* song,
it sounds too different to be.
warbled.

but the beat is the same.
it starts off slow then speeds up
as the eyes get bluer
and her cheeks get warmer.
tha. thump. tha. thump.
tha thump. tha thump.
thathumpthathumpthathump.

if you love me, baby, just say so.
because i’m so brand new,
i’m so full of darkness.
you’re so ruggedly smooth,
so full of lightning.
i’m so brand new,
that i can’t read you like your poems.
i’m so full of darkness,
that i can’t feel loved anymore.
but, baby, baby, bubby.
i could love you like a poem.

i’ll be the body electric.
(i love as hard as a whitman)
i’ll be the master, the dream, the fool.
(i love as illogically as a kipling)
i’ll be immortal.
(i’ll love as sweetly as a dickinson)
i’ll be everything
you’ve ever read about and wanted,
if you’d just come clean.

so if you love me
if you love me
come clean.
i don't know what i want from you, but love would do, i think. (but i also want to move the hell on because loving you hurts so much.)
IrieSide Dec 2014
A quaint cabin amidst pines
Gently tucked into the backdrop
Of modestly, snow covered mountains.
Echoes of unprompted elk cry’s bonded together
by the ever-present sound of rolling water

Inaudibly peering through the dirt stained window
Of this serenely placed cabin
Feeling a kiss of tender coolness
As your cheek touches glass

A sight of marbled walls
Which glisten with auras of green
As the sun peeked over the mountain
Floor covered in ruggedly thick black tar
while old pink gum disguised the ceiling

a shaky skeleton walked out of a closet,
as if to come and say hello
The sun tucked itself back behind the mountain
as if it suddenly grew tired of rising

Darkness embraced the scene,
then the shaky skeleton flipped a switch
Which caused colors of reds and greens
To re-embrace the terrain

The once green pines, now strangely red
The once blue sky, now strangely green.
Could this really be?

Grabbing the rusty doorknob
To enter the cabin
Turning it twice
To compensate for friction

Inside

A step into the black tar,
Leaving a shoe behind
As the shaky skeleton
Motions a laugh.
I know where I am
As the gum leisurely rains

I'm in my mind
(20 minute poetry)


Hands turning blue
Ice running through
my veins.

no longer the season of goodwill
and it will not be again and until
the Summer runs in
In its bare feet.

ruggedly sluggish in leaving a trail
down on the tube every day
without fail

Generally,
in matters of colour
blue is my favourite
but
on days like this
when the cold makes me miss
the hot summer sun
I could go for a tangerine
an aquamarine
an orange or lemon,

must put my gloves on.

The draft through the door rushes in and pushes cold air in my face
oh God
I have to get out
leave no trace
can't face another day
living this way.

Mercury freezes if mercury can and if mercury can then so can this man,
they'll end up chipping me out of an ice block.

Old Holborn
for a smoke
but it's the station
I'm sat in
no smoking allowed.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2014
There was never a time
that he could not love,
only long periods of years,
decayed decades,
when the could
could not,
for he had forgot
from lack of practice,
daily vitamins taken of soured love,
which is a polite way of saying
sneering hate, distrustful makes,
and hard calluses and body armor
make any human tin man rusted and
cowardly lion afraid

and later,
after loneliness turned him
sweet and sorry,
when many wanted him,
to love them for
why not!
he was a desirable object,
in possession of a fast red jaguar car,
a job that left him money for gas
and summer trysts,
a ruggedly handsome face,
which he shaved daily,
and the right kind of patience
in things that woman love,
like Joni and kissing
head to toes,
on a
round trip ticket
with unlimited stops in between

and

using words that seduced,
that were intended to ******,
though he did not intend to
make them love him more than more,
yet they did....

he appreciated them,
with kind and cherish,
and just happy gave just enough of him for them
to take as their own,
and they loved him for that...
but it was hollow bridge in spaces that
needed filling, denying completion,
or safe passage

gave them gifts unasked,
jewels and poems unique,
valued them in the ways
they so wanted,
and deserved,
but could not love them
free and clear,
which is all they wanted -

for he was not
free and clear
of broken memories...

one by one,
they left,
no one to blame,
broken is broken,
Oz was a bridge too far
for him to cross

years later,
muses buzz like flies
around his head
asking buzzy questions,
demanding poems of clarification,
apologies of sorts for his inabilities,
dissatisfied with rationalizations,
payment for adoration given
and taken but inequality in love
is still a crime of sorts

and he tenders this in consideration,
years too late,
not an apology, but a thank you,
for those who said you are a
good sort, worthy of love,
and restored him in ways
that gave me the confidence
to let the whole later be filled in....

He was abused, but never a user...
now, clear and clearer yet,
his poorer faults were later his greatest riches
once gained, easy shared,
yet
here he is years later,
tinged with regrets and mea culpa's
and asking himself
for forgiveness of those for whom,
he
could not be enough

did not know what to title this,
for it is an explanation and a plea,
a thank you note written on bended knee,
many titles came and went,
some with guilty, never and could not,
prominent in their bookends

but then it was instant clarity
for it was a tale of how,
he rebirthed an ability to love a
woman true and total,
and thereby
himself,
thus celebrating those who gave their teaching trust
which he cannot ever properly
repay
except to note that it is 3:00am years later and
I
write of thee,
and how you taught me to speak
a language glorious
Annomous Me Oct 2014
They spit and they spat,
Cursing under they’re demeaning stare,
Arrogantly pressing for more and more,
Soliciting our worshipers to have no remorse,

They incessantly beat down our blood red doors,
Not asking but taking what’s rightfully entitled “yours”,
What man shall I make of myself if all I am is treated unfair?
A square on the piece of pavement, walked on and spat on,
Here and there ****** on and ruggedly sat on,

The job to make the worlds people happy is a seedy sordid affair,
Constantly they forcefully beg for more and violently pursue to no bore,
They scratch and tear for no amount of fear could tell them go elsewhere,
We unite once we all go to war but still hate and take advantage,
0nce we forget the worlds up in roar,

The ****** gore does not sleep or snore,
It lies and waits to feed on the incapacitated poor,
Littering the bones of the forgotten on our city floors,
Rich or Poor we all end up shedding tears and asking the meaning,
“What’s in store?” My hungry heart is teeming for a life of folklore.
Jihad Donald Trump Style
The glory of America, now heats up
with agitation poised to strike on the brink
sans legislation incites humiliation,
which goads desecration as fete accompli *****
in armor of Democratic rubric, constituting capitalistic
ethic, generic iconoclastic, and jingoistic logic,
nor budging an inch when mandating masses swallow his drink
what huff huck – this belligerent, dominant and
fervent hell raiser doth bungle in the jungle
decreeing tacit Mar shall law fast as a shutterfly eyewink
as his cosmic crotch grab doth put Venus under his sway
with his Mercury hill temperament
pitches the orbit of planet Earth tubby comb out of balance
infected by hiz anti Ju pit er damnations, excoriations, fulminations
Huzzah sing how **** derriere didst Sat urn simultaneously
crushing crucible as an Uranus
indiscriminately plop ping two hundred fifty pounds off flesh
dub ling down snapchatting and humming his favorite Neptune
that dost affect Pluto hoc crass sea
repeating a self coined motto – I yam all mighty, therefore no fink
simply commandeering the reins of control,
a one man military intelligence groupthink
hut triad and true dyed in the wool rip pug in ant guise zing rogue
rejoicing tuff fool, governing and hoodwink
Fake king the die hard fans of dictatorial, linkedin and monarchist ink
cube bus thriving on wielding indomitable aggression
practiced in the Art of the Deal incorporating an unanticipated jink
iron fist rule reigning down vis a vis
pro pens heave lee and prop hen city
flashing hiz seal of approval, which scribbled signature
doth not smooth monkey serve hay puzzling kink
boot his frenzy to bulldoze catastrophic, formulaic, and illogic
spells these United States of America twill become hell
in a hand basket worth repeating with nary a trace of the grit of link
kin, the sixteenth president
(whose ruggedly pioneering frontier existence)
found him steady and strong, plus soft hearted as pelt o’ mink
the epitomy of this forty fifth elected commander in mischief.
sayona Sep 2015
the covers slipped off of her again,
and she wasn’t the one who slipped them off.
her eyes went vacant as the hands that she had once found so comforting
made her feel nothing but discomfort and angst.
his large, harsh hands
ruggedly ran down her prepubescent body and frame.  
every touch
felt like a burn
and because she was paralyzed with fear and utter confusion,
she could do nothing
but lay still
and let him brand her delicate skin.
and while her clothes were being stripped,
so was the little girl’s peaceful set of mind.
leaving nightmares to forever burn,
she disappeared.
too young to understand.
Michael Stefan Feb 2020
Cassius Bartholomew, a dapper gentleman
Oh, two-toned fuzzy suit, and smile so genuine
Regarding his tough muscles, a good workout regimen
Gracious with affection, his love is never tentative
I greatly love that Cash, so I write these sentences

Cassius is a cuddle monster who snuggles day or night
Oh, that Cashboy is such a manly man despite his tiny height
Ruggedly running through rolling hills, superlative delight
Gusto! Cash's cry of joy when his name you cite
I hope you understand by now, Cash's character's airtight

Cassius is a Corgi, a big-eared loaf of bread from end to end
Cashboy is the best of dogs
He's truly man's best friend
So yeah, I have owned Corgis for a long time.  Cash is my male Corgi and he is constantly filled with pleasure being around people, roughhousing with his mate Lucy, and will park himself directly on your lap for hours trying to soak up some love.  For being such a large part of my life, he deserved a poem.  I also used the lines as an acrostic poem to spell out C-O-R-G-I twice.
Denis Barter Sep 2020
Always a country lad was I,
and in the country I’ll hope to die,
for there’s nothing like solitude
found in a land, ruggedly rude,
which thrives about and around.
Where spiritual serenity found,
is removed from noise and bustle
of the endless metropolitan hustle,
that chases and constantly chivvies
office workers and menial skivvies,
who chase a hopeless dream.
All part of the urban scheme
that promises followers gold,
if they trample the lesser bold!
Me?  I let the world go by,
as I idly sit and gaze at the sky,
to watch fleecy clouds pass on.
I blink.  Suddenly they’re gone!
I never wonder as  to where they went:
what of their destination or their portent?
for I know others will follow as before,
as I spend hours doing nothing more
than watching, enjoying the day.
Such is this country lad’s way!
Some say I’m wasting my life,
but hours spent free from strife
I’d say with all honest sincerity,
have made my life, in all verity,
a journey of lasting pleasure.
With special moments, I treasure,
captured in my hours of solitude,
I allow no one or thing to intrude
that might spoil my sacred reverie.
This is the life well suited to me,
and not one I’ll swap readily
until I go to eternity - happily!
Until that day, I’ll be content
to see my hours and days spent
in the serious consideration
as to what in all creation,
I’d do if I were city bred?
The very thought hurts my head:
how would I endure the noise?
Now as thinking upsets my poise,
I’ll quietly ruminate again today,
and listen to what nearby birds say
in their knowing country way!
Yes, I’m glad to be a country lad,
for rustic ways ain’t so bad,
and as I regard haste a crime,
I take each day in slow time.
There is much more I could say,
but feel I’ve said enough today!

Rhymer. September 17th, 2020.
I wrote this years ago when I first came here in rural Ontario to retire.  A laugh really as I've not stopped working on my two acres as yet, and will - hopefully - continue to do so until I reach my Century.  Not so far away! Rural peace with my wife of over 65 glorious years,  as we enjoy it in our two acre estate, far from the crowds and Covid19, is our source of life.  One we do not intend to change!  Denis.
Denis Barter May 2018
Always a country lad was I,
and in the country I’ll hope to die,
for there’s nothing like solitude
found in a land, ruggedly rude,
which thrives about and around.
Where spiritual serenity found,
is removed from noise and bustle
of the endless metropolitan hustle,
that chases and constantly chivvies
office workers and menial skivvies,
who chase a hopeless dream.
All part of the urban scheme
that promises followers gold,
if they trample the lesser bold!
Me?  I let the world go by,
as I idly sit and gaze at the sky,
to watch fleecy clouds pass on.
I blink.  Suddenly they’re gone!
But never wonder to where they went:
what their destination and intent?
Know more will follow as before,
as I spend hours doing no more
than watching, enjoying the day.
Such is this country lad’s way!
Some say I’m wasting my life,
but hours spent free from strife
I’d say with all honest sincerity,
have made my life, in all verity,
a journey of extreme pleasure.
With special moments, I treasure,
captured in my hours of solitude,
allow no one or thing to intrude
that might spoil my sacred reverie.
This is the life well suited to me,
and not one I’ll swap readily
until I go to eternity - willingly!
Until that day, I’ll be content
to see my hours and days spent
in the serious consideration
as to what in all creation,
I’d do if I were city bred?
The very thought hurts my head:
how would I endure the noise?
And as thinking upsets my poise,
I’ll quietly stay sitting a bit,
and listen to what birds say
in their knowing country way!
Yes, I’m glad to be a country lad,
for rustic ways ain’t bad,
and I regard haste as a crime,
so I take each day in slow time.
There is much more I could say,
but feel I’ve said enough today!

Rhymer.  May 4th, 2018
My poetic side COSMOFUNNEL
wordsmith thanks tumblr in his noggin
ofttimes triggering babbling brook
to swell after deluge
becoming stream of consciousness runnel
carving, gouging, and liquidating topography
qua zee mow toe natural formed tunnel.

Digitally remastered and revised
since original version rejected, thus
writer released,  purposely leaked,
and flooded mass media
courtesy the following
self branded watershed vaunted unabridged
sprawling questionable and deplorable
creation loosed upon unassuming readers.

Analogously linkedin with
once upon a time
one doodling dandy Yankee slender man,
whose yang upended, overshadowed,
and eclipsed mine yin,
nevertheless, now yours truly self anointed
as an elder statesman - ha
gifted with unwanted
inxs of abdominal adipose tissue
(attributed to agent provocateur of aging,

which affects my metabolism
and/or courtesy
unwanted side effect reaction
from one or more
of the eight medications
nurse practitioner
at Penn Psychiatric Center
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania location
Elizabeth Clark prescribes),
which gained weight foments tussle

a fight to the death, I can never win
and alternately titled: arm ugh gut tin
yours truly loathes to mensch shin
one alien looking pear shaped
humanoid with redskin
liposuction advised courtesy Doctor Quinn
(a fictional character and magician,
I took poetic license
created above to help eradicate body dysmorphia),
she waved her wand and ****
transformed me into a puffin.

Aye dread getting undressed
and/or getting washed
even without spectacles
thar haint no mo' six pack ab,
which nearly rock ribbed
mid equatorial zone shape shifted
into corpuscular blubbery
ancillary physiognomy
where aye wanna bab
bull posttraumatic stressed out

middle age battle of the bulge
in summer re: a waisted effort
squarely (er rather roundly) testing
the elasticity of extra large sweatpants,
when straining to hide expanding girth
definitely producing undesirable effect,
(especially when floating in briny deep,
I squarely, honestly and closely resemble
the Chinese brother
who swallowed the sea  

strongly urging, necessitating,
and exhorting mister crab
to clamp down with pincers,
viz primitive liposuction,
whence rustling scupper
will efface this fleshed out
human bloviated ruggedly handsome
man of the webbed wide world
a bit heavy around the equator
over self indulgent fleshpot

unable, uneager, unready,
and unwilling to maneuver
his portly ill proportioned body
inducing unprovoked stares,
and tears for fears
eyes tracking billowing supersize shirt
resembling trireme sails being trimmed,
where fleshly freighted sloop
displaces entire watery expanse
stranding, stinging and starving an a ray

of underwater species,
now prolonging requisite inhalation;
I seek desperate sticktoitiveness
guidance courtesy Younan Nowzaradan
with steely mettle
hie trite to iron out flab
thus tis part and parcel of senescence,
yet auxiliary buttressed dermis
effect forming gorged girth
giving "love handles" grab

reigniting reign of terror
viz prepubescent anorexia nervosa,
boot strapped now - wen
remembrance of things past frankly
zapped distorted self-image
evoked holocaust images repugnant;
buttery rolls of fat insta jab
stubborn thoughts of self-loathing
entice me to become a lab
bore a tory guinea pig/
scapegoat role to restore

prime of life build when five foot ten
obviously me no Lemuel Gulliver
alignment could now perchance nab
first place in a slick couture magazine
from the neck down,
cuz face mottled with
nine inch nails clawing skin
wrought unsightly scab
taut torso bearing
fashion model and
senior citizen idol, where
every place I go receiving
venue offers free tab.

To stand stock still until shutterfly
would SnapChat
rippled tummy, could
fill my hungry wallet with inxs of cash
now, aye haint so gorge ***,
WhatsApp with
faux pregnant protuberance,
though thankfully
derriere still rather dash
shing, which palmolive pilot sized buttocks

doth newt offset sorry to report
lost battle of the bulge,
where diet tribes furloughed in a flash
abandoning their respective stations,
gnome hatter sinusoidal
parabolic frontispiece finds me to gnash
my toothless mouth for lack of means
to stave of the depredations
of slump pin proletariat
allowing me a hash

sheesh priceline tag
with hefty weight, acquiescing
this Pillsbury doughboy blivet
to subject himself to the sharp
stings of a cool whip lash
bearing the snap against
raw skin as due process
and supplication for atlas shrug
gin his broad shoulders
at the fountainhead naming me mash
shew Scott in regard to oblate inflation
insulation fiberglass around midsection, and

how ma late mum
(an avid fan of doctor Carleton Fredericks,
who preceded Mehmet Oz), would quash
the love she showered on this sole heir -
resorting to exhaustive palliatives -
even ear rash
shun null gambits,
and as last ditch effort
putting this offspring
on par with an albatross -
vamoose get out with the trash
unless everything (pertaining to
indelible stubborn blubber
comes out at the whoosh she wash
Diet of worms.
Ayn Dec 2019
Dec.29.2019

Up and down and up again,
my stable position changes at the drop of a pen.
I have not an idea of where I am going,
and I am quickly forgetting where I've been.
My bike keeps ruggedly flowing
over stumps and bumps
and branches and roots.

Up hills far to steep to ride,
down some that could make me scream,
sacrificing my little pride.

reaching escape velocity,
I shoot out of my comfort zone,
like a shuttle breaks into orbit,
I am the opposite of smooth...

Bumping over rocks and branches,
fast enough to immobilize me.
But I ride, petrified but not rigid,
over these rugged trails.

My knuckles wrap around my handlebars,
turning a ghoulish pearly white,
but it was a hidden by my ebony gloves.

I might as well be twisted,
but I wholly believe
that the fun part
was my stone cold fear.
To be perfectly honest, Cape Cod is not exactly that rugged, but behind a lot of those beautiful beaches are woods, and in the woods near where I live are some steep trails that are very twisty and turny, and I found out they are fun and scary to bike down. I decided since I was stupid, to try some new trails that I have never walked... I almost flew off my bike from hitting fallen logs a couple of times. But it is fun, if anyone is somewhat fit, they should try biking on trails.
The glory of America,
now heats up
with agitation poised
to strike on the brink
sans legislation incites humiliation,
which goads desecration

as fete accompli *****
in armor of Democratic rubric,
constituting capitalistic
ethic, generic iconoclastic,
and jingoistic logic,
nor budging an inch

when mandating masses
swallow his drink
what huff huck –
this belligerent, dominant and
fervent hellraiser doth
bungle in the jungle

decreeing tacit Marshall law
fast as a shutterfly eyewink
as his cosmic crotch grab
doth put Venus under his sway
with his Mercury hill temperament
pitches the orbit of planet Earth

tubby comb out of balance
infected by hiz anti Jew pitter
damnations, excoriations, fulminations
Huzzah sing how **** derriere
didst Sat urn simultaneously
crushing crucible as an Uranus

indiscriminately plopping
two hundred fifty pounds of flesh
doubling down humming
his favorite Neptune
that dost affect Pluto hoc crass sea
repeating a self coined motto –

I yam almighty, therefore no fink
simply commandeering the reins of control,
a one man military intelligence groupthink
hut triad and true dyed in the wool
rip pug in ant guise zing rogue
rejoicing tuff fool, governing and hoodwink

king the die hard fans of dictatorial,
linkedin and monarchist ink
cube bus thriving on
wielding indomitable aggression
practiced in the Art of the Deal
incorporating an unanticipated jink

iron fist rule reigning down
vis a vis pro pens heave lee
and prop hen city
flashing hiz seal of approval,
which scribbled signature
doth not smooth monkey

serve hay puzzling kink
boot his frenzy to bulldoze
catastrophic, formulaic, and illogic
spells these United States
of America will become hell
in a handbasket worth repeating

with nary a trace of the grit of link
kin, the sixteenth president,
(whose ruggedly pioneering frontier existence)
found him steady and strong,
plus soft hearted as pelt o’ mink
the epitome of this forty fifth
elected commander in mischief.
Girl Mar 2021
The feeling of cold metal against my thigh as I inched my way across the ballroom elegant yet unknowingly dangerous. Like a wolf in a sheep’s costume, I glance across the room and lock my eyes with his. Dressed in black and ruggedly handsome. His emerald orbs glazed over with an emotion I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It seemed as time slowed as we gazed into each other’s eyes before hastily breaking eye contact. The music slowed and he made his move, making his way across the maze of oblivious dancers before stopping in front of me. I studied his face for any sign of emotion, anything that could give him away before resting my eyes on his waiting hand. Tenderly lifting up my hand I rested it onto his. His rough palms engulfing my hand as he guided me towards the dance floor. Moving in unison we danced the night away, without a word but somehow with mutual understanding. The cool dagger strapped to my thigh served as a bitter reminder of what was to come. But as the music slowed and I rested my head against his shoulder and inhaled the intoxicating scent of pine my heartbeat quickens. But as every second passes, I can feel him guiding us further and further from the middle of the ballroom. Soon enough we were in an enclosed hallway. I move to step out of his embrace but his grip tightens. His eyes dancing mischievously he leans in, his hot breath hitting my ear. “It’s quite a pity someone so pretty has to end like this.” Reaching under my dress I feel the familiar smooth metal flicking out the dagger I pressed it against his neck for a split second his eyes revealed his surprise.
“You should know that villains often come with pretty faces,” I replied in the same sultry voice I had practiced in the mirror just a few hours ago. Circling around him like a predator to prey, “So who sent you?” My voice ringing out beneath the roar of the music from the other room. His eyes scrutinized my every move as his hand drifted towards his back pocket. Whipping out his dagger we circled each other, matching each other’s pace as if dancing our own sort of twisted tango.
“Guess,” he smirked, his eyes cool and calculating. As the music slowed in the background he lunged forward catching me in surprise only giving me barely a second to sidestep his dagger slashing wildly in the air. I wince as I felt the sharp blade graze the side of my back, my dagger clanking noisily as it slid down the hallway. Catching him off balance I pounce, pinning him to the ground, kicking his dagger to the side. My eyes narrow as I feel his familiar palms caressing my hands, and for a fraction of a second, I let my guard down. Giving him a way out, flipping me onto my back he pinned me down on the cold granite floor. I feel a fluttering in my stomach as he stared into my eyes, before trailing his hot gaze to my lips. And for a split second, I swore I heard him mutter under his breath.
“Till the next dance… princess” then, he was gone. His dark cape fluttering behind him as he fled the scene. Looking out into the darkness at his disappearing shadow I touch my lips as if just remembering to breathe. My stomach involuntarily somersaulted as his words echoed throughout my mind. My logical hatred for him was betrayed by my body and soul as hands were already craving his touch, my lungs missing the iconic smell of pine I had gotten used to. But I was determined to finish this mission, even those soft brown locks, draping over his forehead won’t stop me from that. Standing up I dusted myself off, picking up his dagger and slipping mine back into my sheath my imagination ran wild. A seemingly never-ending stream of thoughts poured through my mind. Slipping through the castle door I looked up, into the darkened sky. Shimmering with a million fairy lights, emblazing the august night sky. But at that moment, I could only see his eyes, exquisite, like priceless emerald. Getting lost among the pine forests, running through the fields of Ireland with the exotic aura of a newborn dragon. Butterflies erupting from my stomach at the thought of the next dance, meeting my prince.
Onoma Sep 3
a curved stony enclosure whose seawall gives
way to hulking cliffs--with chiseled ramparts
akin to bottom cuspids.
standing before foldable reflections--aside from
the accelerating interpolation of sea-clouds, prone
to negatives.
the guiding intelligence of a flood cupped by an
isle that is unmet with a return.
its interior of entryways are desolate modulators
of tides.
as the two main entrances to the isle set stone apart,
the first as ruggedly cut indicators--the second as
altar-immaculatus blocks.
its baselevel of algae--fed by browning runoffs of rain,
along cracks filled with ivy.
leading into cypress trees expecting late visitors, with
an adamance that gives an odd calm to the out-of-place.
though they unnaturally crowd & surpass their enclosure,
with a tingle of wildflowers anticipating them.
making a point of something, already at its most advanced
stage--withholding a shade solid enough not to have been
under a burning phos.
come the skewed vision of a boat, progressing in the way
of water.
the sea peering at the back of the void's head, as it's shone
upon.
the forward tilt of a boatman's oared tension--stiffly even
keel, with enough momentum to float to the isle.
the boat becomes sensationless...the figure in the white
shroud knows nothing else but what is about to transpire.      
as if Lazarus dazedly brought to his feet, remaining there
for all the world.
the only thing that the cypress trees can see, as take into
their shade the coffin.
*Isle of the Dead, is a painting by Swiss Symbolist artist: Arnold Bocklin.
Travis Green Dec 2023
I love being in his ebullient manly presence
Check out how he flexes
His unstoppable, remarkable muscles
The way he makes me hunger for him
Succumb to him, love on him

Lick his slick skin, flick his rigid *******
Massage his broad, macho chest
Enthrall me with his abdominal wall
Make me fall head over heels in love
With his ruggedly handsome enchantingness

Drool over his grooviness
The way he moves his smooth lips
Hypnotize me with his brilliant, velvety eyes
Eyes like molasses brown bread
His machoness rocks me out
Blisses me out, ignites my passion

Makes me feen for adrenaline-fueled
Moment with his dreaminess
Take my breath away
With the way he sways my gayness
Hold my hands, let them run
All over his muscular physique

Control the flow, make me glow
Make me float as I slow stroke his salami
******* it as he beholds my mouth motion
Engross myself in his showily stellar sexiness
Relish the moistness and alluringness
Of his flawless, marvelous form

Feel him rub his chocolate rock-hard rod on my jaws
On the roof of my mouth
Let it slide on my tongue
To the back of my throat
Make me choke and *****
His dope glowing thighs

Delight in the fiery magic
Of his appetizing invitingness
Be solely devoted to his smoking hot phenomenality
Put his big ***** in my mouth
Provide him with nonstop *******
Until he explodes deep down my throat
Travis Green Nov 2023
I concede to him
Need to feel his sensual
Manly body against mine
Rub his hot, strong chest
His long, warm arms
The sexiness and smoothness
Of his glistening, rippling muscles

I cherish his firm superb structure
He has me intoxicated with desire
To dive into his virile masculinity
Conquer my gay world
Set me afire, entice my entireness

Console me, enfold me
Engross myself in his
Rivetingly beguiling strikingness
He exudes boldness
A robust fragrance
That takes my breath away

His machoness floats my boat
He draws me in effortlessly
To his treasured majesticness
Possesses a magnetic personality
That captures my heart

Has an appealing backside
A long, thick, and tasty rod
Appetizing dangling *****
Such a ruggedly handsome exterior
That speaks to me deeply

His flaming heat enflames and tames me
He projects vitality
Enraptures me with his sensuality
Has me so attached
To his magically immaculate splashiness

I wanna belong to him and no one else
Look into his mesmerizing eyes
Allow him to claim my mind, body, and soul
Swallow his rapid elation medication
Let him take me down

Penetrate me with his throbbing tool
Of tremendous devastation
Make me scream with delight
****** me, treasure me
Enter my creamy center

Drive deep into my guts
Take in his swaying motion
Release chest-swelling breaths
As his super solid shotgun
Slides in and out of my tight tunnel

Stretch me wide; speed it up
Give me an unforgettable rush
Rise to an action-packed ******
Blast his sticky white love juice
All over my attractive derriere
Das fuhrer Donald Trump
will return with a vengeance

Trump wracked up an impressive
$122.00 million war chest
accumulating $82.00 million
merely proffering impish grin
between January and June of 2021;
now he sets his sites and will most likely aim
to garner coveted
commander in chief come 2024,
his household name
offers him a strategic advantage
against lesser known contenders,
which rivals best announce their intention
to vie for president of United States
after results of 2022 midterms elections
(less than five months away)
define politicians favorability.

The glory of Republican Party
will once again heat up at Mar-a-Lago resort,
where agitation poised to strike on the brink
presidential election 2024
jabbering incites gotcha -
ha ha ha, he heinously cackles
humiliation, nauseation, repudiation...
(courtesy Taj Mahal size erected ******)
goads desecration as fete accompli *****
in hammered armor
of Democratic rubric, constituting:

capitalistic ethic, generic iconoclastic,
kinetic magnetic opportunistic quixotic
socialistic universalistic webbed world,
nor budging an inch when
manipulated masses swallow
his electric kool aid acid drink
what tha huff huck, –
this belligerent, dominant and
fervent hellraiser doth bungle in the jungle
decreeing tacit Marshall law
fast as a shutterfly eyewink

as his cosmic crotch grab
doth put Venus under his sway
with his Mercury hill temperament
pitches the orbit of planet Earth
tubby comb out of balance
infected by hiz anti Jupiter
damnations, excoriations, fulminations
Huzzah sing how **** derriere
didst Saturn simultaneously
crushing crucible as an Uranus
indiscriminately plopping
unapologetic xenophobic

two hundred fifty pounds of flesh
dub bling down humming his favorite Neptune
that dost affect Pluto hoc crass sea
repeating a self coined motto –
I yam almighty, therefore no fink
simply commandeering the reins of control,
a one man military intelligence groupthink
hut triad and true dyed in the wool
rip pug in ant guise zing rogue
rejoicing tuff fool, governing and hoodwink
king the die hard fans of dictatorial,

linkedin and monarchist ink
cube bus thriving on
wielding indomitable aggression
practiced in the Art of the Deal
incorporating an unanticipated jink
iron fist rule reigning down vis a vis
pro pens heave lee and prop hen city
flashing hiz seal of approval,
which scribbled signature
doth not smooth monkey
serve hay puzzling kink

boot his frenzy to bulldoze
catastrophic, formulaic, and illogic
spells these United States of America
twill become hell
in a handbasket worth repeating
with nary a trace of the grit of link
kin, the sixteenth president,
(whose ruggedly pioneering frontier existence)
found him steady and strong,
plus soft hearted as pelt o’ mink;
the epitome of former forty fifth

elected commander in mischief
touting nepotism with figurative plink
ousting progressive liberal officeholders
who decried January 6th, 2021 insurrection
hashtagged violent rebellious usurpers
as hooligans violating
hallowed halls of democracy
courtesy using sanctioned government property
name attacking Capitol building
in Washington, District of Columbia
and emptying their bowels
using said complex edifice as commode
causing a big stink!
Travis Green Nov 2023
His super-hot long ****
Brings me colossal enjoyment
Charms me to the core
Makes me love him more
Explore him in all his glory

Revel in his impeccable presence
Check out how it swells
And derails my concentration
Takes my breath away
With the way he strokes
His love muscle of crushing devastation

With a striking sky-high build
Strong chocolate thighs
Long charming legs
Bite his lips
Admire his thickness

Blow my mind
Ignite my fire
Deprive me of speech
Make me weak in the knees
With the way he slaps
His slick shaft in his palm
Has me lost in thought

Trapped in his awesome sauce
Such an assertive stare
Thighs opened wide
****, he runs through my mind
Jackin’ and smoking
Glowing and flashy as ****

His pole hangs so long
He has me so hung up
On his ruggedly gangbuster thugness
Makes me spontaneously combust
The more I lust for his tough stuff
His suckable *******

My mad hot mandingo maestro
My unstoppable, rock-solid charmer
He excites my senses
Has me fenced in by his dreamy supremeness
Makes me wanna eat him up
Like silky finger-licking chicken
Like pecan banana bread

Smell his ****, incontestable manliness
All over my delectable chestnut-brown flesh
Arrest and finesse me, astound and impress me
Shake it in my face, dominate me
With his action-filling glistening swizzle stick

**** it vigorously, turn up the volume of his moans
Make me punchy as a *******
Lit up with love, mad crushing on a ****
As he busts a monster nut
That makes me hunger to swallow it all
And fall under his thrall
In a closed door speech Saturday April 10th, 2021,
thus far, he accumulated $85 million so far.
*     *     *     *     *     *       *     *     *     *
The glory of Republican Party
once again heats up at Mar-a-Lago resort,
where agitation poised to strike on the brink
presidential election 2024
jabbering incites gotcha -
ha ha ha, he heinously cackles
humiliation, nauseation, repudiation...
(courtesy Taj Mahal size erected ******)

goads desecration as fete accompli *****
in hammered dented armor
of Democratic rubric, constituting:
capitalistic ethic, generic iconoclastic,
kinetic magnetic opportunistic quixotic
socialistic universalistic webbed world,
nor budging an inch when
manipulated masses swallow

his electric kool aid acid drink
what tha huff huck, –
this belligerent, dominant and
fervent hellraiser doth bungle in the jungle
decreeing tacit Marshall law
fast as a shutterfly eyewink
as his cosmic crotch grab
doth put Venus under his sway
with his Mercury hill temperament

pitches the orbit of planet Earth
tubby comb out of balance
infected by hiz anti Jupiter
damnations, excoriations, fulminations
Huzzah sing how **** derriere
didst Saturn simultaneously
crushing crucible as an Uranus
indiscriminately plopping

two hundred fifty pounds of blubbery flesh
dub ling down humming his favorite Neptune
that dost affect Pluto hoc crass sea
repeating a self coined motto –
I yam almighty, therefore no fink
simply commandeering the reins of control,
a one man military intelligence groupthink
hut triad and true dyed in the wool
rip pug in ant guise zing rogue

rejoicing tuff fool, governing and hoodwink
king the die hard fans of dictatorial,
linkedin and monarchist ink
cube bus thriving on
wielding indomitable aggression
practiced in the Art of the Deal
incorporating an unanticipated jink
iron fist rule reigning down vis a vis

pro pens heave lee and prop hen city
flashing hiz seal of approval,
which scribbled signature
doth not smooth monkey
serve hay puzzling kink
boot his frenzy to bulldoze
catastrophic, formulaic, and illogic
spells these United States of America
twill become hell

in a handbasket worth repeating
with nary a trace of the grit of link
kin, the sixteenth president,
(whose ruggedly pioneering frontier existence)
found him steady and strong,
plus soft hearted as pelt o’ mink
the epitome of former forty fifth
elected commander in mischief.
Travis Green Nov 2023
I love the way he commands
And enchants me
With his moist, masculine body
Attracts my focus
Ensnares my emotions

Makes me float
Engrossed in thoughts
Of his awesome sauce
Rub his delectable shredded chest
His flawless, flat abs

Bask in his handsome ruggedness
His thuggish seductiveness
His magical masculineness speaks to me
He doesn’t know what he does to me
How he makes me feel
When he swaggers into my life and dreams

Ties me up, gives me a rush
Be my gangbuster drug
Flexes his muscles
Puts my hands on his tight, biteable ****
Gives me a hard-on
The more I groove on his
Pulchritudinous deliciousness

Let his fingernails fuse
To the nape of my neck
Draw me deeper
Into his super tender perfection
Make me crave his intoxicating, valiant energy

Grab my big bouncy ***** and use me
Talk nasty to me
Make me feel his fiery heat
Drown in his wildness
Vibe to the rhythmic beat
Of his exquisite existence

Keep me in his bare, alluring arms
Caught up in the rapture of his
Extraordinarily earth-shattering storm
Feed his splashiness
Like candy confections

Be my big boy, explore me to the core
Show me his long, solid rod
Let me see his big ***** bounce
Astound every inch of me
Like a muscle-bound bouncer

Melt my defenses
Make my head spin
As he swings his slick **** stick
Make me erupt in the clutches
Of his ruggedly appealing thugness
Travis Green Dec 2021
Your body is my phenomenally painted masterpiece
Your hot, drawing lips are filled with creativity
Your eyes are a portal of passion
That attracts me to thee
Your kisses are dope as intoxicating liquor
You are my speed, my sweet relief
Your stunningness numbs my kingdom
Your chest on my ******* leaves me wordless

You nibble on my riveting, russet *******
Tilting my head back to treasure
My delicate and elegant neck
Lick my jaws and thought
Say that my heart is your home
That your sole purpose
Is to enrapture my universe
Let your stomach muscles mesh with mine

Give my supersonic body shudders
I want my moans to rise profoundly
Like surround sound speakers
Turn up your loving
Freak me dreamily with your masculinity
Make my nation dance
And sing triumphantly
To revealing rhapsody

I need to embrace your muscular refinement
Marvel at your body’s sparkling motion
Your masculine, majestic arms are so brightly inviting
I love your body being so close to mine
Your rich, thick chocolate sausage dangling before me
So succulent to stroke and *******
I desire to drink you down like a fiery, stupefying wine
Tame me, drain my potency

I hanker to be hooked on your flaming domain of *******
Light me up utterly, spark my nerves
With your alcoholic astonishingness
Smell your hot, wonderful aroma
As you restrain me to your ruggedly ravishing rehab
Make me tremble stupendously
Give me boundless buzzes again and again
Make me go wild like I am at a merry
Sight-seeing retirement party
Travis Green Aug 2023
His sophisticatedly styled sensationalness
Delights and overpowers me
He brings joy to my core
The more he locks me
In his durable arms

He draws me to his strong
And rugged features
His aesthetic competence
The unprecedented eminence
Of his remarkably suave masculinity

I treasure his delectableness
Like seared bacon perfection
How he seamlessly weaves me
Into his heavenly world
Of eye-catching attractions

So ruggedly majestic
So untamedly gorgeous
So gleamingly-lit
And manlicious to the wire
My artfully crafted marvel
My exquisitely delicious sauce boss

I wanna be the naked poetry
Written all over his mesmerizing flesh
Wrapped in his charismatically attractive magicalness
Passionately engrossed in his machoness
He rules my senses

Runs his fingers up and down
My luscious sun-kissed frame
Make me blossom
Like honey-hued flowers
Like a tranquil shining beach
Travis Green Feb 15
He had me moaning hard
When he shoved his love muscle
Deep inside my glowing manhole
He touched my soul
I was so bowled over by the dopeness
Of his mind-blowing machoness

Felt the potent jolts
Of his mad fat pole in my guts
He ignited my ****** appetite
With his highly appealing deliciousness
My suave chocolate Romeo
My sensual, gleaming prince

I loved how he flexed his freshness
How he took me in his arms
Pounded me like no other
Made me feel like I was
Sailing through the heavens
Reveling in his compelling manliness

He was so dickalicious
So ruggedly breathtaking as ever
I was fixated on his every word
His vigorous masculinity
I discovered a matchless interaction
With his extraordinary splashiness

Marveled at his hypnotically charming eyes
The more he slapped my fabulous backside
Had me twerking on his pleasure driller
As he hijacked every fraction of me
Left me slathered in his hot white man milk
Travis Green Oct 2023
I can feel the scorching chemistry
Between him and me
Locked in his enthralling love
Feeling his mad hot manliness
Surge through my veins

Incredibly in love
With his ruggedly appealing exquisiteness
He draws me nearer to him
To cling to him
Feel his sophisticated ****** hair
Gawp at his jaw-droppingly mesmerizing eyes

Kiss his deliciously tasty lips
Inhale his macho hotness
Move my body to the musical beat
Of his spectacular mantasticness
Keep me hooked on his pulchritudinous grooviness
Like ***** ballads, like fresh verses

Bask in his sinewy splashiness
So enthusiastically ecstatic
Blitzed on passion
Craving his intoxicating handsomeness
Take me in his sculpted arms
Sail through his sea of adoration
Venerate his sensationally stimulating sexiness
Travis Green Feb 1
He captured me in his manly grasp
Enraptured me with his unmatched power
His extraordinary Excalibur
His massive *******
Had me so immersed in his masculine world

Carried me away to his man cave
Permeated me with elevated bliss
Held me in awe the more I gazed at his hotness
Entering a stream of frenzied states
Losing control suddenly
Giving in to his ruggedly handsome dopeness

I basked in every action-packed moment
Gravitated towards him more and more
Floated in the vastness of his splashiness
As he caressed my **** *******
Undressed my mindset

Finessed my impressive derriere
Made my foundation shake
As he pounded me harder
Embraced me, blazed my tasty sweets
Sprayed his hot white load all over me
Travis Green Oct 2023
His dreamy, tempting masculinity is
So breezy and steezy
So sweet and appealing to me
Exquisitely crafted splashiness
That gets to me deeply

Leaves me speechless
Makes me wanna kick it with him
Taste him to the brim
Engage in intimate talks
Feel his seamless dreaminess
In my bloodstream

Keen on his intense strength
The sensuous hold he has on me
So bold and dope
With his irreproachable lyrical flow
His ebullient souladelic vessel

I dream of all of him constantly
Covet all of him ardently
Treasure him like an emerald gem
Immersed in his love
Spellbound by the enchantment of him

Connected with his macho vibe
I surrender to his ruggedly majestic seductiveness
His insurmountable drawing power
Captivates my mental creation
Has me permeated with inebriated sensations

Hear his sturdy, alluring voice
Worship his stellar masculine world
My red-hot romantic Romeo
My badass babe magnet
He has me ablaze with excitement

Ready to sail through
His sensational sound system
Venture into the heart
Of his inner universe
To discover his high-powered burst
Of extraordinary earth-shattering attraction
Travis Green Sep 2023
He makes me moan to the top
When he pulls out his massive man meat
Infiltrate me, dominate my pleasure region
Squeeze onto me, kiss me fervently
Spank my buxom *****

Make me shudder
The more he peruses
The door of my delicate sweetness
Go inside me more
Escalate the heat

Feel him so deep in my guts
Such a hard, long sausage
I worship its hotness
How it throbs against my walls
How I succumb to his masculine charm

Become his hot property
Rough me up, clutch my humongous jugs
Make me feel each aggressive push
**** me in every position
*** me up standing up

Do push-ups while ******* me
Shove his ******* in and out of me
Make me sweat buckets
So loved-up and touched by his hot stuff
Feel him beat it up, make me cuss

Lust for his ruggedly handsome thugness
Feel his powerful arms wrapped around me
His manly hands on my back
Sexually lit kisses on the nape of my neck
He makes me so ******* wet

He keeps a steady hold on me
Take control over my homoness
So drunk on his bewitching masculine magnetism
My attractively attention-grabbing stud
My captivating, savor-worthy stallion

He finesses me with his masculine dominance
So dangerously alluring to me
I love everything about him
Dreaming of him, feeling him
Sensually touch every inch of me

Make me throw that boy *****
****** my ****, pump me hard and fast
Fill me with enjoyment and bliss
My rosy-cheeked, sun-kissed lover man
I can’t help but marvel at his cowboy oysters
How they bounce so freely against my skin

Make me drool while he cruises
Through the vast oceans of my innerness
Make me love his monster donger even more
Make me jump out of my skin
When he plows my plump behind all the way
Leave me soaked in sweet, milky *****

— The End —