"rutting" poems
The comely *****
a comely ***** o' twenty three, from yonder village banburee,
alight her sight on poor auld me, a poorly man wi' one bad knee,
she buxom be enough fer three, her legs be thick as big oak tree,
but contrary to crippled me, she sprightly be wi' two good knee.
as I took flight on that fateful night from rutting comely *****
I felt a pain, a twist, a strain, and a gutting Rumley Wrench!
yon knee was spent, wi’ geat lament, she's upon me in a jiffy
she made it clear, she said, “m’dear I want yer little ******
now twenty three ‘tis not in years, but sire, tis stones in weight,
and 'er on me wi one good knee, be too dire to contemplate,
but to my surprise, she got a rise outa my little wrinkled pecker,
wi’ her big thighs and **** the size o’ a bleedin double decker!!
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 8:13 AM UTC
Lucifer, Lucifer
Black, rotting mind,
How can you live
With the lies that you wind?
Lucifer, Lucifer
You claim to destroy
But need God's permission
For what you deploy.
Black Lily of old,
Wrecker of worlds,
Mover of mountains,
Oil slick pearl,
The whorls on your forehead,
The horns on your head,
The eyes in your hands
As you dress your dead.
You desolate valleys
You eat up the land,
You grind a man's bones
To Sahara sand.
In my eye a beam
In your eye a mote,
The rampant *****
Of a rutting goat.
They grow in your belly
The flies that you spawn,
Maggots in multitudes
10 trillion strong.
Yes, out they spew
Through your spittle and teeth,
The lies propigated
From way underneith.
O, putrid rose,
Who has duplicate skill
To create "beauty"
To dazzle man's will.
But nothing you "make"
Is good on this earth,
No, nothing you "make"
Has any WORTH.
O, blighted star,
Constellation of hate,
Galaxy ghoul
Your strength is FINITE.
Who runs the show,
You aborted SOW?
When all's said and done
To whom will you BOW?
More sooner than late
Your end will come
In the pit ALONE.
With no one to ***
Who'll put you there,
Bound in your chains?
Why! GOD! Of course...
... for Jesus Christ REIGNS.
Soul Survivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) February 2014
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 9:21 AM UTC
lay back and relax
go along with what the stream
will give me
sometimes fast
sometimes slow
a snag or two
to keep me grounded
watch the dappled shadows
the canopy of leaves
through closed eyes
perfect state of being
water drips with weird sound
wakes me from my splendor
turn my head
come face to face
with rutting buck
that snorts across my mug
the startled deer
has startled me
just glad to keep it upright
stag turns and runs
quiet restored
left with vision of his eyes
and the quickly narrowed pupils
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
Aerial landing
A Dance of forever
Rutting and knitting
******* and a’ shakin’.
Headache clambake
Twitching *****
Versus numb neuters
Ever been a little of both?
The world tips, so that
Legs shake.
Do the twist-step
Mis-step
Misleading the flocks
See him hover, and
Warm all the *****
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 5:32 AM UTC
Waning dappled moonlight mantles
the margin at the wild-wood edge
Stiff tufts of summer dried grass spears
sporadically sway — raking against
the scarlet poison oak leaves
gently sweeping away the moonlit silence
airing the sounds of velvet antlers rubbing
barkless mountain willow trunks bare
Subtle nuances constantly animate
twilights rhythm; heaven flickers
upon a dark umbrage of forest pillars
softly as a candlelight’s fluttering glow
evanescing half way across the sky;
the sparse illumined clouds stream through
the lambent halo around the rutting moon
fleeting in the blink of sleepless eyes
and like the silent touch of a talisman,
transfixed eyes are entranced by all
the restless night disrobes,
captured and cocooned by the seeker’s
awakened senses
An erratic, familiar feral bark peals haughtily;
a pack of maturing spring pups yip, bellow and shriek
in youthful pursuit; the howling report back,
ignited by the scent of a rabbit's paling squeal,
aroused by the pulse of brother wolf
rippling deeply through their blood
The dried grass game-trail crackles towards the ridge top:
an aging full moon is not enough skylight
to see beyond a seeker’s stirring silent reverie
the coyote choir’s sudden reveling echoes rekindling
an extraordinary sheltering intimacy within;
bending slithers of moonlight into a dull moonlight mantle
but I can feel its weight breaking me ,... forlorn I can't physically
reach out to touch them in an absolving moment —
understanding love was always the purpose of being ,...
futilely repining — I can't face myself alone again
harlon rivers ... October 2019
.
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 8:39 PM UTC
Hey ****** ******
The cars do a twiddle,
They twist and turn on the road,
Dodging the *** holes,
Some with broken controls,
I've even seen some being towed,
Hey ****** ******
The road in the middle,
Needs a little repair,
If you can swing by,
And give it a try,
And pretend you're a council that care,
Hey ****** ******
Thanks for the repair in the middle,
But the road needs a whole new coat,
Take care when crossing,
Cause the road's all rutting,
You'll need to be a mountain goat.
Hey ****** ******
Is the council on the fiddle,
Just like Nero did in Rome,
Please come and fix it,
You'll need to bring a tar pit,
Cause it's shaking the walls in my home.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
How long will you sit there?
Cavities, your type of trophies from wilder days, the forgettable kind
Rutting between hills of lifeless grey flesh
Moist as the dust that stood to search (unsuccessfully) for fresh light
Nothing moves anymore
Even the 41, Guyanese invertebrates
Learned you long ago
They wait, tire
Sometimes before the hours tip, I hear you, or try to
You play the dances in your head
Just like swallowed tangos and serenades for mama
She always said you could sing
I fought for the top of your feet
My place, where my toes gripped wrinkles in your smile
Pulling me down, down past moonless flights
Yet no such pedestal stood
Mid-yawn, we breathed in springtime
I left a piece for you, buried deep in an injection
I lost my crown that day
My heart anticipated the warmth of melting snow
I'd cover furrowed brows in blue ink, sometimes black
Grinning under the blotting
Recipes for tomorrow
Words I beg to forget
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
Linking the spotlight into the dark score
Rutting out the jagged envelopes that
Refuse to be opened, clinging onto their
Sticky tape with a passion; Don't ask me for
Release, I'm shuttered up, swathes of emotive
Blankets worn out from their duty to keep me
Warm; to blot out the morning light from
Penetrating my skull. Shame.....sorry self
Introduced to the firing line. BANG....the snaked
Tongued 'Medusa' who entangles her mind
With vipers, serpents dishing out their forked
Shots of maggot infection, generating wormy
Warriors burrowing into the ruby red warmth
Chewing and bubbling neuron to neuron
Exploding at boiling point into a vast mix up
A collision on course, snapped in two, vibrating
With sheer panic, wrapped in destruction.......
Utter bilge.......built this bridge
So I'll knock it down..............
to start anew
And so I smile.......
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 8:10 AM UTC
Stagecoach trundled, rutting, wheels
Soily grasp, grabbing at the earthy recipe
Cart....horsing around the outdoorsiness
Ferris wheel spun, gathering passengers
To overlook the show ground, smattered
Four legged races, saddled with encumbents
Bobbing in display formation. Far above
I caught sight of circular ribbons emblazoned
Lapels holding onto prize winners, suffering
The pin ***** jabbing at willing winners
Left foot first, hopscotch to the flap of tarpaulin
Billowing their precious overgrown greatness
Of perfect vegetalia, proud, excessive....of the
Dinner plate variety. Don't touch their polished
Surface, they deliberately await photographic
Validation; future growers, challenging champion
Chompers, terrorising super-veggie heros
I wonder what becomes of former ground growers
Do they take a back stage bow? Uprooted with
Those of a lesser kind, jostling for saucepan space
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
They recklessly mowed the grass everywhere
Cropped the lot !
(The city council landscapers)
No verge
park or public plot
is left any freedom
in its fertility
misdeed
With no places remaining
no long radiating grasses
for quality summer fornication
retreats must be made instead
to the usual abandoned properties
and construction sites
Giddy romantic tangles are given over
in their place
rutting animals
quick shameful *****
graffiti tagged
***** soaked
damaged concrete
exposed hazardous detritus
damp, rust, broken glass and mutty
Absent are the breeding meadows of the gods
this year is no span of leisure
this year is smutted
Nov 9, 2021
Nov 9, 2021 at 1:42 PM UTC
As one now
in thought and rhythm
missionaries of that
***** fever dream
called humanity
skin of the Mother Goddess,
Earth. And let me tell you,
she is one ***** mother.
All her trees,
their roots penetrating
deep into her soils.
All her creatures,
rutting day and night,
her atoms come alive.
Mother Earth came alive
to **** herself.
Mother Earth has come alive,
and you are her,
writhing on your bed.
Mother Earth has come alive,
and I am her,
breathing in your ear
**** us all,
for Goddess sake,
**** us all.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
I will lay by thee sire,
Dark tall, frozen-eyed sentinel,
What deep harness,
You ****** upon me,
What sorrows I nae see beyond thee,
Black sire in stables, punish me
I will give in to you,
Limp and strafed about yon body,
Without any purse,
I will succumb to you,
What joys you may make me suffer.
Sweet stallion please, break me
I will let you neck me,
Hard and true as the red deer rutting,
Shameless in pride,
I shall betroth my love,
What promise shall gait in surrenders.
I shall be your mare, unbridle me
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
Life as a high school wallflower served me
without any budding female friendships
until lo…
a gent tulle mandate from my late mother uprooted me
from mine kempf familiar bedrock level road terrain
which venue offered a groundswell
to blossom forth into golden sterling resplendent rod
of natural equipoise (this an unbiased opinion) and balance
with freestyle improvisational swinging motions
unchained from the moors of formality
and lit figurative saint elmo’s sesame street fiery dance
allowing, enabling and providing this shy awkward self
during his young adulthood
to cast away four ever
thy self embroidered handsome
straight as an arrow
naturally high as a kite young guy
buzzing like a yellow jacket
thus liberating spontaneity that je nais sais quoi joie vivre
clamoring headlong toward venus
from healthy pistil packing overflowing bin
laden well nigh testosterone erupting *****
toward opposite gender
whereby bravado donned as key
to *** field of whet dreams
fostering initial albeit late blooming
roll in the hay hormonally rooted rutting squeal!
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 2:15 AM UTC
For Berlinski
<X>
it's so true, can't believe it though,
this fact so well known, my cells fibers denied it asylum,
mocking me with a berating ****** single-cell-syllable of
shut-up
my runted eyes never spake this confess out loud
but here it is,
a silent truth rutting onto the **** mirror paper-white screen
where the pixels do my screaming pleasing easy and the
goldie oldie ***** stains, asking "you again?"
silence reverberates, like a tree falling in the forest,
the screen where I live, holy matrimony 90% of everyday
for better or worse, still crazy, the years get longer and the
the poems stretch out, ******* sag, and pseudo-crazy making me
lazy tired
no shy guy me, but the word waste of pointless,
sends me silently screaming to the bedroom where under covers
I count threads. herding words, making pleasure gutter noises,
that can only be heard by the audio surgically implanted
in a human chest, and the dust mites
*but the blunt i smoke stimulates the nervous brain system and the gibberish comes furiously fast, trying not to burn the sheets
that just were laboriously added up to soft and silky when served with a side of naked girl and discovered that I talk hugely stupid when stupid and ****** oh so common, and
the s-words cut bluntly and satrap sharp where there and when the plain sentences become bread knife sharp and the poems gestate in 9 minutes because nothing is blurred and all use Exit 74 on
the interspatial, intracellular inter-pet
fully formed, in finery, winery celebrated, spilling wine on those sheets and now I am cursed cause words are the master,
leaving me just the mature, shy crazy boy, the muted tool;
oh god, dear god - Oh GAWD!!!
please let me be still crazy till long after my
bleached bones rumble,
"boy, it is time to be in that in that valley"*
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 4:21 PM UTC
He downloads an app
"how to please a woman"
it's all ********* and rutting...
nowhere does it say
"make a brew now and then"
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 10:37 AM UTC
I walked in on my dad
He was watching *********** on the Internet
The sounds of animals fighting
Through tiny computer speakers
Had woken me up
The room was midnightdark
I know he couldn't see me
Bathing in the glow
Dimming and brightening
With each new camera angle
I crept out of the room, quiet as a mouse
Laid down in bed and closed my eyes
I didn't know what to do
I fell asleep to the rutting noises
Of nameless acquaintances, forgotten within the hour
When I was a kid, afraid of the moon
My dad gave me a glow-in-the-dark figurine
Of the infant Jesus
I still have it somewhere
It still glows
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 9:45 PM UTC
My father speaks to me daily.
In my infancy as a dream my childhood a sigh my youth rustling leaf.
He walks a path unknown to me yet and still.
In my boyhood a whisper.
A grumbling prophet in my youth a subtle **** in my rutting time. A cautionary tale in my wanderings, my father.
My father took residence in my mirror in my wisdom took a stand in my slight declining. Took Pitty in my questing.
He stands at my back in chaos by my side in victory
By my manhood by my word.
He is
Here now and always.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
Please do not loose heart Scotland
Though feelings maybe strong
As hearts spill a gentle tear
For you are strong
You may feel a need to weep
As we sold out cheap
But let your tears now fall
For they will feed our
Scottish soil
Do not be angered by hearts
That can only hear cha-ching
And forgotten the ring
Of the Scottish highland sing
For now is the time
To love each other thickly
Holding together now richly
As we rise together like cream
For this is more than a dream
Though we failed to break free
We will keep growing like a tree
And our Stag will bring a reason
A new spring rutting season
To stop English butting in
Though we wasted chances
Only kissed then missed
We know it is wrong
So we will come back strong
Do not think we will finish on this note
Or that you have wasted a vote
For our lady Scotland
Has heard our every yes
each delighting her
Like the opening
And discovery of
A fresh new flower
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
Marcus sleeps
deep slumber
Annona
beside him
having spent
many hours
under him
he having
spent himself
inside her
many times
now she's sore
and worn out
wishing him
off to war
or one of
Caesar's far
off campaigns
but wishing
Amy there
beside her
her slave girl
small body
gentle touch
making love
not lustful
like Marcus
rutting her
but gentle
equal love
each touching
kissing lips
and bodies
and fingers
researching
Marcus snores
like some hog
in a trough
at her side
she gets up
to refresh
find Amy
to wash down
her soiled flesh.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 2:50 PM UTC
are the roses the poses of *** scented
posies daffodils the long stems of grass
the moss the rutting of rabbits
in the field(s) without
ravaging man's hands and intrusions
If we were more the masters might
we plant more hibiscus or petunias
or forget-me-nots
and I see
the mastery of natural selection
by being the one selected out
and it happens and
life goes on
and the fields bloom with beauty
year after year
with or without me
but man is jealous
of nature and seeks to tame
the untamable
the wildness the random
seeks to explain why
and hold to his breast
a velvet touch a silk rose
his wisdom
as better
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 10:55 PM UTC
perhaps it was his love for
the salt and the sea
perhaps upon the desert of waves
he awaited a vision to awaken his dreaming heart
some beautiful illusion
spoken aloud by a drunken bard
let loose his devilishly smooth voice
in the small hours of night...
she was there too
with her loose skin revealed...
she will be tainted by his warm breath
she will bear its teethmarks with voiceless pride
till the end of her days
it was his hot blooded passion spilling its
cruel seed upon her
and she smiled like a young nymph
displayed her shameful state like a peacock strutting
like a wild animal rutting...
except in the night where she held it near her lonely heart
a single dim light in her dark world
she is his love of life incarnate
she is his lust uncluttered by romance
all hot hands groping for pleasures given and received
she is a lean warm soft creature of night
that slips away to sleep
and yet dream still
of his warmth upon her shoulder
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
Once the sun rose in the south
like the fowl by the same name
regular enough to set a watch
this ascension of desire’s push
promising much as consequence
if the eye can be believed
even as the owner sleeps
still embraced by wanton dreams
then to wake against the day
asking rutting in payment
to witness god’s greatest gift
bequeathed to eager supplicants
to sate the fire that burns within
the showers pelt in response
by sparse cloud’s drizzling
or the tempest’s drowning fist
this revelry in dawn’s face
expected at daybreak’s light
is now left behind in the years
with only pain to end the night
the sun has set forever more
no longer rising like days of yore
and while the fowl may share the name
no crow is heard at first of day.
© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190203.
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 10:43 PM UTC
I shed my tears on the autumn day
Let shredded leaves blow in my way
I see the oxbow lake in all its green
This autumnal world is not what is seems
The squirrels collect their cone shaped provisions
Making sure of careful decisions
Leaping from the hand shaped sticks
Like tom jumping over the candlestick
The final sights of winged frog food
The rutting deer begin to woo
A season of sleep preparation
All across the dying nation
So goodbye leaves, I cry you away
Say goodbye to this year’s day
And with the final look that last I steal
I really love the autumnal feel
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC