Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.
hiperverb and imaginery poetry, based upon the eternal endless realistic living and non  logic  retoric literature.
copyrigth JOSE LUIS CT  2018
David Chin Oct 2011
Life is a trilogy with birth and death sandwiching
Our life stories into books and chapters are written
Every second with every action and inaction
That we take takes each chapter on a wild ride
Through defeat and triumph and love and hate

Chapters like first kiss and first love and first car
And all of our firsts are only minor chapters when
Compared to chapters like self realization
And self acceptance and self recognition
And other chapters about our internal struggles

Internal struggles like depression or anxiety
Or coping with the death of a close friend or
Family member create cliffhangers and drama
In our books and they make our stories different
From all of the other stories that we read

When we make new friends or unite with old ones
And these struggles can tear pages out of our books
That we don’t want people to read because they are
Too hurtful or too personal or they cut us too deep
That we don’t want other people to find out

The truth of what happened or what we have done
And these torn pages will be a reminder of our past
And it reminds everyone that life isn’t perfect
And that we are all flawed with some more than others
But we are all the same because we have gone through hardship

Our books have twists and turns that make us smile
And they make us cry but no matter what they make
Us think about our own lives and how we can write
The next chapter or rewrite the past or change a few words
But no matter what we change our books will never be complete

Life is a book and we all need to read each other’s book
By looking into our eyes or how we are dressed or how we act
Or through our conversations because our books are constantly
Changing with every second and with everything that we do or don’t do
With every feeling or thoughts we have or how we choose to live

Look into my eyes and you can see that my book
Is no different from yours and my chapters are the same
There is a chapter for depression and for anger and for shame
There is a chapter for all of the happiness in my life thus far
And a chapter for all of the things that I want to accomplish

No matter how our books start the ending will be
The most powerful because that will define our past
How we die and how our books are written will determine
If they will be bestsellers or on the self collecting dust
But no matter what life’s a book and we should all read each other’s
She went to Russia as a student
To study fashionable nuclear technology
At the communist Patrice Lumumba University
At the center of ideologue creating city of Moscow,
She went there an accomplished total ******
No African eye had ever seen her naked bossom
She came from the western region of Africa
A girl so couth in all the platforms of life;
In manners, dress and ****** appetite,
With only education as the prime focus of her heart;
To bag a science degree in her African leather wallet
Under her arm pit, sandwiching culture and discipline.
But communist racism turned her into an ape *****,
All the tricks of European racism were employed on her,
The young girl lost her seed of self-worthwhile sensibilities,
She conceded that perhaps she was a daughter of zinjanthropus,
In the land of dignified civilisation of the Russian humanity
Where communism struggles to achieve universal Godliness
As ***** blackness strives to achieve universal communism,
In this negative personality feat, my dear daughter goofed,
A poor girl of Africa joined communist *** workers market,
And hence the door was opened to communist loutishness,
Comrades came in arms and went out, to collectivize her love
Making her ****** rights state property, subjected to proletariat dictatorship,
Only to suffer the bane of the time on her complain of woman rights,
She was declared as an African ******* in Moscow,
Suffering from incorrigible explosive African anger,
***** irascibility never seen any where in mother Russia
Only capable to be corrected in Siberian prison .
This poem is dedicated to the african girl who was brutally arrested in Russia and declared a ******* in march 2014
Circa 1994 Apr 2014
Don't you dare touch yourself.
That's my job.
I'm going to touch you in public
to make you want me in private.

But I'm going to make you wait.
Make you want it.
Feel my arousal.

Nails trailing down my spine.
Sandwiching your bottom lip between my teeth.

*I'm counting the minutes until I can taste you.
Spriha Kant Oct 2020
In a wordy battle with trivial dogmatic mentalities , I win by sandwiching my perspectives between my upper lip tubercle and lower lip tubercle.
Mohd Arshad Sep 2017
Epigraph:

Spoiling the fun is getting fun


Sandwiching oneself
In a crammed place
Is piling ***** up
Or glomming grasshoppers
As it testifies one's
Strength and stamina
That one needs
To spend ample time there
Jostling and finding
A suitable seat
A neck to neck competition
Though only for standing

Party poppers
Are connoisseur in this field
No card carved for them
They trespass halls
With panache
And strut like a special guest
Who gets the cynosure
And add candies to the celebration
Here, instinct does the work well
And it drives and drags them
To beautiful bashes or pow-tows
But simultaneously
it be controlled and switched off
If strikes once, twice or thrice
Allured, they fall into oblivion
That lounging much longer
In the pools of joys
Gathers gatherings
And some of them
*** amok to mop the mess
And they had better learn
Entering the banquets
with no invitation
Is mounting on monkeys
And climbing up the trunk.
brianprince Feb 2017
bottle the ocean.
it looks clear.

imprision the sky.
air disappears.

blue is a made-up pigment. a
figment of our imagination. a
fabricated. hallucination.

not fire. nor air. not dirt.
i searched. the plants. and water.
not Homeric poetry. not anywhere.

just the hollow bodies.
of mass sandwiching us.
a mellow glare. trans-
lucent. see-through. clear.

the ocean’s depths. ***** charcoal.
yucatan peninsula water falls. o’er
my own genuine blue eyes as
the myan ruins reveal my lie.

forgetting this blue collar
mess with ripped terminology.
denim turned to jeans
post war. 1950s.

blue is not real.
(eye) see right through (them)
in water’s reflection.
pinch me.

so i may know
that i’m
not

empty.
Who dares to wake this
mountain of a monastery that
sleeps deep within the lake of consciousness?
Who is brave enough to take and stuff their heads with dreams
and fantasy landed from beneath this sleeping sea?
Beware
the devil you don't know,knows you well.
Who would break but a moment in their sandwiching of time,to kneel
before and then be mine?
This spell of certainty,
as sure as I can be
is uncertain.
Behind the curtain which hides the eyes,between the words that cover lies,the lake bed dries and more monasteries rise which
disguising wanton lust turn and are turned to dust as dust we all become,
have fun,beware
but remember
the devil you don't know
is everywhere.
fifth May 2018
sandwiching yourself
between the silk and sheets
you embrace the soft
feathery cushions
where our faces would
melt with each other
how i'd try and slip
my hands and move to
make you warm
or how you slide your feet
and tangle them alongside
those thighs which seem
to indicate that
we both hunger for our
opposites
you would lay there
back pressed against
the bubbles
waiting for any execution
of those heated conversations
we have in absent early mornings
i'd hear you catch your breath
and maybe moan a little bit
as the shivers turn into sweats
the silk turn into flesh
i love it when you flush red
you hate it when i stop
abruptly, trying to find my pace again
during the course of that late
afternoon bliss
our bodies would be exhausted
by the fervor beneath our bones
a bloodlust targetting a vein
its too early to explode
but beauty doesn't last forever
so id make the most out of it
in cold weather
That's a chopper that's hovering
not bothering me, but
it's up there watching someone
which could be me
and that would bother me.

take a look
it's all on Facebook
and I could swear here
and say ****, but I won't

and there are cops, rolling mobiles,
sandwiching miles in between their
doughnuts.

I'm going to finish now
before I'm finished,
signing off.
my best friend is my right hand guy.
tending my needs
sharing bad dreams
catching post traumatic tears.
anytime,
every time,
except when he’s beneath me
my thighs sandwiching his ears.

my best friend is the guy on my right.
shoulder to lean on
always by my side
like honey to a bear.
anywhere,
everywhere,
especially when we’re driving
seeing that my eyes are the better pair.

my best friend will always be the right guy.
tried and truest
whatever’s ahead
in my corner he stands.
there will never be anyone,
or anything,
that will ever hold a candle,
a flame,
or an everlasting blaze
to my right-hand man.
topacio Apr 2020
you were brilliant
but it came with a cost

for every 5
lines
i was given
1 insult

you were really good
at the art of
sandwiching
two compliments
in between one insult,

you lathered the treatment
so earnestly
as you whimsically would touch my hair
and bow down to my
choice of shoes
only to, on the way up
snidely remark
about the one hair i had
forgotten to shave on my leg

it is a price you pay
he said as he looked into my eyes
i will give you the highs
but also carry to you the lows

for i am the rollercoaster
you have willingly paid admission for.
Sun shined upon the sleepy town of 6,000,000. It was just another morning for the multi-talented Crap Lewis. Carefully or leisurely he rose from bed as not to waken either of the 2 extraordinarily young & desirably naked women sandwiching him. He was a man's man, a scholar & gentleman & never used the words **** or ******, ex.: I can't ****, I'm a ******. How many ******* did you ****?
   Hungry for news **** Lewis opened the newspaper. “Hmm,”
he spat, “looks like there's been another ****** uprising!”
   5 o'clock Crap hires an executive jet to fly his **** to Bahrain. 9 a.m. next day Crap takes nap. Noon: Crap bones British princess.

— The End —