"sardined" poems
Half asleep, driving for hours
with Budweiser bottles,
warm from the heating.
The windows were all down,
we were smoking rollies,
all sharing one lighter because the driver
dropped his in a can of fanta.
Next thing,
the roar of an army of twincams.
VTECs, something insanely beautiful,
and incredibly ridiculous,
a convention of petrol heads—
Gardaí everywhere, searching for tax
and insurance. My God, I was in it.
Hundreds of thousands of them,
all excited like children,
the screaming of a million voices,
no exhaustion in the exhaust fumes.
The hills rose around us, the traffic
packed backwards,
expensive cars all sardined in a roundabout.
How loud can you get it?
Can she sing like a canary?
Can she find herself at the Letterkenny rally?
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 7:18 AM UTC
Adéifé, I can't wait to kiss your lips, suckle on your **** tease them till you ease, as I undress your hips down to your feet, slightly stroking your thighs as it heats, holding you from behind so your sweetbutt hardens me up more, squeezing your ******* as I swing you around and planting kisses on them as I lay you down afar a feet... Gush! You are sweet! Spreading your legs, my fingers alova your heated body that pleases, I'm not at ease... I can't wait to slowly **** you, till your body vibrates and you can't breath, yet I won't stop till you beg me please... Mo ti lala awa ri; deadly & sweet...
Giving you multiple pleasures, ******** tensions is one thing I promise... Last images of your ******* your waist, your hips and your twists turns me on right now, thoughts of me holding you in my hands boils me up... Fowo kan mii, Touch me
That moment when I slightly slowly hungrily and desirably enter you is a moment my body longs for... Kpe oruko mii, Call my name
I want to hold your waist from behind from dusk to dawn, turn you around and around as we passionately devour our cravings... In arms tight, breast to Chest, bodies kissing, intimate moaning, lips gaping, our shapes sardined, oiled with tensed sweats & breaths... Gush! Your ******* Jeka sere... Lets play.... Your eyes staring down at me as we echo, mime, duet and pitch our hearts' music and song in climaxes never felt... Till that awesome moment of nothing else existing but we and what we feel...
Aah Gush!
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
Dog days fly dust to dust over a hick
pit sardined between corona bikinis that house
the unmistakable stench of lukewarm apple
sauce in the c-cup padding and toothless
******** sitting indian style. Graveled friction
fading the back pockets of their overall
dungarees. Amongst them a settler on their native
turf accepting a Jim Beam peace pipe while above
the influence commercials march in protest claiming fried
egg consequences from engaging in the act. The culture
shock is worth the weekly once-in-a-lifetime chance
to sip the tabasco-glazed opening of my chemistry
teacher’s flask while he schools me in perfecting
the cotton eyed joe. A muffler spontaneously
combusts, melting the raybans off the face of a tragically
hip spectator taunted with “that’s why dad named you Joe Dirt.”
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:44 PM UTC
and only with the dump grey skies of england
do i sit on the windowsill
perched like a crow on a rooftop
drinking whiskey trying to find a chris rea c.d.,
although picking out a tom waits’ glitter & doom
i find myself reminding myself
how i waltzed the empty streets listening to live circus
at night,
but with the dump grey skies brimful with rain
i stretch out from the window with a cigarette
and catch tears on the sunglasses i’m wearing,
because even though it’s grey and gentle trickle rainy
it’s too much for my envious green eyes to look at,
so i stretched out in this stratosphere of angry gravity
and took the raindrops as tears onto the shades of hades
with laughter and glee
that might have reminded me of sardined clowns and elephant acrobatics,
as this moment already did.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 9:04 AM UTC
The gap between the platform and the subway car
seems to grow the closer you get to it
Until crossing it seems like the worst idea you could make
But you close your eyes and brave the void
Taking care not to thin about the tracks beneath
So alive in their snaking routes and tortured screeches.
The doors shut abruptly once you've sardined inside
And its all you can do to grab onto something, anything
Before the wheels begin to turn again
And you're lurched into some other time,
Some other place
As the tunnels decide what your fate will be.
And the doors will open again
As a ghost of a platform appears
But commuters be weary
For the tunnels and the tiles can be deceitful
So as you leave the decay
And the fractured tiles behind
Take caution
You might not notice it at first
You might not notice it at all
But the subway tunnels are unpredictable
And they enjoy making the rules
So the vortex you thought you imagined with the tunnel's lights speeding past the windows of the train
Might have actually transported you to some unknown city
To some other dimension
And there's no turning back.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
Gimme some sardined rice
Sorry— that's the price?
Do you then have mice on ice?
Its price?
Thrice a sardined rice per slice!
Jesus Chris— thrice?
Okay, get me three slices of mice on ice
No freaking flies, no lice
On my mice, just ice...
Nice!
Zinjanthropus
Apr 24, 2021
Apr 24, 2021 at 7:56 AM UTC