As fishes wriggling

The entirety of their slippery bodies

In vast oceans, lost in the glory of waters


Instincts meander

Their way through to the mind

In a pool of imagined

Sensuality with wanton desires


A longing for the temporal

Poignantly stands *****

In the throne-room of man's emotions

Motioning with a seemingly motionless demeanor


Unfulfilled cravings

Cradles persistence

In his goal oriented pursuits


Thoughts are repressed

Mental imageries suppressed

To pave way for *******

Of pleasantly positive feelings


Yet the uncouth lingers

Occasionally engages the enthroned

In scrimmages in their bid to dethrone them

Man holds the prerogative

To serve either of them willingly


Equally, man possess all it takes to be

Heinously hedonistic

And heartily attractive in personality

To please society  

None can reach complete perfection

At both extremities



© Seth Boss Kay @ 19/10/2013

I was the frightened little kid
Who got pushed against the wall.
I wasn’t terribly masculine
Had acne and was not very tall.
Or maybe it was my intelligence
Or artistic talent that drew the ire.
It was an ever-changing list
That drew my fellow student’s fire.

Maybe it was that my game
Was never quite there for sports.
Or maybe when I did not join
On jokes about **** and other sorts
Of woman demeaning quips
They had to have learned at home.
Parental misguidance one oh one
Not learned at school on the roam.

Whatever it was, I got beaten
And locked inside my own locker.
And I got called ***** and ***.
Now isn’t that a big fat shocker?
I got shoved around in hallways
And knocked out cold by a creep.
I didn’t even know the ****
But he decided to put me to sleep.

And when the faculty was called
I was suspended along with the guy.
The school’s policy it seemed
Was to punish both kids. Ask why.
I asked and I was told sternly
That the school really did not care
The attacker and the attacked
Had the same punishment to share.

Now, in this case, the attacker was
Known to be a ruffian and a miscreant.
And I was known to be a wimp.
So why give me unusual punishment
When I was already being punished
For not being some kind of snorting ****?
This was like the school system
Giving my jaw an extra and official sock!

It would be nice to say about this
That it was a totally isolated incident,
And that principals seldom pass out
This officially thoughtless kind of punishment.
But I heard that line so many times
I could have lip-synched right along with him
As the principal mouthed a policy line
From a time grown distant and dangerously dim.

School gym coaches called us girls
If we didn’t keep up with hand-picked brutes
Who enjoyed inherited musculature
And bigot approved physical attributes.
So those of us who were who we were
And could not manage mow down the men
At the line of scrimmages
Were called ‘lils’ and fairies once again.

Hopeful to not be tasteless,
I let you in to take a quick lookie.
You reached with intentions nameless,
and found my heart quite jankey.

Now out and melting in your hands,
The crimson essence drips.
All I can do is watch as if in the stands.
While I feel the smile on your lips.

The energy surrounds mine.
Trying to dig at my core.
As if it didn't cross a line,
Ignoring holes it tore.

Then I was claimed,
To be yours of course.
Your being was aflame.
Because I was the source.

My appearance to match,
Only your imagination's images.
as sweet as a cookie batch,
and no disposiotion to scrimmages.

Forgetting that cookies don't last.
After time they get eaten,
or become stale like the past.
Perfection achieved by being beaten.

Pressure makes diamonds,
You say I am no exception.
So I'll use my ribbons,
To give explanations.

And just like a cookie,
I will cover it up with sweetness.
Giving everyone a lookie.
Knowing I am tasteless.

I lost myself
After I lost you
Why didn't I see
I was letting your eyes
Make me as we speak

Your words, comments,
Even the little gestures
Crowned me
Victory or defeat

I lost you
Now I only see my feet
They go nowhere
My head is empty
With despair

Loves empty canvass
Draws no more potions
There needs to be evasive action
To take hold of my endings

Scrap my tongue
Scatter the ashes across this
Plain white backdrop
Make scrimmages from
Self doubt, self pity,
And disappointment

There's no point in running
I'm always on empty

I often hear whispers
They say sit
Feel what she's done
What's left
Now binge on forgiveness

You'll find your soul
Underneath it
The flame will spark again
The dead will speak in color
Another shoulder will appear
To hold all of your secrets

The moon is full tonight
Maybe this light
This dark bright ancestral light
Will be my path

I have no earth to grab on to
I might as well die
Float up to the sky
Ask the gods
To bring me another muse
Someone just as lovely as you

I'll stay lost forever
If that's what it takes
To build a garden
Inside of these empty gates

Fight hard to be original,
recognized for every syllable.
What's new to be reviewed,
when the world's view is skewed.
....Left....feeling......interstitial.....

If you think it's apparent,
step closer it's aberrant,
a mosaic of ****,
some ******-up *** skit,
but here we sit complacent....

Overcome with images
of young kids in scrimmages....
Oh! What they must be feeling
with these images realing!
This is somehow prestigious?

We get off on misery,
yours, mine, and the assembly
that is, the Universe,
that we scoff at and curse!
I only hope for hopefully....

Everything is relative,
can you be receptive?
Time-space-continuous,
physical superfluous,
the essence of imperative.

I know I've been digressing,
I just want some coalescing.
There is still time to invest,
before we cannot divest,
in whatever Truth we're seeking....

This is your prerogative,
don't tell me how I SHOULD live!
The golden grains of sand,
gritty, grinding through my hand,
my minutes, sifting through a sieve..............

Animas,
A coin toss
The rippling ends of lungs
Spread as butterfly wings
Carting untreated days of insanity
Between you and me
Seasons no longer fling Rites of time
As days Intermittently
Woven of boiling creativity
Beading atop the surface football scrimmages
Sliding links of clothing, slipping virginity…
They escape between treated fingertips
And run the sun from our lips
Mother Nature dancing from the hip
God’s unauthorized authorship

There is in it all,
a reason.
For you to lose, to gain, to fall,
to rise; to prosper in all.
It is what makes a human vibrate,
his originality rather than his deceit.
The world spins around, and waits for none.
And, so shouldn't you too.
Give what you can take, and take what you get.
People out there do not have enough,
and when we really help them,
a piece of us becomes whole each time,
piece of us, that heals, in the process.
And, it is for a reason; a greater good.
To heal, we have to give more and take less.
And the reason for it all,
will shine bright in your face,
even in the midst of gloom, for a diamond,
outlives pitch black gorged darkness, even in centurions.
as light prevails in the scrimmages of reason.

The squirrel, he scrimmages
to find a hidden nut,
to fill up the hole
in his hungry little gut.

He delves quite feverishly
in his absented minded way
looking for that last little acorn
that hopelessly gone astray.

He sometimes scurries up
an old oak tree
hyper vigilant to sudden movement
that could interfere with his binging spree.

Dressed in formal grey
He's a furry ball who's spry.
Our persistent little chap
got quite a roving eye.

He searches far and wide
for his underground treasure.
And holds fast his lot
with each careful measure.

As he ravishes each scrumptious
hardy bite
his cheeks fill up fast
as he packs it all in tight.

And I think to myself,
what a peculiar scene!
Enjoying his antics,
as he enjoys his cuisine.