"seks" poems
*een meisje wilt iets
na een feest
slapen bij jou
want ze is nog nooit
zo ver weg geweest
aan jouw zijde sta ik
en met meelevend hart
zei je 'dat is goed'
op dat moment zei ik
'goodbye' to my mood
ik hou me groot
ik hou mijn mond
terwijl ik wil zakken
me laten vallen
op de grond
als van binnen
een demoon of meer
mij aan het verslinden zijn
negatief van de pijn
ik voel me klein
dat het goed is, zei je
tegen wat?
bij mijn ex had ik hier
nooit last van
geen moeite mee gehad
nu graaf ik dan misschien
elke keer mijn graf
maar dit hier was een droom
gebroken wakker
is niet iets dat ik mezelf gaf
en ik weet niet wat te zeggen
weet niet wat ik moet doen
misschien is jouw hart goed
maar zo is onze ****
laat het de onze blijven
niet verpesten door een heks
rampscenarios om te overleven
bedrogen door eigen boven kamer
maar om **** niet erger te maken
is het soms beter te zwijgen
omdat je de 'ja' hebt
maar 'nee' nog **** krijgen*
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
Sy vra: "Hoekom is jy nou so n non"?
Ek sê: **** is mos eintlik net vir die lewendes".
Ek is my eie memento mori.
Jy is die oorsaak van dood.
Laat dit so op my graf geskrywe staan:
-Hier lê die skerwe van iets amper heel-
,want nou sit ek weer aan jou tafel
en my laaste maaltyd is n herkouing
van spoegsels vergete tye saam met jou
En ek kou en ek kou en ek onthou:
*** warm jou hande was teenoor jou hartskou
, *** gretig jy was om my vas te hou
en na die tyd toe te snou.
"Ek sit nou waar jy gesit het"
, grinnik jou wellus oor die porselein rand
en ek wil vir jou sê staan op en gee vet
want almal wat daardie stoel beset
wals met die noodlot en wink vir seer.
"Kom ons probeer , nog n keer"
Sê jou hand langs jou ritsluiter
, maar ek voel n veer
, want kadawers ken nie lustigheid nie
en ek is oorgebalsem met n gelofte.
Los die dooies dat ons rus,
Los daardie "ons" begrawe in die kis.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 12:51 PM UTC
hendes farveløse slappe mund
rodløs og opgivende
*** kysser min hals af kærlighed og uvidenhed
*** ved ikke bedre
hendes liv forsvandt for **** år siden
jeg kan mærke hendes desperate forsøg
*** anstrenger sig for at eksistere
om ikke andet så kan sorgen bringe os sammen
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
Who is the boy?
Sophia's father asked.
Sophia looked at him:
the greying moustache,
dark eyes,
short,
but solid build.
A friend from work,
she said.
Her mother walked
in the background
never interfered.
What's his name?
The father asked,
examining her,
eyes searching
her features for signs
of lies or deception.
Benedict,
she replied,
good Catholic boy,
nurse.
The father
walked past her,
then circled her.
She thought of Benny
having nodded
and spoken briefly
to her parents then
had left the house.
Good ***
Miał dobry ****
she said to herself
in Polish,
pretending she was
talking to her father.
Not dare.
Good Catholic?
Her father said,
he come to the house
and no one to safe guard
your honour here?
We talked; had coffee,
she said,
thinking of the safe things.
Those outside
may think otherwise,
he said.
Who?
Sophia asked,
sensing her father
walking behind her,
as he did when
she was a child,
then WHACK WHACK,
he did to her as a child.
Now he just walked
around her, hands behind
his back.
Neighbours see
these things,
think what they think,
he said,
in front of her
staring at her eyes.
Those who sin, see sin,
she said,
holding herself firm,
eyeing her mother
in the background,
no words,
not a sound.
This Benedict,
he likes you?
The father asked.
Yes, he does,
she replied,
thinking of Benny
******* *******
He must consider
how it could looks
to others,
her father said,
not come while
we are out.
She nodded,
looked at her feet,
wiggled her toes.
He may come while
we are here,
her father conceded,
eyeing her firmly,
walking away,
hands behind his back.
She breathed out
relieved
no whack
whack whack.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
gode veninder
der snakker løs om liv og død
om kærlighed og fester
om glæde og sorg
på en kold marts aften
hvor vi begge havde lyst til at drikke rødvin
jeg ved at du er den eneste jeg kan regne med
vinden blæser i dit sorte hår
og dine store øjne betragter mig mens jeg snakker
du lytter
en rød flaske papvin og **** cigaretter senere
ligger vi begge i vores senge og tænker
og jeg ved at du tænker i samme baner som jeg
om liv og død
om kærlighed og fester
om glæde og sorg
og jeg ved at vi begge vil sove trygt
for rødvinen har bedøvet os
og røgen har fyldt vores sorte lunger op
og vi har hinanden
for gode veninder
de snakker løs
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 5:06 PM UTC
You make a good bed,
Sophia said.
I smoothed the top sheet
of Mr H's bed
with a motion
of my hand,
trying hard not
to look at her
by the sink
in the corner.
It's a firm bed,
isn't it?
It's metal framed
for endurance,
I said,
lifting my head,
seeing her standing there
with Vim powder
in her hand
and cloth in the other.
We have ****
I pulled up the blankets
and duvet,
pretending I hadn't heard.
No one around,
she said,
be safe.
Until Mr H
or some other old boy
comes along
and keels over
clutching their heart,
I replied.
She smiled, turned
and began powdering
the sink and scrubbing
with the cloth.
I looked out the window
at the grounds below;
the grass
was a bright green,
the few trees
in full leaf.
I turned
and she was
standing there
with one foot
on the bed
and her skirt hem
lifted, showing
a fair glimpse of leg.
You sure
we not have ****
Not here, not now,
I said,
taking the glimpse
of leg inside my head.
She pouted her lip
and shook her long
blonde hair.
Shame,
it could be good.
I went out the room,
closing the door,
thinking of my next task,
giving Sidney
his morning bath,
and as I walked on,
I heard her
mocking laugh.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
UDBRÆNDT ILDSJÆL
INGEN FLAMMER I BÅLSTEDET;
BLOT GLØDER
EN ULMEN
INGEN ÅBEN ILD, MEN:
INDRE VARME, SVITSEN
EN DØDBRINGENDE KERNE
UNDER DEN GÅ, OPBRUGTE
SKAL
SÅ RØR MIG IKKE,
PÅ TRODS AF MIN
UDSLUKTHED
MEDMINDRE DET ER MED
FORBRÆNDINGER I TANKERNE
FOR JEG ULMER STADIG;
ILDEN ER IKKE
BEKÆMPET
JEG BRÆNDER
OP
LANGSOMT
SÅ KOM IKKE NÆR
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
•SEMPURNA SAMA DENGAN MALAPETAKA#
SEDANG MENGGILAI **** SEDANG MENYENANGI **** SEDANG SANGAT **** MENCINTAI DICINTAI SEORANG PEREMPUAN YANG RUMIT, tuhan#
"TADI MALAM AKU DIKELUARKAN DI DALAM KAMAR#
AKSI REAKSI#⊙UH
• PERFECT SAME WITH DESTRUCTION # ARE ASSESSING *** FUN FOR *** IS VERY **** LOVED LOVED A HOUSEHOLD WOMEN, god # "THEN NIGHT I WAS EXITED IN ROOM # ACTION REACT # ⊙UH
Jul 19, 2019
Jul 19, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC
Sophia leans over
the fresh made bed
of old Tom
and says to me
film on at cinema
(she's Polish
and her
English's broken)
is there now
I reply
folding neat
the old boy's clothes
it good film
I put away the clothes
in the top drawer
of the chest of drawers
you take me?
why would I do that?
it good film
after we go back
to my home for coffee
you want me
to meet your parents?
no they out
at some ex army thing
my Tatus was in War
over here
she says
I stare out the window
of Tom's room
not sure
I can make it
I say
maybe we could
be having **** after?
she suggests
the sky is off grey
the clouds are heavy
the grass below
is bright green
don't need ***
I reply
just a film
I look at her
standing there
blonde hair tied
in a ponytail
eyes bright
as new stars
you go?
she asks
dare I say no?
I muse thinking
of the times
she's nearly
seduced me
on the beds
in this old folks home
me a nurse
she a cleaner
a seductive one
at that
sure
I say
looking away
making sure
all the jobs are done
in Tom's room
so I can leave
she smiles
it be good have
coffee after
I nod
and down the hall outside
there's an old boy's
rattly laughter.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
harlemde akşamüstüyüm
rengarenk ve kalabalık
reggy kemiriyor morningside'ın,
muazzam beyaz dişleri
ve kaykaycı
birkaç genç, otogaz sistemi gibi sıralı
akşamüstüyüm harlemde
küçük kızlar, koca kızlara
oyunlar sek seks'e dönüşümüş
uğramayalı
50 doların var mı ihtiyar?
diye soruyor tekne kazıntısı
sonra ateşin var mı?
aldırıp geldim diyorum, iyiyim böyle
peki sigaran? metazori tutuşuyor filtresi köfte dudakların
joy'muş adı, tek çocuklu, anne bakar,
herif hapiste
memphis'te tanışmışlar, o zaman da torbacıymış hergele
hikaye uzun ben kısayım
sohbete deyip kalkıyorum
koca kıçlı donna'nın merdivenlerinden
filvaki
hüzün, gözaltı peşimde
ben Vaha
akşamüstüyüm harlemde
yoksul ama kalabalık
düşü, düşürenin içinde...
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 4:09 PM UTC