"shagged" poems
Kevan Fuchs died today in his sleep
In a similar way as his father of one
And actually, also my father did too
Of those bitter, big cancer scourges
Which always come in unexpected
In this short enough life, a bit early
I've known him ever since first, when
We were knee high to Dad's shotgun
Throughout our small neighborhood
We would all roam to see and look
For ***** toads and such other fun
Without any known end in our sights
We often, came all together, at once
In his parent's, little Clovis back yard
In the under ground, in our deep dug
Wild little clubhouse of our new pride
Approved by our jealous Dad's stare
Made all by ourselves, with great care
Eight by eight, with three feet of deep
Shagged carpet floors, walls around
And places to hide stuff with those
**** magazines we wished to remain
Unseen by our parents, although they
Surely lived through similar wild times
Black lights , fluorescent mod posters
Fans to cool, while there in the deep
Kept the place comfy, from several
Hot summers in New Mexico's heat
Staying nights over, in conspiracy we
Came colluding, while hoping no fame
This place was our place, of known
Refuge from all of the big crazy, with
Frightening world still yet to come
Giving us our youngest freedoms
And also so much being in trouble
As kinda neighborhood hoodlums
Far up his Dad's, tall, two-way radio tower
One of us in care would climb
With binoculars to see the dark night
With our pair of walkie talkies held
Warn the others, carousing around
Of any plight, in appearing headlights
Kevan's brother, still alive, Keith
My other brother by another, Buddy
Also at first, a weird guy, named Chris
One other member, as second cousin
Who actually, was my very first kiss
When it was hard to aim, lips to miss
All bound as one, by made up signs
And part of something called PSO
Which, if you don't know well, what it
Truly means, then you were definitely
Not a part of the so very high bliss
Which we suffered through so often
Kevan's true nature is clearly proven
Finally, most completely, at his end
In the nature of his wonderful loving
All his family, who also so loved him
And all those other parties to trouble
Who also so loved, really all of him
© 2017 Jim Davis
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC
Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe
Though I never shagged you at all
You ****** the rhythm to ******* yourself
While those around you ate crow
They schlepped out of the cleavage
And they ********** into your crumpet
They ******* you on the rowing machine
And they copulated you **** your three *****
And it seems to me you tasted your *****
Like a cigarette lighter in the diarrhoea
Never knowing who to stick it out to
When the ooze congeal from the top drawer
And I would have liked to have had carnal knowledge of you
But I was just a twit
Your cigarette lighter exploded spew out long before
Your whiff never blewout
Stiffness was sticky
The gristliest fat part you ever nibbled
Hollywood cobbled together a wizzofrog
And ******** was the corkage you greased
Even when you conked out
Oh the lubricator still molested you
All the skeletons had to jabber
Was that Marilyn was ***** flashy the starkers
Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe
from the virginal wombat in the twenty—second ghetto
Who smells you as meat as above par than scatological
Olé! than frank our Marilyn Monroe
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 4:17 PM UTC
i was'nt very clever
at maths at park st school
thick as **** when adding up
a mathematics mule
but i was quite good looking
girls where always there
counting not a problem
with gelled black streaky hair
puberty and progress
next stage after kissing
discovered that my *****
was'nt just for *******
then came my dilemma
a valley ****** vexed
blod the bike from blaina
begging to be sexed
how'd you want it bloddwyn?
oooh!....ten inches would be nice
i counted for a minute....
then i shagged her twice
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
It smells of cigarettes and 12 year old regrets.
Matted shagged rugs with creeping, crawling bugs.
There’s shouting from the back.
Humming coming from a ***** metal box.
A shrill announcement that it's time to get our fill.
We race back while trying not to spill.
In my bowl is the same hard heat of imitated meat.
I run my finger across the couch. A halo of polyester,
where too long an ember was permitted to fester.
My friend had dawned new clothes,
a flashy new skin, but a month’s gone by.
Holes now show what she’s hidden.
Uncertain, she’ll dawn a new curtain.
Whether a lack of communication or a thoughtful hesitation
to force another her burden.
Jan 4, 2020
Jan 4, 2020 at 1:48 AM UTC
Please do not cover this day
With a flowery petty coat
Paint brush or brush stroke
Or blow it full of
Silver lining, star dust
Because tragedy is real
Do not diminish our suffering
Or belittle all our pain
By telling us there is meaning
Because I am telling you
God was not on that mountain
peaceful hilltop farmer left anguished
And landscape is vanguished
Family under rubble
Tragedy is real
So tell me then when your
Oppressive boss dragged you
Stole your pride dignity
Shagged your wife destroyed you
And rocks fell on my child
That the lord
Looks after you
Because tragedy is real
Spend a day lifting rocks
dead bodies needless pain
People screaming children wailing
Then tell me there is meaning
That God has a plan
I say he has none
Because tragedy is real
To make sense
Is absolute nonsense
Only callous and cold
And I would not
Be so bold
To insult with any meaning
For unlike a wife
This wound is not leaving
Or ever healing
And can only be left
Raw, ****** and open
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
Alright fella, how’s you mate?
Just heard back from the hospital innit.
They got you that liver now?
Yeah man, sorted. Ahh yeah-
did I tell you ‘bout the other day?
There was this ******* mug
by the chippy and he mugged
me off. And I was like mate,
don’t mess - you’ve picked the wrong day
to be a ******** innit.
And he was all like, “Yeah?
**** off, mate.” And right, now,
well, I’d had enough by now;
I wanted to teach this mug
a Life-Long Lesson, yeah?
So I said, “I’m not your mate,
and I will end you if you don’t **** off, innit.”
Ah man – this was not his day.
You remember back on Tuesday,
when I got that knife that I still use now?
I had it on me, and I shanked him, innit!
Serves him right for being a mug;
*sounds like one less ***** on the estate, mate.*
Too right blud. Was well funny too, yeah –
cause he was just round the corner, yeah,
I just walked into the chippy like any normal day!
Just like, “Nah, no vinegar please mate.”
There’s never any filth around here now
so we can just shank mug after mug;
and we’ll make it a better place to live, innit.
Oh yeah, and I can get smashed now, innit!
We’ll get some pills and that, yeah?
Have us a party, but don’t invite Gaz, you mug –
he shagged Tracey the other day,
so it is gonna be well awkward now.
*Ahh **** I am well excited, mate.*
And mate, make sure you bring some fit girls, innit.
You wanna come round now? Nah, got a check-up. Yeah,
but it’s not gonna take all day! Shut up, you mug.
Jun 6, 2011
Jun 6, 2011 at 3:07 PM UTC
full grown light magnesium burns on the corner bright
now
now that false dude with the habit
has been removed from the bushes where he shagged
and scared little girls
and the punk drug dealer stood
near the bushes in the dark was
removed by what light
that burns like welder's torches
belches the sun at dark onto sly daredevils those
**** buckets
and the users go around to another place now
the young girls play basketball there
safe into the dark hours
and the brightest light saved
another generation
and it only took two deaths
there
to make it happen
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 10:15 PM UTC
EDNA: Please sit down, William. How are you today?
WILLIAM: Fine thank you, Edna. How are you? I read that you were having trouble with your piles.
EDNA: Mind your own ******* business. I'm doing the interviewing here.
WILLIAM: Sorry, Edna.
EDNA: Right, now I hear you are a wife-swapper. How did that start?
WILLIAM: Well, Edna, after I had been married a few years, I got fed up with ******** the same **** and so I started wandering a bit. And my ******* wife found out and broke my leg with a sledge hammer.
EDNA: That must have hurt.
WILLIAM: Of course it ******* well hurt. Not only that, it made ******** impossible for months.
EDNA: [laughing sympathetically] And then?
WILLIAM: Well, once the leg mended, since I still fancied a bit of spare nookie, I suggested to my lady wife, we try some wife-swapping.
EDNA: How did she react to your mentioning swinging?
WILLIAM: Swinging? You mean life my wife's fat *******
EDNA: I'll ignore that. Get on with the story for Christ's sake. You'll bore my readers' **** off.
WILLIAM: As I was saying, she was quite keen on it. In fact she said 'As long as the geezers involved have a bigger **** than yours, I'm up for it'.
EDNA: Yes, I heard your **** was small, William.
WILLIAM: Anyway, we joined the Maidstone Wife-Swappers Club the next week and have been swapping ever since.
EDNA: Ever since? How long ago was that, then?
WILLIAM: About five years ago, Edna. The MWSC meets once a month, there's usually quite a few couples there and we go most times, especially if we've heard there's some new members, if you get my meaning.
EDNA: Members? Members? That's a good one. You should be on the stand-up circuit with material like that, William.
[Edna and William laugh gaily]
EDNA: Tell me, do you swap with only one couple at these swingers parties? Or do you mingle, so to speak? Roughly many couples have you swapped with, then?
WILLIAM: As a result of our participation in at the Maidstone Wife-Swappers meetings, I have shagged 84 women and Eileen, my dear wife, has been ****** by 245 men.
EDNA: You can go now.
WILLIAM: Pardon me?
EDNA: **** off.
[Interview terminated at this point.]
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
German rye bread & Chinese green tea
each turn of the knife
each touch of the kettle
& you send signs to the neighbors
the heavens above
a tapestry of eyes
salt water & tears
& your knees shaking
in little earthquakes
Fly the flag higher
Britishness is an art
in Earl Grey & crumpets
& mad hatter days
boasting of kisses
in mad houses
kisses you've never had
or else someone you shagged
but once
senseless & beaming
letters to Keats
& always, always
maps of the Empire
some builder nostalgic
for old might & power
& ships on the Thames
like in the old paintings.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
**** man, how are you
going to get out of
this one?
I guess you are going to have to tell the truth.
But some people do not want the truth
some cannot give the truth to certain loved ones,
others believe that the truth is what must be spoken in every word.
But its like walking back down the mouth of the cave,
to the prisoners still shackled, watching shadows, and trying to explain the sun and the trees.
I would have better luck
trying to
**** this wall
than trying to get you to
understand something
which seems so obvious
to
anyone,
everyone,
but you.
Maybe we are wrong,
maybe you are an enlightened one, come to save our poor wretched souls.
But that seems highly unlikely dear, for you are far too selfish,
and shallow,
and oblivious to reason and accountability.
A line has been crossed,
that which has been done cannot be undone.
But are you so ******* arrogant
that you think you
are not worthy of forgiveness?
Do you think
your crime is
so bad you are beyond redemption?
You think you have leverage, but your fulcrum is weak and I am persistent and voracious.
The ruiner,
your precious
little nickname for me,
carries more significance
than the
destruction
of your
sweet honeycunt, darling.
You never should have given me that stupid ******* painting.
I have known what a vile creature you are since the moment I laid eyes on it and I have carried that knowledge with me.
You forget how intuitive and analytical I am. You forget how well I read your every glance and subtle body gesture. You forgot how much smarter I am than you.
Your inconsistencies make sense now,
now that I have accepted you as a liar.
Your patterns are predictable,
which makes your ********
so much
easier
to tolerate.
My sweet little liar.
I love you the most, baby.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
1.3k
Miryam sits at the bar
sipping a Bacardi,
bumming a smoke
from a packet open
on the bar top.
Hear you went
to Fez today,
she says.
Yes, it was like
something out
of Bible times,
you say,
camels, donkeys,
people in head gear
and gowns and such.
I would have come,
she says,
but I was too
shagged out
after the night before.
You eye her,
the tight curly
red hair,
blue eyes,
red lips.
I made it ok,
you say.
Don't know how,
she says,
you left after I did.
And you didn't come in
the tent
for a goodnight
kiss or more,
she adds,
staring at you.
Thought moaning Minnie
would be back,
you say.
She didn't show
until hours after;
been having it off
with that ex-army guy
of yours.
So that’s where
he went,
you say,
taking a quick sip
of your wine.
I'd have stayed
if I'd known.
Miryam inhales deeply,
then exhales.
Where's Army boy now?
she asks.
No idea,
joined the navy
for all I care,
you say.
We could now
if you like,
she says.
Where?
You take in
her tight blouse,
tight skirt
with a slit
at the side,
showing thigh.
One of those
sand dunes,
they're deep enough
to hide us,
she says.
Now?
Why not?
What if someone
comes over
and sees us?
They see us.
Nothing new
in what we'll be doing.
She drains
her Bacardi,
puts the glass down
on the bar top.
Well?
Under
the Moroccan sun?
Either you do
or you don't,
she says,
getting off
the bar stool,
showing more thigh,
slim legs, sandals.
You drain your wine,
and follow her
from the bar
of the base camp,
and down
between the tents
and onto the beach
towards the sand dunes.
She has a fine sway
of hips, you note
as she walks in front.
The sun warms you,
sand beneath
your feet, some one
plays a flute
from across the way,
a voice sings.
She finds
a deep sand dune,
and you both
get down inside,
she kisses
straight away,
lips to lips stuff,
tongues,
hands undoing,
and taking
stuff off,
her body drinking
in the sun.
You and the pecker,
ready to go,
and the guys
still singing
from the camp,
flute still playing,
and she smells
of sun oil
and Bacardi
and stale
cigarettes,
but its all go
no time
for regrets.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
**** it! the word is YOLO!
You Only Love Once
everything that came before
or follows after
is written of as collateral damage.
But once your drunk, HA!
once your drunk the world is your oyster
to **** on as you please.
Who likes oyster anyway.
I will whirl my worries away
and bring them up in delightful foamy colors
as I spin the world out of control
till all your faces disappears in the blur
of a world that seems to be moving forward
without me.
Don't be a ******* idiot.
Text her , you lost your dignity when
you shagged the tree a few blocks back.
Don't you dare cry, just swear
and **** your darling.
If I was drunk, but alas
intoxication is a ***** because
you lost me whilst ******* on oysters,
and while you stole my heart
I wish you'd stop calling me a tree.
I wish you were collateral damage.
I wish I was drunk- with you.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
counting days can be cozy
so it's not so shagged like bleeding shot man
dragging himself through sewer about to die
but can be a case of days
here and gone again
like a million little murders.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 12:50 AM UTC
Words ricochet inside my brain,
I can't find a way to block the pain.
With their every punch, their every threat,
The closer to the edge I get.
They lace a noose around my neck,
Their swords at my back, it's an upward trek.
Fighting for a chance to survive,
Without enough light to really thrive.
My wrists are tied, my mouth is gagged,
My soul's in tatters, my mind is shagged.
My heart has broken into unfixable pieces,
I'm running out of hope, I need more reasons.
Throw me behind bars, take away my freedom,
Someday you will pay for what you have done.
You tore off my wings, because you wanted to fly,
You took away my pride, stole me away from my sky.
So beware, someday I'll break free from these chains,
And I will laugh in your face, for my glory is your bane.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
She currently
Purred Fee Vixen-facts
Dylans made Millions
She- blown off
The Catwalk
Girl-edgy talk
ekkh_ Sheik
She could
Cats Meow
any Shrink
Her alley Bistro
lego-land
That maestro
Teeth decay
Licking milk
off the
ground
Purr- payday
He's roaring
Twenty years
old Cheetah
May the force_____
Be with you
forever young
Star Wars Hans
Solo
Blowing in
the wind
Serengeti
((The Drug Catnip))
So tucked in
his Lamborghini
Paws carwash
Where is
Sponge Bob
Pixie-bob snag
All shagged
Austin Power
with Mini-me
layered bob
That Chausie
sorry
You need
to go
home
My Lassie___*
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
I hate it when you go away,
brings ****** darkness to my days,
what you get up to is a ****** haze,
and it make my anxious hard race.
It's that idea of you comin back all wrong,
sad, shagged, corrupted and ugly or crippled like a ****
sharing life with you makes me less jealous strong.
Don't like it when you're drunk especially when you're not with me,
I care for your health,
your not the ****** same and I get so worried,
and I think manipualtive ***** will get you into stuff,
and robb you of your secrets that are close to me,
I won't mention any cuntie names.
I can only hope you don't do something unattractive,
you know my normal bits,
they make me feel physically sick,
because to put it bluntly,
putting up with this ****
makes me feel like I can't ******* live!
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
There is a man
I notice sometimes
From classroom windows
Across the school
Who rides a raging
Metallic beast
With a razor reach
And craving for cuts
Of grass that never stops growing,
He’s soaked in a midday sun
Peeking around a sea in the sky
Dotted with whispers of white,
And drenched in his thoughts
As the hum of the engine
Shrugs off the blurred haze
Of traffic close by,
And he ponders:
“Does this grass feel pain?”
As his blade sweeps away
The shagged green fingers,
For sometimes among
The clean straights he trims
And behind the static of
Mindless television too late at night
He imagines the grass
Sprung from the ground
To be himself,
Lost among a crowd,
Nothing more than a hint of color
In some dizzying hue,
A hair on the Earth
No one would care to lose,
And while he sighs
Once every week or so
And shifts into gear
The lawn to be turned slick
And shiny,
Well kept
By some unsung hero,
The subtle acknowledgements
Chime in hushed admiration
To his unhearing ears.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
Nima's aunt's spare bed
was firm and old
and after we had made love twice
we lay back on the bed
and lit up cigarettes
this is my moody cousin's room I think
Nima said
wonder what she'd think
if she knew I'd been ravished here?
not please I guess
I said
she'll know I've slept here
but not that I've had ***
in her big bed
Nima said
I looked around the room
there were a few paintings
on the walls
a big mirror on one wall
opposite the bed
a dressing table by the window
well Benny
what do you think?
about what?
I said
the bed?
the ***
the foreplay?
she said
all good
I said
(the foreplay
had been her idea
and it kind of
stretched things out a bit)
twice over too
she said
watching smoke rise upward
what would your aunt say
if she found out I'd been here?
I said
not pleased
she's a bit of a moralist
Nima said
(as if being a moralist
was a kind illness
with little hope)
but I can picture
my moody cousin's face
had she come in
as we were well away
Nima said smiling
in fact I imagined it
the second time we shagged
imagined her by the door
with a face as white as snow
and her eyes
as large as an owls
she laughed
I imagined nothing
just went with the flow
sensing myself
in a bright sun's glow.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
We were at it like a couple of rabbits back then…
Eating salad I mean! Trying to lose weight!
Laying off the ***** keeping up the exercise.
press ups till you’re dizzy, can’t see straight
And look at them rippling thighs!
Never having a lie in or getting up deliciously late.
But running on the beach early doors, increasing the heart rate.
Heart and lungs that’s the thing - get a proper sweat on!
So good? Yeah! A crafty beer? Well maybe - but please, don’t let on.
The odd indiscretion is OK as long as it doesn’t show.
But the day of reckoning’s looming again and they’ll all have to know…
And in spite of all your calorie counting and life becoming a blur.
On the scales (these 'ere must be wrong) you’re just the same as you were!
Come Friday…”Christopher has had another good week everyone; he’s lost 6 ounces!!”
Daily exercise? Look at them rippling thighs!!
But I’ve done me best I’m on rice crackers with lemon zest
three times every day… I’m exercising… she’s criticising
And I’m worried I’ll waste away!
"No" she says… "your love handles haven’t disappeared.
Until they do it’s more of this and less of that.
And…you’re too shagged out anyway!"
Weight Loss... I don't give a toss!
Sep 16, 2020
Sep 16, 2020 at 9:19 AM UTC
i wonder lonely
with a frown
long faced pony
in a dressing gown.
some are curious
as to where to buy
something so spurious
for four legged guy.
i say to them "trot on".
donkeys,this time of day,
should be braying upon
their pews made of hay.
feeling a bit shagged,
from crossing the gorge,
to avoid the old nag
i have a pint in the george
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 6:30 PM UTC
And she jumped
She jumped out of her comfortable, plush launching pad
And she tried
She tried to set every fan to crosswind towards
And she hoped
She hoped that, when she jumped, her cape would carry her
And she fell
She fell onto the shagged carpet, on her hands and knees
And she did
She did all of this, yet she moved on to more fun
And she went
She went on to ride her bike, more confident in her peddling, than jumping
And she knew
She knew that the ground was much safer
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 12:23 AM UTC
A girl called Luna wished someone found her sooner.
Out in the forest, a rope as her tether.
Whatever. She didn't care.
She wondered what they'd think once they found her there.
She left a sign, "no need to stare",
Something hidden, nothing to share.
Her parents met, shagged, got pregnant,
Shacked up, split up, the ****** slipped up.
She grew up in a broken home, alone,
Only a picture of her dad to show.
Wasn't loved, didn't need it.
Found with desire it was easier to hide it.
Loss of control led to fear at home.
So she managed her food.
She didn't grow, stayed 5ft 4.
But eating wasn't enough, she needed more.
She can't recall how the blade first met her skin.
Now withdrawl's the symptoms of keeping it in.
"What's that?", "Just a scratch (that grazed her bone)".
"Long sleeves?", "For the cold (that chilled her thoughts)".
Only 14, what a dream snatched away.
A boy came along, took her innocent days.
He was an ambiguous malaise
But was something solid amongst the waves.
Still people leave, like him on the slightest breeze.
Her arms filled with scabs like the bark on the trees.
Her stomach felt full so she got on two knees
And purged it.
Her mum clocked, urged it to stop.
Luna wouldn't listen, her guard wouldn't drop.
It became about the next hit, the next drink,
The next guy to sleep with.
Dreaming feelings, keeping a furious pace,
That way she didn't have to face the night.
She eventually hit the wall,
Broke down, tears and all.
Looked up through her window at the silver moonlight.
Had a moment of solemn revelation,
She'd been committed to self-condemnation.
She didn't want to anymore,
But the only exit seemed the next life's door.
She made an oath, to herself,
By next week she'd end her life.
That's how she got here.
If only a friend, a boy, a parent had not remained silent.
Nothing could've harmed more than the ubiquitous hush. Her mind rushed.
Walking to the woods, she heard birdsong.
Wouldn't be long.
Her survival instinct fought in a riot.
Now all she heard was eternal quiet.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 8:12 AM UTC