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kelvin mungai Sep 2015
ALCOHOLISM
wading in mushy mucky mad
i can't pull myself out
my inner strength draining out of me
i try to set myself free
but this filthy swamp ***** me deeper
the banks are far off sight
how i wish to start this all over again
old habits are hard to ****
i have been swimming in this mess
each lapsing day without a miss
alcoholism seem to be the only -ism
am subscribed to because it raises my
esteem
sipping the accursed drink has become
a leisure
sauntering and wobbling and at times
seizure
seizes my ****** body
each time i open my mouth to shout
for help
i ends up with a full gulp
then i would let a string of expletives
as the drink slice me like thousand
knives
i live in a nightmare
as i dread a new day to appear
horrified by last night deeds
i always cower in a corner as my pulse
speeds
as i wait for doom to be spelled
disgraceful,outrageous and antisocial
i need to veiled
when the sun-day comes
in abject terror i call out to gods
with despair i cry to unseen powers
maybe my prayer can open heaven
showers
and clean my dirtied shell
and be saved from this hell
am clinging to this thread of hope
i reflects my pathetic life
since i don't wish to die a slave
in this alcohol logged swamp
but here still i am with steel clamps
holding me;alcohol drowning me
i have to fight tooth and nail to be
free
((poetry from the heart))
[[the dumb speaker]]
<<kayvoh the poet>>
Paul Idiaghe Dec 2020
Done, ends stitched in a seam—set
to be worn over yourself.
A stain so bright, you sparkle.
Too far forward to flip. The sipper,
the straw, the soda. Bleeding ink
every blink, but still brimming.
Ripped apart like a rainbow.
A love letter to life still
in the works.

So dead you’re divine.
Only visible in the love-light.
Weird as a plant that bites
the bully, as a phlox
sprouting through sand.
Wingless like wind, fin-less
like a fluid. Lost but
listening to your own heart.
Found.
after Sylvia Plath
K G Jan 2017
The water tosses saddles within the mist
Scribbling a mesmerizing sunshine of gold
The rest is in her head, as it tail spins
Cold ankle shivers, waking waves of snow
Easing the sniffling sipper's imprisonment
Beneath the bungalow
KG
shireliiy Nov 2015
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Anna Jan 2017
med spids mund skærer *** små skiver af sure citroner
hælder en håndfuld af dem i et højt glas
og sipper let til hendes vand
"jeg synes bare det smager friskt," siger *** galant og *** trommer med fingrene på bordpladen, nipper til en müslibar
bilder sig selv ind at den intetsigende vand, smager godt
en iskold dåsecola med et sugerør er i den grad fortrukket
og en kebab med ekstra dress til at mætte sulten
men ikke mere
for det er altså nu
det er nu *** skal vise slanke, lange ben og enn fast røv
slentre ned af gangene, trække blikke
vide at mens drengene vil have hende
vil pigerne bare være hende
det er nu *** skal trække let på skuldrene og sige "jeg har bare højt stofskifte" når veninderne ivrigt spørger og spørger hvordan har du en så flot krop?
det er nu at der altid er cigaretter og stimerol i tasken,
for det der kan ryges, tygges og spyttes ud kan aldrig ende på lårene
det er altså nu at et bad om onsdagen
ikke er lig med et bad af tårer
det er nu at fremmede 1g piger på instagram
vil anmode om at følge hende for at se hvem pigen fra 3g det er, som drengene synes er så lækker
det er nu, siger *** til sig selv, og løber lidt mere på løbebåndet
lige nu
for i hendes øjne
er der langt fra kebab og cola
til skønhed og lange ben
og der skal ske noget
og det skal være *lige nu
første post i 2017, lidt sørgelig men god at tygge på
L S Tesler Sep 2014
smagen af cigaretter minder mig om dig
jeg tumler rundt i et mørke af savn,
imens stjernerne lokker mig ud i natten
en blanding af mørkeræd og trang
til at glemme
jeg drukner i et hav af hvide lagner
som er som sne, uden dig
forsøger
at glemme tanken om
at du ikke er her hos
mig
i nat
lader musikken bære min tristhed
når jeg lyser min telefon op,
men dit navn er der ikke på displayet,
så jeg
sipper endnu en tår fra rødvinsglasset
og beder til at du også
tænker på mig
i nat
Madeysin Apr 2015
Subtle sipper of love, use the Big Dipper
To ladle it out, into the trash can you drink of,
Toilet paper stacked against the mattress,
In your stomach, they scream he'll get sick,
Without shoes on, but he doesn't have a heart,
To fail, to stop its beating, just a hallow cave,
Where memories go to die, I watched him,
Shrug & grin, satisfied with solitude,
I'm ready for a tire swing lullaby,
No jokes or games, every,
Thing, out in the open,
He clambered down my words,
And sat in the mulch to die.
Wanderer Jan 2019
I dream in drops of April showers
Each note prismed,
                          some soft,
                                             some sharp
Into blossomed bright hued midnight edges

Secret flowers I hold close with asfault heat
Shift souls that once fit into each groove like all wreathed-in-mystery creators
I once dreamed of you in crimson letters
Swamped in mountain kisses, big sky glory
Memory pulls at a few calm whispers but nothing truly there
Just the space between two tangled mouths and thick summer air
Hand to hip you silly sipper
I lick white lightening from the curve of your smile
Change of season saw you slipping
From one gypsy to the next
As roaming hearts are want to do
Maybe that’s why I like it short and sweet
The only way I could get it from you
nivek Dec 2015
I am more caterpillar than butterfly
more a muncher than nectar sipper
crawling suits and I don't like flying
and it will take a miracle to change.
Lyrical fanatic automatic causing deadly static
Tatted mentals from the verbal pistals Cristal
Sipper word to the drippers presidential
Potential mics ignite like dynamite out of sight
Fools try to fight but can't last against the Iron Mike
Tyson y'all just wasting giving ya blood tasting
Got it more clout than JP Manhattan relaxing
Blaze a spliff tilt the fifth X em out like Professor Griff
Back in charge street Sarge mack to girls like Debarge
Smooth hair don't care extrodinaire sneaky from rear
To the front at ya show throwing Joker's dough
Watch how the people crowded and formed a circle
Welcome to Nutty Block golden guns stay cocked
Double 0 7 still got love to my sistas and brethren
true veteran letterman still breaking mic stands
I see yall still tripping while I'm unda the basket rippin'
Like Pippen skipping over critics dismissing
Tombstones ya kissin' shy ya fans to fams wishin'
They could stop the cold flows that's heavenly michete
Flows Magguette y'all ain't ready Shabba shanks
Giving no thanks to criticism brace the occultism
Broke my mind from the hologram prison Christ risen
Once I chipped the nails out my palms ring the alarms
I come bearing angels demons hog like the **** did Guam
19-44 ways to gut ya airways see my soul craves
Like Atlanta gotta be brave see the Texas bees prey
Stay beaming for days watch for the ultra gamma rays
Revisit the past good laughs no blood baths war rage paths
No sweat to math money is the common vocab I stab
Pens to paper crusader claw my critics double S Vega
Couldn't slay a samurai let the sweat drip from my third eye
No sty hang with only with the wise guys let souls fly fry
Into another dimension strengthen grips with no tension
Put em in suspension hope you listening glock seasoning
Cook ya flesh I can attest **** the rest say it with my chest
Been made to die that's why I keep my ears pierced to the skies
Summertime rituals make for the best burials pictured murals
Of me granddaddy mack OG sitting on the painted walls comfy
Good times good rhymes rolling off the ills of a pill hang time
Like jordan placed up what the **** up in the cut gangsta strut
Cold brew sipper watch the honey drippers she's a stripper
Never tip her let the 9 inch wide hummer ride slide n glide
In between her thighs amazing grace temptations raced faced
With agony earth angel mentality been ready to D-I-E
Like Biggie naturally or through barrel of nine staring at me
Rupture soul out of control see invisible scrolls death row
Name on it let me spawn it certificate of my death wanted
Fond on a memory rejoining my baby Lelei I see thee
Sitting on the seven golden hills spliffin off of the fake reals


Check me once never twice crown seven chakra christ
What's naughty or nice? Keep mics to amps mad spliced
Coldest in the booth been troublesome since my youth
Hellraiser torn blaser
Shoot through my optics red hot laser stings like a taser
Make ya dance once the rhymes to beat glance chance
Ya very thought know thy will still tackle the thrills
Cold chills from the world feel the heartbeats of the unfilled
Scorn vessels night time day dreaming celestials
Is it god or the devils to test you what if they the same crew?
Ying and yang still jam Wu Tang suckas cant hang boomerang
Flows back and forth again
Sucker punch take ya money for ya lunch then have a gun brunch
Set tripping off the circuits we ripping let music within
Heals all ya sins before the massacre listen to Afrika
Was a slave now I'm the master joker state disaster
Can ya keep ya heat up naw cuz the cold temps rising up
Take over crossover deaths staring at ya shoulders it's over
Grow tips of the Saturn's wheel off the steel shark appeal
Oh so real outkast watch for the blast no ski mask task
It's the gods back to massage park bullets head in ya garage
No mirage heat summer collage this pain you couldn't dodge
Ram there I am I slams critics like a gravel dont give a  ****
Broke from sanity now I'm insanity dying like BJ before thirty three
Heavens close baby let get me a dose/
Of ya sweet
Rose impose/
Girl you looking good from ya hair to ya toes /
Watch how my love grows sweet as Impulse/
Catching a  pulse breaks my heart soon to stake
Intake/
the pain along with the battles
of sin/
Gins sipper deep hidden wounds love to grin /
Baby girls im just tryna be ya one and only/
So many playing clones in the circle of cronies/
None can't hold me mack game like Stoney shinobi /
Revenge of the sweet lusting prepare for loves ducking///


Follow the tunes of a beat goon/
wrapped like a càcoon/
Love 36 rainbows charka glow just so ya know my flows/
Pumps harder than Reebok wiser than Spock hip hop/
Til the tape pops I'm all about connecting the dots/
Miss the thots stay with a triple knot sick digits/
Dailing buck 30 5'7 sent as a gift from heaven /
Love sword letterman slicing words once again /
As we make amends we pass friends spin/
A Benz never capped out on my ends cringe /
From my haters slim all the heavy weighters/
Undisputed champ knockouts causing mental cramps//
Yo, Lets go!!?
I saw your **** wiggle in the moon-glow of a smile that disinfected
the ****** ward over the death-rattling noises of Frisbees deflected
On Cindy Brady's mongrel paw I placed a safety-glass slipper then I
replaced little Bobby as her step-brotherly, swollen-*** *** whipper
before an experiment in ****** ******* with a ripe, past stripper
I slayed Siam's evil city Bangkok as a diesel **** combo gas sipper
Travis Green Oct 2021
When you were around me
All I could think about
Was how sexually arousing
You were to me
Looking solid and sharp
A charismatic dreadhead
Who was always camera-ready
So stupid fresh, bomb as ****
A hot Henny sipper
So much magic in his
Yellow ***** body
I saw your **** wiggle in the moon-glow of a smile that disinfected the ****** ward over the death-rattling noises of Frisbees deflected
On Cindy Brady's mongrel paw I placed a safety-glass slipper then I
replaced little Bobby as her step-brotherly, swollen-*** *** whipper
before an experiment in ****** ******* with a ripe, past stripper
I slayed Siam's evil city Bangkok as a diesel **** combo gas sipper
On Cindy Brady's mongrel paw I placed a safety-glass slipper then I
replaced little Bobby as her step-brotherly, swollen-*** *** whipper
before an experiment in ****** ******* with a ripe, past stripper
I slayed Siam's evil city Bangkok as a diesel **** combo gas sipper
Tony Grannell Apr 16
“A *** of Earl Grey, Twinings, of course;
loose tea, not those contemptible teabags.
And I have decided on, the three-tiered
melody of afternoon dainties,
the array with the slivered salmon,
with a side serving of lemon,
halved and thinly sliced, mind you.
One is never awarded with
an adequate amount of lemon
with one’s salmon,
and do remove the rinds
and those irritating pips.
Furthermore, do inform chef,
no foreign muck, Scottish salmon
and to make sure it is unsmoked,
smoked salmon and lemon, uncivilized!
Unheard of, I tell you.
And God forbid if served on anything other than silver,
l shall scream.
Do you hear me?”
“I do, madam.” Replied the waiter.
“Good, off with you then,
tout suite, tout suite.” She snapped,
whilst lighting a slender, slim-tipped Davidoff,
seized between her burgundy coated lips.
Her effort successful and when realized,
exhaled, pouted and extinguished the lambent stem
with a deft puff; aware, cautious and determined
in keeping ash-free her legendary silk dress,
often the focus of many an afternoon tea gathering.
Such gatherings, once the highlight of one’s day.
A quotidian ritual, herself, a most ardent sipper,
and considered by many, the grandeur
of such social occasions.
Who, when called upon, no matter what,
always delivered with zest milled exuberance
and the accorded pleasantries,
to solve, enhance or decorate
any situation, as needs must and wants demand
and as always, handled with class,
decorum and quaint properness.
Leaving all and sundry
who sought her assistance
for pleasure or otherwise
midst the silverware, bone china,
pastries and scones,
in jolly good spirits.
A most admirable quality
as was her loquaciousness,
never, not even for a moment, dull,
in keeping with her outlandish dress sense,
prowess in the bedchamber
and her legendary rumour-mongering.
As for her resolve, not unlike
her blue-tinted perm,
ever steadfast, no matter the prevailing winds.

Sadly, unforeseen circumstances intruded
and that most splendid of traditions
was abandoned some months past.
Until today, that is, it being such a beautiful day,
she decided to resume
that, which she, so very much enjoyed
prior to the, aforementioned interference.
A spur of the moment decision,
as was her way,
leaving her with no time
to offer invitations to her flock.
She would have to wing it alone.

As etiquette dictates and she,
its most obedient servant,
was observed, turned out,
in compliance with the
dress code for an afternoon’s excursion
into the elegant pleasures
of tea-sipping and dainty-nibbling,
though a tad over ostentatiously so.
A collage of pearls, pendants,
plumes and a pretty-in-pink parasol
accessorising her meagre physical enticements
into stately pomposity,
topped off with a generous plastering of maquillage,
befitting Madame de Pompadour herself,
and all this, in a rich silk dress,
embroidered with a flourish of
Chinese peonies, precariously flaunted
on a finely glossed pair of
puce red three-inch high stilettoes
with a three-figure price tag.
She was to be splendidly complemented upon
if one were to stray into her
perfumed drenched purlieu,
where she was displayed,
sitting blushingly plump
at an ero marquina marble
topped table, dressed for two.
A hoary, blue-tinted socialite
amongst a ghastly scattering
of low browed, ill-mannered diners
and to her abhorrent dismay,
a seating of dusky-hued foreigners.
“How utterly awful!”
She, griping to the empty chair.
Seventy-four years of airs and graces,
waited upon, pampered and now, afternoon tea
on the veranda of her favourite hotel.
Were it not for the hoi polloi,
bliss would have been opulently seamless.

“To return after a few months’ hiatus
and now this, this lot,
what is the world coming to?
Whoever allowed the common herd entry, is beyond me.
Must ruffle the flock and make known
to management, one’s profound displeasure.”
She, vexing to herself.
Until then, defended her table,
armed only with intentional disregard
to all outside her haughty dominion.
Stood her ground in highbrowed conspicuity,
Davidoff plumes
and mutterings of disgust,
focusing mainly on the dusky interlopers.
Who obviously necessitated no appreciation
or had any comprehension
whatsoever as to the formalities or graces
associated with the stately
modus operandi of afternoon tea.
“Tut-tut-tut.”
She tut-tutted to herself.
Continuing, in silence, her detest
whilst awaiting one’s treats.

“I’ll play mother.” She demanded,
when the waiter arrived,
slapping his hand away from the teapot,
an unsavoury trespass,
somewhat dusky, himself.
She, alone, would pour the tea
and did so with composure
albeit lacking grace,
a consequence of age.
Four lumps of sugar
plink-plonked from a pair
of silver-plated tweezers
and with a raised pinky
poured from a silver-plated jug
a trickle of milk,
liking her tea, hot,
very hot
and stirred clockwise
with her right hand
whilst holding a pair of
handheld spectacles in her left,
through which, scrutinized
the three-tiered display
of afternoon niceties,
as usual, in frowned silence
until satisfied that everything was,
as instructed and to her pleasure.
Contented, “Capital!“ She exclaimed,
followed with a snarling dismissal of the waiter,
“Off with you then!”
“Of course, madam.” He replied,
as would a lamb obey a wolf.

Her first choice of deliciousness
was a delicately layered pastry,
politely picked from the lowest tier.
As was her custom, always dined
from the bottom, up.
The top tier usually the sweetest,
dessert, as it were.
Herself, having a sweet tooth
as evident in her triple chin,
puffed jowls
and strained corset.
Biting off a morsel, during which,
holding a napkin beneath her three chins,
to keep crumb-free her legendary silk dress.
Her burgundy-bloated lips never parting
as she patiently chewed, allowing the flavours
to release their delectable secrets.
The chef’s skills overwhelming her taste buds
with a palette of scrumptious mysteries.
She paused, oohed and
declared with shrilled enthusiasm,
“Oh, this is absolutely delic…”
when realising, her husband,
that unforeseen circumstance
now four months into rot,
downed in a hunting accident
when the boar fought back,
and there, facing her, she found herself
talking to an empty chair
on the veranda of their favourite hotel
whilst the acursed boar remained at large.

Her Ceaser, his Throne, their Empire.
“Absit omen!” Beseeched her pathetic hopes,
inwardly knowing, fantasy would not oblige.
An ineffable feeling of loneliness befell her.
As if plucked from one’s pleasure by
the memory of another, now dead and buried.
Chewing for solace but to no avail,
the delicate pastry losing its flavours
as the peculiarities of loss
welled over the tiered array of make-believe.
Striving, as inconspicuously as possible,
to stave off the embarrassment of grieving in public.
However, such was the intensity of her distress,
her efforts were futile,
eventually succumbing
to the uncontrollable tears of grief.
Unbecoming her demeanour,
she faltered, the imperial dye
laundered away in the wash of sorrow,
etiquette violated.
Alone, a lady of no companion,
crying like a lost child desperate for affection.
A weeping remnant
of a once glittering society.
Its Ceaser: her beloved,
who now,
but a gored corpse.

Her inappropriately timed outpourings,
gloat-fodder for the present peasantry,
whose gawking intrusions made it
so unbearably degrading,
especially here, on the veranda of her favourite hotel,
where afternoon tea was a truly delicious occasion.
Such an appropriate ritual
complementing a most gracious way of life,
and now, for commoners, dusky foreigners and servants
to bear witness to the, often hailed,
much loved, doyenne of decadence,
usurped by grief,
destroyed in humiliation
and not a friend when one needed most.
Her pompous maquillage smudged to insignificance
by the salty residues of a weeping heart.
At a table dressed for two
sat a miserable creature, forsaken,
banished to the cold-hearted states of loneliness,
displayed in naked vulnerability
and a stained silk dress.
And to think, the rumours will be unbearable.

“There, there; it’s okay.” Whispered the waiter,
rushing to her aid, placing his arm gently around her shoulders
and she, leaning into his chest,
inconsolable; crying, pleading,
“Don’t leave me, please, don’t leave me.”
“There, there; it’s okay.” He whispered,
as he tried to calm the arrogant racist *****
pining relentlessly for her arrogant racist cur,
as would a lamb lick the wounds of a fallen wolf.

— The End —