"slickly" poems
Your lips bleed
like the scarlet syrup of a
dark passion fondue;
two curly lines of red
peeking from behind
your hallowed veil,
and you,
you lay them upon
my neck,
my very body you hail
as your own.
This then, is like
a red petal falling on
alabaster
or a rose stained in blood
as I pull you closer to me
and together,
we drown in a pool of
crimson wine
you anoint
my lips with.
The taste of you
is like the tip of a sword
dipped in sparkling liquorice;
and our ******* becomes
the hypnotism
my tongue
slickly wrap around,
or perhaps,
the ****** of this
eyeless world.
We’re just like
diamonds sleeping on their
velvet cushions,
or illuminating puppets
showing the way.
Love, may you claim me,
till death do us part.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
We unfriend so easily --
mice clicking
Memories --
Just a bunch of ******* memes --
Nicely, slickly
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
Picasso at McDonald’s
super size my eyes--let the glare
of Pablo’s dead desires
burn my retinas, and
indelibly engrave the golden arches
behind my drooping lids
they will be my rainbows,
with pots of dreams
to order at each end
and fast food prophesies
slickly sliding down yelling yellow loops
through the endless blue sky
inside your hallowed halls
the chopped souls of Guernica
are invisible to our eyes
their stillborn screams don’t reach our ears
but their torment will be assuaged
by a Big Mac and large fries
they will no longer hear
the shrill whistle
of the German’s falling shells
the laughter of the children at play
or the other sinking sounds
that get us through the day
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
You are his personal entertainment
His guilty pleasure.
Nothing is hidden from him.
Everyone fears him not because of the stories that are told about him but
because he's knows your secrets,
He SEES them.
All your 'secrets'
All the ***** sins that are unforgivably unforgivable
those ***** little deeds that you've committed,
he knows all of them.
He watches from the darkness, he is always close.
Have you ever wondered about your shadow?
How it moves slickly by you?
Is it really 'your' shadow?
Come a little closer, i'll let you in on a tiny secret........
Its Him.
The darker the shadow the more secrets he has against you.
The more power he has over you.
He taunts you to do more evil so you wouldn't forget who holds the reins on your life.
Every one has two sides the good and the bad
its only a matter of which side you play with the most
its only a matter of who always aims to sit on top of the nice list
or who plays with the evil in the dark more..
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
Today I am slickly coated
with the sheen of a long walk,
only holding hands with purpose;
the goal to find it.
The destination that holds promise
according to the latest yelp reviews-
promise worth remembering
while bearing the heat of the summer subways,
the morose and lonely feeling
of watching a couple cling to each other
as the trains swing our bodies around.
When the stench of the city streets-
the receptacles for those
who can't wait any longer,
invade our noses like they were home.
The promise that morphs into ringing
in my head when my stomach grumbles
next to the carts on the sidewalks
with the burning flesh they call halal meat,
smells warm and familiar
sharing shish kabob kisses and chicken knishes,
but I've left those days behind me.
Now I'm scouring the streets of Brooklyn,
for that new chic creperie sans animals,
things with faces, or friends if you will,
screaming "Find me!"
whilst dodging the heady scents of Popeye's,
and bacon egg and cheeses,
meat markets, fish markets, bright moving ads,
of women ******** clad eating burgers.
Would you like lox or sturgeon with that bagel?
and when I do get to the little mom-and-pop
of a hole-in-the-wall cafe,
I think of the carnivorous brothers and sisters
that have had the meatballs to join me.
The countless nights I've had to explain
where I get my protein from,
that yes, I can eat pizza.
And no, it's not a travesty
that I want to give up cheese.
Because the real travesty is in the this country's handling
of living things, and by animals- I mean all of us.
And carnivorous brothers and sisters,
when you're feeling threatened and defensive- and you've got
guilt and entitlement coursing through your
friend-fed veins and thus you claim,
We're shoving our vegan, vegetarian, pescetarian
efforts down your throats.
Think again and know that we're only doing the best
we can to help what we believe in.
That we eat and live
with purpose and promise in mind.
Real women can eat vegetables too.
You can take vegetarians to barbecues.
Trust me, we're good at co-existing,
Are you?
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
self love and affirmations
are so cringeworthy to me --
that's mean, i know.
the perfect depiction of
schaudenfraude.
but it's so needed.
sometimes this space feels too small
with no more balcony
you blow smoke directly in my face
stain our ceiling fan black
give me a contact high
while i try to multitask on five
things at once,
unsuccessfully,
ever more unsuccessfully.
i've lost all focus.
i just want a clean bed,
soft sheets,
a sink free from ***** dishes
and every manner of walking and
flying insect
-- this constant infestation.
i just want clean air,
to breathe,
bikes that don't break and
don't get stolen.
shoes that protect my feet
from the grime that slickly coats
the sidewalks of LA black.
shoes that are also pretty.
i don't have any of this.
money, money, money
i'm always crying over you.
i'm sick of your ****
but i'm forever bound to you.
and you treat me cruelly
taunt me with everything i can't have.
"joke's on you my friend,
you better guess again,
cause everybody's gotta pay their way"
"death is easy, life is hard"
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
discussing with friends they,re eclectic noggins bobble suddenly
slowly quick the wagging of tongues juxtaposed to startled teeth
in rhythmic ques they pour daft prophecies in hideous giggling
we talk and amble amiably on every topic odoring and tepid shifting
slickly
it's easy and the sun frails and we joust winking verbs and nouns and and
or we entertain electric chaos screens bulging distended growls of death
or cinema or. outside it's raining, beautificly a synonym for damp patterring
of a 1,ousand tiny feet and plopping uncertainly violent puddles staggering
and the iron weight bears heavy on the hills dimpling the hips of earth
or we are static for a few and hours we make goodbyes and promises
of recurrence we,ll never keeps the night our tired bodies as we make
to the cold metal leather bucket seats and outside it's muttering rainfully beauty...
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 11:11 AM UTC
Oh my
how they flap and slither
shades of shades of
ghastly crassness
Haven't harnessed
their atoms' fickle spins
spilling, instead,
through the strong and wise and deserving
befouling their blood
Gulping and gaping their own small slice of evil
while we will guard ours
in cages of guilt and fantasy
Spill then
spill slickly,
sick, stupid spectres
You strengthen my bars
beyond imagining
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
So far you are good at pollution
And other pocket lining resolutions.
You look at graft as a noble institution
While you work to undo the constitution.
No matter, it is our geese that are cooked
As long as you have pricey vacations booked
Don’t miss any vote-buyer’s finger crooked
As long as the very richest fish are hooked
You quickly learn to so slickly lie
While looking people in the eye
We’d be better if you said goodbye
But you don’t so we just sit and cry.
And as you ruin all of our credit
You take our Social Security and bet it
And it’s our fault because we let it
And then when you steal it, we forget it
But your fingerprints on the knife in the back
Proves to everyone you are all off of the track
Everybody is busy giving you nothing but slack
Like all of us are some kind of lobbyist hack
It is we who have to watchdog your legislation
We have to stop this lethal voter hesitation
The moment the crooks come up for elimination
We must vote them out or there is no restoration
This free ticket to rob us can’t last forever.
Someday the people will all band together
And you will find out quickly whether
America is wise enough to pull that lever.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
I did my dance, I gave to you
The satin ribbon from my shoe
And now through my shoe it won’t lace
Nothing to hold me into place
For weeks I pondered on this choice
with fears too subtle to be voiced
Wondering if I’d given away
the thing that made me not to stray
You used this bow I’d kept for me
To tie me down, discipline me
Created puppet strings you’d lift
You made me dance with you, …
In the aftermath that night
I’d come to know every mom’s fright
And come the dawn you were, I see
Compelled to advertise your deeds
You tied the string around my head
To show off what you’d done in bed
You claimed it made me strong and pretty
Shame your claim wasn’t quite witty
Enough to fool me, they saw through me
No one lets girls who’ve been had truly
Free from perpetually being red
You won’t believe what they had said.
My satin bow became a noose
You’d wrapped it tight, I couldn’t loose
(en) it so slickly
I felt sickly
Every time I had you with me
I wish you’d just leave me alone
I threw you out, and changed my phone
(number) and left you
Called for rescue
Joined the show as I was meant to
Acknowledged everybody’s doubts
Was granted one chance, or be out.
And so I went hoping no change
Would affect my place on the old stage
They looked at me and said it’s fine
That I could still belong in line
Missing my shoes since they'd no bows
To cross themselves in neat-pulled rows
I took a step, onto the tile
The other dancers in a file
But I stood there in my bare feet
And I instead was shown a seat.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 6:40 PM UTC
Your touch, a thousand amp wattage
pulsates me into partial paralysis
Our kiss makes me feel like a
slickly, sweet tongued succubus
winged with wicked truth
brings my devilish inclinations deep
down in my core and cuts to the closest
undulations of my undisputed desire
©ShawnaRenea
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
Will you be the German
who is tutting through the shutters
as the trains roll by?
Will you be the Christian
busy ticking off the reasons
you can shut your eyes?
***** the left, ***** the right
this is everybody's fight
and we're battling the evil in our hearts
It's a long road to hell
but we know the journey well
and a hatred of the strange is where it starts.
Will you be enchanted
by the pretty little whispers
of the self-made man
Strutting on the scaffold
of the skeletons he shackled
as he made his plans?
Well his dazzling election
is a clever misdirection,
builds a figurehead to follow or defeat
Still whenever evil comes
braying trumpets, banging drums
it's the likes of you and me that keep the beat.
See our little kingdoms
slickly built to keep the guilt and trouble
out of range
Mastering the darkness
simply saturates the masses
with a fear of change.
We cajole, we corral,
who's against us, who's our pal,
Who's the sacrifice to calm the raging seas
Tides will rise, tides will fall
breakers burst against the wall -
It's our terror that will bring us to our knees.
Each of us is given
just one minute and a million choices
every day
Struggle for the love
or love the struggle
of the jungle hunter gone astray
wicked wishes crack the whip
comfort loosens our grip
and a black and hungry vulture takes the air
Every road goes up or down
we can climb, or we can drown -
be the beast - or be the angel, if we dare.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
*is it true that the way she moves
is a tribute to the 60's groove
flower power out of pure delight
body paint underneath black light
on most days you will find
she's with Jefferson on an Airplane flight
following a rabbit down a hole
saying Grace as she Slickly goes
she's mellow in a yellow sense
hippie in her happenstance
psychedelic in a Asbury breeze
parking it where'er she please
yes i think that it's all true
that she's a tribute to the 60's groove*
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
I hope you try my brand new trick
tricking the mind with words so slick
slickly lining up lines that click
clicking together like a tock to a tick
ticking like a clock with a kick
kicking you with rhymes so quick
quickly flowing rhymes in time
timing is set by the design
designed by my own mind
mindless poetry is easy to find
finding a new way to connect a line
lining up words until they shine
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
it was slowly hideous and more. the vapid skull was fragile
mucous glistening ostensibly of nasal passage and a flagrant
gesture mounting swiftly every coming brief second and
fornicating methodically minute transmissions of air of repugnant
lungs.
the heaving damsel broached or slippery tousled follicles limp
in arrogance foaled softly on her scalp. i maybe was and she
new. the sport of delicious fresh cluttered blood plump and
detestable in beneath the sallow rubber husk rubbing slickly
on the small walls particularly.
a
the. a(shade of yes(dribbles when the smacking rinds of lips
bubble sudden noise in. and a. a and. she smothers the babe
of silence in putrid vocal aberration fetid slop of words. temporarily
she is. speaking quickly and inviting me to the back little room
to weigh and measure large and pale the vestige of my i. take me sit
me in another waiting. another room of waiting. waiting. waiting
waitingwaitingwai"hello I'm Dr.Hanson"
Sep 6, 2010
Sep 6, 2010 at 12:51 PM UTC
i(by 2or3)simple fingers untighten
SNoW
quickly into rills of gushing and
lips slickly shine grinning violently
and
also by ribbon of quaking genially
oral fumbling deftly shiver)bring
lewd SPRING into chaste WINTER
between hairless trees making flowers
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 5:02 PM UTC
Steve
April 29, 1967-October 7, 2018
Miss You Buddy
No sunset in this park today.
But of course not, for today is your birthday.
Everywhere I look, all I see is grey!
The Angels are weeping so we don’t have to; that’s not what you would want.
You would want us to share our memories and trust me I have 4 pages front and back,
AT LEAST!
You were taken too soon, no time to adapt
So unexpected and you were the happiest I’d seen you
With Ivan home and Emil good, and Jackson to fill the dull moments
“Action Jackson”, that’s what you called him
And so did my Papa Dale
You loved that he loved music,
You wanted to teach him to play catch.
You were making progress, taking steps
I miss your loyal, honest and witty ***
Oh,and I started studying numerology!
You’ll never guess your number!
#1
But I’m sure that comes as no surprise
You would have loved it!!!
Hope you are up there watching baseball, drinking beer, listening to music,
and telling stories about your family
with your old military pals!
I miss you dear friend
I miss your home, it was my 2nd
No judgement ever
We all had our ****
Different days, different times
But we rallied together to help, and have a good time
You and I never fought except maybe for a second
We playfully fought about baseball
You were a die hard Cubs fan,
and I was team Cards!
You were getting back on track,
on your way to work
No way is that fair
I miss you dear friend
Your stories, your humor
You making fun of Blair slickly,
us laughing til we cried
I miss your heart, you’re real, you’re true
FAMILY WAS EVERYTHING
and the rest, music, military, beer,
baseball, laughing, and Laura
You were a simple man
You knew exactly who you were at all times
That I always admired
You thought you knew it all; you probably did!
I miss kicking back people watching on the front porch or music in the garage!
Miss your stories, your humor, your strong will
And that 2nd place I thought of as home.
Loved your dad when he was here and loved both Emil and Ivan instantly upon meeting
I hope your kids know if they need anything, to call
You stepped up for Jackson,
That really says it all!
I miss you buddy, til next time...
I raise this beer
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 8:05 PM UTC
I knew a man who looked like an egg.
His shoulders,
they did this odd thing where they
drooped.
He was a rather droopy man.
His shoulders
sort of melted into his body like
those eyeballs in “Raiders of the Lost Ark”
sliding slickly down into a congealed mess.
It was worse after he shaved his beard.
There was this flabby bit of skin that the beard had previously concealed.
It connected his chin to his chest,
smudging his entire body
into this perfectly oval shape
that rested upon chicken legs.
You know that question
that overused
“What came first, the chicken or the egg?”
question?
I think I found the Queen Mother of them both.
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 9:18 PM UTC
my complexion darkened
by that skeletal wrist wrought with rust
dusted blood of what used to run
an impression of who I used to be
strumming the strings to my spinal chord
that blissful music a sweet morphine
to still those poisonous lips registered
to the skittered voices taking refuge in my head
the morphine doesn't always hold
I search for that sweet spot too withdraw
the shrill eccentricity screeching I cannot suppress
the silly frigid air protrude with a single glare
breaths puff and heartbeats escalate
as eyes are met--green and brown
hazel to the cerulean blue
the tepid synchronization of similar frequencies
how the night glimmering lights
illuminate the graffiti of complicated shadows
simmer into a wilting tilt of sorrowful flowers
how the roses are drowned and never to fill
how the match in my chest lights anew
I have to do my best to keep it alive
caress it but don't get burned by it
I can never see too far into the future
but I can only know what I am
off of glare at this present precision
how will I ever know who I am
if I cannot see two feet surrounding
alluring this flame through
the sky-scraping scent of night
delicate to the visionaries too steep
as the head begins to pound out of its keep
avoid those dark corners
I once used to brood
take a break on a flight of stairs
and gaze out the flashes blurring by
keep my teeth in my cheek
the tongue will slip out sharp and cut someone
keep the thoughts from rolling slickly off of it
the top of my head is not a good place to stand
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 2:28 AM UTC
I used to zip, round
Little School corner.
Metal sparking from the road.
Throttle wound back
For a swift attack:
Excitement on overload.
The brave foolishness of youth,
Slickly defying, gravity’s truth.
I used to roar, round
Young-man’s corner.
Tyres squealing in the night.
She’d buck an’ slide,
Giving a rough ride:
My experience holding her tight.
Pulling through, going on our way,
Looking forward, to yet another day.
I used to charge, round
Middle-age corner.
Knee scraping along the ground.
Holding my breath
Kissing, cold, death:
My fear becoming unwound.
Somehow, I gathered her sweetly up,
And continued drinking, from life’s cup.
Nowadays, I never know,
What’s around the corner.
My biking days are long gone.
I don’t get my thrills
From near-miss spills,
And the years roll on, and on.
We travel a straight highway, so it seems,
But me! I’m still cornering, in my dreams.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
I wanted to show the secretarial assistant
the mashup, parody skit of the grumpy cat snoring under a
lampshade
but resisted for the fear she might think me strange
I am very lonely
Yesterday the girl in my team replied my email
with gnawing, jagged words that tapped on my skull
about how my prep materials belong to the basement
shelves of a blank, barren attic
and how the world would be a useful place
only without me
in barbed, lofty italics
that slickly slices open my skin
Perhaps she is correct
for my social life is the bluntest thumbtack in a drawer
like a black hole ******* me into the hollowness at the pit of
my stomach
I sometimes say
"I want to change the world"
but really, if words could ****
all I want is to write poems all day
with my face a moving canvas for animated poems
like razors, stabbing into her black-widow lips
or a hero slamming his fist
handsomely into the villain's chest
as she mouths "you're no good",
once again.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
God save me from left and right.
A hundred decisions and revisions--
I never want to cry,
I want to swell up on the treacherous surf that betrays me.
May each drop of saline-sympathy
Melt back into eyeball-oblivion,
Creep slickly down my throat,
And escape hereafter through my ten toes.
But too many of them I have banished this way.
Once they merely wet the soles of my feet,
Callous from a million paths undiscovered.
Now,
They whisper terrible things in my ears,
Terrible things:
They whisper
Until my lungs grow so full of their sound they
pop
and leave me
an empty woman
chin-deep
in the satisfied grey ocean I once refused to admire.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
In elementary school you learn about the importance of the 8 parts of speech. That with these essential bits and pieces of the English language you can grammatically slay dragons, build empires upon prepositional phrases, and verbally split wigs with hammering conjunctions.
Spitting flexible adjectives in general directions with a chance that someone might listen. I wish you could still listen. I want to tell you. Verbalizing verbs with vicious vernacular. I shipped it. Wrecked it. Mauled it.
I want to fix it. I can't. I'm waiting. For the day I can hug you again. To apologize for the lack of complete. In life you complete stuff. Like when your mother tells you that you can't quit clarinet in the 5th grade, because once you start something, you finish. We never finished.
You left before we could complete. I didn't say goodbye or even hello. I guess I could blame it on pronouns. I could say well she didn't let me know, he was lost in his words. We didn't want to intrude on the walls they built with words that I never spoke. But without them I would be so much better off.
Or That we need to talk. We need to figure my **** out because some days this iceberg set of lungs I have, only melt when I don't need then to. So pass through me. Across the tremendous skin across my body in order for me to feel again.
The skin is tucked under this hard shell I learned to build after being poked all too often. Poked with things like goodbyes or when I can't tell time on analog clocks. Numbers are hard to compute when all I see is you. I want to quickly get over the slow process of slickly sliding into a hole I'll never figure out.
I'm in a directional pull towards who knows where with nothing but my brain space. We all know how dangerous things get in there. Like that time, when I was 7, I was convinced you were kidnapped by the bandit in my dream. Sleeping is hard these days.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
To the Victorian poets of Decadence:
I love you, you who conquered lands unknown,
spread diseases, plagues full-blown;
you who revelled
in the unbearable lushness of being
sensuous and decadent, kings
of insidious words, slipping sweetly,
sliding slickly
into the narrow channels of the outraged public brain.
Ah how I love you, you who exhilarated
in deep despair; woe to the nightingale immortalised!
Who yet found meaning in dark emptiness,
rallying 'round with the cry of 'Art for art's sake!'
And so you, bridled with emotion, eat your cake,
fuming with bright, bitter melancholy,
never gaining the intimacy
and restfulness you so craved.
I think I love you because I understand you,
you who search relentlessly through
the victorious squalor of life that will not cede
control to your grasping hands
but jostles greedily to conquer virtuous lands.
Run away Prudence, Chastity and Grace!
Fall to your knees, hang your head, hide your face,
let shame overtake you, for Faith is a cuss word, you've decided.
And so, you arrogant men who surrender
to the hedonist's depraved desires, you pleasure seeker,
dearest sybarite, no mere voluptuary,
You whose gilt-edged poetry tongues my heart,
whose heady sensitivity makes me start,
and long for the things of the world I should not cannot want,
I love you unto madness, to distraction, to a slant-
ing of morals, to giving in and giving up.
I fall, a long way down.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
What I would say, if I dare
I'd say that life is to be lighter
Death a mere path to something else
That we do not know, et all
Pity on those who think,
But do not know.
Salt on those who know,
But do not think.
Find somewhere in between
Where buds can blossom
Without hesitation, and
Minds can shift -
Without resignation
Let harmony carry our thoughts.
Pursuasion is the worst of sins
For those who slickly speak
In tongues that whisper fictitious whims
Leading you to darkness.
Doubt idly leans on
Those who hang heads low
And talk of maybes and almosts
Without a chin to spare.
Pursue a path to growth.
The price of knowledge only accrues
Don't limit this power where-
In these small hours we can waste
Swaddled in naivety.
Shed upon our small existence
Humility and love
Openness and kindness
Who knows what is above?
Accept beliefs of others.
Let's live Life now,
it IS all we know
So let it be, as is
Dream, Create, Learn and Grow
Find something you can give.
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC