"smutty" poems
I want to be a tight man
a fight man
a get it when I can man
a hard man
a ladies man
a take when its there man
a bad man
a cad man
a wham bang and thank you ma'am.
I want to be a flirt man
a take a bit of skirt man
a **** man
a slapper man
a kiss em quick an part man.
I want to be a cheat man
a cheap man
a slip between the sheets man
a creep man
a street man
a leering ****** beer man.
I want to be a cold man
an ice man
but some say I'm too nice man?
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
room spins but i do not feel dizzy i am used to the spinning dancingon air i do not care i am painter yet prefer bare walls i am writer yetfavor blank page i practice yoga daily yet suffer angst a romantic withno one to love no one loves me we unheard voices sing to imaginaryaudiences world not yet born anyone who knows me knows i’m wildconflicted vulnerable mistake-prone trapped in lost boy skittish atsight of blood frightened by shadows scenes on tv movies terrified byviolent humankind why do people trust treasure animals? because animalsdon’t lie cheat steal talk ****** gossip why am i always beingmisconstrued misunderstood? why do women get so ****** off at me theyyell slap slam door? why do i just want to not remember get numb die?what do birds see horses know dogs sense dolphins dream butterfliesremember soldiers want to forget? room spins but i do not feel dizzy iam used to the spinning
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 7:18 PM UTC
You hear those saint fainted swines? Slopping around ****** in muck. For hogs seeking bogs, bespatter the pink with thick mire. Dull sluggish foul smelled trolls, basking a bridges under cove, feasting on distant mare. But old boar’s belly’s’ under grown, he has not self meat to spare. Go elsewhere wise butcher. Go elsewhere. Grieve not thy ******* of purification, instead satisfactory of sales. He has not the soul to touch rare blood of a bessy hung by hook. Sars covered hands, sars drenched the feet. Not here butcher, elsewhere lay menial meat.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 6:16 PM UTC
Igor was torn between casting
the body of a girl
or young woman,
that was merely sexually attractive -
or whether to employ a procession
of young nubiles as secretaries;
now that Natalia had thrown him over for Ivan,
he needed a girl or young woman
who was sexually mature;
possibly even suitable for marriage;
sexually mature; sexually attractive,
desirable, **** luscious; marriageable;
informally, beddable:
Ivan constantly surrounded himself
w/ a posse of nubile young women,
to forget, that's what Eli needed to do;
mid 17th century: from the Latin nubilis
‘marriageable,’ from nubere,
to cover or veil
oneself for a bridegroom;
from the nubes the ‘puffy cloud-like nips’
of a child bride;
[risqué]
photos of coeds of the
fifties & those of
| _sex-trafficked nubiles_
from last week; |
glamour isn't glamorous;
as GMO skanks get injected
w/ female growth hormones
just in case they
decide to
to be mothers someday
slightly indecent or liable
to shock, especially by being sexually
suggestive; "risqué humor" ribald,
rude, ***** Rabelaisian, ***** ****
earthy, indecent, suggestive,
improper, naughty, locker-room;
****** ***** ****** crude, adult,
coarse, obscene, lewd, ******
blue, raunchy; off-color
"risqué stories": mid 19th century: French,
_past participle of risquer ‘to risk’_
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:04 AM UTC
THIRTY-TWO Greeks are dipping their feet in a creek.
Sloshing their bare feet in a cool flow of clear water.
All one midsummer day ten hours the Greeks
stand in leather shoes shoveling gravel.
Now they hold their toes and ankles
to the drift of running water.
Then they go to the bunk cars
and eat mulligan and prune sauce,
Smoke one or two pipefuls, look at the stars,
tell ****** stories
About men and women they have known,
countries they have seen,
Railroads they have built-
and then the deep sleep of children.
2.1k
Nineteen years it's been
And after nineteen years of learning -
Nineteen years of
see-through models,
****** magazines,
and the jutting bones of
anorexics -
After nineteen years of whispered hate,
I believe I have forgotten, dear Mother
what beauty is.
Oct 17, 2010
Oct 17, 2010 at 7:22 PM UTC
The moon’s pale light caresses me
My desire wakes by the moon’s glow
Dreaming under the Willow tree
The moon’s pale light caresses me
Passion is ignited and set free
Dark lust leaves me feeling ******
I dream of him in naughty glee
My desire wakes by the moon’s glow
Kelly Rose
© April 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 2:13 AM UTC
It rained on and on.
The fire in the hearth
Had long died out.
Hunger grew,
Frustration raged.
Vultures swooped down
to feed on flesh.
Half willing, half resenting,
Surrendered, rather subdued,
Desires spilled over,
Bristles pricking
From ***** to *****
Thrusting and tearing
Devouring in greedy gulp
Waves surging past the log
Passion spent,
Hunger appeased,
Purse strings loosened,
Silver coins tinkled.
Amply paid,
Her wages of shame……
The toil not wasted!
The reel of Time unwound itself,
And the scenes, constantly replayed.
‘Exploring hands encounter(ed) no defense’.
Each day closed in ****** h(r) ut,
When the h(r) ut turned a ****
She started to rot.
Feeble she grew,
Languid she became,
Body thinned,
Energy waned,
Ailments plagued,
And
Immunity lost!
Now,
She lives an outcast.
A wild flower
wilted by the wind!
A luscious fruit
blighted by the worms!
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 12:28 PM UTC
From the seas he returns.
Our ****** feet, reunited, grind into the same grimy ground
He has returned threatened and escorted
He is the inescapable praying prey, cornered by im/mortal forces
I/we, the I’m mortal, the stunning Gorgon mask with
The dummy serpents squirming and lusting to be unearthed,
We march to bring justice to love and ***
We protrude the fiery blood red tongue at his feet.
Take flight, exhale, touch the sun
X marks the spot in the center, the bullseye, the end
The flesh creates the reality the squealers
shriek and unbolt the doors to reveal the contaminated stains of
truth
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
it's the smallest voices that scream the loudest
I've never been a fan of the trending hero
or the underground superstar.
slam poets make me sick.
your attitude is a well concocted ploy
to touch indie hearts and
I hate it.
I love the ignored
the militants
the trashman painter,
the gas station attendent that
makes ****** artcore ******
in her boyfriend's garage
the sixteen y.o. with a tape recorders
and a circuitbent casio
howling blood into an old
speakercummicrophone
slash and burn
leave your best work sitting
on a park bench for me
ignore the plight and shove
your fingers down your throat.
I love the broken. the hurt.
the misanthropes the schizoids
**** victims
homeless
suicidal
single mothers
drug addicts
if that fire is in your shattered
legs reflecting the age of
a
billion dead scaffolds
soul of revolution raging
knife in paw
I will fall in love with you
and sigh at the detrious
in your wake.
let me see you naked and crying
my own wounds fester quiet
when everyone else is asleep.
have a drink,
you earned it.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
Filthy, ******
Who likes nutty buddy's?
Nutty bar you *****
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
A strong rhapsodic feeling
when your face just pops
up for the billionth time.
Emotions just find their way
through and along with it
comes the impermissible pain.
I have started to find pleasure
in pain.
Dancing with the execrable
devil, bare footed on the pieces
of broken glass gets me high
on the poison my soul's dripping.
Reminds me how the wine in the
bottle was replaced with blood
and the scars you left on my
body remained untouched.
The night when I saw fire
in your eyes a feeling was born.
A feeling that brought excruciating
pain.
Fire in your eyes and stars in mine,
we overdosed on **** We danced
all night on the dolorous monody
and bled to death.
Death was only the beginning,
the beginning of pain.
Sitting in a stygian place trying
to find a way to reach your ******
soul, I denied heaven.
I walked alone on the path that
led to you. That led to hell.
Loving you was wrong. It was
painful. It stung me and injected
venom into every single atom
of mine.
Pain o pain you have never left
my side, all the roses in my
hair have wilted and the violets
have died.
Just leave me alone. Just leave me
alone.
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
i'll take a look-see
yeah a look-see
just a look-see
ya see?
a quay by the sea
is what i see
a ****** marquis
gone to sight-see
magnificent silk trees
if we ship him to hawaii
he'll give us the master key
then we'll cut of head before his dying plea--
to take off his goatee,
at least to a tolerable degree,
which one might say will still be ******
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 7:50 AM UTC
LOVE AND PAIN (PART 2)
He crept tentatively up to the casket of glass,
levered up the fragile lid and peered right inside.
As in all the very best fairy tales,
He woke her with a kiss.
he stroked her face and kissed her hard.
but she was fast asleep.
He was just about to walk away,
when her little voice was heard to say.
what's going on,
I was asleep,
for you my eyes no longer weep.
He clutched a box within his mitts,
The box contained a precious gift,
A platinum ring with a precious stone,
meant for the one he called his own.
A perfect compliment to her coronet.
I came back for you my lady, said he,
Please my darling,
set me free,
come along and be with me.
Up she struggles,
with a sleep deprived smile,
yes my lord,
it's been a while.
Wandered off hand it in hand,
this time it was beneath the moon.
He once more bought her lovely flowers,
Cauliflowers,
cabbages and runner beans,
He was hungry,
loved his greens,
and somewhat ****** magazines.
His lady was his servile *****
when chained up by the kitchen sink,
my goodness gracious me,
his truly romantic gestures really made you think!
(c) Livvi
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
By: David W. Clare
She appears nightly in the window, under a fading out blue gel spot light sporting cheap lingerie...
Her red slapped **** fit a bit too tight!
I was strung out on Cutty Sark, the whole darkish day!
Thunder clapped overhead; the rain threatened the would be turn-out of bums!
Prima Donna, was her ****** stage name: she hid the newborn kid under the bar...
He resembled Jimmie Durante,
The baby smoked a cigar!
Live *** *** Show: read the blinking orange neon sign...
She pretended she was a road house star!
Her stretch marks indicated she had been tossed around...
Town to town, bar to bar!
Now she travels in a carnival trailer...
She drinks herself to sleep when no one is around: can't be seen crocthless!
Wide spots in the road are the small time attractions...
Her fat *** boss sells China made fake Rolex time pieces...
Character is all you have when no one else watches...
(C) In perpetuity all rights reserved
(P) FilmNoirWorks
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
I was sitting in the waiting room at my GP surgery and noted that there was a distinct lack of reading material provided. Just a couple of leaflets about ****** and a few old Mills & Boon paperbacks.
Mills & Boon, a very strange corner of fiction indeed. A strange corner in which the sight of a ladies bare ankle can cause a dashingly handsome cavalry officer to positively swoon with desire. A strange corner where the mere use of the word 'hosepipe' can cause a nun to blush. A strange corner in which the heaving ***** of an 80 year old great aunt causes palpitations and sweat gland problems for her even older gardener.
Mills & Boon is a very strange corner of fiction indeed. A strange corner that makes Austen and the Bronte sisters look like purveyors of ****** ****
I reach for the leaflets, and wait.
Jul 1, 2023
Jul 1, 2023 at 8:41 AM UTC
Jack The Stripper
On the pole
Going down
To that hole
Lingerie ****** killer
It's a ****** paperback thriller
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 7:34 AM UTC
I'm losing motivation.
I'm losing sleep over the most trivial of things.
I can't seem to keep my head wrapped around these things I'm suppose to love to do.
I sit and I stare at a screen full of words from another, trying to find the best response but finding nothing that works.
I'm tired, I'm sick of having to write the same god **** thing every day of my life. This ****** romance that I have with you, I tire of it so but I can't escape you everywhere I go.
No matter what words I bold, highlight, underline, or stress, you always come back every single time.
I'm done with it.
These words will be my last.
You killed my creativity and destroyed the imagination of a writer who wanted nothing more than to live her dream.
These stories I imagined, the plot lines I constructed, are crumbling down under a mountain of the same role plays that seem to haunt me.
But none of you care.
This wasn't just for fun.
It was to test my limits and see how far I could run a story until I was sure it was completed.
But you can't make a story off of constant ***
I've tried to. Time and time again but it always gets lost behind a sea of one liner responses.
I'm tired. I'm spent. Another dream gone down the drain.
I don't know if I want to save it. It'll always be the same.
The communities never seem to change.
These people always want the same thing no matter what you say to try to change it.
I want to scream and cry. I feel every option is gone.
That I have no choices left and nothing more to move on to.
I'm holding in my breath.
Holding in every ounce of rage from letting lose upon these idiots I am forced to communicate with.
Art is a bang, or so it's said. The gun is to my head as you pull the trigger.
BANG!
Another artist is dead.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 2:13 AM UTC
Once more, I find myself
believing every word you said—
a fragile hope,
woven and tangled in my mind.
It wasn’t right then,
and it isn’t right now,
lost in the labyrinth
of a heart that won’t bow.
I should have seen it coming;
the signs were all there.
Yet I wished upon a star,
caught in a silent prayer.
Your final lie,
the shatter of trust—
a haunting reminder
of love reduced to dust.
Why do we seek refuge
in ****** tales,
or cling to Disney dreams,
where true love prevails?
Because only in those dreams
do honest men exist—
not in fractured truths
or silent, torn screams.
I don’t even know
what truly makes me sad—
a quiet ache,
a lingering shadow of doubt.
I called it then,
and now I see it clear:
the echoes of your words—
I no longer need to hear.
Nov 4, 2024
Nov 4, 2024 at 9:51 PM UTC
at a bend in the night
(early in your sleep program)
our vermin stained rancor
batters its ****** limbs
upon your double glazed windows
we kick a thistling up your vents
putting 'the ghoul' up your lightly clothed backs
and disrupting your 'conditioned' environment
scattering the lawn toys
our demented energy
aggressively makes collage
the muted spirit
of your suburbs
all of your 'homeware'
ignites nothing true
just taking options out
on your own life packaging
our baying notes
our rapid chatter
reminds the family homes
that they are only snug for now
for they remain subject to nature
and due reprimand
our message :
conclude evacuate
and leave ruin
Feb 5, 2020
Feb 5, 2020 at 10:41 PM UTC
I took pictures of happiness:
dead sharp intimate couples
And I felt like a peeping tom
This is how it went everyone
who viewed the series
No one's heart was opened
Not even from the cheerfulness
or the suppressed sorrow
of laughing people
nor from children, their play
their earnestness and their sweet looks
It was a lot, but no happiness
Then the winners, the jubilant
pleasure that spouts into the sky
with thousands of hands
and the ****** peace of sleep
the open mouths, saggy faces
and scary dreams, again
the absence of happiness
which only comes down
at the very last, in the morgue
Sep 9, 2022
Sep 9, 2022 at 3:05 AM UTC
You attended the beginner class
But I was going to get you to my level
When the kids got the
Hang of the lessons
It was time
To teach you
I knew that you wanted kiss me
I know
I wanted to but
The children where right there
So I tried to be business like
I tried to should how throw someone
Which was successful
But you brought me down with me and planted a gentle kiss
On my lips
I couldn’t stay mad at you
But I was
Stunned and surprised
The other students
Where floored
Making kid remarks
Embarrassing
So I cut the class short
And walked home
You my beloved
Went to your friends
But did not know that
When I got back to our love nest
I found a love note
Explaining that
I took the time to wash off the embarrassment
And then I feeling better
I put on sensual yet dark lipstick
And put on
The top of my uniform
Climbed in to the bed.
While waiting I read some very wierd books
Until you came back
You noticed that I read your ****** books but
Did not get angry
Instead you put on
What was an Indian bgade horror flick.
And some hard rock
The movie was not in Hindi
And it was a ****** mountaineer
Who hacked his love interest and other was with an ice axe
This was disturbing
To me
You said that I will get to like it
While the grosem movie was playing
You noticed I was still “dressed”
We kissed gently
Tenderly
And then we made love
I was repulsed by the movie
So I had looked at your many
Yet different tattoos
You kissed me and said that
They were everywhere on his
Body
I kissed them
As if they were parts of your personality
And
You said “Claudia, you’re lovely with just that top on and your fiery hair!”
You kissed my thighs and
Womanhood
You said you wanted my “forbidden flower blossom” and kept kissing me there.
When I It did blossom
I took you by the chin
And kissed you
You were feeling me under the top
And you were worshiping me
With love.
You said “my rose sorry for scaring you with that film
I though you would love it, love”
And
I jokingly told you to behave your self
In tomorrow’s class.
The next morning I got up
Looked at the slasher flick
At wasn’t in Hindi
Nor Russian
And definitely not English.
I then had breakfast
But you had a one track mind
Pinning for me to come to you
“I am a martial arts prodigy
I need to eat love”
When I was finished I
Came to you made out with you
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 5:35 PM UTC
Racked up some debt on the plastic,
ate all the things I know I shouldn't,
Kissed the stranger and texted first.
Took the time to smell the flowers.
No fear of hay fever or a restless week of sleep.
Let the kids eat whatever
The neighbors screamed uninterrupted til their hearts were content
Painted the mural I always needed to paint.
Quit the job that was destroying my will.
Rang my Ex and told the truth. For once.
Held my lover and meant it,
Inhaled them deeply as if their scent would see me on my way.
Thanked them from the bottom of weakening heart.
Smiled until it reached my eyes.
Danced under the tree unafraid of the threat of lightening.
Pierced my ****** and dyed my hair.
Sang a song and released it,
Wrote down my warnings for the future poets.
Finally got the ****** joke my dad told me years ago.
I had one last laugh
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC