"sniffed" poems
Did you ever hear about ******* Lil?
She lived in ******* town on ******* hill,
She had a ******* dog and a ******* cat,
They fought all night with a ******* rat.
She had ******* hair on her ******* head.
She had a ******* dress that was poppy red:
She wore a snowbird hat and sleigh-riding clothes,
On her coat she wore a crimson, ******* rose.
Big gold chariots on the Milky Way,
Snakes and elephants silver and gray.
Oh the ******* blues they make me sad,
Oh the ******* blues make me feel bad.
Lil went to a snow party one cold night,
And the way she sniffed was sure a fright.
There was Hophead Mag with ***** Slim,
Kankakee Liz and Yen Shee Jim.
There was Morphine Sue and the Poppy Face Kid,
Climbed up snow ladders and down they skid;
There was the Stepladder Kit, a good six feet,
And the Sleigh-riding Sister who were hard to beat.
Along in the morning about half past three
They were all lit up like a Christmas tree;
Lil got home and started for bed,
Took another sniff and it knocked her dead.
They laid her out in her ******* clothes:
She wore a snowbird hat with a crimson rose;
On her headstone you’ll find this refrain:
She died as she lived, sniffing *******
29.1k
I heard the world's loudest **** today
It echoed round the town enough to say
*"I am a **** of great renown and fame,
I am a **** who's worthy of the name
Of* KING of FARTS!" Unthinkingly I sniffed
And, let me tell you, I have never whiffed
Aught so potent, dank and dread and foul
Blasted out from heaving human bowel
As that king of farts I smelled today
And which took my ******* breath away.
Who was the pumper of that putrid beauty?
How many curries in the line of duty
Had he consumed? It must have been a man -
No pong so strong ere blew from female can.
Can no one answer yet my urgent question:
And say who suffereth such dire indigestion?
O heavens! his torment must be something chronic.
Can no one subsidise a high colonic
Irrigation to prevent another
Noisier and more noisome than its younger brother?
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
Once I undertook a journey,
upon the very face of our entire world.
To view for myself the many pictures,
and written descriptions in all the geography
books and History Classes, National
Geographic magazines and movies seen.
A Quest to see with my own eyes what
I had only experienced second hand.
In my mid twenties, like a dream,
one foot in front of the other,
I went about exploring.
I sniffed and tasted the scents of foreign lands,
Incense, Sage and Frankincense, fish curry,
fried snake and even monkey brains.
Walked in lush Jungle Bush and Desert sands,
Along the shores of Islands and the coasts
of many lands.
Heard the voices of 30 divergent Dialects
and cultures, smiling and laughing with
the families and children of all of them.
Set beside the fires of primitive tribal men,
heard their chants to their gods above, the
moon, stars and the sun, the ocean, the land.
Clapped my hands and moved my feet in
their ancient mystic dances.
Drank their tea, Kava or whatever they shared
grateful for their offered unselfish brotherhood.
Stood on the flanks of the tallest Mountains
in the world, on my toe tips, to try to see the
face of the God of my youthful teachings,
disappointed when I did not see him, or Her.
Found instead an inner tranquility, imparted
to me by Red robbed Monks from within their
chants of Peace and wise earthly enlightenments.
Strolled the cobbled streets of two thousand year
old Cities. Walked among the ruined remnants of
nearly forgotten once great Civilizations.
Explored Modern European Citadels' of wealth and learning.
Over time rode on planes, ships, buses, backs of open trucks,
Horse pulled carts and human drawn rickshaws, taxis, subways,
rented motorcycles and cars. Walked perhaps 1000 miles.
In all a journey of the mind and heart lasting three years.
And why you might ask, "What qualifies you as a pilgrim
of any kind, to travel so far, and wide?"
"What was I looking for, what did I hope to find?"
All indeed, fare questions.
When a boy, I read a simple five word line,
“Seek and thee shall find". Curiosity and
Horizon Lust compelled me.
The next obvious question you might
ask is, after all that; “What did you find?”
That answer is very simple,
I found myself.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
I sniffed a smell of your rose.
Oh, you know what?
It’s enough to thrill the bone.
Just leave a scent in the air
and pop in, take your turn
into a new buzzing world!
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 9:23 AM UTC
There once was a girl called Goldilocks
Who lived in a forest filled with phlox
She did not to have a soul to play with
And in the forest she would often drift
She once became lost, the lonely, little girl
The one with the head full of golden curls
Panicked and scared, she came upon a house
But it appeared that everyone there was out
She helped herself to the food, cold and hot
She tried the chairs until one hit the spot
Too tired to try to make her way back
She hit the sheets to take a nap
Very picky was this lost, lonely tot
Some porridge was too cold, some too hot
Beds too soft or too hard to sleep tight
Only one she found that felt just right
Mama, Papa, and Baby Bear were soon back on arrival
After a long day of fishing for their survival
What? Who had their nose in each of their bowls?
Gone was one porridge that to the brim was full
And who had sat in and broke one of the chairs?
It looked like a human by some strands of golden hair!
Hunters? Oh, no! Could they be on the prowl?
The bears sniffed around and started to growl
Baby Bear was the first to see
The little girl catching some Z's
"Oh, cool!" exclaimed little Baby Bear
"Can we keep her? Can she stay here?"
They all came upon Goldilocks all snug in bed
Papa Bear was now furious and began to see red
"And you call us animals!" he yelled loudly at her
"Who gives you the right?! Where are your manners?!"
Goldilocks woke up with an ear piercing shriek
Facing three hairy bears, she could not speak
Out the house she ran, far enough to see her home near
And that was the last that Goldilocks saw of those bears!
"She was just a scared, little girl", Mama Bear said to her spouse
"We could have stopped her and let her stay in our house!"
Papa Bear, disagreeing with her foolish trust, swore
**** it! I told you the last one out locks the door!!!"
"You begin feeding them...they are so clever
You'll never get rid of them. They stick around forever!"
Mama Bear refused to fight, for Papa Bear refused to bend
And that is all there is to the story. THE END!
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
The smell of your sweater makes me think about the times we had together.
About the first time, I smelled your scent and thought to myself: ‘This is the smell of the person I am falling for.’ I saved your smell in my memories, so I would not forget.
The smell of your sweater makes me think about the first time I woke up next to you and crawled my body against yours. The way you sniffed my hair and told me I smelled nice. The way I kissed your chest and held on tight.
The smell of your sweater makes me think about how you looked at me. Like I was the most precious thing in the world and the way that look made me feel so beautiful.
The smell of your sweater makes me want to look at you like I used to look at you.
The smell of your sweater gives me butterflies imagining your arms around me, your kisses on my cheeks, my lips, my neck, my breast.
The smell of your sweater makes me cry because all those things are out of reach for me now. The smell makes me want to scream because I don’t know how to fix this and make it better. It makes me want to punch the walls until my knuckles bleed, but I won’t feel it compared to the way I feel about losing you.
The smell reminds me of the way you loved me and how I don't want you to stop loving me just because you can’t reach me and I can’t reach you...
It makes me think of the thousands of miles between us.
The smell of your sweater makes me think of love and the heartbreak that comes with it.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
It was, as the New York Times all but sniffed
(Even then, a haughty mix of bluenose and black ink)
Further proof the poor, misguided Upstate rubes
Were no more than ample fodder
For any tinhorn, two-bit confidence man to take for a ride.
Fair enough—it was, to the careful eye and unheated psyche
Clear as the azure blue sky that,
Despite the best efforts of acid wash and a year underground,
So obviously a statue as to be absolutely laughable,
And yet the vox populi came in waves,
Not only one-gallus farmers from the fields nearby,
But from the great cities near and far
(Chicago, Philadelphia, and, yes, even New York itself
To throw Hannum a quarter to view his gargantuan grotesquery
Just as described in Genesis itself, he noted solemnly
So many, indeed, that Barnum himself was divinely inspired
Not only to purloin the giant, but its prior owner’s epigram
As to the frequency of the manufacture
Of his too-credible customer base.
While there was (briefly, at least) some mystery surrounding
The origins of the brobdingnagian mass of stone,
It remained (to some, anyway) equally unfathomable
Why scores of folks would careen in unsteady coaches
The full length of the Catskill Turnpike,
With its questionable lodging and uneven roadworthiness,
Or patiently suffer the mosquito-laden flatboats of Clinton’s Ditch
All to spend the cash equivalent of two trips to the county fair
To see a perfectly good hootchie-kootchie show
Simply to gawk at an unevenly carved rock of questionable authenticity,
But that explained quite simply,
As the public always gets what the public wants.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 4:03 PM UTC
I know why Vincent Van Gogh Cut off his own ear
We are a mad bunch, you see
Poets and painters and playwrights
On the prowl for something to
jump start our perpetual yearnings,
our keen senses and cravings,
on the quest for so much more
than the status quo,
of merely checking off just another day
from our calendars
We are those kinds of people
Who wish to reinvent the world
Often cursing at our failings and insecurites
While obsessively working to shape and sculpt
our view of this planet
To fit our own brand of imagination
To satisfy our starving hopes
and desperate dreams
To foster vivid visions
from the views that are vague
And to wipe away
The nightmares of old
that cry out in us
We believe in make-believe
We who are misfits to "normalcy"
We rarely seem to fit into
The "real world"
Yet we know that this world is
Pure insanity
Stark madness
Sheer perplexion
Yet we are the ones
suffering for the sake
of our art
Often misunderstood
Many times branded as "weirdos"
I can understand the pain
Of not getting my art right
Of not seeing its worth
Because someone sniffed at it
Or scoffed at it
Or blindly passed it by
Many times, we want to break through
And join the world of our works of art
But we can't
We're stuck in the middle of its beauty
And nothingness
Yes
I know why Vincent Van Gogh cut off his own ear
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 8:04 PM UTC
During the night, a dreadful night, a mole dug deep
deep and around my garden that I love
This cheeky mole then had the nerve to stop burrowing
and then surface to check the damage from above.
Up came his velvety head and sniffed the fresh air
parting my newly laid lawn like a digger.
Now he appears to be smiling the cheeky scoundrel
He is making the problem a whole lot bigger.
"Look what yo have done" I shouted "made a right mess
The piles of earth are everywhere with your coming and froing"
"With all due respect madam" sniffed the mole "what do
you expect when I cannot exactly see where I am going!"
"I have no map, no satellite navigation device, just my claws
I am just a mole and all that I can do is dig, I've no appliance
No shiny ***** no mechanical device, what do you expect
Honestly madam it is not exactly rocket science.
He tutted and rushed back down the hole leaving me
speechless and trying my best not to cry.
The mole had made his way underground by now next door
but my hard work was down the drain - I wonder why!
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
The Bunny stares with round black eyes.
The girl felt that this bunny was important to her.
After all it was given to her when she was 6.
Her daddy bought it for her and gave it to her.
This bunny has gotten her through nightmares.
The bunny was there when her dog Amber passed away.
The girl snuggled up to the bunny and sniffed the stuffed bunnies fur.
It smelled like her mom’s cookies she use to make, it smelled like her old shampoo she use to use.
The girl cried when her heart got broken, the bunny was right there to comfort her.
When the girl’s mom said she hated her, the bunny was there to snuggle with until she fell asleep.
The bunny reminded her of good times, when her mom loved her.
It was soft and a beautiful pink color.
The bunny was her best-friend.
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
At his little hippie college
he shows me a *** that looks like a wall
in a Rwandan museum, all skulls, he
learned clay in the Rift Valley
boarding school, on a kick wheel,
still his favorite
My brother is a potter
multicolor plaid shorts
little goatee
Banjo
Japan dreams
girl from Mozambique.
When we were little in Loiyangalani
we made tiny huts out of obsidian
while our Rhodesian Ridgebacks
sniffed the ground for cobras
sand vipers
scorpions
while twenty camels
walked by in a row
followed by tiny replicas
My brother is a potter, says to me
'When I am doing this I am
doing what I was created to do'
He makes a green and blue
candleholder for me which he calls
'The Islands,' light escapes through many holes
which look like sea turtles
pockets of air and
an atomic bomb just gone off
we turn off the lights
in my room in the hood,
snorkel in candlelight
My brother gives me
Rumi, incense, peace flags
We walk the silent night
smoke a clove
look at stars
like we used to do in the African riverbeds
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 6:50 AM UTC
i want you to remind me
how the moon and the stars above
glance and hides how shy they were
whenever your voice soothes the trees and living creatures, reverberating the paradox of joy and sadness in your giggle
i want you to remind me
how the ends will never be the means of loving and that saturating my soul with your presence is more than i could ever receive, a reality unmet with circumstances of chains upon ourselves
i want you to remind me
how long it would take to consume the universe on your palm or the life in one single breath, or the night with a hymn that lights up my way home
i want you to remind me
of remembering goodbyes and hellos
the mellow sound of now and the agonizing tomorrow swifting its way to uncanny sound of laughter and sniffed tears
i want you to remind me
that there are more to life than we ever thought of: death, absence, nothingness
i want you to remind me
that i could always see the mirror of myself in your brushed short hair, chapped lips and past you never left behind, just the like the songs i've made to remind how unusual semblance of people unites hearts and eventually tear them apart
i want you to remind me
of the days where i loved deeply and without hesitation or fear of falling behind or the anxiety of losing what i never had in the first place
i want you to remind me of the days like this
where the smile in my face meant the world, home, and happiness from your single hello or the way you tilt your head and stare and smile and laugh or when your cheeks blush and swims together with the universe in your eyes and the waters deeply engraved in your fingers how the waves strum the music in your spirit and soul
how i want you to remember,
the way i will remind you:
i will remind you of how i love seeing you mess around and make everyone happy, your vain and cuddly smile behind the tint of the sun, along the banquets of academics and artists
i will remind you of how assured i was that you were whom i prayed for to a nonexistent deity of the wind and beauty; how i wished to feel its rush as i roam around, and steep-down the wheels, continuously weighing down unafraid of a valley of morality and questions
i will remind you of the philosophy of the meaninglessness of existence and how life was never the meaning but pain of waiting for death; you made it bearable and the ample grace of your heart is what i'll keep to my future journeys of seeking what i would trade for life itself enduring the morning commutes and cruelty of mischievous eyes
i will remind you of the day i saw you, and how tall you stand as me or how shy i was whenever i was in front of the crowd, but most of the time you give me the strenght to brush off what everyone would say
i will remind you of the day, and the days to come
i will not ask for more or less, it will be enough, and i hope with that, i will be enough, and i, hope you would always remind me #
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 3:35 AM UTC
Nothing...had enchanted me more,
than that big yellow rose...
bright, stunning at the tip of its tall stem,
soft petals.....yet to fully unfurl,
its inner part...a soothing light shaded swirl...
i sniffed a bit of its fragrance,
and felt its softness...but,
i got pricked by a hidden thorn,
---
just a tiny puncture...yet,
my finger bled so much...
---
i walked on through the garden,
...with my pricked finger inside my mouth,
i was amazed by other flowers, more colorful ones,
but, the yellow, pink, red roses outshone them all...
with care this time, i touched a big pink,
slowly.........and, again, i didn't see,
another thorn was in the way
---
it was more painful
it bled even more...
---
i stood thinking, while bleeding...
its beauty, its silky feel...its
fragrance that lingers in the mind
would all be difficult to resist,
the pain from the thorns...harder to forget,
but, i'd still want to walk through this vast
garden....live this life...and seek those roses
feel them...be inspired...over and over
---
never mind the spikes!
never mind the pain!
---
love is beautiful like a rose
a rose is beautiful like genuine love,
there are thorns...hindrances and
hurdles, that come with its beauty....yet,
that wonderful feeling of loving,
and being loved, in return,
the wanting, the longing for it,
never dies...the fear of bleeding,
is ignored,
---
for, what is life without love?
and what is love without pain?
---
isn't love lovelier...more hopeful
the next time around?
---
a rose could never be a rose
without its many thorns...
---
Sally
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 11, 2018
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 12:04 AM UTC
She laughed when I first told her
Only nine years old, my little sister
"Sometimes I feel more like men"
"Well, that makes me a frog, then!"
"But really, I'm not only a girl"
That's when she almost began to hurl
Her face scrunched up, she was crying
No longer thinking I was lying
"Don't worry, it sometimes lasts only a day"
She sniffed, "Will this go away?"
"It's always been here, nothing new"
"Tell mommy and daddy, they can help you"
I tried to explain how I felt
Took her face in my hands and knelt
"Sweetie, remember our secret game?
It's still me, I'll always be the same"
She nodded, finally eased
I told her my pronouns and was quite pleased
When daddy asked "What's my big girl up to"
She replied "He's really busy, lots to do"
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC
I'll fly out from this rollercoaster
Filled with disgust, with dizziness
The operator stands aghast
Amidst the turning machine
Above his heels,
Within his well-fed hands
It spins and turns
Like Big Brother's voice
On a broken loop
Creaking engine recalls
A sordid, mechanical taste
In the mouths of the trapped
They think it's so wondrous
To be on top of a flightless
Soar to the heavens
To see those ant-like buildings
Like a grain of dust in their hands
But they have paid the price
The people of the carnival only feeds them dreams
While they snicker inside the tents
Fairy godmothers on their breaks
Clouds darken beneath us
Rumbling, rumbling, roar the
Blue-violet crack in the sky goes
As we rode along to the earth's tremble
The view matches not what they promised
But everyone must go on till the ride stops
I sniffed the steps of rain in a small stairway to my senses
I knew right then that ride wasn't what we all thought
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 9:04 AM UTC
"PuppyCat"
By Arcassin Burnham
Magic letters,
To the soul,
Once it sparkles,
Then behold,
I need noones everlasting help,
But yours,
Are you a cat?,
Maybe a dog?,
Letting all your memories become victims,
Of smog,
Then turn into a blank Requiem,
It goes to show I'm so appalled,
I guess you'd never thought I'd with chocolate covered strawberry blogs,
Can't look for proper income,
Than you better get a job,
Can't ever get one,
So you worship bones and skulls,
May I say more about you overreact,
Better keep the faith and love in puppycat.
"Chandelier"
By Arcassin Burnham
We won't be the only two hanging here,
Blinded by the light,
We should make it last while we still have our dignity,
I hope you're not too into me,
Cause in a distant memory,
I see clarity,
Couple drinks in my system,
And the remedies,
I just hope you're not too into me,
Another line sniffed,
So we're in another place,
Let this not be a penalty,
I hope you're not into me,
Still hangin.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 2:01 AM UTC
depression
is not crippling sadness
as most think it is.
well, sometimes.
it is
apathy
most of the time
who cares?
no point.
everything *****
I lost my job today
cried, a little
but I cry about everything.
mainly
apathetic
now I truly have no reason
to ever get out of bed
sure,
I'll look for another
way
to live
but this *****
leaves me with no motivation
no motivation
to apply to colleges,
even though I have
a 3.9 GPA
no motivation
to hang out with friends
even though I am
lonelier than ever
no motivation
to eat food
even though I am
starving
after
I left my now "old work"
I had the impulsive decision
to rescue a dog.
maybe
if I have another creature
to look after
love
feed
I will start
to care for myself, too.
the shelter
made my heart hurt
the kittens
weren't crying
just
sleeping
in their jail cells
uninterested
in life
or their possible new
friend
looking at their possible
rescuer
with disinterest
looking
through their cage
like me.
finnegan
was a terrier mix
a stray
he was whining
licked
my hand
when I reached to him
eight years old
missing
his right eye
life has trampled him
yet he is not hardened
I cried
with him
as I walked him
around the play area
he sniffed everything he could.
curious
investigating
not crying anymore
just happy to be free
from the hell in his cage
he
treated the workers
with affection
like he treated me
with affection
it took awhile
until he came close
and cried while I pat him
climbed in my lap
and cried
I know
buddy
walked him inside.
the woman,
at the counter
looked at me eagerly,
"so?!"
I looked away.
can't
do it
not
today
I'm sorry
him and I
are both looking
for affection
love
a way out of this mess.
but
I can't help him.
no job,
no sure way I can buy him food
buy me food.
I can't
buy a living creature
out of impulse.
he needed security
I cannot provide that
only warmth.
I need to be happy
he cannot provide that
only warmth.
goodbye,
cutie
puller of heartstrings
I promise
someone better than me
will take you away.
not today
lost myself
lost my passion
lost my lust
lost my job
lost
my
soul.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 5:45 PM UTC
Lizbeth stood in front
of the tall mirror
inside her mother's wardrobe
she was wearing
a short black dress
her hair was tied
in a bun at the back
I stood watching her
uncertain why
we were in her parents' bedroom
and why she was *********
her mother’s clothes
hanging on hangers inside
I looked around the room
a big bed made tidily
a chest of drawers
a built in cupboard
a picture on the wall
opposite the bed
of some country scene
and above the bed
a huge crucifix
made from wood
with a plaster Christ
look at this one
Lizbeth said
I looked at her hand
taking out a long red dress
she held it up
then put in front of herself
and turned to face me
what do you think?
it's a bit gaudy
I said
shall I try it on?
no I can see
what it would
look like on you
I said
she sniffed it
she must bathe
in **** scent
Lizbeth said
she did a spin
holding the dress
against her
how do I look in it?
she's taller than you
it'll fit her better
I said
not so sure
Lizbeth said
hold this
I held the dress in my hand
she unzipped her black dress
at the back
and pulled the black dress
over her head
and stood there
in a white bra and *******
give it here
she said
and taking the dress
she put it on
her own black dress
was on the floor
here zip me up
at the back
she said
I zipped her up
at the back
watching the straps
of the white bra disappear
as I zipped her up
she turned on the spot
and looked at herself
in the tall mirror
well? how do I look now?
well at least
it's longer
than your own black dress
I said
it came to her ankles
she looked down at it
yes too ****** long
she said
unzip me Benny
she said
I unzipped her
seeing the strap
of the white bra
come back into view
she pulled the dress
over her head
and put it back
on the hanger
she stood there
in bra and *******
how do I look now?
undressed
I said
do you like me
like this?
I feel kind of
uncomfortable
you standing like that
I said
why do you feel
uncomfortable?
what if your parents
come home now
and see you like this
and me here with you
and you in your underclothes?
she smiled
guess they'll feel
uncomfortable then
she said
I picked up her black dress
best out it on
I said
now?
yes now
my parent's bed is over there
all made up and fresh
and waiting for us
she said sexily
I stood holding
the black dress in my hand
where are your parents?
out some place
when will they be back?
don't know
best get your dress on
and out of their room
I said
what about my room?
the bed's smaller
and unmade
and the room's untidy
but we can still
do it there?
I heard voices from downstairs
is that them back?
I said in a low voice
Lizbeth pulled a face
**** me yes
let's get to my room
and so she put
the red dress back
in the wardrobe
and shut it up
and we rushed across
the landing to her room
and shut the door
behind us
I looked around her room
it was as she said
untidy
the bed unmade
books
LPs
soiled washing
over the floor
and the curtains unopened
that was kind of close
she said
yes
I said
downstairs the voices
were loud
and a row seemed
to be going on
but Lizbeth seemed unconcerned
standing there
in her white *******
and bra
holding the black dress
gazing towards
the unmade bed
but I had other problems
swimming around
inside my teenage head.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
Have you ever stumbled upon a flower,
next to her, you were seated;
a gaze you never gave,
and time passed by just like that.
She didn't bloom as you expected her to be,
shining under the sun's rays,
a bud that didn't open -- yet
existing yet not appealing -- she was just about to bloom.
Have you ever stumbled upon a flower,
as the sun was setting, you stood up;
"please wait," she was begging
yet you never loved her so you left.
The shy flower, yes it's tiny
no one would pick her, no one was there;
twenty feet, her perfume travelled;
it was her time to flourish at night.
You never loved that flower,
neither picked her petals nor sniffed its scent;
she ended up saying "I love you,"
with lost worth, is she the unlucky one?
She was a tender perennial, you unlucky one.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 3:21 AM UTC
Along the lane
towards Diddling
you stopped
and looked
at the church
on the horizon
between
the hedgerows
beneath
the blue
and white
clouded sky
Jane
stood next to you
her hand
holding yours
the softness
of her skin
against yours
her dark hair
tied
by a green ribbon
one of my favourite sights
she said
the church
becoming
more visible
the closer you get
her voice disturbed
birdsong
from the hedgerows
a blue ***
took flight
the flutter
of small wings
we never had hedgerows
in London
you said
no blue *** birds
no wide fields
or Downs
just streets
and houses
and pavement
and grass
around our flats
where pigeons
or sparrows
settled
for thrown out
bread
from windows above
Jane gazed at you
her dark eyes
focusing
I’d hate that
she said
I love my countryside
and fields
and birds
and open sky
she sniffed
the air
and you walked on
along the lane
she pointed out
wildflowers
and hedgerow plants
and talked
of the farmhand
who died
when his tractor
turned over
in a field
and the first time
she remembered
visiting
the small church
and her father
holding her high
above his head
so she could see
the expanse
of the Downs
and you listened
to her words
the language
holding you
and drawing you in
her lips opening
and closing
her summer dress
moving
as she walked
her sandaled feet
treading the lane
you wanted
to captured it all
to recall it
years later
all over
again.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 9:31 AM UTC
My Mars bar-
launched out of its wrapper
like a Patriot missile,
melted onto the hot pavement
looking like a fresh doggy ****
and nothing like--
“A little bit of Mars”
A poodle ***** on a lead, sniffed
then licked it clean away-
as if it had never been.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
you took powerful women and made them powerless,
kissed each tongue as if she was a new flower sniffed
a treasured spelled question where its only found in bliss
a new girl for my hand now that's a cowards tisk tisks
spitting each one of there souls for your own self discovery
my menacing thoughts are hashed out as if each one was for her, you see
like i was a monster with an inner demon that counted our souls
that counted our souls as if i was the one stealing
right out of stock i rather fight then mock
im stronger then i look
most of mother ******* rather leave then look
you know leave comfort right outer your nook
its over booked
like a library over due
curse
each one of my demons that over see
my shoulder they sneeze
achoo
and i only flu they breeze
Jehovah
my god he sees.
id rather respect him
then fall into a snare of sleeze
you mother *******
barely got a grasp of life
and see more then only I can
sac
riff
ice
its a little watery for jam,
maybe you should open it
close most of those books
that never opened
or writ
or did i mean write
lets charge the read
not for the color
but only because
we seek for that lover
its or an
orange
melodies
that searched more then what i have to cover
or more then me just wanting to brother
sibling or not
i will fight and naught
breathy cadence of her warm children
most of you mother are just feel ins
they are some what still-in(steal?)
no use reuse
you dont think God
(God dont you think)
will choose?
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
So I was walking down the street the other day,
smoking my cigarette,
and enjoying it,
and singing fake songs to myself,
and I walk past a small car,
and it made me stop,
because its strange to see a small car on my street.
Especially a small car painted in bright clown colors,
and especially a small clown colored car filled with smoke,
and especially a small clown colored car filled with smoke and what looks to be clowns.
So I decided to investigate,
and I walked up,
and I tapped on the window,
and as soon as I did all I could hear was screaming and kicking.
I took a step back because
I mean
****
what if it exploded?
And as the small colorful clown car door opened,
smoke poured out,
billowing and puffing,
very strange smelling smoke of all different colors,
and i began to wonder if it wasn't me who was tripping ball's,
as 1..
no 2..
no 12
huge bug eyed clowns crawled out.
Gawking and hissing and juggling crack pipes.
The first one asked my name.
I lied of course.
You never trust a cracked out clown,
not even with your name.
The second one asked me my age.
I lied of course,
because it's a well known fact crack clowns are pedophiles
and he might have tried to have his way with me
if I told him the truth about my tender young age.
The third asked me for a cigarette.
I gave it to him of course,
out of sheer terror that if I didn't
he might use his circus tricks
to pull a colorful rag out of his ***
and choke me to death with it
and I didn't want that.
The rest of them just kind of stared at me
or screamed
or sniffed my clothing and inspected me.
After a few minutes of all of this
I decided I'd had enough.
Talking with clowns is bad karma anyways,
and I started to walk away
waving politely
but no they weren't done with me yet.
They hog tide me
and covered me in clown make up
and adopted me as there new pet monkey
/clown driver
/lion tamer.
But of course,
when the police found me naked in a trash can at three in the morning a few hours later
still unable to complete whole sentences
they wouldn't believe ( or couldn't understand) a word of it
but I'll tell you,
if you ever see a smoke filled colorful clown car
just walk away.
We know the truth
its ugly, and juggles crack pipes.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 1:38 AM UTC
I was a rose
Turned black with decay
Until my petals fell to the dirt
And I stood naked
In front of your audience
I was a rose
Watered with vinegar
Fed with cyanide
Loved by your ego
And broken by your hands
I was a rose
Torn from the roots
Cut off at the stem
Dead before I was alive
And rotten before I was ripe
I was a rose
Stabbed by my own thorns
Bleeding from the inside
Draining my crimson color
Into your palms
I was your rose
Painted black by your lips
Brushed to dark perfection
My expiration date long passed
As you sniffed my last breath away.
I was your rose.
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
I can't say just how long it's been
Since I pinched down one nostril and sniffed that stuff in
Gave myself over to the sugar of sin
Then repeated the other side so my head would spin
Maybe it's been a year and a half
But I'm starting to shake with the force of my laugh
And I can't control the twitching of my calf
It's like the boss on my neck is missing staff
The lights are much brighter and the sounds smell great
It was like this the first time in 2008
Someone'll bring ***** but I just can't wait
Now I'm off to find coke, tonight, my only date
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC