"spanked" poems
I held you tightly in my heart before I knew your name.
I wondered what you'd be like and if we would be the same.
I held you in my stomach as I lay in bed at night.
I felt for every kick and move and smiled in sheer delight!
I held you as you cooed and cried before you learned to crawl.
I held you when you had a bump or took a nasty fall.
I held you as we rocked at night and sang our many songs.
I held you as you walked to me the first time 3 steps long!
I held you when you'd had a fight or when someone was mean.
I held you after you'd been spanked for making quite a scene.
I held you as I prayed for you when you were feeling low.
I held you when you were mad at me because I had said no.
I held you when you let me – as you were growing tall.
I held you less with my arms back then than I had when you were small.
But I always held you in my heart, and on my lips in prayer.
That no matter where you moved or lived, I had you covered there.
When adult friends hurt your feelings I'd want to hold you then
I never saw you grown up – or just as another friend.
But you were always my little child – someone for me to guide
Someone to protect from this vicious world – within my arms to hide.
But something happened the other day that felt like quite a blow
The Lord told me my job was done and that I could let go.
That I could still pray daily for all your hearts to soar
And I could love you from afar and each day love you more.
But the holding on just has to stop – you have your own lives (this I know).
And so with love I write this to you – to tell you I'm letting go.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 4:28 AM UTC
does it
make you wet
getting spanked
by daddy
for being
bad
and bratty
Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 6:47 PM UTC
is it cute if i twirl my hair on my fingers
and talk at you with a sass in my lip
and tell you i think you're intimidating when you're the boss?
tell me how it's cute how i puff my cigarettes
and kick my feet in the rocks
and maybe
when you get tired of telling me
you can show me how cute i am
and how cute you can be
with eyes closed
and bums spanked
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 1:20 AM UTC
Draped in boundless pride
she strolled along the streets,
the town's flamboyant prima ballerina.
Still little did the debaucher know her.
Defenceless she laid
as he spanked and clouted her,
Her vehement howling and wailing couldn't stop
the yanking of clothes.
Motionless, emotionless she laid
while he plundered and mutilated her body.
Vandalised by an uninvited visitor,
Incapable of moving her body
the ravishing ballerina reclined.
The scars he made was not on her body but deep in her soul.
That gloomy night whistled away
for the sun to flare its first ray.
'18 year old violently molested and deceased'.
Hence the prima ballerina became a mere newspaper headline.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC
I like being in charge sometimes.
*I want to be choked and spanked and tied up and ****** hard.*
I want to wear a ******* in bed.
I want to be used.
I think about spanking you until your *** turns red.
*I want to be slapped and called a ****
But I melt when you call me babygirl.
I swoon because you’re a gentleman.
I smile when you’re cute and girly.
I want to cuddle and watch Disney movies.
I like having hot wax poured on my body.
I like to play with the candles on the table at fancy restaurants.
I like ice too.
I like to watch your pupils dilate when I look at you a certain way.
I like when you look at me in that certain way that makes me lose my breath and giggle.
It calms me down when you call me owlet when I’m stressed.
You give me warm and fuzzies when you call me your best friend.
Maybe I like you.
So maybe this isn’t so complicated.
Maybe it’s really simple.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
I want to be spanked
HARD
held down in knots
Black tar dripping
From my
Porcelien body
Yours forever
If you'll
Keep me
I want to be begged
Jadded and screwy
All the ****** up
Things that we
both need
I need to be alivened
Dead and
Frozen
All at
Once
Hanging from
The ceiling
While you
Watch me
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 8:03 PM UTC
i am a fallen star
bornless, motherless
gripped in a wet black screaming tunnel
hiding in pulsing
slippery walls
all red uterine tears
afraid to come out of her
hiding under mothers dark dress
i am a soaking wound in her
descended soul
born of blood and seed
a skull under pressure
****** by gravity
swallowing mud
beaten with sticks
cold grips cotton swabs and cloth
held upside down
and spanked
now i eat the world
and it digests me
always praying from whence i came
to a lord on some far off parametric edge
a glittering kingdom
i am no thing
stunned thoughtless
to discover
that in ******
we are closest to God
more then flesh cries
when lost in its swoon
we are
all halos
as
fire flares up the spine
and lost in paradise
we are found
in beauties eclipse
all burning moons
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 7:42 AM UTC
She's delectable
Her every word titillating
Her every touch ******
Lips meant for biting
Her voice meant to moan
Her body's meant for me
Her ******* meant for my teeth lips and tongue
Her *** filling my palms *** its pulled ,grabbed, spread an spanked
Her ******* waiting for my every touch an pull grab kiss and bite
Hips call to my teeth to be bitten,screaming for my hands for more grab them pull them
Legs begging to be kissed nibbled and caressed
Her shoulders and neck meant for my lips my hands my teeth
More I crave them all, the the taste calls to me screaming my name
Her ****** calls to me echoing in my mind forever to trigger my cravings driving me crazier ever time I see her
She's my fetish my craving my desire
My lustrous dream of craving.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 3:14 AM UTC
World leaders thunder denunciations
But my dachshund puppy annoys the cats
Bombing planes fly in nuclear drills
But my dachshund puppy just ate a moth
Religious leaders are shredding their files
But my dachshund puppy barfed up that moth
I don’t know if I’ll lose my job next year
But my dachshund puppy got spanked by Queen Cat
The fat boys on the radio yell a lot
But my dachshund puppy is barking mindlessly
My senator says he stands up for the flag
But my dachshund puppy is stealing the cat food
My president seems to play golf for the flag
But my dachshund puppy is napping in the sun
And the cats are quite happy about that
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 4:48 PM UTC
say my name
say it again
louder
you know who i am
you like it
it turns you on
when you play
pretend
to be a little girl
pulled down *******
spanked behind
when its stings
you feel the welts
rising on your skins
the lack of control
submission
being told
your sighs and wetness
tell me so
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 8:55 PM UTC
Five years old and they
could not hear me in the backyard --
I called out, the gate was locked and
the screen door, mesh frayed at the handle,
was locked too -- I could see it --
and they still couldn't hear me and I
was afraid and the mesh
was frayed and my little finger
just barely fit through and then
aunt Lucy came and made sure
that I was punished.
(The reward for my fear was
the most frightening and humiliating
experience of my childhood)
I hid.
"Get out here!" my father yelled
and his voice made me flinch and
trembling I unhid.
my uncle and aunt watched
as my father spanked me
harder and angrier than ever before,
my uncle and aunt watched
the shock of every blow
reverberating
through my tiny body
until
my uncle and aunt watched
everything let go
and I ****** myself on the floor
in front of them
weeping and violated
I do not remember what was said after
they left the room and
I was alone with my shame
while the sun fell the walls
faded blue the ride home
was silent --
-- all over some torn mesh
and doors they should not have locked.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 4:27 PM UTC
billboard's calligraph --
past the haze of Manila infested
by car sprawls and belching machines.
magnanimous treatise of tarpaulins,
people chin-up asking God
with askance
something like this
"o god make this bearable
like a mound of fresh fruits
from ****** labour."
maniacal sensurround:
earth-shattering frequency
of footsteps trampling the mouth
of monolith shadows - the peak
of this quake is our complete silence.
rain's catharsis in effect
sousing us in the blood of unreal light.
this diastolic shrinkage
jamming the beat of constricting vessels.
the adrenaline surges
within the dermis of this pretension.
a collective of tired beings heeding
the recherché of voice metamorphosing
into form, a dagger-butterfly
paring us skin to bone, cranial
to visceral, soul to nothing -
catapult of a trajectory spit
plummeting in eased-up pace
from Taft Avenue flyover
to a subjugated wagon of scraps
and empty wine bottles.
today's paper reads:
"Palace hits hiring
of **** dancers"
fancying to fall right in the
spanked curved of this
insatiate melodrama - something
prayer could not save from
this land's mutinous ignominy.
we resume to fulfill our madness,
hundreds of tack-headed people
rolling down the streets of Makati,
drenched with rain's trilling aftermath.
squinting to look at
no sun, only the grieving of skyscrape,
thumbing down unidentified objects
in the depth of loose pockets,
desperate for home.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
So under under they clapped like thunder.
Rolled it over and dove around.
Picked up love and held it till it broke and splashed on their heads with a
soft wet sound.
Drenched in jelly oozing warmth they licked their lips and spanked the
season unforgiveness not forgotten they mash their fists til winter
knows their name.
"Dread us winter take what's coming you're on time-out til we're famous
not ambitious never stressing eat your veggies and blow your
storm.
But not here no we're the North and you've been dried up stop your crying
have fun south now count your blessings we'll talk later if you're
game."
We've got dancing, we've got sunshine, drenched in jelly all the same.
Lick our lips cause we're relaxing how's it taste like raspberry chocolate?
They're not happy we'll be for them just like jelly not a crying shame.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
The dark depths of a fifty shade
Whipped, gagged, spanked
Dominate to give oneself pleasure-satisfaction
A man of his words, harsh and gentle
A woman desire for more intimacy, less with earth shattering
is love in fact dark, dangerous and painful?
Does it really hurt?
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
I
I've never hit my children.
My own father spanked me perhaps ten times:
for riding my bike on a busy street,
for "acting up" in church.
I have no nostalgia for these beatings
(as in: "Sure glad Pa whupped some sense inta me as a young'n—
don't know where I'd be if he hadn't.")
He would make me pull down my pants and underpants
enough to expose my buttocks,
position me between his legs so he could hold my own legs still,
bend me over his left leg with his left arm,
and hit me with his bare right hand.
What I remember as much as the pain
is his angry expression: Was he angry at me?
Or at something else?
I believe it was mostly an unpleasant duty;
usually done because my mother had asked him.
They were afraid we'd become juvenile delinquents.
I suppose his own father had spanked him--
and that he, in turn, had been spanked by his father--
a family tradition. . . .
There've been times with my own children--
God knows they're far from perfect--
where I've almost given in to anger.
Somehow I've always caught myself,
always remembered that unseemliness. . . .
II
Our house is kind of ugly from the front, a split-level
with the whole left side facing the street being a solid brick wall.
Our picture window faces the grass and trees of the back yard.
Each morning, no matter how much of a hurry I'm in,
I open the curtains to this window--
that my children might see not just the man-made objects of our living room
but some hint of the grace and beauty of the whole, great, natural world.
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
Most mornings are not clear.
Most mornings are not the type with a
ten-state view from the top of
Clingman's Dome, and two very expensive
tanks of gasoline. You're welcome.
No, most mornings are battered
by some kind of weather condition -
rains and drizzles and nebulous fogs,
unhappy bedmates, a productive cough -
or else the sun just remits,
stays dozing until it has slept enough.
Then you get that gray sky-
chalkboard, the punitive slap of
humid cold on your early walks, your
coffee rendezvous. Then you have
too many garments at 3 because you put
on extra at 8. Morning, in short,
wishes you ill.
Be aware that if you were born
this century, you lurched into no
midwife's hands, full of love and wet, but
a surgeon's, gloved and powdery,
who spanked you firmly, knocked you
down with a commanding stare, and gave you
the first of many cuts you were to receive.
But for having woken up, let's say,
on the wrong side of the bed (if
even there's a right one), I would
like to think we've done alright,
are not too warm or upset at midday,
not too disappointed in ourselves, our moments
of astounding social gracelessness
that we leave like bits of sneaker in our wake.
Still, though, a question:
where grows happiness? Where sprouts
the silver trunk, the cypress or birch? Or
ficus or orange or ginkgo biloba? Tell me.
I would tap that tree 'til it withers, and die
under its trunk, and the two very expensive
tanks of gasoline it took
to get me where I am.
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 7:48 AM UTC
Janice adjusts
the red beret
on her fair hair
and pulls at the hem
of her dress
as she sits
on the wooden seat
of the swing
in the park.
I sit on the swing
next to her,
ready to kick off,
my feet on the tarmac,
my eyes glued on her.
She winces.
Gran spanked me last night
for saying
that four letter word
you taught me.
You weren't supposed
to tell your gran.
You never said
not to tell;
I didn't know
what it meant.
Sorry,
I should have
told you.
(I didn't know,
but I don't tell her that).
She pushes off
with her feet
and she's air borne;
her sandalled feet
high in the air
as the swing goes backward
then forward.
I push off, too,
holding tight
to the steel links
on each side of the swing.
Maybe your gran
should have washed
your mouth out
with soap
instead of a spanking.
I wish she had, too.
My old man's aunt
swears like a trooper;
I used to go
to Sunday tea with her
and her husband
and my Nan used to say:
that's enough
of that language,
there's children present.
What did did she say?
They don't know
what it means,
she used to say;
but Nan'd say, no,
but they might repeat it
to people who do.
And did you?
Janice asks.
No, at least not
if my parents
were around.
I am swinging higher
than her now;
my feet seem to reach
the nearest clouds.
She tries to swing higher,
but I am still higher,
by swinging backward
and forward on the seat
and the holding tight
to steel links each side,
I am up there
with the gods.
Have you ever
been spanked?
I look at her.
Once when I peed
in my toy box
and my cousin
told my mum.
She pulls a face.
How ***** of you.
Yes, I guess;
Mum thought so.
I feel a breeze
in my hair and face
as I ride high,
swinging back and forth
on the swing.
She's beside me
trying hard to reach
as high as I am;
her feet reaching up,
her legs swinging madly;
her body going
backward and forward;
her red beret,
clinging on
for dear life
on her head.
I reach my maximum height;
my feet touching
Heaven's gates
or so seems,
my body going
back and forth
as much as it can.
She’s almost there,
smiling,
the wind riding
through her flowing
fair hair.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
I've been going right on, page by page,
since we last kissed, two long dolls in a cage,
two hunger-mongers throwing a myth in and out,
double-crossing out lives with doubt,
leaving us separate now, fogy with rage.
But then I've told my readers what I think
and scrubbed out the remainder with my shrink,
have placed my bones in a jar as if possessed,
have pasted a black wing over my left breast,
have washed the white out of the moon at my sink,
have eaten The Cross, have digested its lore,
indeed, have loved that eggless man once more,
have placed my own head in the kettle because
in the end death won't settle for my hypochondrias,
because this errand we're on goes to one store.
That shopkeeper may put up barricades,
and he may advertise cognac and razor blades,
he may let you dally at Nice or the Tuileries,
he may let the state of our bowels have ascendancy,
he may let such as we flaunt our escapades,
swallow down our portion of whisky and dex,
salvage the day with some soup or some ***
juggle our teabags as we inch down the hall,
let the blood out of our fires with phenobarbital,
lick the headlines for Starkweathers and Specks,
let us be folk of the literary set,
let us deceive with words the critics regret,
let us dog down the streets for each invitation,
typing out our lives like a Singer sewing sublimation,
letting our delicate bottoms settle and yet
they were spanked alive by some doctor of folly,
given a horn or a dish to get by with, by golly,
exploding with blood in this errand called life,
dumb with snow and elbows, rubber man, a mother wife,
tongues to waggle out of the words, mistletoe and holly,
tables to place our stones on, decades of disguises,
wntil the shopkeeper plants his boot in our eyes,
and unties our bone and is finished with the case,
and turns to the next customer, forgetting our face
or how we knelt at the yellow bulb with sighs
like moth wings for a short while in a small place.
2k
there's music
that makes you see
more *****
and then there's music
that lets you see... other... things.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 4:27 PM UTC
SMACK now he's awake
Mother rests tight tonight
Father has made a wake
Marching in like a Lion
Filling this room with peace
Sister SISTER Sister
One sadly deceased
Two remembers her ninth
Three soon identifies
SMACK was spanked for good luck
He's celebrating birth
As he rips paper up
SMACK found DOPE in his vein
CHEAT. LIE. STEAL. PUMP. HANG. SLEEP.
Three identifies SMACK
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC
Close your mouth,
it's rude to stare.
Don't lick your fingers!
I despair.
Use
wooden dippers,
if you're tasting honey.
No! Don't you smirk...THIS isn't funny!
AND
get your feet from
OFF...THAT...TABLE!
You'll get spanked hard.
(I'm more than able)
And suddenly...
the elusive please word heard
...un(miss)takable.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 3:52 PM UTC
It's just me, it's just me come and sit on my knee!
I'll tell you a story of how the wind blows, and where all the bad kids go.
The boogie man ate em', he snatched them up by the toes, spanked them on the bottom, and gobbled the boogers from their nose!
Oh YES, the boogie mans got em' oh mommy and daddy they know, it’s off to the boogie man all the bad kids go!
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
Green mint breath,with a predator’s thirst,her hot steamed plunder,spanked to affection;some candy man love.Her tom-tom palms,such smooth pony thighs;candy requires perfection,ride, boy ride.The monkey house screams,call it a wild girl whisper,her hot scripted words;I believe in love.Candy riders, where’s this going?Going to slaughter,touching her thighs;riding the animal slide.My candy girl,little steamed fluffer,she sweats warm venom;I feel her love.You’re pretty slow, if you still don’t know.It’s called taste of the savage,for ponys and monkeys,a sweet attraction;for candy boy love.She was hired to please,to guard, above the knee.You got it now.It was ‘62 and I was hot.2010 Barry Comer
Feb 27, 2010
Feb 27, 2010 at 3:33 PM UTC
Drink deeply
The fever inside eyes
Lost inside whispers
Hidden
Beneath intoxication;
Where
Fingers
Tangle ecstasy to
Burn on the thrillsssssssss!!
Schhhhhhhh!!
Rage the pendulum
Hips
Rocking...
Finger-tip trails
Quiver-sink
Petulant pouts
Pressing positions,
Spanked!!!
Beneath palms;
Ahhhhh!!
Shiver-scream his name
Deep throat cry!!
Molton
The crave,
Writhed in
Arch,
Beneath a
Quickened pace,
Beautiful rising bask of
Bodies bathed...
Tongue feathers
Feeding the fuel of
Burning desires;
Ohhhhhhhh!!!
Ravage-me-gently,
Make love to me...
Until we are
Sssssssspent;
Saturated between lips
Anointed
In sacred secrets...
Moistoned, sheathed
Inside the tremors
Swollen, in wet cradles...
Pooled...
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 2:50 PM UTC
He is an unpopular character this old man
Who sits and draw cartoon character
in memories of the dearly departed.
He said that he felt like crying,
but he wasn’t going to cry
Because if he did,
he might not like the taste of his tears
Those loose cells in the tears
is mostly of his mother and father.
He resented them for not aborting him
He wishes that he was never was born.
Due to the facts that all his life he was scorned
He was in and out of intuition
Always in a state of confusion
Month too months he never saw the sun
He never felt the rain upon his face,
Only long session with the nurses and the
Physiatrist who thought of him as a disgrace
He recalled taking the train for the first time at age fifteen
And that didn’t turn out as expected,
He wets his pant, so he sat in his seat and slaps his head furiously
He was spanked by the nuns, ridiculed by Sister Margaret the head hunter,
Got a huge ****** thermometer roughly up his **** by a big black dude
Suffered daily due to his severe autism behaviors
He is an unpopular character this old man
Who sits and draw cartoon character
of all his childhood abusers:
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 8:52 AM UTC