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Mike T Minehan Apr 2013
I like a whole lip-smacking smorgasbord of words,
such as preposterous and scrumptious,
sumptuous and curious,
roiling, rambunctious and trumpeting,
priapic, satyric and seraphic,
satyriasis and mimesis. Now this mimesis is the imitative
representation of nature and behavior in art and literature,
which is a pretentious way of trying to say what us writers do.
But hey, we don't just mimic things,
we can be sagacious and salacious, too.
Accordingly, I also like *******, which has a liquid sound,
and I'm not being facetious to suggest that
******* has a close connection to callipygous.
Then, for those who are suspicious of the libidinous,
I also like curmudgeonly and bodacious,
loquacious, precocious and pulchritudinous,
lubricious and fugacious,
scripturient, radiance, iridescence and magnificence,
lissome, lithe and languid (but not too limp),
shimmering and diaphanous, effulgent and evanescent,
flamboyant, fandango and flibbertigibbet,
(although this is difficult to say when you’re drunk),
voluptuous and vertiginous, slithery, **** and glistening.
And when I include crepuscular, strumpet and strawberry,
I may as well add whipped cream
as well, because this can be laid on in dollops,
and dollops is really an excellent word
along with slurping and *******, too.
Actually, I'm very flexible about words,
because in my lexicon, low moaning noises are OK, too.
These sounds come from the chord of creation
which is a sort of reverberation from the time of
primordial ooze, which I would like to squish between my toes.
Then there's protozoa, spermatozoa and also
wriggling flagella everywhere. So there.
But words don't even need to make sense,
because sweet nothings can say everything,
and heavy breathing can be ******,
even rhapsodic, ending in delirium.
Titillating should be in here too, because we all need
some tintinnabulation and tickling of the senses sometimes.
I've also decided that fecund is my second favorite word after love.
Fecund sounds abrupt, but it buds magnificently
in ******* and bellies to burgeon in absolute abundance,
everywhere. This brings me to *******, which I like, too.
I'm also partial to proud words, including bold, bulging and
brazen, along with a bit of swaggering braggadocio.
Then I like some big words, like brobdingnagian,
although I hope I'm not sesquipedalian.
Salivate is a word to celebrate as well,
along with onomatopoeia that helps choose some words here.
Drooling is highly evocative, too,
and it's not being provocative to observe that
even weapons drool when they're in the wrong hands.
And I shouldn't leave out *******, as you would expect,
because ****** is a sort of rippling word
that rhymes with spasm. Both sound deceptively simple,
but by golly, they can be intensely gripping.
And really, it's alright to writhe to this occasion
because all of us writers should endeavor
to have some good writhing in our oeuvre.
Even some bad writhing can be lots of fun, too.
But I almost forgot to mention yearning and burning (with desire)
and vulviform, velvet and venerous.
Yippee, yee har and hollerin' along with other exclamations
of exhortatory exuberance should be in this index, too.
Now. The words I don’t like include no, can’t, never,
stop and mustn’t. Also, irascible and intractable,
unmentionable, ineffable, inexpressible, incoherent,
immutable, impotent and impossible.
Then I don't like importune and misfortune,
and I don't know who thought up unthinkable,
because this is an oxymoron.
Inscrutable is also a complete cop out,
especially when there's no such word as scrutable.
Gawping, gaping, cavernous and cretinous, obsequious,
grovelling, pursed lips, circuitous,
obfuscation and isolation, unpalatable,
cruelty, tyranny and hypocrisy,
should also get the heave-**.
And I definitely don't like parsimonious and mendicant,
which are miserable words.
Quitting doesn't get there either,
and shut the **** up and ******* should also be taboo.
Also, hopeless is, really, well, it's hopeless
because it denies hope, and hope is buoyant and boundless.
I mean, sometimes hope is all we have.
But the word I dislike most is ****,
because this is an insulting word, and
to be taxonomical,
the negative score of this word is astronomical.
Hate is also right up there on this list. Hate is abominable
because it tries to destroy love, and love is indomitable.
is the
of them all.
Yeah. So there.

Mike T Minehan
II felt good after writing this - it was a bit like purging the personal dictionary in my head. I think all of us could write our own list...
Homunculus Jan 7
Enraptured in
a fevered spasm,

Captured in the
mind's phantasm,

Swimming through
the ectoplasm,

Pouring from the
roaring chasm,

Hidden in the
soul's recess

A subtle, gentle,
warm caress

So jubilant, it  
doth redress,

The hindrances which
so suppress,

The progress of the
spirit's wellness,

Showing things which
words can't tell us,

Giving gifts, which
none can sell us,

Do you
hear the
bell that's
              from a

It resonates from
mammoth spheres,

In orbit, shedding
countless years,

Through aeons of

And boundless

We see how worlds
arise and cease,

We see how yearning
lays the fleece,

The wool over the eyes,
deceiving, cool

Dispassion's peace
relieving, our

Great webs
of pain and sorrow,

to light the morrow

For as all things
must come apart,

So suffering's,
great work of art,

is merely but
a transience,

receding slowly
in the dark.
Nigel Finn Aug 2018
Is not equivalent to a broken leg.
Who came up with that analogy?
Someone who hasn't experienced either
Seems the only probability.

It's far more akin to a giant spasm,
Contorting your leg against your will,
And stopping it seems highly unatural,
And each doctor prescribes different pills.

Nobody has fluctuating broken legs,
Or fractured limbs that cause them to count
The precise number of steps they take,
And despair if it's the wrong amount,

Or healing bones that turn reality
Into hallucinatory nightmares,
Or make you stay awake all week,
And start berating chairs.

But the worst of that analogy
(It drives me quite insane!),
Is that broken legs are quick to heal,
And cause a lot less pain.
Another rough one- will I ever finish it? Who knows!
Akemi Feb 2018
hole in the sky. tap tap, the empty vessel flows out. a weightless sink. the hour goes, blaring swell of humidity, and the jug lukewarm, leaven oft in the barred space. I return to my room. I drink the cold milk on the sill. I finish the third wretched spill of the journey to Olympus.

Downstairs a howl, a wind slam SOLOM OBSERVATIONAL MATRIX STRUCTURED TASKS AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY TO ASSIST WITH INSTRUMENTAL DECISIONS. I close the door I close the door I close the door I close the

In this uneasy slumber, the bed shakes, the windows rattle, the sky splits, the earth floods a red simpering capitulatory spasm of earthly flesh. Here is the circuit, the tired nervous tic of inaction, I shrink back from the outstretched hand, a condition which recommends two pills in the morning to mask the double image beneath my hands.

i have slept through the week again, this pathetic flesh obeys nothing, where are my pills inescapable ******* dullery

THE JUG IS HOT. I return to my room. I close the door two pills on the sill to go down with the milk


Figures muffled by the walls. There are guests in the house, the looming presence of multiple species with incomprehensible intentions. In a bout of uncharacteristic curiosity, I slip my sight through the crack of my door. UNDER RCG IT WILL BE MANDATORY FOR ALL CUSTOMS CARGO REPORTERS IN THE AIR SEA AND ROAD INDUSTRIES TO SUBMIT REPORTS TO SARS ELECTRONICALLY. I am unmoved by such perceptions. I prepare the final climb to Olympus.

the cyclone is ended. the front door is barred. the jug is cold. the yard is littered with unmoving shapes.
In this catastrophically worthless point of my life I find myself intersected by my failure to sustain a relationship, my alienation from left-wing collective politics, and my consumption of Faulkner and Ligotti, unto the birth of self-destructive pessimism.
saige Feb 2018
Everything kind of stops for a moment
not a minute
just a blink
not a wrinkle in time
more like a spasm

Everything kind of sinks for a moment
swirls and kicks in
everywhere it hurts
as you search for
what we couldn't save

Everything kind of bends for a moment
doesn't snap or
really change but
the pact-making starts now
and stretches on toward forever

Everything kind of skips for a moment
once I spot blond
bobbing the lake
not a promise
still, you're safe

Everything kind of blurs for a moment
white sunshine and
muddy drips and
heaving ribcage
all else is blank

Everything kind of clears for a moment
clouds and doubts and
here's some air if you need it
or simply want to
wear my lungs out

Everything kind of starts in that moment
nothing far-fetched
this is us now
carried over
from your close call

Everything kind of stops in that moment
not a minute
just a blink
almost missed it
barely lost you
so let me love you
and this time not
just for a moment
Philipp K J Dec 2018
Stop battering her mind by invasions
of your curious cultural perversions
Get out of her way I tell you for god sake.
She needs quietude
To come out of her servitude
to repair and restore her aptitude
In the balm and calm of solitude

Her dome is broken with throbs
torn yarns spasm derobes
With velocity escape to infinity
Due to your ferocious felinity

She needs peace to space walk
To gather the ruffled rob safe back

So leave her  alone I tell you
As if she were in ICU

She needs silence to settle
Down to revive her mettle
with rarer precious metals
Cement her mental pieces

Mind can swoop down with trough
Ride on a rough wave's crest
Pat and pacify with suavity
bring back the halo from infinity
zero down the hero with unity,
from a state of KD 
rejuvenate the PD
Back to an ambience of 3D

So Leave her alone I tell you

Let her bleed, perspire in despire
If mind willing, desire compelling
Let it prepare her self, to repair itself
the broken respiration sighs
With high waves of neighs
conspires to set in her scattred inspiration
To the errected pyre of desperation
Asunder to cinder and surrender.

Let the fire embrace her to scintillation
In a catalystic ambiance of ventilation
Mix and suffix with whirling flame
To phoenix her into a healing dame.

For god sake leave her alone I tell you..
False Poets Oct 2017
An excerpt from           An excerpt from
a poem by T.S. Eliot.     a poem by the False Poets

Between the idea          no permanence in juxtaposition
And the reality              where Falls the Shadow, the shadow
Between the motion.     a divisive notion caught between
And the act                    composition & action, the response is
Falls the Shadow           Falls the Shadow

Between the conception grayed outline indistinct, the cognitive sap
And the creation              leaks, contradictions irritating birth sac,
Between the emotion      whereupon Falls the Shadow emerges
And the response            the response conclusive, occlusive, collusive 
Falls the Shadow             Falls the Shadow
Between the desire          juxtaposition insertion, need to achieve
And the spasm                 the blurted ****** of spurted letters born
Between the potency.      in the potent white seeds of black words
And the existence            coming into existence as a riptorn issue,
Between the essence        essences of scents blood+logic foretelling
And the descent               birth & death, descent & the ascent, both,
Falls the Shadow              Falls the Shadow

Between the desire            the desire desired, completed,
And the spasm                   the latency uncovered,
Between the potency         the potent toxins of spit and tears
And the existence              the birth fluid of  of existence
Between the essence          the formulation of the human essence
And the descent                 from blood dust to blood dust is where
Falls the Shadow.               Falls All the Shadows
October 2017
Lucio Aug 2018
My vision is blurred as the sweat drips down
Breathing grows harder, a rasping sound
Muscles are in spasm switching from taunt to relaxed
I feel myself pushing to near collapse
But I hear you scream out to me
I continue pushing in what can only be called a dream
Flesh to flesh, I'm trapped in Eden's walls
I cry out in lust, this is the end and I fall
I say you're everything to me
But can only think of myself, one last plea
Lost in ecstasy for tonight
This is the bitter end, one last goodnight
Carnal ecstasy love
Leiser Poetry Oct 24
One of my first encounters and one that I couldn't really forget  was with a average built man of his 30s he wore leather clothing, long hair and had an beard. He loved playing guitar which I also had an interest at the time too he offered to teach me how to play but it came at a price. He noticed that I was short of money for one of his lessons. He said that I must offer him a ******* to pay for the money that I  owe him. I was a little uneasy and told him no way at first but somehow convince me to stay for the remainder of the lesson  and started teaching me notes of the guitar then proceeded to slide his arms down my shirt playing around with my ******* then finally stripped off my top to show off my ***** to him. I felt unsettled and  dazed; like it was a magic trick he quickly grabbed out his camera and took pics of my pale white naked body
“I told him “erm what the heck are you doing”

“I'm just taking pics of your beautiful body – you have got lovely ****”

I felt uneasy but blushed a little bit when he said it

“Now will you please **** my ****”

“no why should I **** your **** I'll give you the money for guitar lessons next week”

“Now, now baby you see those pics on my phone if you don't do as your told I'll post the pics all over the internet and your family will see them too”

I bowed my head in shame; and got the job done he wanted it ******* kept trying to push his **** into it I could feel it spasm swallowing a huge amount of his *** followed by my gargling choking noises there was a huge smile of satisfaction on his face;

“I love it when you make those noises”

After the ******* I left his place; he told me he'll keep in touch and  will find me and let me know when he wanted to see me again.
aisha zoë Sep 2018
I go too far and too loud;
often I can see the roads my thoughts
could take if I could only lead them
to their highest degree;
I see the train of thought
it could take me
where no one else could go
further and further where they make more sense
the last final logical conclusion and yet
I an obstacle to my own fruitful imagination
so far in from a distance I am seen as a madman
too far in to comprehend
oh were I to have ventured further
if I had followed through with every
spasm of great and holy ideas,
what pleasures unknown
called them up had it sorted; it was 2 or 3 a.m
I don't know what I was thinking
I mean I was thinking I needed to be touched
I mean I was thinking I needed to be reduced
to air, to be made to be nothing, I am nothing
its always 2 or 3 a.m. I am made to want to feel nothing
went to bed in a cloud of sheltered, painless oblivion
I go too far and too loud and it is
never nearly enough; I See The
Liquid Sphere Waltz, oh I must
tread so carefully and lightly
for I am always on the verge of something
I will not be able to redeem
head aching from constantly being told there are
so many other people who have it so so so so so much
worse than me. I care about no one
I care about me
that I may slip into something
I cannot relinquish
3:27 AM Sunday September 2018
Dennis Willis Jun 30
And now I'm thinking
with a wrinkle
in my response
deflected by chemistry
and calculation

It broke down
that bubble upton
tannic in my cheeks
setting teeth to grit
in the skin spasm

you can lead an ion
to a source
of left turns about
a vague unsatisfying

you wanted to come here
and i
given up
on arrivals
said no to leaving
and left
Cecil Miller Aug 2018
I'm so unique nobody could be me.
The words I say reflect what I see.
I know you; I know what you're thinking.
I see the light, but I don't know why it's shining.

Sometimes, I know, I get too upset
When wrestling with the puzzles that are in my head.
My heart could love, if not for the dread.
It's like a blade that's doing me a chining.

But I can't blame it on the rock-and roll,
It's the only thing that keeps me whole,
Lord knows, it's the only, only thing that's holy.
No you can't say I'm like the other guys,
I was living large before it was fashion wise.
You know, the angels treaded far behind me lightly.

The gossamer was endless and nestling to all it neared.
The tingling within the earth let usher forth a worthless beauty to every person of it's time; but which was to be unknowingly priceless to the lives yet to come.

And the prophet cried before the day he realized he was to die, the hour before he was to find...


The automatic writing happens when you give it up,
And you never even know the meaning til it comes to pass.

But divination is a gift, even as the gossamer blinds your eyes.

And the fiber dissolves into the nullity.

When then spasm has become as the tapered wind, there is left but nothing.
The first stanza has been written for decades and been used in several pieces I have written. The rest was written tonight, as I was staring into the mirror this morning to look a little deeper. Much is still a mystery. Who knows?
Inside the box of dreams contingent to divergent nightmares
In the confines of a large painting and solitude and suns
You smell the beauty of her soluble features in the eyes as one
Does it do to have a surplus of truth
The ego of driving id letting your inner self spasm without word's worth and worthiness
Relate to someone, whose heights you must torch and focus on oh so much
Buffering winds and engulfing flames, and paint of wolf and werewolves
The moist stench of inventiveness and red veritas of the current year, in the current art of the raw and cooked
Often, thousands of years could be prepared, before you learn a decade of failure, brewing strangely
Decadence doesn't exist in this defined structure wither the body withers in song and dance
Sundry and adamantine guillotines do sew her flesh in hatchets, axes, and bows
Arches and gallantry of cavalry in a dither and dearth dense censuring, of diseased purgatory
Looking at yourself beyond the riches, and rags to ditches.
So, this is a failure to communicate. Well, I'll take history any day.
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit an age of inscrutable things
that feast upon docile swarms of sensitives… but never says what you're thinking
in a Eulogy. Only what you’re missing.

But sometimes, like Most Times…. the wounds are like walnuts -
parked in a field of oncoming traffic.
Or some gratuitous cerebral laughter.
Choked from a spasm of serene
by the clutches of a Sphinx
with Midnight teats.
And a mane of plausible
Devon Brock Nov 9
You left hair in the tub,
toothpaste splatter on the mirror,
a wadded towel on the rod,
wet footprints on the floorboards
marking a stumble to the kitchen
where you guzzled milk
from the carton, there with
the door open, cold spilling
out like flumes to your feet -
and I loved it.

A sudden spasm raked,
raked your shoulders,
your torso, all caught
ecstatic at the mingling
of milk and hot bath blood.

Wearing your robe
like a prizefighter,
pink to the ring
and gearing up for a bout
that never comes -
now that's the stuff
my sweet **** -
that's the stuff of the long fight,
the long familiar,
the mustache I lick from your upper lip.
We are trespassing on heaven
Reserving the feminine principle
I guess we cannot even name it
Her lips separate the chasm
In my heart a spasm of inspiration
Whenever she utters her nastiness
We detain ourselves
In our separate bedrooms
I consume the rooms that you've divided
And my feathers resume to guide you
At night I fan my enemy's flames and reside
Inside the lightness of your being
Can we see the silent apocryphal
Or do we cancel the hidden apogee
Of our mythic rejuvenation
You are amazed by this preventative medicine
Yet find it strange when someone doesn't try to save you
Third Eye Candy Dec 2018
deep in the crack
of a spasm,
i come upon Love with
no theory.
i am slow to recall…
but i surge ahead of my fear
and become beautifully

Loving you
so hard
that diamonds gasp!
offering up the total
of my zero
one -

to me.

and i
Crossbow Jan 29
'come closer.'
she beckons me, nearer, nearer
'its quiet down here.'
she's frightening; i fear her
'flowers grow and crystals shine.'
i'm repelled, but in a trance
'two more steps, and you're all mine.'
against her power, i have no chance
'give in, my sweet; you're me, i'm you.'
i trip at the edge, fall down the chasm
'in infinite darkness, there's so much you can do.'
i fall, helpless; i writhe and spasm
'i'll let you go, but you're home now, dear.'
i feel warm numbness take over me
'i'll hold you close, there's nothing to fear.'
this isn't so bad, this ecstasy
'now close your eyes, and hold your breath.'
i do as she says, she's in command
'embrace me and i'll gift you death.'
"ah," i think, "she understands."
i hold her tight in the murky darkness
'that's right my sweet; you're me, i'm you.'
i kiss her lips with a gentle sharpness
'i'll color you hues of green and blue.'
but no, from this darkness, there's no going back
no more greens or blues; i'll forever be black.
an ode to my mood swings.
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