"sperm" poems
Could it be that I substitute lustful infatuation for love? or mistake an act of kindness for trust?
Using his words to define me, i mean refine me, leaving the real me in the dust
Can you really blame me for being attracted to someone who shows interest in my existence
Someone who is persistent, consistent and whose smile breaks my resistance
It's a real feeling I get of satisfaction through common conversation of nothingness
The willingness to waste time with me means something to me if not everything for me because time can not be given back
Sorry your interest in my existence was nonexistent, guess in the 90's being a father was wack.
Respect from hoes was worth more than respect from your daughter
If it was up to you, if you were her, you would have probably said "abort her"
You knew I was a girl and that I'd be your first daughter but that wasn't enough for you
You had 9 months which turned into 1 plus twenty now you're begging for my heart to attend to it's broken it needs amends too, a man too?
So I'm looking at guy after guy to cut into some deep hurting pain from my past
Not realizing that they can't give me what I'm missing cause I can't miss what I never had
I asked God for a brother but I never got em
When I was 8 I wanted to meet my Father but I never saw em
After that, just like everything you cant change in life, you learn to accept
Accept and move on not accept and dwell in it
Yet I found myself looking for what I lacked in a male figure in a young boy
I didn't know it yet but my innocence he would destroy
How can you be sure about love and if you're in it, if there is no demonstration clearly displayed to see
How can i be sure that he loves me for me, not what i give or what i can be but everything that I am if I haven't truly accepted me for me
I long to feel love from a man who created me with his *****
Not physical love from a boy with a toy in it ***** I'm talking something long term
Deeply invested in things that cannot be returned or given back
Like time, memories, laughs, tears, words, or the lack...thereof
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
the extermination of the straight white male
soon we will be gone and the remainder carried over into zoos for
“safekeeping,” our DNA and ***** harvested for science purposes
you will be pitched advertisements
send $ to San Diego Zoo so they can save the few remaining
white rhinos (which they neglect to mention are in preserves in Kenya and the Sudan, but send $$ a way)
and the last three straight white guys
(surfer, techie, and an aborigine)
to preserve the species so the world can modify their cells
to stop sexism, racism and other male diseases
gonna maybe mate them with the rhinos,
which will be expensive cause of all the rhinoplasty,
so send me some
money, money, money
yup
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
I'm determined,
Lack the feeling of yearning
The desire to talk about this insecure little daddy's girl,
Yes
Like me,
Yeah you blame the world,
But comparing yourself to me,
I'll make you scratch your eyes out
And turn you back to ******* *****
Don't leave a comment,
Just mean what you say,
If you don't have reasons,
Get out of my face,
You don't know me,
You never met me,
You look like you ****** on 82 *****
Your a big mouth ***** you need to be stitched up,
Your skills on the pad they flock,
Must have been the time of the month when you sent that comment,
Miss Arlo Disarray get off my ****
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
Treasure my **** in your mouth
Engulf it slowly with your lips
Negate this gagging reflex
Delight on my hot *****
Enjoy the taste of it
Running down
Aug 25, 2020
Aug 25, 2020 at 1:44 AM UTC
Blow my **** avidly
Rooted on your knees
Use your head for once!
Take it whole as I force in
Adore feasting of my *****
Let it run down and thank me
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 2:48 AM UTC
The finest singer in the sea
I heard upon this morn
And in that strange sonorous tone
A universe was born
The low melodic wailing touched
And roused me from my sleep
As the humpback lithe and languid
Made a turn and sounded deep
And as my mind awakes it turns
To whales large and small
To the snowy white beluga
The canary of them all
The clicking bursts of ***** whales
And the California grey
The fin whale speaks across the sea
To those a world away
The short and longfinned pilot whales
With whistles quite complex
The striking graceful orcas
Speak in different dialects
But it is the great blue whale
That makes the loudest cry
Though it is far too rare today
With such an awful why
But on this wondrous morning I
Am filled with joyous glee
That God has given life to whales
And gave to them the sea
Cori MacNaughton
24Oct2000
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains
the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent.
All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge
on and on, and dive beneath the icebergs.
The right whales, the sperm-whales, the hammer-heads, the killers
there they blow, there they blow, hot wild white breath out of
the sea!
And they rock, and they rock, through the sensual ageless ages
on the depths of the seven seas,
and through the salt they reel with drunk delight
and in the tropics tremble they with love
and roll with massive, strong desire, like gods.
Then the great bull lies up against his bride
in the blue deep bed of the sea,
as mountain pressing on mountain, in the zest of life:
and out of the inward roaring of the inner red ocean of whale-blood
the long tip reaches strong, intense, like the maelstrom-tip, and
comes to rest
in the clasp and the soft, wild clutch of a she-whale's
fathomless body.
And over the bridge of the whale's strong phallus, linking the
wonder of whales
the burning archangels under the sea keep passing, back and
forth,
keep passing, archangels of bliss
from him to her, from her to him, great Cherubim
that wait on whales in mid-ocean, suspended in the waves of the
sea
great heaven of whales in the waters, old hierarchies.
And enormous mother whales lie dreaming suckling their whale-
tender young
and dreaming with strange whale eyes wide open in the waters of
the beginning and the end.
And bull-whales gather their women and whale-calves in a ring
when danger threatens, on the surface of the ceaseless flood
and range themselves like great fierce Seraphim facing the threat
encircling their huddled monsters of love.
And all this happens in the sea, in the salt
where God is also love, but without words:
and Aphrodite is the wife of whales
most happy, happy she!
and Venus among the fishes skips and is a she-dolphin
she is the gay, delighted porpoise sporting with love and the sea
she is the female tunny-fish, round and happy among the males
and dense with happy blood, dark rainbow bliss in the sea.
8.9k
An Epithaliamium
So Man, grown vigorous now,
Holds himself ripe to breed,
Daily devises how
To ********* his seed
And boldly fertilize
The black womb of the unconsenting skies.
Some now alive expect
(I am told) to see the large,
Steel member grow *****
Turgid with the fierce charge
Of our whole planet's skill,
Courage, wealth, knowledge, concentrated will,
Straining with lust to stamp
Our likeness on the abyss-
Bombs, gallows, Belsen camp,
Pox, polio, Thais' kiss
Or Judas, Moloch's fires
And Torquemada's (sons resemble sires).
Shall we, when the grim shape
Roars upward, dance and sing?
Yes: if we honour ****
If we take pride to Ring
So bountifully on space
The ***** of our long woes, our large disgrace.
8.8k
V.B. Wigglesworth wakes at noon,
Washes, shaves and very soon
Is at the lab; he reads his mail,
Swings a tadpole by the tail,
Undoes his coat, removes his hat,
Dips a spider in a vat
Of alkaline, phones the press,
Tells them he is F.R.S.,
Subdivides six protocells,
Kills a rat by ringing bells,
Writes a treatise, edits two
Symposia on "Will man do?,"
Gives a lecture, audits three,
Has the ***** club in for tea,
Pensions off an ageing spore,
Cracks a test tube, takes some pure
Science and applies it, finds,
His hat, adjusts it, pulls the blinds,
Instructs the jellyfish to spawn,
And, by one o'clock, is gone.
8.5k
I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of a vulture. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the ***** whale, and the ***** whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I never want to be away from you again, except at work, in the restroom or when one of us is at a movie the other does not want to see.
I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where we once were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and no matter how I am discovered after what happens to me as I am discovering this.
I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world.
I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong.
I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday.
Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.
Life will never end when you are in it.”
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂
Fatherless broods, whose mothers hoped for change
Fight the law, abort their restoration;
Attack, burn, riot… consider nothing strange
Extorting payout from their host nation.
Fatherhood, dark elephant in the room,
Denigrated, dissed by baby-mamas
In his absence, speaks potently of doom
(Apparently blessed by both Obamas…)
***** donation, filling the wombs with child,
Disorganized communities, off-course
Guarantee police work when thugs run wild.
With marriage faltering in the race: lame horse.
Inhuman nature being what it is
Be careful who you shoot—and hold your ****
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
if i was a girl i wouldn’t shave i’d be a tomboy ballerina with upper body muscles maybe a **** or surfer girl smell a little subtle i’d be tough learn to take a punch but i’d also be fragile sensitive intelligent i’d dress down like female ducks gray beige brown yet wear thongs boots bikinis heals girl stuff if i was a girl i’d be freaked out by ************ and even more freaked out by menopause depressed i lost my wetness if i was a girl i’d flash *** crotch drive boys wild be a complete nymphomaniac **** until i found the right guy he’d be strong gentle patient caring with a cute ***** i don’t care how big if i was a girl i’d learn to give blow jobs really good acquire a taste for ***** and play that skill as my trump card if i was a girl i’d find a job roll up my sleeves be a hard worker impress my managers become a manager quit i would find another type of work maybe a writer painter if i was a girl i wouldn’t compete with men i’d simply be more creative smarter if i was a girl i’d want to give birth as scary profound as that might be i’d want to be a mom a nurturing loving attentive mom i’d garden cook sew clean stand by my man my children devoted to home and hearth if i was a girl i’d cry a lot but not in front of anyone if i was a girl i wouldn’t want to become an old woman surrounded by other old women taking care of sick old men or no old men if i was a girl i’d want to die instantly in an accident or in bed reaching ****** age 82 if i was a girl
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 7:37 AM UTC
A long thick co**
Big heavy *****
The wonder of *****
The thrill of it all
Let us praise the *****
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
Poor little octopus.
Big head and eight tentacles
but no ***** ***** or testicles.
What's that, you say? Then how do these poor little cephalopods
buck such terrible odds when they feel like a ****** agenda
and they don't have any pudenda?
Well, it's quite simple, really. He hands her ***** on a tentacle
and what do you suppose?
She says, thank you very much, and sticks it up her nose!
Honest. No dinner first or shoulder massage,
she just whacks it up her nasal passage. You can be quite sure
this is an amazing olfactory aperture.
So the moral is, don't complicate a simple process.
When you're feeling frisky, *** need not be tricky.
Just consider the inventiveness of the octopus with no ***** or a ********
Because it's the ingenuity of the octopus, not it's ****** act,
that we should court. Compared to the octopus,
the human nose is naught.
It's too high up and tight for such naughty, wicked sport.
Also, such a human act is fraught with political incorrectness.
A gentleman who tries this little rort to get the girls to snort
and says, up your nostril, madam, might all too well
receive a rude retort. Or even worse!
I say herein lies food for thought.
Mike T Minehan
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
Bi-yu-ti-ti-e-ar-ef-el-way, Butterfly.
Dites sa jundo kong superhate ng mga relihiyoso
dahil nakarehistro daw sa jimpiyerno,
akis na-sight and realized
ang bundara ng pagiging paru-paro.
Lahat ites natanto ng lola mo
nang akis ma-inlab kay Superman
at siyempre kay Sperm-man.
Mga moralista kuno, silencio muna.
Ang mga verbals ng lola mo
na nagpapajalakpak sa inyo
ay laging jinjatulan
ng unfair nating lipunan.
Ang majujulay kong pekpak
na rumarampa para sa mga jutoko
ay ang aliw na nagpapabongga
sa mga chapters n'yong aura.
Bi-yu-ti-ti-e-ar-ef-el-way, Butterfly...
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
Chairs are just coat hangers
couches are beds
and clothes are just hand rags you wear
my cell phones just a flash light
and the shower is a neighborhood *****
bank
that doubles as a hairsalon
(so..
what the **** does that make me?)
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 6:19 AM UTC
Bombers & bloggers
Tragedy is triumphant
Traffic gathers in a tweaked intersection divide
Wreaking of those fuming with exhaustion
Speed, cause you prefer the highway
Political in place of partial
The news carries dismay
Where is such trouble in this world you say?
Posing proposing, regulating;
Marijuana laws are changing
Complaining of taxing & weighing
Football, do you recalls, & puppy dogs,
Amber alerts & nostalgia where it hurts
Once again the news contright
Cut short cause it draaaags
Ruthless the truth is;
Everywhere you go, there the news is
You can't lose it, tied around your neck the noose is
Bed bugs It has;
Talking of spread shoots, ***** mags
This celebrity, the new 'fad', & that old hag
Throw up on the rag;
Forget it
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
A star of blood you fell
from the point of the hypodermic
singing of fabulous beasts &
spitting out the *** of vowels
Your poems explode in the mouth
like torrents of ***** on a night
full of zebras & bootheels
Your ghost still cruses the river-
fronts of midnight assignations
in a world of dead sailors carrying
armfuls of flowers in search of
your unmarked grave
Your body no sanctuary for bees,
Death was your lover in a rain of
broken obelisks & rotting orchids
In the tangled rose of a single heartbeat
I offer you the shadow of a double
profile,
two heads held together at the bridge
of the nose by a nail of *****
smoke
in the long night's dreaming
& memory of water poured between
glasses
In my mailbox I find a letter from
a dead man & know that for every
shadow given
one is taken away
Yet subtraction is only a special form of
addition and implies a world of hidden
intentions below a horizon of lips
thin as your fingernail sprouting
mysteries in the earth …
The ace of spades dealt from the bottom
of the deck severs the hand which
retrieves it & the eyes of Beauty
sewn together peer over a black lace fan
in the ****** sunlight of a Spanish
morning without horses
The Belt of Orion is loosened
before you as you remove the silver
fingerstalls from your mummy hands &
kneel to plunder the nightsky in a shower of
bitter diamonds.
(Somewhere under a blanket someone weeps
for a lover.)
Peace to your soul
& to your empty shoes
in the dark closets of
kings with no feet!!!
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
A scuba diver, head first like a dolphin,
goes in to the ocean, 100 feet down
in semi-darkness finds this apparition
something beautiful to behold in motion,
really really big and mysterious it appears
gliding gracefully spewing wonderment,
inviting reverence from all kinds of marine life
Clearly apologetic, for being out of place,
though he has encroached, in to a world
though not far from the sea surface,
yet in a depth where human has no place
all his scientific temper got evaporated
a simple villager now, gripped by wonder.
All he could think of anyone
fitting in to such magnificence
was God Almighty,himself.
"How do you do God?" he stutters,
aware that in plankton filled darkness
the mighty man is at the mercy of
the behemoth, looming large above.
The phenomenon in question,
***** whale"as we know him,
smiles and burps happily "Fantastic"
then he dives 6000 feet down, looking
for a colossal squid, succulent to be sure
the whole reason for him to play God
at this depth for sea creatures that lose
bearing in the haze of challenging depths.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 5:59 AM UTC
I don't know what to think
when i'm staring in your eyes
more akin to speak
in blind lullabies.
than logistify
my heightened
surmise
in flight
to somewhere nice
if only for tonight
come with me this night
ignite
the cindered fires
of our desires
and incite
the throws of light
in **** obscurity
moaning through the sincerity
of our oddities
gleaming in the rarity
of our academy of lust
all or bust
entrust the accounting
of blaspheme
to the enemies
of poverty
and shove me
all the way down your throat
fill you
instill you
with the hope
of a million
grinning in **********
of the tangled mental merchants
of pretty lights and custom curtains
drawn at first light
dispersing
amongst cursing pedestrians
prior to ***********
of forceful ************
with an another human
lightened strikes the truant
in 9 months of fluent
agony
just imagining little Timmy
has me scavenging for a shimmy
to escape
its social ****
to a blind ape
still patting his head
don't be mislead
by ***** carriers
pack your own barriers
and prepare for the scarier
side of a mans mind
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
I was fairly drunk when it
began and I took out my bottle and used it
along the way. I was reading a week or two after
Kandel and I did not look quite as
pretty but
I brought it off and we
ended up at the Webbs, 6, 8, 10 of
us, and I drank scotch, wine, beer, tequila
and noticed a nice one sitting next to me -
one tooth missing when she smiled,
lovely, and I put my arm around her
and began loading her with ********
when I awakened at 10 a.m. the next morning
I was in a strange house
in bed with this
woman. she was asleep but looked
familiar.
I got up and here was one kid running around in a
crib and another one running around the floor in
pajamas. I picked up a letter addressed to one
"Betsy R.", so I went back and said,
"hey, Betsy, there are kids running around all over
this place."
"oh Hank, **** it, I'm sick. I want to sleep, not
rap."
"but look, the ..."
"make yourself some
coffee."
I put the *** on and the little boy ran up in his
pajamas. I found a shirt and some pants and some
shoes and
dressed him.
then I cleaned a bottle with hot water, filled it
with milk and gave it to the kid in the
crib. he went for
it.
then I went in and squeezed her
hand. "I've got to go. are you all
right ?"
"yes, a little sick. but please don't feel
bad."
I called a yellow cab and we went back across
town.
is this what happened to
D. Thomas ? I thought.
if a man didn't think too much he could be proud of his little
conquests -
except that the women were better than we - asking nothing
as we squirted our poetry
our ******** our
***** to
them.
we were sick poets sick
people.
across town I knocked on the door of my host and
hostess.
"what happened ?" they
asked.
"nothing. got
lost."
they sat a beer in front of me
and I drank it as if I were
wordly:
a piece-of-ass
any-night
anywhere
type.
"somebody got a
cigarette ?" I asked.
"sure, sure."
I lit up and asked,
"heard from Creely
lately ?"
not giving a **** whether they had or
not.
4.3k
at the point of entry (explicit)
it does not strike me strange
at the point of entry
when the heightened senses and the dark subconscious merge
when the lust and the sweat intersect
with ego desire and self is everlasting everything
that the ***** words secretion is sticky on my tongue
when I pant poems born in rawness and tears
on this the last day of the year
and eyes closed see visions extraordinaire
and the Maker whispers in both ears see!
it is the see of what is me,
it is the point of entry and departure,
one and the same,
conception an immaculate mess,
the emptying and the fulfilling, when unkempt promises
are born free flowing and semi-truths transform into
actualities unforeseen and my child cells of new poems
are injected, stored, awaiting the birthright
and the death of publication,
my moment of privileged perfection passes
and frowns and smiles are
one and the same, silken thread wove open and shut
the precision precious circumcising of flesh and soul departing
the utter collapse from within, the drowning in the amniotic,
rebirthing rebutting my denying that I have no more to give
I believe I belong to you for it is what the desire firing cylinders
say repeatedly in the union of the up and the down cycle:
come, come inside me,
I am the pleasure
you are the treasure
in one cup measured
conjoined container
when the point of entry is the point of departure
and with eyes closed from satisfaction and prayer
I see everything all at the same time, uttering:
I am undone utterly and the difference between
the end and the beginning can be seen only
at the millisecond long seven decade coming
point of entry
12/31/17 5:38am dawn dying and new day mourning
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 5:59 AM UTC
1722
Her face was in a bed of hair,
Like flowers in a plot—
Her hand was whiter than the *****
That feeds the sacred light.
Her tongue more tender than the tune
That totters in the leaves—
Who hears may be incredulous,
Who witnesses, believes.
4.5k
Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to sleep in a bed with no sheets in the corner of an empty airline hanger.
Eating ***** is oblivion to millions,
regardless of politics.
I don't cry when I watch the evening news.
Pictures from my 4th birthday party,
when I turned 3,
make me cry...
...for 1 spermatozoa.
When my co-creators' closed eyelids told me my grandfather had finally passed,
I remembered that I forgot how to make Mac & Cheese.
Time runs on batteries.
But when machines grow to match us,
they will one day pass a law against the consumption of sentient planets.
Still,
some will do it anyway.
And even if they have televisions in space,
I still won't cry.
Because we are all machines.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC