"spotty" poems
First comes the flush
Then the rush of horniness
loneliness
A splash of pain
Droplets of scarlet rain
and the ****** of lingerie
Sobbing at roses
Yelling at trays
You're spotty
and bloated
and splayed on the bed like Cleopatra
drugged up on
painkillers
And the cocktail that humanity spiked with hormones
Fun.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
April doesnt hurt here
Like it does in New England
The ground
Vast and brown
Surrounds dry towns
Located in the dust
Of the coming locust
Live for survival, not for 'kicks'
Be a bangtail describer,
like of shrouded traveler
in Textile tenement & the birds fighting in yr ears-like Burroughs exact to describe & gettin $
The Angry Hunger
(hunger is anger)
who fears the
hungry feareth
the angry)
And so I came home
To Golden far away
Twas on the horizon
Every blessed day
As we rolled And we rolled
From Donner tragic Pass
Thru April in Nevada And out Salt City Way Into the dry Nebraskas And sad Wyomings Where young girls And pretty lover boys
With Mickey Mantle eyes
Wander under moons
Sawing in lost cradle
And Judge O Fasterc
Passes whiggling by To ask of young love: ,,Was it the same wind Of April Plains eve that ruffled the dress
Of my lost love
Louanna
In the Western
Far off night
Lost as the whistle
Of the passing Train
Everywhere West
Roams moaning
The deep basso
- Vom! Vom!
- Was it the same love
Notified my bones As mortify yrs now
Children of the soft
Wyoming April night?
Couldna been!
But was! But was!'
And on the prairie
The wildflower blows
In the night For bees & birds And sleeping hidden Animals of life.
The Chicago
Spitters in the spotty street
Cheap beans, loop, Girls made eyes at me And I had 35 Cents in my jeans -
Then Toledo
Springtime starry
Lover night Of hot rod boys And cool girls A wandering
A wandering
In search of April pain A plash of rain
Will not dispel This fumigatin hell Of lover lane This park of roses Blue as bees
In former airy poses
In aerial O Way hoses
No tamarand And figancine Can the musterand Be less kind
Sol -
Sol -
Bring forth yr Ah Sunflower - Ah me Montana
Phosphorescent Rose
And bridge in
fairly land
I'd understand it all -
11.1k
#*Penning down the thoughts
Am I not done with the words
Have I used them all?
**Round and round
Thoughts and words
In the loop bound**
The thoughts have been naughty
Jump off the mind cliff, doughty
Don’t want to be worded
Flight to nowhere boarded
Off the radar crash land , all spotty*#
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
Now, what the hell has just happened to me?!,
I went to sleep and felt quite human,
Alarm goes off, opened my eyes to see,
Two mounds where my little chest should be.
My ****** armpits have just sprouted some fuzz,
There's some hair where my lady garden was,
My beautiful blonde hair is all goopy and limp,
And my face has a likeness to a spotty chimp.
When i went to bed last night, i loved my dear mother,
Now, the thought of a cuddle makes me run and take cover,
Ant lanky Jimmy Owens used to repulse me, no end,
But now all i want is to be his girlfriend?!,
I suppose i will need to start wearing a bra,
And i'll have to smile through the taunts from grandma,
And my father will watch every move that i make,
And i'll have to conform, for my sanity's sake.
Well, tonight, when i lay down my spotty wee head,
I'll lie here and wait for the morning, with dread,
All these transformations, all yuk and all grease,
O lord, will i make it through in one piece?!.
c eileen mcgreevy 2009
Nov 20, 2009
Nov 20, 2009 at 5:50 AM UTC
2 am coffee rings on my bedside table
procrastination at the expense of a letter grade
Nana's hand-stitched quilt has never felt so soft
But her funeral hit me hard
That quilt draped over her coffin
matched the color scheme
of the one she made for a little girl
who love butterflies and spring time
I remember pool side juice boxes
stuffed animals from a pretty lady
she was nice to me
her mom was mean to her
she cried at the funeral
Nana was a better mother to her than
her own ever dared to be
her sister found cigarettes
shes so thin now
I remember her lipstick
its always been red
it looks so red on her skin
the color of the ash
that falls from her stick
matching the skin of Papa
Nana's son
He sang at her funeral
He cried the whole time
Everyone cried
Not me
but I cant cry
Jade Green words
she read them
spotty reading with bad rehearsal
but I remember
her and I and him and my brother
juice boxes
quilts
that pool
its all her
and
I wish I had known her well enough
to miss her
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
Kisses up and down your body
Lay cuddle start to feel naughty
Game of footsie under sheets
Probing strobing generating heat
Take my finger direct me to the good
Sun rising like my morning wood
Juices flow feel the wet
Anticipate pounding you're about to get
In your thighs staring deep in eyes
Inhibitions fly
Everything we try
Comfort there is no fear
Nibble whisper in your ear
Lap explosion need no muzzle
Sip it slow then take a big guzzle
Pulsating pleasure fills your body
Consistent pace no longer spotty
Caressing scars with healing bars
Pen will stroke till seeing stars
Let us strum like a song that's sung
Twisted like our tangled tongues
We are honey bees
Smoking trees
Tantric trigger squeezed..
Buck my shot
Push to last drop
Contorting from ******** shock
Rub G spot get three wishes
Only need one its your Morning Kisses..
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
i dream of a soft release
a gentle letting go
of responsibility, duty, life, love
the vintage film flicks and flickers through my mind
knotty, spotty, black and white frames
me, hiding behind long strands
hair, shrouding like a confessional booth
a pale, slight hand
a glinting of metal
an intake of breath
a waterfall
a lifetime of pain
pouring
flowing
slowly fading
gently falling
ending
pain, fear, finally ending
i'd finally end
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 1:26 PM UTC
I'm a table, I'm a bench
I'm an appliance with many uses
I'm a dead girl in the front seat
of your Cadillac
Was hoping to get dicked down
by your Master Sword but
cell connection's kind of spotty
I'll clean it with my pics because I want to eat
spoiling your paradise
tie me down and school me
make me clean your mess
is this what you want?
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 5:01 AM UTC
What's that
on your collar Sutcliffe?
O’Brien said
you got some
amorous sweet girl Eddie?
Danny D said
what is it?
I can't see
Eddie said
lipstick
I said
red stuff
where where?
he said
pulling at his white
shirt collar
with the red lipstick mark
he opened his shirt collar
and pulled it downward
how'd that get there?
he asked
your cousin still
staying with you
is she Eddie?
Danny said smiling
no not her
not that bucktooth *****
Eddie said
it must have been
my mum
she insists on
kissing me
before school
can't bring herself
to kiss your spotty skin
so kisses your collar
Danny said
she must have missed
Eddie said
how do I get it off?
who with?
O’Brien said
I ask that question myself
who's the lucky girl
what you talking about?
Sutcliffe said
how do I get
the lipstick off?
God knows
Danny said
soak it salt maybe
I said
but now
how now?
Eddie said
we walked on
toward school
Eddie rubbing
at his collar
with a greying handkerchief
that's the last time
she's going to kiss me
Eddie said
the red lipstick had smeared
more like a stain
it's worse now
I said
looks like a wound
thanks
he said thanks
you did it
not me
I said
what am I going to do?
can't go to school
like this
go home and change then
O’Brien said
I can't my mum's
gone to work
he looked at us
all tearfully
it's just lipstick Sutcliffe
no one's going to care
Danny said
of course they will
he said
especially Thompson
you know what he's like
he'll have out front
for a right pasting
if he sees me
come back to my place
I said
my Mum'll put it
into soak
and you can wear
one of mine
you'll be late
Danny said
you go on
I said
we'll get a bus
we can make it
if we run
O’Brien looked at me
you're all heart Benny
all heart
so Eddie and I
ran back to my place
and he took off his shirt
which my mother
put in soak
and he wore
one of mine
and off we rushed
to school on the 78 bus
Eddie all wide eyed
and I saw Fay
going to school
with her swaying hips
and blonde hair
and all I could do
was give
a keen eyed stare.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
There was a young lady of Greenwich,
Whose garments were bordered with Spinach;
But a large spotty Calf,
Bit her shawl quite in half,
Which alarmed that young lady of Greenwich.
2.4k
Oh, no one seeks a partner with a beautiful mind.
It is all beautiful bodies and *****
A girl with no other options seems to be what I'll find,
and it really makes me sick.
I could paint a picture of serenity and love
in a vast and epic view.
I seem to have none of the above
and I want you to have mine too.
Call me bitter.
Call me jealous.
Call me what you will.
None seem to understand what I am getting at,
but hopefully soon you will.
Let me take you back a decade or so.
A young, fat, spotty faced teen
thinks one day he will sometime know
love and *** through another person instead of sticky magazines.
He wastes his time looking for another soul
for years upon years until he is no longer a boy.
His short, wide ***** finally finds a hole
and it brings him great joy.
He thought *** was great hoping to do it again,
although for a while it didn't much to his chagrin.
He caves in and spends money on ill gotten ******
sadly he he gets bored and quickly finds it to be a filthy chore.
At his wits end, suicidal and sad
wanting nothing but a woman's love,
things were looking bad
until something came out of the darkness, an angel from above.
She was young and beautiful,
he could not deny.
The good times were bountiful
and he never told a lie.
He was happy and angst free for around 8 months
but the angel was a traitor and he was a putz.
A drunken ******** with no remorse.
The end had come and run the course.
Call it sad
Call it tragic
Call it what you will
I now understand it
and I hope you do too.
Now he travels this barren sea
of bros and hos and endless stupidity
with no hope, no cares,
no *** and no love.
Wishing he could do something with another
instead of hate.
He needs a new lover.
He needs a new mate.
**** he shouts with a frog in his throat,
"Why can't I be happy while everyone gloats?"
In is defense, life isn't quite fair
to those without muscles and dye in their hair.
And now all he does is silently weep,
listen to Elliott Smith, and shout in his sleep.
Call him an emo
Call him a loser
Call him what you will.
The moral is for you to quit being arrogant and judgmental, slutty and stupid.
There are men and women out there who wish they could.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC
I'm chasing a chupacabra through Mississippi
through mud thick like chocolate milkshakes
and rain soaked boots stick to my socks to my skin
I run around trees and zag and zig to navigate
a maze of horticulture past ferns and bushes
and it stops.
We're eye to eye
like two old lovers
spotting each other
from across a beach bar
except those bloodsucker eyes
could paint the Grand Canyon red
and nosferatu fangs
still warm from goat *******
could sizzle the sun.
Cobra tail whiplash
spotty patches of hair
the ugly duckling.
I aim my pistol at the beast and pull the trigger
like a civil war hero king of champion hill
and the bullet takes off at the speed of life
it penetrates the animal and blood sprays
out of the torso like a garden hose set on mist
and I run up to the almost dead chupacabra
and it barks
softer than balsa
whimpers of a new born
puppy tears
staining red eyes
and as loud as a mouse
it says goodbye
in dog
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:03 PM UTC
Sometimes a single apple
Can ruin the whole lot.
Perfect
and shiny
and ruby-red,
crumbling into bruised wrinkles
and spotty, brown lumps.
Before long,
the bowl is brimming with the sundown of a harvest's life,
and flies begin to swarm.
And even when some are left,
bright and fresh,
newly ripe,
I won't go near them,
for fear of turning them over and finding the ugly,
mushy
evidence of their flaws.
Just like the others,
almost worse,
because they allow for an optimism,
in your hunger,
you allow the glimmer of hope
and reach for one
hesitantly.
But no,
it's just like the others,
only deceptive,
pretending to be something that can satiate your needs,
when in truth,
it's just another piece of rotting fruit.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
in a squiggly
hole
in a silly
wood
in a spock inventor
planet
in a spiffingly spotty
universe
there lived a
space alien
...his name was Bob
and he liked haloumi
...he liked observing
humans
serving haloumi
on a plate
with crackers
in their sooty restaurant
under the sparkly stars
...
one day he changed his name to Greg
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
It's 11:11 make a wish
Look out the spotty window
See all the frowns
And boring towns
See how powerful the words we use are
They can cut deep
Deeper than the most violent assault
Buildings and obelisks of befuddlement
Pressed for time
Lemon scented tiles
Scrubbed
No mold
Personal preference
Common courtesy
And common sense
Scarce but invaluable
A face only a mother could love
And a father can lie to
Coulda
Woulda
Shoulda
Didn't
Searching for carrion
Give way
To the wayside
ECNALUBMA
In the rear view
The worms eat us
The early birds catch the worms
The cat nabs the worm
After being resurrected by satisfaction
And the night owl writes the tell-all
Put the ear to glass
Put the glass to the door
And listen closely
To sound of knuckles cracking
And the chattering of coffee shop patrons
Indian givers going back on their word
Fingerless gloves
Prim and proper
Promptly pummeling
Tunneling to tomorrow
Well done
Slim to none
Fat chance
The local native's tongue
Sold fresh and farm raised
On any given day
You can find demi-gods
Playing a a pick up game
Matchbook
Matchbox
Mismatch socks
Pick up sticks and stretchmarks
Just stay the night
So we can wish this all away together
It's 11:12 open your eyes
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
Mexican food from that joint near your dads
The pooling spotty blood on my bitten lips
My mothers words
My fathers driving
Sadness is
The look she gave me when I told her what he did to me
The burn marks on my hips
Fogged up glasses
Cheap *****
Smoking a cigarette all the way down to the end
Joy is
His laugh
The way the baby hair on my arms stand up when it’s cold and I feel alive
Italian food made together
Olive jars
Macs soft ears
Dec 19, 2022
Dec 19, 2022 at 7:37 PM UTC
I'm a socially awkward person
Who comfortably pretends not to be;
My friendships are so spotty, I'd be dotty
To delude any of them not to be!
Although, its true, I have no foe,
But who would be my friend?
My silence is my shelter,
When the chaos never ends.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 1:35 AM UTC
The clueless rebel surveyed the situation.
It was a bitter chilly day.
She walked and talked unto herself.
As her being she took in hand.
An underhanded twisted year.
A year that could have been divine.
This rebel without a clue.
The weather changed.
Left in ignorance.
As last year dies,
She's knowing what she needs to do.
However, like the weather she is changeable.
Malleable and playful.
She tickles tigers.
She likes the reaction.
From at least a hundred,
unsuitable attractions.
Pretends to be a vampire,
******* souls from innocence.
While seeking unreal ideals.
Always out to impress.
In fact as the year ends.
She is no wiser than she was last year.
Memories in the dustcart.
Much beyond reprieve.
While once again another starts.
She continues sadly being deceived.
All these bright ideas of resolutions.
Conjured up from institutions.
The tears will roll at midnight.
To kick last year out.
She's the fool.
The one who seeks notice.
And hereby notice is given,
All change.
Well maybe anyway.
The spotty leopard.
Needs to find some stripes.
And maybe a backbone too!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC
Shhhhh - Titanic was Sunk by a Bilderberg
Albino rabbis, the Illuminati,
Protocols of the Elders of Zion -
The evidence seemed a little spotty
‘Til a radio guy had us wonderin’ and sighin’
Fluoridation by the New World Order
Backed by the Trilateral Commission
A scheme to open our southern border
To crop circles – that’s his suspicion
Area 51, the Templar Knights
FEMA lurking in the Bohemian Grove
Perfidious Rothschilds through menace and fright
Guarding a Jewish-Viking treasure trove
Poor Newfoundland is Occupied by ****** rats
Who scheme in secret tunnels beneath St. John’s
Brewing magic potions in Macbethian vats
In Rodentian rituals from the Age of Bronze
The Priory of Sion, runes, swastikas, the Vril
Roswell and the Thule Society
No wonder the air is darkly chill:
We all live in a conspiracy!
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
Can I just forget this year
That started off so fine
I just hope that by next year
I'll have a better time
With all the fighting on the news
In Damascan streets
Makes me wonder how we can
Reject the survivors we meet
Between Brexit and the election
We keep on splitting apart
And all of the hateful ones
Feel free to threaten our hearts
Zika rode in behind ebola
Two crisies on end
All of the panic caused by it
Hardly helps people make amends
The Olympics were pretty great
But still pretty spotty
With bacterial bays, alge filled pools
And the antics of Ryan Lochtie
The globe's heat keeps rising on
Wreaking havoc on our climate
With polar ice melting, it grates
That people don't get science
My favorite sci fi heroes died
Those people who inspired
Those who gave us so much hope
Just suddenly expired
The local subway's been a mess:
It keeps catching on fire
After three times, it just seems
That we can't fix a wire
My brain seems to be getting worse
At being normal or sane
Somedays I just want to run
And dissolve into the rain
I ended my relationship
Of over a year
And lost touch with some friends
Whom I once held so dear
School just keeps getting harder
(Not too shocking to find)
But my Girl Scout and school projects
Might just fry my mind
My mom and I are getting to
A rough patch in our ways
And hiding my intrests from my 'rents
Takes so much of my days
My social circle only gets
Harder and harder to track
And my family's stories sound like soaps
Even though we have each other's backs
So can I just forget this year
Make it all fade away
Can I just go back to sleep
And face '16 another day
So can I just forget this year
Just please make it all end
And maybe in 2017
I'll be able to start again
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
Allan keeps forgetting that his knees are sacred
There is not always solace granted from the bodies he prays to
Neck craned howls for love
Some deity’s fingers running through his hair
Allen is not good looking
And he forgets that no one ever hated a man
Who wanted good things for other people
Forgets that true beauty lies in the hands
And is seen by what they do
Your hands are beautiful
She said,
They can buy someone coffee
When it’s cold
They can make people warm
They do more than his mouth can
They speak languages
Entire languages
In the 7th grade
Christy Turtch slapped him once
For making eyes at another girl
It made his face warm with pain
His eyes wet
Allan bought her flowers
Glued googly eyes to the petals
Gave her a note
See. Only ever had eyes for you.
What Allan doesn’t know yet
Is that to get into heaven
Peter checks knees for scars
Checks hands for beauty
Checks eyes for everything else
Allan’s knees look like the moon
From the ways that he prays
Spotty gravel craters
Dimpled with the fear of
Maybe I won’t feel so lonely this time
His hands can hold someone’s head
His own head
Can make someone fall asleep with them
Can hold them so tight
It keeps them from leaving
Allan keeps forgetting
He pushes against the ground to stand
Brushes himself off
Wipes his eyes
And smiles
He forgets
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 1:30 PM UTC
@!@!@
When you
feel your mind
Leave your body
All you have left is your soul.
@!@!@
11 years of schooling went from me
Along with puberty, those spotty years
And all the young women
I loved during those tears.
@!@!@
And
yes
all
you
ever had
was
your
body
and your
SOUL.
@!@!@
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
How I love the smell of your *****
As you straddle my eager open mouth
My tongue licks at your mighty ****
As your canines brush my engorged ****
How I love the taste of your throbbing ****
O the feel of your spotty **** in my hands!
How my tonsils risk a ****** good bruising!
And lo! my ***** get stuck between your teeth!
Then your ***** gushes down my hungry cake-hole
And my salty ***** juices run down your fat chin -
But the best bit so far, is if we skilfully manage
To let fly two foetid mutual simultaneous farts.
But now, folks, we get to the really good bit
The bit which we have both been waiting for:
Out come our joint warm streams of diarrheoa
Drenching our excited faces in noisome filth.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
Our beginning is totally cliche and overused
High school acquaintances, both moved to start a career
A friend request you sent, by my bubbly nature I accepted
Conversing you persuaded me into tossing out my digits
Completely engulfed, a strong friendship we made
Life struggles, we conquered in the first week of dating
Fast pace, we were cruising and agreed, "hey let's get married"
Two weeks it took to say I do
Life smacks us hard, we never miss our groove
Babies, babies, changing your direction
Glance into your heart, how profound it is to be parenting
You were not ready to be a daddy
Your ego grew and I always forgave you
Young, drunk and dumb was your history
Separated and unplanned, awaken you became
You still wanted control and I said here take chunks of my energy
Now frazzled and drained, I am on the brink of leaving
Blurred, I only see spotty portraits of that white cake
The sweet taste smudged against my face and the way you licked your lips
Time loves to cause a stampede with memories
Brush the hair from my eyes, I feel the hail falling as I cry
Is this what "and they lived happily ever after" means
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC