"squealed" poems
*The time had come for two hearts to go their own way.
It wasn’t sad; it wasn’t angry; just profoundly honest;*
In the whirlwind of young life
Their love sudden
He blew her away
She caught his breath
The lust explosive
Captivated by each others touch
Living the dream
Fancy London apartment
Chanel and Bottega Veneta
Cap D Antibes
Woke to keys of an MG
Squealed with delighted
***** and Wine
Yet in the depth of this life
Fighting to be free
To own their souls
Losing sight of love
The power of another life
Kept them chained
In the birth of her breath
It came to an end
*The legacy off their passion
A sparkling spirit
In the shadow of that spirit
Never to know
The geniuses of
Her soul
No captured memories
His dying voice
Silent to her life*
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
*She was way too tough for me.
no it's more I was not hard enough for her.
The old ***** brick houses
of Englands industrial north
caught between industrial revolution
and social unrest .
I was just a youth back then.
The big war fading from memory.
I stopped at my friend's back yard
it was a hot summer back then.
His souped up bike was gleaming
like a prize racehorse.
She pulled a flask of *****
and took a long pull
her bright red hair
like glowing coal
her eyes as black as darkness
she was hard pretty.
Her mini skirt flashing
her shaply legs.
a stray dog big and hard
just like her.
jumped up and licked her face.
she Laughed
they were like two
kindred spirits
like sisters by nature
wild and drifting and free.
She had *** with me
the first time I met her
and told me I was not
rough enough for her.
I just was a bit scared
of telling her
I wanted out of it.
The kick-started bike roared
like the steel lion it was.
She squealed in delight.
then the stray dog peed
on the concrete.
she lifted her skirts
like the hard ***** she was
and peed next to it.
she jumped on the back
of his bike and they
went off at full speed.
To test his bike out
at the racetrack.
I hear they shacked up together.
and we're very happy.
I dated a nerdy young woman
quiet and conservative
who became a librarian.
We got married
four years later.
had two kids
and a housetrained dog.
She never once told me
I was not rough enough in bed.*
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
tattooed girl
hello kitty
in need of a purge
she **** first
in the whip me
with a wet noodle
pain Olympics
her fruit launcher
like a summer papaya
***** gush
kissey squirts
candy crush
all gobbledygoo
and lickyfu
ooow she swayed
to the whip back crack
her torso bent
heaven sent
dipped in hot ***
and laughing lady sauce
she squealed
for
bok choy
eel ****
and slippy toy
**** buttered waffles
and gummy worms
lime and cherry *****
with candy sperms
you can find her
in the bend over den
eating puffer fish
so very Zen
toes gooey wet
spread on a cot
oh so high
**** and squat
******* baby
tied in a knot
**** bobba bubble
and chrysanthemum tea
nut scented black beer
and milk pearl ***
its the end of the line
ready to dine
get the gag
flex the spine
face to the ground
feet to the sky
held like a dove
***** splash cry
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
"Look!" she said,
Proudly holding
A tiny painted doll;
"I can make it dance!",
She squealed,
Excitement in her voice;
I watched, bewitched,
As the doll danced
And twitched;
Grinning like an idiot,
I joined the dance,
Arms flailing madly;
"Now watch!" she gasped,
Taking a darning needle,
Stabbing repeatedly;
"Urghh!", I laughed,
Bending over,
Feigning pain;
The doll moved faster,
Limbs blurring,
As she made it dance;
"I can't keep up!"
I laughed so hard,
Feeling sharp pain in my side;
I tried to stop dancing,
But my aching limbs
Kept on flailing madly;
She held my gaze,
Her eyes laughing
With manic intensity;
With a final ******
She pushed the needle
Straight through the heart,
The doll slipped from her grasp,
Tumbling to lay beside
My still twitching body;
The last thing I ever saw,
Her reaching into a silken bag
And picking up another doll.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
He rubbed his weary eyes...
What trickery could this be?
Was it a signboard draped in disguise
Or the reflection of light off a tree?
Seconds ticked as he drew closer.
The lady materialised to rule out prior suspicions.
His fingers wrestled over the rusty brake lever,
Wheels squealed their futile objections.
The lady wore a face he could barely see...
She had long tresses that bore an alluring fragrance.
Her beauty tipped the scales allowing him bravery,
Unafraid he asked, "Miss, may I be of assistance?"
Her voice seemed to ride the subtle night breeze,
Coating his ears like sugar laden candy.
Soft and demure... Yet laced with a hint of tease,
She had said, "I'm stranded in the dark as you can see..."
"What luck!", he thought, seizing the opportunity
He removed his sack to make space for her.
His heart raced being in the damsel's good company,
The lady slid herself onto the rack before they both rode together.
As he pedalled hard, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
Her voice came again, a tender little whisper,
*"I live rather close... Not far off from here...
A little over the hill... Just over yonder..."*
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 5:59 AM UTC
Just like Orpheus,
I descended.
Though,
my digression was
for different
reasons.
Yeah, I tried to
rescue you from
your hell.
Bring you out of
the degradation,
the debauchery.
It smelled like
***** and ****
The swine squealed.
The harpies shrieked.
And,
I looked
too long.
I became you.
Thank God I escaped.
Fate dragged me
out by the scruff
of my neck.
I will never
visit your
underworld
again.
You've made it
your home.
Mar 25, 2023
Mar 25, 2023 at 2:00 PM UTC
we met one night
hearts of fire
kisses sweet
passions dire
out came rope
and string we found
white gauze wrapping
honey ***** bound
kisses hot
mouths like butter
i tied her hard
her eyes did flutter
ankles to arms
head to feet
she started to sweat
her joints did meet
stressed and pink
i love her so
she looked up
and started to glow
oh you mean man
she said you brute
hurt me baby
am i not cute
i slapped her hard
on the face and the ***
bit her feet
she quaked and gasped
i used her mouth
oh she ****** and ******
and licked with lust
and then got ******
i love her ***
it was really fun
we loved and cumed
i am her sun
kisses torrid
i ate her like pie
for her love
i would gladly die
i tied her and bended
she arched and she folded
crushed her to pieces
and then re-moulded
she cried and begged
oh i adore
and hollered and squealed
give me some more
all in a swirl
eyes crossed and diffused
bent out of shape
and begged to be used
love turned to passion
and passion to madness
i did terrible things
she kissed me with gladness
we consumed each other
let out all that we feel
couldn't help our selves
and thats how we heal
out came rope
and string we found
white gauze wrapping
honey ***** bound
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 9:20 AM UTC
#*The little squirrel enjoyed its nutty meal
Happy it squealed
The preying bird perched high in the tree
Happy, enjoyed its meal
As the squirrel squealed its last
While the little squirrel lived its nutty fruity dream*#
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 8:14 AM UTC
*Sighting her image in truth's
mirror with anger she squealed.
Scratched her woolly hair
and ripped off her brown veil.
Broke everything in her way
and shamelessly walked bare.
But I had immense respect for
women, I give heed, I do care.
I went to market and brought a
bread while continued the unrest.
I gave her the bread so that along
with it her anger she could digest.*
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
She let the tape go—
on record
one evening for an ordinary hour
Five years later, we play it back
for laughs after dinner—then as now
“Remember how the stove door screeched
at the house on Olive Street?”
And our voices!
Phoeb’s, lighter–tired
wrapping the nine’s tables in elastic yawns
like flash cards in a rubber band
“Phoeb, your pitch changed so—
while I turned...”
to run water in the tub
lamenting the **** of Two
in frenetic escape of hands
Unruly!
Running rebel taunts in Time’s strict face
who would not dare disturb her dawns
only mine—
Roused by the first round of another day’s
ring of twelve
digits that insist
like uniform with apron waiting
on ironing board that’s never folded
Now the **** of Two cries out
Exultant!
of success in *****
Then, Oratorio for Soap!
The splashy version
with endless bubblings of “Rocky Baby!”
and obbligato of “Where’s Shampoo?”
in jubilant glissadal plunge
an octave through vocal whoops!
…I had not thought
she hardly talked
but sang and squealed or whined in tunes
Her voice lay open to her soul
a roost of piercing humming birds
small of words
but filled with sweet and want
incessant wings and things to say....
How could we have forgotten?
“Are these your boots?
Your clothes laid out?”
From sound and talk, we still can hear
frost phantoms
in winter window rattles—then as now
And Phoebe remarks how one voice
didn’t change though—
“Still talking to herself”
We laugh
and let the tape go....
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 12:31 AM UTC
"Surreal skeptic, cynical cryptic! Licentious lecheries fabulist façade fantasias. Wild eyed spectral serene. Dream of catenary concoctions, ethereal salacious conjugation, bridge the gap in metaphysical mystique. Erotica erectile errantry’s exserted protuberance is a kinesiology kleptomaniac with his embark embargo extraditions and his eventuation evocative execrations, a positive amalgamated anathema android of a terminus thrall. The shadow in the shade of the silhouette sojourn. The bailiff’s rakeness rails incarnate, unicorn railway nails and all. He will paint mirador bartizan panorama tableaus all over your proximity parameter perimeter peripherals. Force the enmity to acquiesce into impunity.” “Why this is not but an ogling ogre of an oligarchy omelet” she shrieked as he continued to tickle her. “Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugueness,” he said. “Positive orchestration renditions of transpositional interlude.” “Come here,” she said “let my clambering clamorous clangor write you a wield wile treatise expose’.” “The legions of Chinga da are battling the hoards of Gunga din saying ‘kinetic supremacy temporize tractive fluent’ , it’s sheer genocide. That plasty goop nosed Gumby ****** Gunga doesn’t stand a chance. Coax cacophony clout, catatonic phonics, grizzly grotto grouches all”, She squealed. “Now you’re gumption dreaming”, he chimed. “Chutzpah panache spontaneous generation complicity, gambit alluvium aloof succor.”
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
I believed I was an immortal
Until you began opening portals
To the future and the past
To the needle and the flask
Portals that warp my mind
Like space and time
Until I dematerialize
From the appearance of lies
This portal I must climb back through
When all the lies have become true
Like when they said portals couldn't be climbed
For there are no ledges
Only pledges
Of a hatred death wish
That leaves me breathless
The portals had to be sealed
You became my quantum mechanic
The tires of the DeLorean squealed
As we abandoned my stationary driveway
And started rectifying my past
By driving forward
The portals' gravitational pull was lifted
And I could walk again
A pedestrian in paradise
Until you teleport into the rain
And I teleport into my brain
Becoming a prisoner
To thoughts that travel at the speed of light
And create a beautiful spectrum in the mirror you presented to me
I fear the day you shatter our light barrier
You'll see you're more mature
And fly away like a jet that's harrier
Because once you can see my thoughts
You'll sell all the stock you bought
You'll see I'm merely mortal
And you'll open new portals
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC
I miss your sun and all its warmth as it gave me hugs when I stepped outside
The way you took the clouds and held them in your big blue space
You let me feel the green grass grow beneath my feet
Can we just lay here a while, in complete simplicity?
Rain or shine, I enjoy the whispers you sent me through the wind
Now the ice is melting, like sprinkling rain upon my head
Lately I’ve been dreaming of how your embers used to shine
Of how you took care of me in times of need and in times of goodness
Bring me back to the times where I could just close my eyes in the outdoors
And fall in love with you again
I can’t wait for your birds to sing to me their sweet melodies
I want nothing but your open air and open water
Just let me take it all in again, bring back your long lost friend
The trees are bare but I remember when you had them surrounded by leaves of green
Oh and all the creatures you sent out, especially the ones at night
How they clattered and squealed, I could watch them from my window
You would bring me out on lonely nights and distract me with your beauty
I miss your beauty, the way every single thing captured my eye
I can’t wait to gaze up at your sky without any worry in the world
Bring back the colors you loved to blend, the same ones I fell in awe to
Let me travel your rivers and streams again, barefoot, the only way to feel
I want to get ***** in your mud again, creating pictures with my limbs
Bring me to an open field, just so I can run, and fall into you, and laugh, and smile.
Just come back, bring it all back and give me something to enjoy again.
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 11:50 PM UTC
poems are like the seasons,
constantly changing yet always beautiful in their own way--
ironic, tragic, sadistic, blasphemous.
i can smell the sweet scent of the crescent moon
as it's cold white rays dance across my eyes,
around my head, in one ear and out the other
so quickly that a whistling whisper reverberates inside my dome,
yet unknown to me was the feeling of fleeing--
running away to a land of John and Jane Doe's,
nobodies to me, though somebodies to themselves, I suppose.
here we would sit, regressing our last lines,
of crescent moons, yet now the sun shines.
how can it be?
such a social tragedy, to escape and relate
life as it was to the life chosen to take.
no more "dudes", "dawgs", crude words or flaws--
just life as we know it, no need for applause.
the dying days of life astray have taught us and led us on our way
to the tundra of thunder, it crashes down and haunts us,
once cold, no light, now steaming and much too bright.
go ahead, raise me to the Heavens,
i dread the day my angels no longer beckon,
"His path is now set, we can intervene no longer."
demons will rise in rupturing riptides
as Hell freezes over, yet flames override.
Carpe Diem, Carpe Nox,
i've seized the seasons squealed the silver fox.
the crescent moon looked down that day,
upon us all, upon the choices we made.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 1:53 PM UTC
On a spring day, Emelia soared through the field, like a baby robin learning to fly, running in diagonals with her hands brushing against every shrub and leaf she saw.
Mud drenched pink overalls
and a bright blonde bowl cut.
She ran like a bumble bee on a mission
to pick the freshest, prettiest flower.
Stepping over bugs and playing tag with chipmunks,
she giggled uncontrollably and was a friend to all that walked nature's green carpet, tripping over wild, wispy grasses.
She looks up with innocent eyes, beaming like two sunflowers,
"We have to share," she announced to the big tree
that resembled Grandmother Willow.
She had just seen Pocahontas for the first time
and wanted nothing more than to become a color of the wind.
The wind blew the leaves in a nodding fashion,
showing agreeance to the young sprites statement.
She whipped and whirled her arms toward the sun
as it danced on her skin through the branches of her friends.
"I want to do this forever," she squealed.
So, she did.
20 years later, the girl grew
But with a dimmer light
Weaker legs
And a hole in her chest.
On a cold night, Emelia staggered through the barren field, fueled by a magic dust that made her feel like a crashing plane
Running in diagonals with her hands
Brushing against her watery eyes, keeping them from flooding.
Mud drenched ripped jeans
and a long, shaggy haircut mirroring the bark on the trees.
She ran like she was being chased by a vicious monster
trying to find the safest space for her to vent after feeling her brain bleed from her nose and heart deflate in its cage.
Stumbling over broken bottles and playing tag with her inner demons, she was a slave to all that walked nature's casket, tripping over roots and graves, smashing against a tree.
She looks up with innocent eyes, welling with painful tears,
"We have to share," she whispered to the big tree
that resembled Grandmother Willow.
She felt an unbearable pain that no one should live with and wanted nothing more than to be numb.
The wind stopped in it tracks, the leaves stagnant on their branches, showing heart wrenching dismay to the old skeleton's statement.
She sobbed and heaved with her arms wrapped tight to her torso
as her skin danced with her shuttering bones and tightening muscles.
"I don't want to do this forever," she helplessly breathed.
But, she did.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 12:39 PM UTC
The pot-bellied Mercedes squealed
As Meursault withdrew and
Marvelled at the flames
Licking
The air
Like marigolds on Ritilin.
'Raymond would have no reason not to admire this act.'
He stopped by a shimmering sea of Ubers.
The scrape and drawl of siren made no impression on him.
Leaking smoke reminded him of
Snow White’s Cottage
Where he had taken Marie when Lucie was born:
The place where he would go out at dawn to chop wood.
He liked the way her roses played
With the restlessness of children.
Then he thought: 'if only mother could see me now.'
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 6:57 AM UTC
Born in a spiders web
So silky and neat
Spreading over her crown
To her tiny, pink feet
A family of spiders
Scuttled and stalked
Weaving their way
Through dust and chalk
As the baby grew
The web threatened to break
But they repaired and spun
Around her like snakes
She was different to them
So innocent and pure
They tried to trap her spirit
With lies, secrets and lures
The child, now a teen
Succumb to their ways
Her truth unspoken
The web's now a maze
She knew no love
No heart or care
Just lies and jealousy
A world of traps and snares
Through the tunnel she shuffled
In front of her stood
A girl just like her
Someone she understood
This girl smiled and unwrapped her
From many years of web
From her bare, mucky feet
To the top of her head
What freedom she felt!
She smiled and laughed
It echoed in bright lights
Through the tunnels and shafts
The spiders squealed in the light
Angry and eight eyes blind
They could no longer contain her
No longer bind
The girls escaped together
Hands held and then she knew
This was all I ever needed
Love from me to you
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 4:35 PM UTC
The giant fin whale swam along with the tide
A nineteen-foot calf was swimming by her side
They were swimming away from her mate’s now dead shell
Trapped in a lagoon and then all shot to hell.
She’ll raise her young calf on her own from now on
Not mating again as they only take one
Her mate had followed a herring shoal in with the tide
And for a short while there were those who had tried
To help him turn and head back to sea
But the cruelty of nature would not let it be
At eighty feet long and a shallow cliff lea
It could not turn around to escape and be free.
And then a vile streak in the locals took hold
A most wicked shooting match began to unfold
The most handsome of whales was trapped and revealed
As shooters took aim and young children squealed.
They fired and they fired and they fired and they fired
Stopping only to reload and then when they got tired
They even drove speedboats across his shot back
Leaving deep deep prop cuts as a further attack.
And when they were done and the whale was no more
His body burst open and in death he’d now score
For the stench of his now rancid corpse was so rotten
This beautiful creature wasn’t easily forgotten.
There was a man who tried hard to get him free
But one man alone is as a wood with one tree
And by the time he had got national press all aware
The whale was now dead, so bored, they’d not now care.
©Joe Wilson – A Whale shouldn’t die like that 2014
Many years ago I was enthralled by the work of Farley Mowat the renowned Canadian environmentalist who died last month. From reading his book, based on real events ‘A Whale for the Killing’ published in 1972, I took to studying whales as a hobby and I quickly realised just what a perfect creature the Fin Whale is. It is the only whale that is match coloured along both sides giving it the same symmetrical beauty as a dolphin and is the second largest creature to live, the Blue Whale being the only creature bigger. It is so amazing it can lift its entire body out of the water. Why on earth would you fire thousands of rounds of ammunition into a creature so beautiful? Why?
This is a small tribute to the memory of Farley Mowat (May 12, 1921 – May 6, 2014) and to people like him who try so hard, such as the Sea Shepherds who try to stop the massacre of bottle-nose dolphins each year in Taiji, Japan ostensibly for food, even though most Japanese people shun the whale-meat.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
I woke up very early this morning, restless and bothered, itchy for the day to happen. As dawn broke orange, the city was revealed. I’ll never get tired of watching that. The snow was gone but a gloss over the city streets indicated ice. I scanned the landscape for movement - for life - like a predator.
Lisa and I are headed back to school today, at 11am, by air, which our parents feel is the best way to avoid our old, holiday nemesis omicron (doesn’t that make us sound like secret agents?).
Once everyone was finally up, Lisa and I got our busy-on, doing the last load of laundry and final packing. Lisa, packs a suitcase, by throwing clothes in without bothering to fold them, while I meticulously fold and roll my clothes, like a marine headed for deployment.
As Lisa and I worked, Leeza (12) was lying on Lisa’s bed, on her back with her head hanging over the edge - watching us pack upside down. Her red hair looked like a thrown plate of spaghetti.
Leeza was talk, talk, talking and gnawing on a toasted bagel at the same time. “How do you feel about going back to school?” she asked us. “OH, feelings!” I gasped, “A free therapy session!” “No, really,” she said, grown serious and rolling right side up.
Leeza is cute as a button and vulnerable - I could almost feel her anxiety. As the youngest sibling I’d been left behind too - you don’t want the holiday to end and your big sister to leave - it’s a singularly lonesome feeling. I wanted to grab her, like a puppy, wrestle her and tell her I love her and I’d miss her - like my sister used to do with me. I decided that as soon as we were done packing, I would.
“My GOD,” Lisa said to Leeza, “will you PLEASE shut up! I have to think.” Leeza blushed and shrugged “I’m just making conversation, grump-face, you’ve packed a million times before haven’t you?” “Does counting to 10 make ****** premeditated?” Lisa asked the ceiling.
Suddenly, Lisa dropped the blouse she’d been holding and pounced on Leeza, tickling her as she squealed with delight. In a second they’d become a ball of flailing arms, legs, hair and playful noise. I slunk out of the room to give them their sister’s goodbye.
Besides, I smelled bacon.
Jan 14, 2022
Jan 14, 2022 at 9:19 AM UTC
The others never got to Jane
quite like tequila had.
While sober one might think her plain,
Jose turned good girl, bad.
In a haze of salt and lime she
thought herself a hero.
A partying vigilante,
but powers? She had zero.
That never stopped Jane in her tracks.
She thought herself quite brave.
Jane’s friends disagreed with these facts,
and wished she would behave.
On the night before prom they drank,
Each kid grabbing a brew.
Jane grabbed her bottle with a “thanks”
and drank the whole night through.
The tequila was pumping through
her veins and Jane felt strong,
as she did a slurred rendition
of her favorite song.
Though the words were a bit muddied
and she was quite off key
the group all sang along with her,
the crowd howling with glee.
“I’m strong!” They stared. “And you know it!”
The drunken hero rose.
One boy yelled, “She’ll fall and eat ****
They watched, all on their toes.
“She’ll try and fly again.” one said.
Tequila Jane was nuts.
“Last time she slipped, and fell and bled!”
***** made Jane a klutz.
“Get down from there!” her friend growled,
grabbing her by the hand.
“Back off man! Total party foul!”
Jane squealed, trying to stand.
But the liquor was too much, those
the shots had made her woozy.
Jane passed out, thus the story goes,
of our favorite ******
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
***“We're all mad here.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland***
Go ask Alice
about the adventure,
how she fell from grace
into that ungodly space
amongst mad people
places that go meow in the night
yesterday, she was a different kind of gal
believing in the impossible before breakfast
out of touch with smoking caterpillars
she left the rabbit hole
with new frightful insight
it hardly matters which way you go
it's always a huge puzzle
It was no secret she was entirely bonkers,
whence the queen squealed off with her head
Mad Hatter served tea
with uncommon nonsense
whilst chasing dust bunny shrooms
chatting backwards,
then asked curiouser & curiouser
'why is a raven like a writing desk'?
They all jammed yesterday and today,
into clouds, sand & sea, so that
eventually, logic and proportion of the Red Queen,
only made eccentric sense to the dormouse
feeding your head...
&
uncle Walt getting richer on the hookah smokin'
blonde ***** pill popper,
~too bad the moral of the story is frozen for posterity...
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC