"ssh" poems
a play date for us
Your serious eyes
i know You just
want this prize
trying to find a way
to make me play?
suckin' on my neck
while i try to deflect
rubbin' on my belly
tryin' to get me ready
hot lips on my shoulder
yea..
making me bolder
damn..Your hands on my collar
hot breath on my ear
i need to holler
You Ssh... nothing to fear
using all Your senses
those commands You speak
to break my defenses
oh ****
i'm so **** weak
and..delicious thoughts
i'm having about You
about rope, around me
one, two maybe three?
lets do a scene
You can tie me high
beautiful knots down low
squeezing my pie
i think You know
We have a code
You know the rule
i bring the fire
You own the fuel
Your voice makes me melt
and whats that scent?
is that your finger i just felt?
please...WTF? i just heard
my ***** what?
take me...
**** the safe word!
ive loss all control
i should explain
a play date with You
is delicious pain
Summer
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
I was walking through the grey rainy streets, another melancholic day.
Proud English flags hung up in the windows of council houses.
What are we so proud of anyway?
A country run on ignorance and blaming the minority, the government wonders why we have a problem with authority?
So we will focus on the youth that are disengaged and abstaining from voting. Don't mention those who are hungry, unemployed and hurting.
Ssh, if we keep it quiet then maybe nobody will notice.
Close your eyes while the darkness approaches.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
"But, sir," I said, "they tell me the man is like to die!" The Canon shook his head indulgently. "Young blood, Cousin," he boomed. "Young blood! Youth will be served!"
-- D'Hermonville's Fabliaux.
He woke up with a sick taste in his mouth
And lay there heavily, while dancing motes
Whirled through his brain in endless, rippling streams,
And a grey mist weighed down upon his eyes
So that they could not open fully. Yet
After some time his blurred mind stumbled back
To its last ragged memory -- a room;
Air foul with wine; a shouting, reeling crowd
Of friends who dragged him, dazed and blind with drink
Out to the street; a crazy rout of cabs;
The steady mutter of his neighbor's voice,
Mumbling out dull obscenity by rote;
And then . . . well, they had brought him home it seemed,
Since he awoke in bed -- oh, **** the business!
He had not wanted it -- the silly jokes,
"One last, great night of freedom ere you're married!"
"You'll get no fun then!" "H-ssh, don't tell that story!
He'll have a wife soon!" -- God! the sitting down
To drink till you were sodden! . . .
Like great light
She came into his thoughts. That was the worst.
To wallow in the mud like this because
His friends were fools. . . . He was not fit to touch,
To see, oh far, far off, that silver place
Where God stood manifest to man in her. . . .
Fouling himself. . . . One thing he brought to her,
At least. He had been clean; had taken it
A kind of point of honor from the first . . .
Others might do it . . . but he didn't care
For those things. . . .
Suddenly his vision cleared.
And something seemed to grow within his mind. . . .
Something was wrong -- the color of the wall --
The queer shape of the bedposts -- everything
Was changed, somehow . . . his room. Was this his room?
. . . He turned his head -- and saw beside him there
The sagging body's slope, the paint-smeared face,
And the loose, open mouth, lax and awry,
The ******* the bleached and brittle hair . . . these things.
. . . As if all Hell were crushed to one bright line
Of lightning for a moment. Then he sank,
Prone beneath an intolerable weight.
And bitter loathing crept up all his limbs.
1.7k
I recall, until my head pounds,
by the tides I shall be led,
the landscape of your body
in the ocean of our bed.
Among terraforming bedclothes,
old fires leapt anew,
my scent was freshly salted
by the minerals of you.
Blood catches pace and thunders
this sea is not so kind,
the ancient powers rise to claim
all the helpless they can find.
Headlong unto the harden'd shore
by joyous, raging speed
carried into ecstasy
my nose begins to bleed.
Small roses bloom upon you
as you wipe the scarlet spots.
So I will lie here, shipwrecked,
'til the pounding stops.
I cannot see another spit
of coast or island land
from the vantage point of head tipped back
ceiling sky and pinching hand.
The creaking timbers echo
with the lifting of your chest,
"ssh, don't move, it's stopping"
so I close my eyes, and rest.
Awakened from a slumber
without dreams or care,
I find a lonely rosebud
dried within my hair.
Your eyes contain the oceans,
shifting immortality
your fingers are still bloodstained
salt and blood, that's you and me.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
I wore my frilly frock,embellished with stones bright
Tying my hair into a pigtail
I came out of my room like a strong gale
'Father!' I called out loud,
Again and again with a merry voice
I lacked patience and many other virtues
But all of it was unseen
For that day was my birthday
Mother came rushing to me
Held me against her *****
In a creaking voice she said to me..
'Ssh,my child.
He is out
He is out to make our country proud'.
I was 11, a child lost in her own dreams
of colors, dolls and things pretty
Never did I understand my mother's message
For I was a child void of the world of war
of blood and death.
The radio played,
My mother cried.
'What is happening?'
I thought.
The surroundings sulked in gloom
I shook my mother's arm
Tears gushing down her face,she looked at me
'General Smith , died a martyr..'
The radio played
'..served his country till his last breath'
it went on playing.
My world of pretty things bright
was no more bright
For the pall of darkness battled and won over all things nice.
Everything echoed in my ears
My father's name was being played over and over again.
They were singing praises of my father
'He was out to make our country proud' they said.
He finally came
Draped in a white sheet
He was there,sleeping.
Many faces unknown crowded my home
Cried they on the occasion of my birthday.
I went up to him and cried
'Wake up Father, its my Birthday.'
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
For he lay there silent,eyes closed.
'Oh' I muttered
and ran down the hallway
Shutting the doors behind me
I buried myself on the pillow
Praying to God for everything to be a nightmare
I wished for nothing but to fall asleep forever.
My world of pretty things bright
was no more bright
For the pall of darkness battled and won over all things nice.
I was 11 and innocent.
A stranger to the world of war,blood and death.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
In a room full of his art,
He stood as strangers admired.
There was only one subject -
The one woman on his mind.
He'd stopped time to draw her,
Living in that one second for hours or days.
He'd done it so many times
He filled the gallery with paintings of her face.
Iridescent eyes in black and white,
Blonde hair filling the canvas.
He'd seen her from every angle
And what a beautiful sight she was.
Then she was walking through the door,
Moving like air in her red dress.
She exuded the beauty and grace
That his artwork couldn't quite express.
If ever a person came out of a painting,
She was not the one.
No amount of talent and brushwork
Could captivate him like she'd done.
And his eyes did not stray now
As she bridged the space between them.
This meant he had a chance
To try and make things right again.
But he need not have apologized.
She sshed and told him, "It's okay.
This tells me so much more
Than you could ever say."
His paintings of her and only her
Were wherever they landed their eyes,
Save the window where she looked
And said, "It's snowing outside."
"Do you trust me?" he implored.
Curious, she asked, "Why?"
He said, "I need to show you something."
Then he made her close her eyes.
She trusted him - and then froze.
For he'd once again stopped time.
But then he let her into his secret world
And she couldn't believe her eyes.
Everyone they could see was still.
Even the snow floated in midair.
Everything was stopped in that second
And they were the only ones there.
They ran out in the not-falling snow,
Creating outlines with held hands.
He kissed her then, the snow like stars
And they'll decide when that second will end.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
Målet er at ramme flaskebunden.
Derefter sættes samme mål.
REPEAT REPEAT REPEAT
(Det er blevet normens faste procedure)
Målet er at være stilikonet. Tiltrække gade fotograferne. Genvejen til de fem minutters berømmelse.
KNIPS KNIPS KNIPS
(Det hele er blevet en farverolade)
Målet er at pisse byen gul. Urban gødning er vel det rette ord når køen til de røde bokse er for lang.
SSH SSH SSH
(Kan ikke længere se forskel på øl tis vand)
Målet er at score. Så mange singler samlet med håbløse forventninger.
SUT MIG SUT MIG SUT MIG
( Det er det nærmeste de kan komme kærlighed)
Målet er at have en fest. Sild i tønder til hjernedøde beats.
BASS DROP BASS DROP BASS DROP
(Når de gode endelig kommer til lukkes festen af de euforiseredes konsekvenser)
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
he was a tambourine
_cling-cling-cling_
competing with the guitar,
_strrr...uuummm..._
bass,
_puuu-waaa...ssh!_
and drums
_BO...o...Om!_
In the orchestra
he was the conductor's baton
_swish-swish-swish_
drowned out by the oboe
_BRRR...Rooo..._
cello
_teener-neener-teen_
violin
_Neee-nah-neee...nahnahnah-nee..._
When he went solo
he was a harp
_bling-bling-bling-bling..._
graceful, delicate
_tling-ling-ring-bling..._
his strings plucked
_pling-pling-pling-pling_
by angels
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
dew drops and sprinkler smells flood the streets, and us here, in your backyard, naked together and hidden from view, laughing and trying hard not to, keep it down, ssh, ssh, be quiet, do you want them to find us? no, god, no. if they found us touching each other like this, wet against the morning grass… it’s okay, that lawnmower is louder than us, they won’t find us. my head dizzy with your mum’s roses and daffodils and gardenias and tulips and chrysanthemums and the odd sunflower or too, lost in all that colour, dizzy with being so close, so intimate like this, and even though we’re in all this colour, all i want to see is the translucent touch of your pale skin on mine.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
Sssssh!
Ssh..
Movements will stand still.
Silence will shout,
God am stainless still,
A minute of silence, Holy Spirit is hunting souls stainless.
Death celebrates birthday the moment sin are committed like suicide,
Don’t wish to see tomorrow, ‘cause tomorrow is so painful,
Tomorrow joy will get married to sorrow,Blessing will be overpowered, bravery will be coward,
Tomorrow joy will get married to sorrow,
and Adam will ignore Eve to get married to serpent,
Tomorrow Human will be Evil servants,
Tomorrow Abel and Cain will have illicit *** and give birth to Avatars
.................... ..................... ........................
.................... ..................... .......................
................... ...................... ........................
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 5:01 AM UTC
There was a boy in a cave
Fearful that he wouldn't be saved
He would never know if he would be missed
Never know a tender kiss
He had followed two boys underground
"ssh" they said not a sound
Then they pushed him to the ground, tied his hands, tightly bound
Ran away and left him there, they were not nice they didn't care
The game they played was Hide and Seek, the boy in the cave was mild and meek
The boy was there for what seemed like days then suddenly, was he dreaming a sunny haze, or had he ended his young days alone in the cave, unable to be saved.
A ray of light beamed upon the floor
Shone bright upon an exit door
The boy began to hatch a plan but first he needed to break free his hands
He found a rock and set about setting himself free
The boy became ecstatic hoping to be home for tea
It took a while but the binds did break, he shuffled to the door
Grabbed the handle, opened wide and ran outside
What greeted him was a lovely surprise, he couldn't believe his eyes
He had not expected to be missed but clearly through the rising mist he could see his family with tears in their eyes, giving thanks to the heavenly skies
The horrible boys well they went on to grow up mean and bad
They lived a life of loneliness and were very sad
One day, the three did meet, the Cave boy now a man, walked right up and shook them by the hand
"Thank you" he said "what you did turned my life around, i now have a family and a home built underground" .
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 4:16 AM UTC
When my victim wakes up in the morning, I am by his side,
he know me all too well so I have no reason to hide.
I smile sinisterly at him and tell him he is weak,
lazy, disgusting and convince him that his future is bleak.
I shriek that he's not trying hard enough;
and I make him feel worthless and rough.
I constantly whisper that he is broken and beyond fixing,
"you are undeserving of love" I can't help but keep hissing.
My lies destroy him beyond compare,
and to my delight he is full of despair.
I crush his world into infinite emptiness - I know it's uncalled for -
then give him a plan and say "ssh baby, nothing matters anymore".
I slowly cut off his friends and family so they cannot save his life,
and soon enough I make him go to the kitchen to pick up a kitchen knife.
I convince him suicide is the only way out of this mess,
and cutting vein by vein he takes his life after a long while of distress.
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
Jesus approached Santa the other day. "Yo Santa! What's the big idea?"
quipped Jesus. "Huh?" mumbled Santa. "You heard me, you fat bstrd!"
Jesus declared vociferously. "Hey, watch who you're calling bstrd." Santa replied. "Well then fess up." Jesus demanded. "Jesus, I swear to Christ, I really don't know what the f*ck you are talking about." replied Santa. "You know exactly what I am talking about Claus and don't try to deny it." snapped Jesus. "What did I do?" asked Santa. "You're giving away gifts on MY birthday. What's the big Idea?" resnapped Jesus. "Th-Th-the children." was all that Santa was able to mutter. "Give them gifts on THEIR birthday, sshl*." endeth Jesus.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
Heartbeat moving away
Pounding fast like a mayday signal the stereotype of love..
Show me how to fight this..
The mirror of the enchanted
Our fairytale dreams like 'happy ever after'....
Love intertwined with souls
Spirits dance in silence like 'ssh' in love conquers all...
The shyness choke just to spill out the 'The three words'
Love still breed
Joy nor date nor age no need
In this delight my mind move
To live with thee
Be thy Love
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 6:59 AM UTC
With the dusking
the vast sky was blue,
bright, warm and lovely....
But as time ticked
it turned yellow-
dark, cold.
It woke the poet in me,
it got me untangled
from my daily sorrows
into an emotional mess
of never ending questions
and contemplations.
And then it turns orange,
like the amber,
there is passion,
there is rage,
and there is love-
it's strong...
but it gets darker,
colder.
And then turns red,
it turns evil,
full of vengeance in its heart,
it motivates me,
it makes me sick,
tired,
but still inspires to
keep pushing myself....
Now it's purple,
mysterious,
curious
and cold.
is this how life is?
I don’t know.
But then it's all black.
It's the same soul,
only it's physical embodiments
differ with time.
All those emotions lie with in you.
You are your
source of
joy,
sorrow,
anger,
vengeance,
despise,
love,
peace.
close your eyes.
ssh...
feel the silence
feel the coldness
feel the darkness
and open them,
it's bright blue again!!
That's how life is.
It's dusked.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 11:32 AM UTC