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Don't beat me with your logic sticks
It ain't that I can't take the licks
My skin is thick, as thick as bricks
It's just I've had my fill of it

Chorus
          We'll beat you when you're up
          No, we'll beat you when you're down
          No, we'll beat you when you're up again
          And beat you when you're down

Descartes waits headless in his tomb
Cogito ergo—ergo whom?
Don't beat me with your logic sticks
Fidem, ergo sum

Chorus

Don't care what makes your logic tick
It ain't that I can't take the licks
Don't know where your logic's been
Logic gets around

Chorus

Don't beat me with your logic sticks
My skin is thick, as thick as bricks
It ain’t that I can’t take the licks
IT'S JUST I'VE HAD MY FILL OF IT
.
This is a song lyric.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
corporal May 2018
Let me taste those golds
because Babe, we’re not here to be told.
Bury a kiss on my neck before the truth unfolds.
It’d be your vow to the angel you’d sold.

Take off your watch.
Take off your crown.
In just one touch,
Make me believe I'm the only one.

Golden sticks, holy air.
Drop the lies and just skin me alive.
Don’t ask for a name.
Surrender to a bite instead.

Throw your clothes on the floor.
Leave your name behind the door.
You won't need those until four.
Don't bite too hard 'cause I might ask for more.

She's pretty wise to be fooled by his nicotine tongue.
But his smile bites.
Oh god, It does.
But Babe, you're in the wrong place if you're looking for love.

Danger hangs around his neck
Another trouble night ahead,
As if the government would pay
For all the night we would face
Robin Lemmen Nov 2018
You leave pavements ******
And graves dug but without bodies
Learning tricks of manipulation
You know how to wrap us around
The small of your finger
With bloodshot eyes and a mouth
Full of sweetened poison
You kiss girls and leave them hungry
Foolishly hoping that your touch
Just might heal them
You leave pavements cracked
So we are all left skipping  
Hoping to save your back
Isn't love unkindly blind?
lX0st Jul 2018
He saves all the grape jolly ranchers for me
He hates everything grape
But he’d swear he loves me
Until he’s purple in the face
And even on my worst days
When my skin is flushed
Rouge with rage
He reminds me that the color of love
Is always present on my tongue
And can be any shade
Lilith craved Ficus carica,
Mr. Robot brandished
a branch of Olea europaea.
Would either care to comment
on the state of the world? Their intentions
clear. Is it that "all the world's a stage"
or that all we are is a mirror?
Should it matter that I feel the motions of my mind, and
long to escape without the aid of their counterparts.
Subtle contrarian. Every reaction has its equal
in emotion; each moment has its fulcrum.
Quote:
Line Six from William Shakespeare's As You Like It, spoken by Jaques in Act II Scene VII.
PoserPersona Jul 2018
Leaves, sticks, and seeds make up this six foot stalk.
Oh, how she blooms before the flashing lights!
Leaving men and women with a stunned gawk.
Oh, you cause the seeds of your kind at night,
to dream of heights they won't reach; how sadly
try the delusional. But in all kin,
is imprinted least a scar on their psyches.
Sacrificial offer in porcelain
is ritually performed by some daily.
If not for fame, glory, or money, then
to mirror fashion people's ideal beauty.
A cyclic mental disease that won't end.
Shhh.. Here she comes! The first, but not the least.
An appetizer for the famine feast!
Love has Degree.

- A Faithful Person creates a Shield against Evil and repels it;
A Frightened Person generates a Whirlwind for Evil and absorbs it.

- It's no use to call your Neighbour's Tree a Wither
When yours is all burned-up to Cinders.

- Dumbness is more Arid than a Desert.

- Everything has a Head and a Tail.

- Life is Gold whenst one Prospers,
Life is Rust whenst one believes no Hope.

- I'd rather take Jealousy
Than enduring Hypocrisy.

- Children are God's Gems. Treasure it.

- Everyone is Famous,
From Poor to Rich
Your Light reaches the Clouds,
But some reach the Sun.

- Sin is a Total Poison to God's Grace.

- Man's tongue has certain taste;
God's Tongue has Every Taste.

- Deception is like a Light which reflects from the Mirror it hurt
Then strikes it back at the Source.

- Man is a Masterpiece:
A Shining Sculpture of God's Creation.

- Your Mind has Endless Travels.

- Anything has Hope when you are still Alive and Well
Till Death do you both Part.

- True Beauty is always grown beneath the Soil.

- Our Heart is a loving Pet
When fed with Love and Care
A Renegade, when studded with Stones
Of Hate and Harm.

- Fire is Strong when there are Sticks to burn it;
But when the Camper takes the Sticks away,
Will it still be Strong enough to Survive?
Muse the Bobbie, Learned and Scrolling Mentor
For screening this Curtain to show our Task
Basic Words you exhume; Trust, a favour
Later allow us with some Sticks to bask
It takes much swallow to go back to School
And strip us bare with Her Majesty's Words
This how you Speak - With a Rod and a Fool
But then, who cares? Forgans are for the Birds
Now all it takes to supple your behalf
Modelled by the Mad Agent done and pleased
We empty our Fillers; and bid Avast!
Upon Graduation your Skills we take heed.
Thank you so much again, Mentor availed
Success is Reward; Laziness is Failed.
Jay Jun 2018
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
John Tan Apr 2018
Loneliness
My constant companion
A friend I befriended from my childhood
That sticks with me through thick and thin
No matter where I go
Who I am with
It never let goes off me

Loneliness
A core memory
I’ve relived a countless times
That was responsible for the tears I’ve shed
No matter how many tears
How many hours of therapy
It still hurts

Loneliness
An inevitable emotion
I have stopped running away from
And instead embraced
Because no matter how painful it can be
I always find myself in the end
zebra Sep 2018
have you ever seen beauty in a silky nightmare
have you  ever seen the monster of deprivation in heavens promise?

we speak of private things
we should never talk about
about vailed women
and their terrible secrets
and about myself who remains no longer a secret to myself

somewhere i went off the track
like a  daisy chain saw of honesty
to ensure you knew i was sick
a sick **** with a trick
as if i ate some ****** up hallucinogenic' s
making me spill my obsessions all over you
like some weird perfumed *****
down a swirling rainbow toilet
that turns out to be only jelly and whipped cream
wrapped in colored ribbons on cellophane tampons

i feel like  having *** or going to the toilet in public
while waving my hands up in the air
screaming yahoo i'm free
to blow to kingdom come
the temple of normalcy
you know
the church of rose gardens, cemeteries and deprivations
except of course for the sneers, smears
and self loathing vanilla demons
who wear long see through dresses and crosses
like dash board plastic virgins
with bobbing heads
that make hissing sounds about sin

i confess
i'm attracted to the darkest women
strange *******
and  ******
the stranger the better
who shake their butts
like hoodoo enchanted show girls
doing what they shouldn't do
crying and scrying like cooing moons calling
"drink me like ****** Mary
daddy **** lollypop"
all inky tats and razorblade ouchies

or
you can join those
covered in white collared black as death habits
begging the invisible *** cake in paradise
waiting for mercy and a little ****
that never comes
stuck in an empty
loveless bar of crucifixes that only serves up theology

oh baby
***** dreams do come true
pink ****** ***** gladly widen their haunches
like **** without boots
not caring if they go to hell
playin
like a joy ride of fiddle **** sticks
all freaky tongues and tingling licks
thick saliva multi lingual blow jobs
lathering flashing lipped saliva for the squirt  
with fiery wet hypodermic kisses
that make screams
like creamed upleaping lava and ash
for a million hungry sexed up twisting tongues
in occult ecstasy
fecundating shrouds of steamy clouds
in stained red black lighted rooms
with cherub crowned *****
and their drooling snatches buttered ****

eat quivering
like fowl mouthed piranhas
crying more raw meat please
while you drag your perfect person visage
into hollow caves of despair
cold and lonely

so you forlorn love struck weeping
horney pathetic scarecrow
socially engineered robots
if you want love
like heated buttery waffles with sweet jam
just give your self away like slutty putty
to lust criminals and *** addicted pervs  
until
you feel someone swallow you whole
soul and all
and lick their lips
like your their cherry pie

then look passed your
rats nest of pride and exhaustive approval list
and love them back
like free beer
bang their brains out
be their slave and make them yours
in the mad house of love
of warped shimmering mirrors, straight jackets, and squeezy insertions

and if one day they don't appreciate your imperfect perfection
if they weaponize like critic's
teach them respect
shove it where they breathe
lick your wounds
be brave
throw them in the trash bin of history
and move on

Eros and Venus
take a million forms

look around
your swimming in a giant bowl of broken hearts
hungry mouths, drenched ***** and hard *****

you whimpering little beasts
dress to ****
undress to live

its a movable feast
advice to the lovelorn young
thank you to Lora Lee for the line
" swirling toilet rainbows"
King Panda Dec 2016
You look
light into my
dreams
a whole mind
under this
ocean-tango
the
exit sign
the scents
entwined
ascending
your head
my neck
the pulse of you
sticks
burns
of fire
us
a
twizzler
of spirit
entering
with
transparency
Apart from the Malice I'd like to Subsume
Are some Fortune's Tags which I strive to defer
And Mood the Dragon's Seasoned **** resume
Threw Slime instead; And dissolved my Brother
Shall I charge as your Fault? But then again,
Your same usual Stones pound my Bouncing Head
With no other Ritual to confront this Pain
You continue to bray; And play Mule instead
Unaware of the Grass you still do hurt
Blinded by the Light which you call Divine
Philosophy leashes your own True Worth
Sticks you in Trivia; And robs your eyes blind.
What is there to blame from such Harrowed Young
Since the Lord Philip's Man has not yet sung?
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Scurry hurry
Shaking hands shaped by worry
tie the knot of plastic
A bubble home for the hard green cup
where brown and white
mixed lay married.

Wash rush
Dainty legs in dark blue denim
hasn't time to be romantic
A worn out sister played by hope
shuts the door panting.

  It clings to a robust tree
  head hidden under rosy pink    
  protective shield
  edged in yellow

  The fireflies

  
Sticky webs of empty lies packaged in boxes of deception by the wizard that doesn't work
sit dead on the small bedside table
like the results they provide.

Boxes and boxes of cozy containers
and cards of capsules
47 I counted them
current and extras
They choke my sight
then I am groped by the smooth blue robes worn by the youthful shepherd
posing aside a grey rock looking yonder
into the distance as insta-natural as possible in a pastel painted picture framed in wood against the wall.
  
  Unstable molecules in tiny airtubes,  
  many, breakdown and explode
  like little landmines
  A bio-luminescent lit ***** assaults a  
  dense night flashing brilliant
  to find a mate
  Six strong neon-green throbbing blinks
  Six slow seconds of unimaginable
  wordless dreamless dark.

  are bright.

  
I turn my head
The whole unsettling mass of reality
is torn apart into vibrant colorful morsels,
then reassembled
as my eyes  
settle
on

Her

"Oh God, if you're here, heal her now
and you'll have me. Show me what those confident tongues so eagerly confess.
Please!"

NOTHING
Another sticky empty square
covered in thick black-strap molasses
slapped to the face of the fool
who likes sweet things.

BUT

What happened to the omni-this, omni-that CEO of God enterprises?
"Go on Death" is what that means
"Go on Death do your job" is what it does

"It's your time.
It's to test your faith.
Gods plan."
All slogans for the man
who believes and dies.
  Culture creates the fool
  Hope keeps the fool
  Belief kills the fool
Thanks for doing what all those boxes
and all the pictures
on all the walls of the world do

FOOL

Her face,
a gaunt kind of skin-to-bone sight
a bad flavor
like a meal with no taste

Her mouth,
crack-lipped, framed by dry
delivers deadly blows to a heaving chest
that says; "Give me air"
yet lungs say no

Anguish,
is ****** from the pit of my cold stomach
then up through the spirit of a warm heart
I plaster the feeling in the shape of water.
My eyes puddle

I weep

It sticks

Love,

Falls

Fluttering as a twinkle
through soft beams of sunlight,
the drop glistens
plops
then dies
on the pink and blue checkered blanket.

All I have to offer are busky palms
to soothe this battered body
before you are torn apart by what
puts things like us together.

I swallow her frame

Her calf - bone

Squeeze and move

Her thigh,
my hand wraps completely
pinching a sausage sized piece of muscle
not big enough to walk
between plump thumb
and meaty middle

Squeeze and move

Her hip bone is angular
It fits flush in my hand
like the hard front peak of a cricket cap
when held above the grid

Squeeze and move

My chunky tentacles massage over
wire-thin barely blue throbless veins
that decorate her meatless paws
and twig-like fingers.

Squeeze and move
  
  It's after midnight
  Thick curds of desperation push
  again, through a splendid backside
  a special toosh
  slogging a dancing night-fever
  to beat the two-to-four,
  a beam as bright as a green day
  cuts through the black pitch of night

  

I hold her hand
A thin filling between two slices of mine
I look at her eyes and turn away

Have you ever been pulled from the center of  your heart, ripped head first through the narrow crack of your own chest, tossed aside like a skin-sheet onto a concrete glass-covered floor then squashed beneath the majesty of a billion dancing floor-clapping feet attached to a shapeless void shapeshifting as slideshows  between all things gone, here, and still to come, stopping on the body of a small blue boy that sings in ghostly echo;
"Don't turn away from this.
Look till you see me through the eyes of another because this too
will happen to you
Clap clap clap clap!
I'm coming for you.

Trapped in a square tunnel made of brick, walls wide enough for one bus no brakes to speed through, no escape,
I accept what will squash me
I Face it
I Stand before it

I stare at her eyes staring back at me
A deep dagger stare
Two parts steel
meshed
until there is only steel
It melts

I simmer the room in soft whisper;
"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."
I hold her hand,
patting the top as I warm the bottom
I smile for her, at me
I smile back, as me
  
  A skillful mimic
  Here I come
  I have light and breath
  I see yours
  I come at night
  Not for genes or ***
  I hunt and gut
  Hawking down I come as death

  
The gaps between her labored breaths become bigger and for a second I drift at the sight reappearing on the sandy dunes of an empty dessert space pushed by a dying wind I can barely feel.

A sharp salty tang toils the tip of my tongue and brings me back to her.

Her eyes

They have changed

Open

But

Soul

   less

     Soulless

     Desolate

   Like

That dessert

And that place where


*The Fireflies Lose their Light
Bryce Jun 2018
Gliding deftly along the city street
rolling quick and constantly
onward to some unknown scene,
some backward park in the nighttime
smoke curling from these
parted lips, moist and inviting
calling me somewhere I've never seen.

New day, new night
new feelings, rage in delight
fill me with your hilarious entropy,
knock my quarks into the next century,
will you please?

Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free
between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks
like glue,
wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec
telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected
and rendered obsolete
Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme

Amaterasu,
and Imma tell you
these ladies in the picnic table
buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch
Jesus ******* Christ
and a indelible roster of good guys,
to which we all must strive to live and die
behind,
never moving forward
chasing our tails like a sick dog
under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark
imported from overseas
dead trees
dead canine
and oh isn't it just divine?

You see it, pretty lady.
I can see it hiding behind your eyes
the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid
if they found out,
you'd be crucified.

Well honey I hate to inform,
With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs
aint Methuselah,
they'll be dead!
long before your flood of tears tears me from the land
ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat
of the eastern seaboard,
or maybe wash me deep along the 80
into the desert sands and tiles
on a leaky cell phone screen
desperately trying to dial home on low battery,
realizing all this was one big deferred dream,
baking in the sun and shriveling
oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose,
gotta cut it back to size,
'else your soul it'll outgrow

Don't worry honey bee
It hasn't happened to me,
and We know with calcuable mathematical truth
that it'll never happen to you.
Rich Hues Aug 2018
We don't have a dog because we live in rented accommodation,
    So my wife put on a spotted onezie and became a dalmatian,
    With a diamante collar and a matching faux-leather lead,
    I walked her to the park where squatting she peed,
    And was chasing thrown sticks running on all four,
    When she was unexpectedly mounted by an elderly labrador.

I waved my arms and shouted but didn't know what to do,
As the local pack, arriving, formed a disorderly queue,
A lurcher, some spaniels and an ambitious pekingese,
Took turns as she braced herself on her hands and knees.
Then delighted by the freedom of unmuzzled fornication,
She left me for a policewoman -
Who owned a very large alsatian.
Based on real life events
pageants of pageants
fractals and hype
of faceless terrors and faceless
inside
when rain on corrugated iron
when rain and the kettle boiling

i know i have taken too much time
i have taken time from time to decide
to realise i was only wiser before trying.


Patterns of paradox haunt
the terms of all desire

tussock grass on paths
that cuts the thin skin
and sticks

and a view to nowhere

some leaf in autumn

the hope of finding
Jamie Riley Apr 2018
They look out from the terrace.

At the borders of sight
live rocky hills behind brown
and golden and olive crop
under a cloudless sky.

Sun beams brighten motley roofs
on tessellations which blacken beige
in blurry air.



























BANG!





















An artificial cloud.

































“Look,” she points, “Let’s go!”

She takes him and they fly down stairs,
diving like sparrows
into the street.

Boys sprint across pavements and climb;
men vault over fences in time
for news to reach ears.

“They’re coming!
"¡Ya vienen!"

Excitement and fear.
The rattling of cow bells
and galloping nears.

Men bait and dodge horns
and escape through doors
and up and over
red wooden bars.

Sticks beat on the concrete ground
and drive the mute beasts's sounds.

Seconds away –
until the last,
he side steps into a house;

indoors,

apart,

he runs through the foyer
and up the stairs
around a corner.

Long strides

too fast to follow.

She chooses left and
sings soprano
when doors won't budge
and a beast crashed in.

She turns and the fear is paralysing.




"FERMIN!"







































­












He leaps down steps
and explodes
as it rams her
to and fro,
bashing her head
against the wall
where horns sin
and horns gore
cement and brick.

He grips the tail
heaving its hide from
side to side as
hooves smash
crates of wine,

he slips and slides
in fractured glass
and finds a horn
and yanks the head;

is yanked instead,
half dead before the men
arrive down stairs
to shout and kick it;
strike and stick it
smack and hit it;
'til it
fits and quits
and flees the foyer
fast and frantic
flying flustered
by the frenzy
finding the
pattering
of
pavement



petering



into





the











street.





"¿Que ha pasado?
  ¿Quien ha sido?
  ¡El Balbotin
  y la Chicha!
  ¡Que una vaca
  les ha pillado!"





His hands bleed
and flesh breathes.

"¿Estas bien?"

Dizzy, she tends to him
with searching hands,
and scolding words.
Men and women
fuss and frown,
always making sure.

"Podria haber sido peor"

Another story for the herd.
This poem is about an incident which happened to my Grandparents, Fermin Yanguas Ochoa and Raimunda Ramos Frias.

It was during a bull run in their village (Fitero) in Navarra, Northern Spain. 1972
Stephanie Irvin Aug 2013
#1
Blonde and skanky
Red and cranky

No sleep
No need
No guilt
To feed

She sticks
She licks
She’s got
Her kicks

****** city
Kind of pretty

My girl
My girl
Rock and whirl
She is
She is
Hard to miss
I have been in the moon
In search of love all noon
Searched through deserts
Even through garden of Eden.
I have Searched beneath the sea
Travelled wide even to overseas
Still could not find love.
I went to Vatican
Even to Mecca
Driven through the romantic sites of Paris
Bath in the Brazilian beaches
Flown across the Atlantic
Pitched my tenth for few days on the Antarctic
Spend some more on the arctic
Still I saw no love.

All I saw was lust
Angels with broken hearts,
Rotten roses,
Withered lilies,
Death faiths and monsters on beautiful faces.
I saw bullets in church offering boxes
Just wedded on number plates of ambulances.
I saw wars in diversity
Pain and mourning crowding all cities
The devil celebrating the dead of peace.

I saw three wise men
Where went love, I asked them
They said love has been nailed on the cross
Buried with trust
They are heading to Galilee
To await his return.
I followed with dreams
I met many returning with smiles of frustration
From where I was going with pregnancy of expectations.

We arrived to the scene
Like a nightmare, I witnessed higher sins
I saw men taking pleasures with men
Some with animals, some women with women.
Gun everybody walking sticks
People feeding on people flesh
With human blood the thirsting ones quench their thirst.

Is this where love is expected to return?
The wise men retorted,
Yes, the saints have been raptured
And his seven years  reign has just began.
Then in a flash, I remembered that I have been taught
Taught about this dreadful end
I had also taught kids
Under trees at nights
Just to threaten them to live right.
What I thought was a mare threat or a fallacy
Has been awaken against my fate in reality.
Oh! We are among the leftovers
Left to reprove ourselves or be doomed forever.
patty m Oct 2017
Scorching summer 
all the days past
fluttering off the calendar
as the glory of autumn reappears.
Sweet scent of coriander
green incense sticks offered to household Gods.
Forest and earth twice blessed
as rain falls 
                        I listen 
carried on waves
of your breath,
shadow stroking
the trusting kiss
the face behind the face
relaxed in sleep
I am your root
your bone your gristle,
earth's curve our circle.
stretched into time
Lora Lee Mar 2
just when the dust
settles round my lust
and the thud
of despair hits bottom
just as I flail
and swim in this
blood-caked,
         soulless earth
soup of the lost
abyss of unbirth  
you plunge my wilderness
charred with remains
from hellfire
and we breathe
                 halos  
our bones lighted sticks,
colors rising in
angel arcs

Your rib cage
is open
for my tremulous offering
as my lips imprint
a crimson O
upon the earthquake
of your chest
I am still down with the
                           earthworms
wrist **** sopped
                    by soil
arteries, bashed
split to the root
by verbal hurts
in a sliding psyche of oil

yet here you are
suturing wounds
with whiplash kisses
saltlick moans in my throat
You wrap me in gauze
through the imprint of your eyes
turn my cuts
into fresh brook
gaze upon my
deepest darkness
like goddess worship shrine

my **** is a funnel
for your whipped light
sacrifice ****** prayer
skinned to the core
all layers exposed
your lips slick
with the drip
of my bliss,
deep juice of
freshly-caught
jungle hum
all is bared
we stop at nothing
paint our tongues
with tears
adorn the face of death
with ripe guava
and, as you scream
my name into
a blown glass whisper
my soft fruit
falls into
the heat of
          your palm

somewhere
in distance
a
        moon
explodes
Explicit
Terry O'Leary Apr 2014
In times gone by, now recondite,
Neanderthal, *****, upright,
spoke softly, tones so lily-white,
and tried to put the world aright.

He taught us how the flame ignites
that wearing furs will warm the nights,
just why the rolling wheel excites,
and how the beveled flint stone bites.

Before the days of dynamite
he fought his foes with spit and spite,
and swung big sticks with all his might,
and rendered death with stones in flight.

Engaged in never-ending fight
(arenas were a global sight)
he forced his forces to unite
to sate his oily appetite.

To quell rude thoughts that may incite
he ruled the realm with fly-by-nights
and culled the winds of words in flight,
and darkened minds to anthracite.

With fairy tales of evil sprites
and how the fist of freedom smites,
he washed the world with flames alight
to vanquish hoards of parasites.

Each dawn the damage brought delight,
the foe was bent, a bit contrite…
yet battled on with no respite
until the dusk and evening light.

Encamped beside the firelight
Neanderthal, that shiny Knight,
awaited morn while sitting tight
assured the end would be alright.

Yes, conquest seemed his sacred right…
Forevermore?… well, no, not quite…
Neanderthal's extinct tonight
and lies beside the Trilobite…


MORAL
The Oreo is round, not bright:
while rolling near the candlelight
at first the searing seemed so slight,
the molten cream an oversight…
This screed has nothing to do with the noble Neanderthal (whose brain size exceeded our own).
it has nothing to do with' times gone by' (though who knows what future beings may think)
it has nothing to do with anything…
and even less to do with something…  
unless of course, you think it does…
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