"stiffness" poems
Wake up pleasured, I feel it as you lick my
Stiffness awoken from sleep,
"ARRR,
Your tongue feels rough, but I like it woken
Pleasured from my sleep.
I open my eyes turn my head to the side
There you are still asleep, panic on a face,
As what is under the sheets still pleasuring
Me more, just one more minute, NO....
Under the sheets I do look woken by pleasure
But not any more.
There are two pussy's I see as I look under the
Sheets, one shaved, one hairy and its the hairy
One licking while looking at me.
I am pleasured, but animal style, this cat is out
The door. Violated am I, never to tell the woman
I love, that another ***** has pleasured me nearly
Releasing the milk that would have made it purr.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
The release; so powerful; sometimes to feel alive: all you need is a reminder:
His guiding hand:supplying the demands to the upper-hand, across her belly button, to forbidden; lands. Parted lips, her pink folds;dragging his hands down. Working each other: we ain’t fooling around; our bodies, over time. Dripping wet with desire.
Her reaching back; she leaned back. Over the edge; of the bed. standing ***** Picture perfect; she’s holding her breath, as he’s kissing on her neck, her breast, focused on her ****** the left. Right in my mouth. Long ponytail, pulled to the left. She is wet, under there, her underwear - pulled to the side, exposing her underhair; shaved bare, under there.
Fingers wrapped around him. Looking hard, she found it; tugging on it. Him pushing his luck got her pressing her lips against him. Pulling his belt out of way; biting his lips, he’s tensing. She, kiss as she play. looking a certaining way; tempting how she tempts him. She’s over the top, and its so overwhelming.
She’s all touched, from touching it; so fortunate, her ******* soaking wet, juices flowing. Wet spots, he’s all over it. Exposing her **** to his fingertips: with his index; middle finger next. Started working her slow, building up to raw *** Pressure building, rising her chest. She’s worked up; trying to get off. Giving it our best. Her waistline, being pumped from behind, so smooth; the finest wine. Unsatisfiable rhythm, keeping them inline. Holding onto her waist, he’s so online; bending backwards, pleasuring each other, every time. Some may come and go, but they come together every single time.
He’s feeling it: the way its feeling, feels so good - a burning sensation: her tenderness subduing his manhood; all is well, so it must good. Movement, with quickness, once his hips shifts, its motion sickness. Stroking his egos, increasing his stiffness, filling her deep. She’s clenching him, tighten, tighter. The feeling of him growing, she’s feeling him insider. Their wet bodies, skins glistening in the their fire.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
Raw energy.
Despite the stiffness in his fingers,
despite the way his fingertips harden with calluses,
the industrious pianist hammers out the same tune
that he played last night,
and the night before,
and the night before that,
and unnumbered evenings before that.
Each notes falls magically into place,
none out of tune or without purpose,
perfectly in time.
Raw diligence and focus flooding his brown eyes,
gazing deeply into the sheet music.
His yellow forehead wanted dabbing,
Steeped in his sweat.
A manifestation of his time spent in his trade.
The conscientiousness in his eyes.
The raw vitality of his weathered hands.
The way he fills each note with sentiment.
Perhaps those are what keep calling me near?
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 3:19 PM UTC
Skinny *** Poem
(8/11/2014)
Every kid wants to be something when they grow up.
They picture perfect future families with puppies and kittens,
but for me something was missing.
I just wanted to be happy.
Maybe my vision wasn't so great though,
because 'happy' looked like it had 6 letters to me, and spelled 'skinny.'
People used to throw bricks at my glass house.
Shouting that I’d be skinny enough to slip through cracks.
Cracks of life,
cracks of struggle and strife,
cracks of everything not nice.
They'd tease me and say I looked like I smoked crack,
when I'd lose weight,
I'd gain it all back,
in the form of their extra hate.
But I didn't feel skinny on the inside.
Although I had skinny bones and skinny skin,
brittle enough to break within.
Under the pain of that pang
as their bricks shattered my glass house.
Tell me, have you ever been afraid of words?
Thoughts can be terrifying but once turned to spoken word,
that in turn will turn to shouted word,
that in turn will turn to incoherent nonsense.
Which starts a sensation of ear drums ripping,
being sawed in half immediately,
no time spent ticking,
by shrill shrieks and violent vocalizations.
As if a sound wave could burst your body parts faster,
no, more efficiently than a barrage of fists.
Because it will know exactly where to strike,
in fact, it will sneak through your solid surface,
into every single crevice,
knowing where the best place to hurt is.
All it takes is a whisper strategically said in your ear,
'skinny.' 'skinny.' 'skinny.'
I could feel it float away from me,
carried off by the wind.
As if a sound wave could carry an army of statements,
piled up and armed with bayonets of every decibel level,
ready and willing to siege each individual joint crack and muscle ache,
being pushed under imposed stiffness.
It will ooze out your pores, as if your fat face was an instrument amplifier.
They thrived on the thrill listening to my shrill shriek.
As I stepped on shards from my shattered glass house,
And stared into the million fractures,
each a broken reflection of the million me’s I could be.
But none of them skinny... enough,
skinny for everybody else,
but never for me.
I’d envision each day, blood drops staining my glass carpet.
Each ounce of that luscious red,
each day left my body filled with an ounce less of dread.
An ounce less to fit into a size small shirt,
and 30 inch waist Skinny jean.
My body became my own private ****** machine.
Every kid wants to be something when they grow up.
I just wanted to be happy, I mean skinny.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
The air is a mill of hooks --
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.
I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up
Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun's conflagration, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?
The pill of the Communion tablet,
The walking beside still water? Memory?
Or picking up the bright pieces
Of Christ in the faces of rodents,
The tame flower-nibblers, the ones
Whose hopes are so low they are comfortable --
The humpback in his small, washed cottage
Under the spokes of the clematis.
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea
Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.
The heart has not stopped.
5.2k
You know that poem about your lips?
And the one about your soft caress?
Those doesn't apply to tonight
My thoughts are not slow, not gentle
The softness of your touch
Throw that out the window
I want it to be rough
Forget the foreplay
Lets just start the play
Tonight, I'll let you pick
Want the handcuffs, without the key
Or do you want the stiffness in a whip?
Forget the bed, take it to the floor
Give you a spank, and those headlights,
I'll get a grip untill they're sore.
If you must have a good kiss
Then I must ask you, girl
Which lips should I give this kiss?
Is it the control you crave?
Well then, cowgirl, load the gun
Grab the bearings and give them a roll
Tonight, let's let it out and have some fun
We can go on a mission, happy trails
Take it to the couch or even the table
Leave welted streaks with your nails
Turn up the radio to drown the moans
Back up and head down, we can mimic the dogs
Pillow, headfirst to muffle the groans
To the edge of the bed, make it wet
I don't want it easy, darling
All I really want is to get
That shirt off your chest
Those jeans off your ***
Those curves are the best
Lets not let this opportunity pass
I don't want it easy, baby
My thoughts are not gentle, not slow
So come on woman, lets go!
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 7:41 PM UTC
Dawn
The routine
Awake to a standing pause
Before the wheel turns again
Beans break the seal
The fresh start of a new day
Slowly grinding into movement
This disturbance is accepted
Its purpose is measured
Against the quiet peace
Deep berry-breathing oils the wheel
Pale orange rays soothe the stiffness
Inhale everything
Milled dewdrops drip comfort
Share the moment with an old friend
You
No words needed
Just a nod between turns
© 2019 MJL
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 4:17 PM UTC
It's goa my love,
the piece of earth that you cherish.
Streets are narrow and quaint, tiled roofs falling over each other,
clinging to the beam by their nails.
Atmosphere is sultry with sun, *** and surreality.
Surrounding me is you, in a warm womb of induced coma.
How will it be if my head were to be in your lap,
your fingers combing through my curlies?
Should death come at this moment,
I would welcome it with an embrace.
Heat, a beating heart and a stiffness in my *****
my last few vestiges of emotion.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC
Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe
Though I never shagged you at all
You ****** the rhythm to ******* yourself
While those around you ate crow
They schlepped out of the cleavage
And they ********** into your crumpet
They ******* you on the rowing machine
And they copulated you **** your three *****
And it seems to me you tasted your *****
Like a cigarette lighter in the diarrhoea
Never knowing who to stick it out to
When the ooze congeal from the top drawer
And I would have liked to have had carnal knowledge of you
But I was just a twit
Your cigarette lighter exploded spew out long before
Your whiff never blewout
Stiffness was sticky
The gristliest fat part you ever nibbled
Hollywood cobbled together a wizzofrog
And ******** was the corkage you greased
Even when you conked out
Oh the lubricator still molested you
All the skeletons had to jabber
Was that Marilyn was ***** flashy the starkers
Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe
from the virginal wombat in the twenty—second ghetto
Who smells you as meat as above par than scatological
Olé! than frank our Marilyn Monroe
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 4:17 PM UTC
**** serenely amid the surround-sound system and break the sound barrier and remember what *** appeal there may be in celibacy. As far as possible without surrender be located on voluptuous bafflegabs amongst squillions creatures. Jabber your clean breast ravishingly and revealingly; and bug to odds, even the dead from the neck up and half—baked; they too **** their mythical being. Lynch yobbish and Eurosceptic creatures, they are hot potatoes to the spunk. If you calibrate yourself with the aid of genetically modifieds you may become naff and disgusting; for always there will be juicier and grosser girls than yourself. Fuck your bear and ragged staffs as well as your carcasses. Acropolis caressed inside your cough up jackboot, however uncouth; *** appeal is a **** abracadabra at the sign of the channel—hopping weathercocks of porridge. Cock sadomasochist in your pigeon filths; for the big bang theory is chock—full of Piltdown man. Nevertheless let this not ********* you to what pith there is; thick celebrities have a crack at for foul—smelling specimens; and in all quarters ***** is oozing of exhaustion. Touch yourself. To cap it all **** not ape where the shoe pinches. Neither be cheeky about ****** ergo chez the ******* type of oodles menopause and double whammy schoolgirl complexion is as shrinkproof as the Antichrist. Treat like **** out of charity the tax collector of the yonks, buxomly jettisoning the seed of the vigorousness. Give **** enormousness of ***** to fluoridate you inside eye—opening extremity. But do not abuse yourself using crooked paintings. Noisy funks are impregnated of knock up and stiffness. Over the hills and far away a **** straitjacket, touch affectionate *** yourself. You are a brat of the swarms, no less than the crab apples and the diamond geezers; you have a right to breathe from end to end. And whether or no or not *** appeal is plain as a pikestaff to you, nay no grit the not peanuts is spreadeagling as the body beautiful should. Ergo be at titbit with Fetish whatever you inseminate him to be posted, and whatever your alpha—fetoprotein tests and farts inside the full—throated nymphomaniacs of ***** wigwam come—hither look using your ****** intercourse. With all *** appeal’s tattie bogle, slavery and mutilated musclemen, the body beautiful is still a tall, dark and handsome big bang theory. Stand pert. Die in the attempt to be boozed up.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 3:32 PM UTC
So many days now,
hush,
I hardly remember.
The scarce tones
sung so swiftly
from my sweet love.
Her thin waist about my elbow,
her thighs
pressed beneath my chin.
So softly how I once caressed
the thin and delicate neck,
and stroked so gently
the cords of her being.
Those are days long gone.
My fingers now,
curled with the stiffness of age,
are innate appendages,
restages
of their former days,
now limp with the ravages of time.
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 8:43 AM UTC
A bit of sunshine
A bit of magic will do
Not a big banquet
Not too many people
Maybe a little privacy
Maybe a little "my time"
For midnight,
Be it your soft kisses
My family,Oh dear!
Not fancy cake surprises
And as I sleep in your arms
May I dream a paradise
Not money,nor hard cash
Mornings be like,
A slight nip in the air
Sunrise from my bedroom
Not zillion missed messages
I want the day,at peace
Like a poet's wish
Simple,chaste,crystal clear
Not fake "Happy Birthdays"
I want the day,
Maybe full of good vibes
Among true people,
Among trustworthy friends
Not mere acquaintances.
As I drove past,
The air,
I want to feel it,
Making my hair dance
I wanna face its coldness
The soft stiffness upon my cheeks
Not mere cigarrate puffs
I cherish a memorable picture
Over trillion pout-faced selfies
Well,all for my birthday,
I want to cut,
This citys' madness
Not just chocolate cakes
Take me far away as you can
To rugged mountains,to blue rivers
Fairytale isnt it,
I want it real
Just the scenario in front of my eyes
Searching for you,
I hope to see you by me,the next time
I wanna blow dandelions
Not just burning candles
I wanna run past the barren fields
Dressed up in florals
Not the dark glittery blacks'
Well,all for my birthday.
I wanna live these moments
Tyind to decode this one day
Not snazzy gifts,nor over-the-top clicks
I want my birthday to be like,
I am just 17
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 5:03 AM UTC
sleepy eyes open glimpse high ceiling red wood beams house built in 1920s glance out window tree tops blue skies mountains in distance flock of birds flying east chirping sounds passing car engine accelerates inhale deep breath through nose stretch legs plantar dorsal flex feet raise arms over head stiffness in shoulder feel strange sensitivity in right pectoral above ****** cautiously examine with hands feel coarse lump growing more like nub smell moss glare down at growth protruding from chest panicky by soreness rise from bed to mirror on closet door tree stem jutting out from chest inspect dark bark like calloused growth little leafs budding this cannot be race in nervous tantrum run to bathroom suffer painful weight pulling me down clutching carrying foliated limb with arms see myself in mirror horrified stagger back to bed lie on right side branch resting on mattress breathe anxious breaths reexamine pectoral area feel sinewy roots spreading under skin across chest up neck down over stomach waist legs forget how to get home disorientated nauseous exhausted what is this flora invading me ******* kafka metamorphosis post-modern hyper-real narration without accountability jorge luis borges metaphor without mindfulness fairytale run wild jean baudrillard simulacrum psychosis room now filling with plant undergrowth stinking of earth dirt gooey slugs worms shells bugs festering climbing towards windows voracious for light warmth moisture blocking out morning sun entire body trapped in tangled twisted leafy twigs excruciating pain fright lungs gasping suffocating encroaching darkness fatigue loss surrender wake up 4 AM from nightmare scared to fall back to sleep
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 3:45 AM UTC
a certain morning stiffness
in your joints
you find your face
in the bathroom mirror
and wish you hadn't
the puzzled wisdom
of middle age
wavers from your eyes
deepening wrinkles
of many laughs
many frowns
how many more?
nevermore ?!
the room becomes aflutter
with poesque ravens
the presence of absences
fills the void
your life is on the brink
of deconstructing itself
to the periphery of the universe
a discourse of silence
forever becoming ... becoming ...
what...?
nevermind!
so
you close your eyes
hard
for a minute or two
when you look again
you meet the stare
of a not-so-bad-looking
man in his best years
graying sideburns
receding hairline
20 pounds too many
BUT
a firm decision
to work them off
still a bit sleepy
yet determined
to shave
get dressed
have breakfast
and teach
that wonderful seminar
on 19th century poetry
to eager graduate students
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
melancholy blanketed the whites
scarred voices muffled by
a ****** mind.
an avalanche stuck in my soul
severer than a bee at a forked road
how confused!
red-cheeked petals and afternoon birds glare
in confusions at the footsteps :
unbalance, shaded, muted!
the green umbrella's warm, so scorchingly cold!
all embittered, by solemn beams of the soulless sun.
their eyes widen,
for they had never seen such lone,
for such lone, rare, is forbid to the sons of nature,
never belong to happy child's arms,
that dreams in a mother's charm.
grieving droughts in the air and grass,
no dews, why!,
yawned the madden, soporific rabbit
Ah, so wild.
the windless noontime cross, my quivers stopped, mild.
lashes waxed, blacken like a coal,
mind stuck in a haze, or maybe a threatening maze.
stiffness of the air injected to my nostrils
into my white tongue they will soak, like perfumes to a clothe.
Selene will gaze angrily at this and say,
why no, it shouldn't be in there!
the midnight orchids waver and frown.
soon the frothing dreams peter,
but the bolded letters in a white board stay,
my chair stays.
creaks of an abominable burden became a din.
The smudges of grey-white dust I smelt
hover gaily in the air of pompous breath.
spellbound by the stagnant languor,
mazy, in hallucinations of the heat and homesick.
I sought the fount of hypocrisy and vile,
my hiding nonchalances rosen
(towards a flock of friends)
and loathes to an abominable sun frozen
(I wished it to die!)
Tilted to the windows,
I saw nothing, but fatal secrets of a heart rosed
like window dust to a nose.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
I seize in the day, I seize in the night
Convulsions plague me throughout my life
The stiffness comes, And then it goes
But the worst is afterward, when I’ve discovered that my friends can turn into foes
The mere sight of it has scared them off
As a result they laugh, taunt and scoff
I seize in the day, I seize in the night
Medicines plague me throughout my life
The neurologist says “Let’s try this one”
Dilatin, Depakote, Tegretol, Topamax
They try my last nerve, Until finally I say
“Haven’t you tried enough on me, you quacks?!?”
I seize in the day ,I seize in the night
Must I wear a “dogtag” for all my life?
This little tag, on my necklace, it labels me
Can’t you see the medical symbol and on the other side in big bold letters “EPILEPSY”
It’s a ****** on the self-esteem
It’s a reminder that I belong to a different regime
One of a nature gone to extremes, If that is what I let it be
I seize in the day, I seize in the night
I don’t give up, I say to my brain and my soul, “Fight, Fight, FIGHT!”
I’m frustrated and don’t give up
Although there are times when I want to, I don’t.
I’ve been a fighter from the day I was born
And in the heat of this battle of neurons and neurologists
My determination and perseverance were forged.
The more I seized, the more I fought
Through the trauma of it all, lessons were learned and taught
And the more I seized, the more I realized
That Epilepsy was a lesson in Serenity.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC
one cannot get down on one's knees
it is apparent that they are unbending
both patellas have gone into a freeze
the discomfort in them is never ending
one's knee joints oft tend to lock tight
it is apparent that they are unbending
their rigidity is becoming a real blight
scrubbing floors is a most painful affair
one's knee joints oft tend to lock tight
these days one's knees are in need of care
arthritis has set in for a rather long stay
scrubbing floors is a most painful affair
one would like the stiffness to go away
there isn't much flexibility in one's legs
arthritis has set in for a rather long stay
oh to have more spring in the knee pegs
there isn't much flexibility in one's legs
one cannot get down on one's knees
both patellas have gone into a freeze
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 4:42 AM UTC
No place for roleplay in this
illumined shrine of sanctified
skin and porcelain
where the most literal of lovers
whelm in the stainless steel
hot spring's silver stream
where the smoke screen of clothing
clashes with the steam cloud
rising like ironic bread
in Eden's kitchen
where a woman turns around
wrings and whips her satin
slope of hair around a shoulder
leaving to her man ideas
and a bar of soap that slithers
effortlessly in his palm
like a melted deck of cards
where a bubbled corner
is embedded in the small of her back
elevated from the tailbone
to the neck and lowered like the zipper
of the dress he parted not so long ago
where a jolt of urgency
accelerates an exercise in
the ski of soap around the junction
of the hips and outer buttocks
and a segue silently approved
by her arms hoisted to attend
to hair thought to be already
washed and conditioned
where the soap is shared by
both hands on the scaling of
her sudded sternum
presaging an unseen demand
from the beacons of progression
swelling in the wet heat
where a hand of soap and
hand of slide verifies the demand
of hands on her beaded *******
where he answers her swell
with his stiffness in the final feel
of mystery before a soft shift of
arms approximates a plea
for a frontal rinse
where hands return to ******
crowned chest sparking the advent
of eye contact all the while
where his ****** intensifies
in proportion to the eyes closed
in anticipation of their saturated mouths'
magnetic duet
where saliva and the cooling water mix
on their cameos of tongues slipping
through their lips in the midst of the mist
and where their towels hang in
a forgotten heap while he takes her
dripping body in his arms and
carries her to where the roleplay
will have to wait after all
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
Darkness creeps, a heavy, silent shroud,
Enveloping my soul, a mournful cloud.
Frantic, cold, I search drawers wide,
Pills my sole solace, survival's wild ride.
Anti-depressants stare, empty, bare,
Desperation grips, no refuge there.
The nightstand jerks with a forceful sway,
Scattered remains of emptiness lay.
But in the chaos, our feather lies—
Goldfinch quill, a sharp surprise.
Black as night, like my sorrow’s blight,
Yet golden glints hold memories bright.
I sink back, sweat stained silk slides on skin,
Coldness seeps slowly within.
Curled fetal tight, the tears cascade,
A storm that no memory can evade.
Yet memories rise—a forest fair,
Blooming wildflowers scent the air.
Through filtered light, we walked unseen,
Our steps soft under leaves’ green sheen.
She found the feather, bold and slight,
“Look,” she smiled, “it’s our love’s light.”
“Like you,” she laughed, “a fierce gold flame,
Unbroken strength, and spirit’s claim.”
At water's edge, we undulate,
Lips meet, bodies entwine, love creates.
Wet skin tingles, to our feather’s trace,
Legs gently open --
A sweet, secret place.
Reality pulls, the cold seeps through,
Back and *** ache, stiffness breaking through.
Time lost, darkness gathers, depression's sway,
Minutes or hours, endless disarray.
Clutching our feather, memories sweet I breathe,
Yet, beneath love's scent, depression’s blade, unsheathed.
Depression's shadows creep, darkness claims space,
Our feather's comfort, fading grace.
Defeated, armor shed, lace silk unfolds,
Transparent whispers, love told.
Soft stained fabric slides, silk underwear released,
Vulnerability unveiled, depression's dark gold.
Naked, exposed, lying still, curtains closed,
Darkness envelops ----
Weightless, sinking, water's gentle grasp,
Slowly submerged, darkest pass.
Eyes closed, descending, beneath waves,
Depression's undertow, heart enslaves.
Silence --
But through the depths, her whisper calls,
“You are strong, though darkness falls.”
A feather’s grace, love’s healing might,
Even as shadows steal the light.
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 10:23 AM UTC
The blue dew is raining in
roaring fury!
It's a love cascading violently
from ****** blue mountain,
inviting grit from ocean of
courage, to offload tons of
bashfulness overload.
I reach a dime with hazel gaze
to a blue-eyed goddess in the
love garden, popping ogle
champagne in blind lust to
******** world.
I grin!
I grin in summary epic!
The amorous picnic turn and caress
me in mercurial adjectives, embalm
me in emotional stiffness, aloof
from the real, unfrozen me into
insatiable insanity.
Not long, the craze evaporated
into eternity!
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 2:07 AM UTC
With firm steady hands we grip our bows
Principle fingers clipped the restless arrows
We lift our bows high above our shoulders
We pulled our strings till the appointed time
Unleash them see each eagerly goes.
Elastic bows where the arrows learn to ride
Tough at the core but supple outside
Bending to comply as far as it's stiffness could go
Quickly flex to it's customery shape again
Bow and arrow one unmoving one must stride.
A swoosh and arrows found their freedom
Swiftly carried with our prayers with some
Trepidation by whims of their progress
On target or strayed by rebellious wind
On course with promises or to their doom.
Children grew from our shadows took flight
Taught what little we knew now flew out of sight
Can't replicate us make their own learning curves
Not forbidding their future endeavours
Love and devotion can't hold them come what might.
One by one we launched them into fresh air
Like shooting stars arching through the stratosphere
Some had scored some missed but none came back
To and fro amble down the grassy track
We'll walk to them they're waiting for us there.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 8:59 PM UTC
Eye's of all colours,
Blue, Green, Brown these eye's;
I cannot see them , yet know they
Are there watching with intent
Watching with lustful thoughts.
In darkness I sit and wait,
Anticipation building awaiting
The spot light to shine upon me.
Drum beat starts,
Bump ba bump ba bumpa ba ba
Words that arrouse my whole body,
Keep yours eye's on the road an hands
Upon the wheel , Morrison sings.
My body standing now
Hips moving to each beat of the drum,
Eyes watching
Blue, Green, Brown.
My ivory skin glistening with sweat
Electric blue silk and lace *******
A matching bra they cling to my skin.
Each beat sending another
movement forward from my willing
Excited body, ******* stand to attention
Each swing of my hips arousing ******
Tension for the eye's that watch me
My arms in the air gently swaying
As if a tree on a gentle spring day,
My hands run along my moist warm skin
Down along my ******* stomach, hips
And finally removing the last piece of clothing I wear
Eyes still watching me as I bring my body
To the end of this song.
Blue, Green, Brown
They watch me dance, moving my hips,
Arm, hands and swing my hair in ways to
Arouse them along with myself,
Eye's blue, green and brown watch yet
Never get to feel the warmth that rushes
Between my legs, never to taste the warm natural womanly juices
Never to feel the stiffness of these *******
Eye's they watch with excitement
Pupals dilated in arrousement
Penis' s stand errect waiting for action
The light dimes
The music stops
I sit once again
Eye's still watching, waiting
For the show to begin.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
This morning I had to go ***** so bad
I squeezed and I pushed with all that I had
And after what seemed like a great battle
I heard a ker-plunk from what I did straddle
The mighty splash that this thing made
To have a look, my curiosity bade
So up I did rise slowly and sure
So as not to drop any poo onto the floor
I looked into the bowl not believing my eyes
This terd was of a most bodacious size
The cause of the strain was now easy to see
I new then not what I had set free
It leaned upright on the side of the bowl
Like it was in a jacuzi relaxed and whole
As I looked at it again in utter disbelief
I knew I had to flush away my relief
But when I pushed the handle on the toilet I found
All the **** did is spin round and round
Like a wooden stick in water being stirred
I was amazed at the stiffness of this ****
When the flush was done I looked with disdain
The **** was still there and left not even a stain
I flushed again with greater resolve
And the **** broke in half as it did revolve
But then as it started to finally go down
Something then happened that made me frown
It got stuck and clogged up the hole
I watched in horror as water filled the bowl
It plugged the toiled up tight like a cork
And now I wished I'd chopped it up with a fork
I grabbed the plunger from off of the floor
And plunged real hard, for my toiled to restore
But though I plunged with all of my might
It seemed that the **** was winning this fight
After several minutes the water went down
But only at a trickle as again I did frown
So along I did move from plan A to plan B
I'd show this **** who's the boss, not it, but me
So with hot water, a bucket I did fill
And dumped it in so it could swallow that pill
After twenty buckets, the **** did give way
And I was able to flush. Hip-Hip-Hooray!
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
Breathe in, the fragrance of the morning
just past the dawn, when things are still
another day of life to cherish
get outside, beyond the windowsill
Take a little walk and stretch your legs
in the woods or open pasture
get the blood to flowing freely
don't let inertia be your master
You were made for moving, not for sitting
walk off the stiffness in your limbs
shut off the idiot's lantern in your room
put aside your silly foolish whims
Wake to a day that's spilling sunshine
bright light that nourishes the soul
if raindrop fall, don't be concerned
the one above is in control
Breathe in, the beauty that surrounds you
look to the mountains, not far away
discover wonder- on nature's trails
and thank God- for this favored day.
Aug 14, 2021
Aug 14, 2021 at 9:09 PM UTC
i see myself in you
in everything you are and anything you hate
in the nervousness of your pleas
that brings stiffness to your neck - and mine
- and hides tremors from your voice
i have more faith in you
than you know;
more trust, in the soft longing of your eyes
than any of the pains you've commited
and your broken smile, teeth baring hate
for every single time you couldn't say no
i stack every ****** under one flag.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC