"strip" poems
Mountains on mountains erupt from the earth's chambers of burdened lava and collapse back into their hellish landscape just as quickly
Waves assault the beach in frenzied randomness, striking their mark upon the sand and washing it away in the same breath
Birds flail about, learning to sail the clouds while dolphins soar their vast expanse of golden sea
People in suits war with each other for ****** glory, sign a strip of paper agreeing to stop, then ignorantly carry on their violent pastiche
Far away, tucked behind his world of scattered phrases and pretentious works of art, the writer observes all this
P
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Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 5:22 AM UTC
~
*Hold my hand and persuade the way
tell me all you want to say
~
Whisper softly in my ear,
all those things I want to hear
~
Kiss my lips and touch my skin
bring out passions deep within
~
Draw me close and hold me near
eradicate my pain and fear
~
In the darkness of the night,
shine your beacon, be my light
~
In the luster of the sun,
demonstrate you are the one
~
Offer me wings so I can fly
and I will soar when you're nearby
~
Infilrate my heart, break the wall,
it's time for me to let it fall
~
I've been a prisoner, extensively
Break my chains and set me free
~
Strip me of my armor tight
this time I won't put up a fight
~
Release my soul held deep within
For you’re in my heart where love begins*
~
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
I didn't want to send you pictures of my body
Naked and vulnerable
I told you no
You say please
I say no
You get angry
How dare I not fold like paper under your command
"You're just a little **** you say
You called me a **** for not wanting to strip for you
You called me a **** because I did not let you control me
I am not a ****
I am not your puppet
Don't whisper these lies into my ear after tearing me apart with just your words
Don't tell me you're sorry
You meant what you said
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
I want to
make love
to you
but not
in the way
you'd think
I want to
brush your soul
with my fingertips
and slip in and out
of this world
in your arms
I want to
show you
the galaxy
inside of my heart
and watch you
discover each star
I want to
press my lips
against your body
and write the story
of our love
in sloppy wet kisses
I want to
deeply inhale
your wild spirt
and get high
on all your
hopes and dreams
I want to
wander the maze
in your heart
and hang
my portrait
over the
cracked drywall.
I want to
feel you searching
my soul and
shouting out
in joy at
every piece you find
I want to
strip you
of your insecurities
until you can
bask naked
in the warmth
of my love
I want to
paint our lives
in vibrant memories
of days filled
with laughter
and nights filled
with passion
I want to
have all of you
in every moment
of every single day
for the rest
of forever
And if that
isn't making love.
*I don't want
to know
what is.*
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
My skin is frying, I can't stop crying, I feel like I'm dying.
Your touch soothes my fever, your arms hold me together, your bed is my grave.
...
This flame of desire inside me burning so bright,
only you can save me on this night.
...
Here I lay dripping with desire,
for your arrival to calm my fire.
Fill me, tempt me, push me to the limit,
with your burning, chilling touch of Frostbite,
Please save me this night!
...
Call me your "Good Girl", pet me, Play,
withdraw your heat and watch me sway,
Please Sir, don't take this blissful feeling away.
...
I wait on my knees by your side,
Not because I am expected to,
but because it is where I feel safest.
...
**** me roughly, love me tenderly
Strip me bare till there's nothing left, build me up and tear me apart
In your calloused hands, I place my tender heart.
...
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
I march to a different drummer
My life it is my own
I'm an explorer of experience
That is how I'm known
I've seen snow in South Dakota
I've been on the Vegas strip
Had barbeque in Kansas
My life has been a trip
I'm a gypsy of the railways
I'm a legend in my time
I move on in a boxcar
Brother... spare a dime?
I've been through all the landlocked states
Five provinces as well
I've seen Niagara Falls all frozen
I've seen it flowing fast as well
I've had margaritas in Key West
And Bourbon in Kentucky
Craft beers out in Oregon
In my life I have been lucky
I travel on my stories
Feed myself with all my tales
I'm an explorer of experience
I'm a gypsy of the rails
I never stick around too long
I don't wear my welcome out
I come and see just what I want
That's what life is all about
I've railroad friends in Texas
Some up in BC too
We've shared drinks in San Diego
And had a great Alaskan brew
I'm not one to live by your rules
I find my rules suit me fine
I'm an explorer of experience
And I'm riding on the lines
You can find me down in Georgia
Or eating spuds in Idaho
I never know just where I'll be
Until my ride begins to go
I'm a gypsy of the railways
I'm a legend in my time
I move on in a boxcar
Brother...spare a dime?
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
"bakit si Limahong at hindi si Komrad Mao? sapagkat ang paglisan sa sariling ina upang sumuso sa bukal na buhay ng ibang dibdib ay isang pailalim na pamimirata. at sa daigdig, ang mga limahong ay matatagpuan sa lahat ng lahi at sa lahat ng kulay. kapag pinag-usapan si Limahong, bawat kinapal na nakatapak sa lupang hindi niya kakulay ay dapat paghinalaan" - Edgardo M. Reyes, SA MGA KUKO NG LIWANAG
bakit ang piratang tsino na si Limahong at hindi ang rebolusyunaryong si Komrad Mao ang napadpad dito sa ating dalampasigan? bakit ang mga piratang tulad ni Limahong ang dumami at lumaganap sa bansang Pilipinas?
oo, laganap ang mga pirata sa ating bayan, pinirata nila ang ating kabuhayan. matagal na nilang hawak ang ating ekonomiya. kahit saan mo ibaling ang iyong paningin ang mukha ng mga kapitalistang tsino ang lagi **** makikita. lahat sila kamukha ni Limahong. sila ang mga bagong pirata.
kung si Komrad Mao sana ang dito ay sumalta, malamang mga Sosyalista tayo ngayon. hindi sana tayo inaalipin ng mga ganid na Kapitalista. siguro sinlakas na rin tayo ngayon ng tsina. malamang walang tiwaling pulitiko na nagnanakaw sa kaban ng bayan. walang mga gunggong na pinagsasamantalahan ang taong bayan. walang mayaman na mang-aapi sa masang naghihirap. walang kolonyal na kaisipan na iiral, hindi sana tayo lumuluhod sa mga dayuhan. walang magtatatwa ng sariling wika at manghahamak ng sariling kultura. wala sanang maka-dayuhan na paghanga. wala sanang taksil sa sariling lipi. sapagkat lahat ng mga duming ito ay lilinisin at gagawing dalisay ng Cultural Revolution.
bakit si Limahong at hindi si Komrad Mao? bakit si Henry Sy, Lucio Tan, John Gokongwei, Andrew Tan ang mga panginoon at naghahari sa bansang ito? bakit tayo inaalipin ng mga dayuhang ito? putang ina, inaalipin at inaapi tayo dito sa loob ng sarili nating bayan. bakit sila ang nagpapatakbo sa buhay at bansa natin?
bakit si Limahong at hindi si Komrad Mao? bakit ang diwang pirata at hindi ang binhi ng kalayaan ang lumaganap dito sa atin? bakit kapitalismo at hindi sosyalismo ang namayani? bakit tayo mga alipin at hindi malaya?
bakit si Limahong at hindi si Komrad Mao? nakakalungkot isipin na natulad tayo sa South Africa kung saan inalipin ng mga puting dayuhan ang mga katutubong itim. ang Pilipinas ba ang katumbas ng Gaza Strip dito sa South East Asia?
bakit si Limahong at hindi si Komrad Mao? bakit tayo pumapayag na ginaganito tayo? wala silang karapatan na babuyin tayo at hindi sila ang dapat na nakikinabang sa yaman natin.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 11:00 PM UTC
Feminism is not a bad word
It is more than four words
If you are a woman if you are a man
If you believe that gender equality
Is important, if you stand by your mother
When she shouts, “I am equal!”
Then you are a feminist.
And I’m tired, I’m tired and I’m frustrated
That the patriarchal society we live in
Would rather demonize equality
Rather than let it stand tall as the statue
It deserves to be.
All it means
Is you believe that women and men are equal
That they deserve to be treated both fairly and just
And I trust-
That the only image of a feminist in your mind
Is one that hates men, that burns bras, that simply get in the way.
And sure there might be a few of those, yes
But I would like to ask you
Since when did one represent the whole?
Since when were all white Christian men
Devalued, dehumanized because of Jeffery Dahmer?
If I were to follow your logic
If we were all to follow your logic
We’d have to lock up every single one of you
All because a few of your fellow men
Perverted an ideal that at the heart of it was good
And please be good
To your feminists please know that it is not a movement
To strip people of rights but to grant rights to those who have been denied
Feminism isn’t a bad word
It’s a word that holds an ideal
That genetics that genitalia do not dictate
Whether or not a human being is held to the
American standard of equality.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a **** lampshade,
My right foot
A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.
Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies
These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.
It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge
For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
26k
like that pill bitter Sunday morning (after)
with a nauseating hack
the previously uneventful Tuesday
derailed
in surrealistic tale
with Auntie and Jack (and a quarter of fate)
in the 748
on a night flight
from Sherwood to Lore
reverberating waves
of imminent summer haze
river flats
and flower fields
fly weights
and silver bait
shredders and shysters
and open gates
(into those everlasting
and sweated journeys of hope)
bloods and strays
and florentine grays
(reminiscent of Rockwell fame)
running horses
and overgrown country lanes
morning grace
and gentle cheer
eyes clear
on the river pass
*blunted paddles for those ancient
and not so willing suckers!*
duke making his own way
(to the corner club)
Parsons and Poe
stream from the torn screen door
cricket cadence
and symphony of the Deere
calm and deliberate
in the soft
and silent fields
meadows open for grazing
(guineas scamper across the till)
pocket apples fill
the country ripe air
drunken bees
and chestnuts
and electric fingers
strike the surface pool
(a cedar strip wedged on the white wash dock)
baited bull heads set to cast
evenings with hearts
and Nolten Nash
may flowers bloom
across the grass
~ time unmatched ~
with blue jays
and river bends
and channel cats
...and that warm
and recurring
Coleman drift
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC
I want to take your attention
and send in a direction
that takes you away
and changes you mindset
for the rest of the day
the thoughts alone
leaving you in disarray
getting you hot
your ***** simmer
the longer the thoughts saute
looking at the clock
as the seconds slowly tick away
imagining my fingers
as they slowly strip away
the folds of your clothes
right down to your lingerie
slowly I impose, as I take the long way
watching you implode, got me thinking you want to play
fingers linger up your thighs as they park valet
triggers trigger your insides, and your body will obey
these thoughts I portray, in a portrait way
got your body speaking languages, how ever they may convey
I read every single word elaborately; until you are my favorite essay
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 3:00 PM UTC
hello,
have you been
well?
i guess not,
for your attention
in my poem
could tell
sorry if this nurse
took so long
in finding
the perfect words
to cure
your soul
first,
strip your clothes
and
stand at the mirror
gaze at the
creature with
the foggy figure
there's
a sinkhole
in those eyes
and a temporary
stitch whenever
you would
smile
the collarbone
which hides,
suffocates from the
blanket of skin
with
sickening lies
it penetrated
and
corrupted your mind
ignored the
fact and just
romanticized
the beast
will **** you,
please
don't find
it ****
the chaos is screaming
later on
you'll be
empty
i know how
a reflection
cries
you lost yourself
you lost you
it's like
having a stray cat
beneath your
tissues
a wandering stranger
sails from
the memories
of truth
overflowing blood
choaked
your dilemmas
too
it mimicked the
fire of hell
in those
shoes
the greatest harm
you'll ever
cause you
but why a
nurse
and not a
doctor?
listen here,
you are your
fighter
the cure and the pain,
which decision
will define?
all i can
say is,
save yourself
from death,
because
it hasn't
deseved you yet
go ahead
and fight your
way to life
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC
she loved thunder storms most of all
the crackle of white hot bolts ripping through the sky
the sheer immensity of power
she always thought it was him
her beloved God
big boy
Thor
with his flowing blond hair
blue aquatic eyes
washboard stomach
and delicately curved *****
finally a man good enough for her
even if he was fly by night
when the heavens thickened gray
like soggy cotton
she could feel atmospheres shift
it made her ******* pert
her mouth would salivate
like a lurid peach
her ***** swelled and dampened
tears of adoration and enchantment
filled her eyes
no longer able to contain her self
she would strip naked
fling off her *******
and run out to the lush verdant meadows
calling at the top of her lungs
yoooooooooo hooooooooooo
as the cool rain descended
she ran thrilled to the mud between her toes
seeing great claws of white lightening echo
through the sky
without hesitation
she fell to the cool earth beneath her
wallowing in the delicious sloshing ooze
positioning her self on all fours
head thrown back
*** up high
calling to the heavens
come on, come on big boy
ive been waiting for you
let me have it good
her clitoral lips
drooled with anticipation
her ******
a pulsating aching
the sky rumbled
with stretching streaks of fire
like a great freight train
spanning infinity
while the earth shook like a
hollow moon
she swayed her hips
rhythmically to and fro
whispering a love song
*oh sir
i need a man like you
wont you love me
adorations true
i kneel before
my sweet Lord Thor
where's that hammer
come on and score
you are so big
and im so little
how about it God
just a tickle
hit it now
give it to me good
kisses baby
like only you could*
tears of desire cascaded
down her pink cheeks
as she recited her love mantra
her mouth naked wet
suddenly
a great bolt of lightening
shot down from heavens throne
entering her ******
splitting her in flames
her head turned dark mahogany
sent careening fifty yards
leaving her mouth
a yawning twisted smudge
of fossilized obsidian
with eyes
blackened flaring hollows
her tender pink ****
a charred flower
smoldering
like a
petite
grilled
calamari
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 9:45 AM UTC
Don't think to control me
I dare you, think again
You want a gentle lover?
I'm sorry, I am the fury
Never attempt to tame me
Because my flames will burn
I'll strip away at your soul
Careful for what you yearn
I'm no gentleman from books
This beast will tear you apart
This lust can never be stopped
Because it will take you, hard
If you're looking for sweet love
I apologise, that's not what I give
For my punishment will be harsh
I'll give you a lesson, on how to live
Don't think to control me
I dare you, think again
You want a gentle lover?
I'm sorry, I am the fury
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
Flown Away . . .
Mom tweets; Dad Twitters
The children sling angry birds
Poultry words are shared
A gap, Agape . . .
With desks connected
And sharing a power strip
We exchange e-mails
Cellacious . . .
Discourse is lacking?
Digital Intimacy!
May our Smart-Phones touch?
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
I'm sure I look fine.
Days like today,
I want to strip the skin
From my forearms
Using only my fingernails.
Days like today,
I want to wring out
My legs like a washcloth,
Squeeze the rolls on my stomach
Until they're empty.
Days like this,
I want to walk away from my body
forever.
I'm sure I look fine.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
The pulsating, pearl moon
Harbours the last remnants of romance,
Scintillating, in the valourous sky,
As I ceremoniously call upon the gods
To bring her back to me.
I longingly strip, craving the vivacity of her caress.
Irresistible, I would yield to the perpetual
Power of her touch.
Immersed in the shadowy depths,
Rippling serenities of thought.
I glimpse at her reflective soul,
Shimmering upon the ravenous river,
Emanating from the stars
In all their graceful radiance.
Her heart illuminates
The benevolent evening.
The breath of inevitability
Stings my skin, as I dress,
Firing my arrows of impatience
Disconsolately, into the shivering azure,
Hoping for a way
To penetrate her very being.
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC
my childhood was removed from me
inside of a blue mustang
and what remained after that
I tried to barter off the highest bidder
but I grew,
not up,
but forward
further away
slowly releasing
hands of defiance
fists chock full of hopeless words
like anger, the flavor that aches the bone,
the cold kind,
more barren than the green of Christmas lights
glimmering off the icy veneer of a white picket fence
overeager, in the apathy of theatrics,
to strip off the remainder
because the empty feeling that followed
might one day
make a decent poem
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
Like flipped coin midair
Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle
Two ends of a spectrum, Möbius strip
In a room together,
Maxwell’s demon, revolving door
Cancer and chemo
Like life and death
Only one can be
The next is inevitable
Like an election
Only one figurehead may speak for a governing body
Like the seasons
Change is expected
Like a cat left to its own devices
Guaranteed to scare itself after a given time
Man tries to conquer for comforts sake
Mercurial reactions
Like elements under catalyst
Electron orbitals
Exchange positive core
Theory of relativity
A choice of determining
Accuracy of position or velocity
Hermes, deity of mine
Masculine and feminine
Ruler of I
Relieve the war of the immortal twins
Gemini
Battling my heart and mind
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
I've dreamed of Irreplaceable
when the light is strong,
hoping when the blackout turns
I'd sleep on something else.
I need to escape my senses
and experience different sensations,
instead of water running through my fingertips
but acid in my veins;
Not soft dancing grass and flowers
or trees that cool me down,
but rocks and boulders who sharpen
and strip me of my flesh.
Seems like I'm on ADD
can't help but move around so much,
strap me down to the gurney
and tear open my painful chest.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
I’m rendered powerless. Just about breathless. I watch as each layer of clothing gravitates toward the floor. Strip off the clothes that enveloped his beauty. My knees begin to fail me. Through his stare it feels as though he’s already probing every crevice of my being. Eye-fingers ravish me. He’s bare. My eyes haven’t left him. He smirks, refusing to leave me a spectator. Clammy hands penetrate the chill of the tile lined room. He strips me. I'm sure he senses me shaking.. goosebumps begin to rise. We step into shower. The tap is high, the temperature hot. The passion as well. He’s capturing me. Rapturing my frame, Grasping me. Gasping for me. He pulls me into him.. into the air. My legs incoherently wrap around him. The hot vapors aren't from the water, but our lust we heed. It’s wet. "Think ya can make it to the bedroom?" My throat closes. Barley touching, the pleasure, pressure, of his words render me unable to respond clearly. I nearly whimper out an answer. The smirk returns. This act meant for cleansing morphs into such a ***** one. I’m miserable within myself, the sheer amount of desire burns. Pushing me to the wall his body presses against me. He pushes into me. His hips. His lips. I feel him sliding in and out, violating, his tongue twisting around my own. His body as well. We’re intertwined...
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
Just be real friend.
Be who you are,
and where you are at.
That's enough,
and it's the only way
forward.
Most of us have put on enough masks
in our life time,
to have completely forgotten
our original face.
We've become far too clad
with the heavy coats of expectation,
suffocating under the weight
of the ways we think we ought to be.
You can drop that garb.
There's always mystery
at the naked core of who you are,
and that's just fine.
It's not that we must rediscover
some definable self,
and hand that image over
for validation.
Rather, those solid definitions we
cart around with us
are heavy enough as it is,
but we've continued pushing them
despite the distress.
We've gotten so used
to that awkward play
of needing to be a somebody,
as if that somebody
were other than
who we already are.
We've forgotten how to let go
with all the spontaneity
of a flowers growth;
forgotten the beauty
of our own personal bloom.
That we are a fluid sweep
of light and dark.
That our faces,
like the moons,
wax and wane.
You don't have to be any which way,
other than the way you are.
That sort of self acceptance
is the innate flourish,
is the fluid self cycle,
is the way back into life.
Don't fool yourself
into believing
there is a better disguise.
Strip down to the bare beauty
of your authentic state
in this moment,
and move from there.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
The only proper way to be a conversationalist is to convince yourself that you’re boring. If you can strip back the hard shell of the ego, and look down on yourself from the eyes of an apathetic God, you will likely (and hopefully) see just how boring you really are. It isn’t a sin to be boring, in fact there are many advantages to honest self-depreciation.
The main advantage, is the way you approach a conversation. “Interesting” people find it difficult to silence the affected score-keeper that dominates their internal dialogue and ruins any chance of an honest and engaged conversation. It is the voice that reminds you to show interest with your body language, and keep a dumb happy gaze laser pointed into their eyes. This dialogue is obsessed with authenticity and genuine conversation, and therefore a natural sociopath.
Luckily, you are the stunning definition of boredom, an extracted dictionary cut-out of un-interesting, and nobody could possibly give a rats-ass what you have to think—least of all the Voice that controls the inner-dialogue. That Voice has packed it up to find a more interesting vessel…maybe the person standing across from you in conversation.
Because you are so boring, and they are the Oxford personification of intellect and fascination, you should pay careful attention to what they say—no time to worry about how they’re perceiving your reaction to whatever it is they’re saying. You are too busy to notice what sort of body language you may or may not be using to validate their half of the conversation. Instead, your time is spent carefully hanging on their every word, digesting it and projecting the whole bit into a colourful scene in your imagination. Instead, you’re too lost in the excitement of their infinitely more interesting life and impossible wealth of knowledge offered to you with each word that they speak. Instead, you are actually listening to the words that come out of their mouth and not the ones that speak to you from the inside of your own mind.
This is what it means to be in conversation. This was the point of our social nature. And in a world of needy social-media junkies grabbing at the cuffs of potential ‘followers’ and ‘likes’ and trendy passer-by’s, the last thing anyone needs is the high-pitched whine of another “interesting” millennial.
Lucky for you, you boring sack of yawning sloths, that you aren’t interesting too.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC