"stumping" poems
-This is Nigeria,
Where Cattle’s fly their terrorism flag,
Stumping on humtydumpty green white green.
-This is Nigeria
Where corrupt QWERTY and busy ******
Puts food on the table of unemployed youths.
-This is Nigeria
Where clerics find paradise on earth
Lo! followers live as church rats withal.
-This is Nigeria
Where Eve plotted against a serpent
Hm! Mrs Philomena and her fairytale animal.
-This is Nigeria
Where Sundays are full of bibles and Qurans,
Yet her body stinks in poo of immorality.
-This is Nigeria
Where the mace is a mess in her house
As senators sleeps and vacate seats in a hearing.
-This is Nigeria
Where in Nigeria
We are looking for Nigeria.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
300 pounds,
Well-built,
Stumping on the dusty sand,
Golden chains fall off his neck,
Thick rings depart from a block of fingers,
Jo plunges into heavy waters,
Swims,
Boasts in his riches,
Disappears.
Would you love all the fat?
The fried chicken in his legs?
The alcohol filling his stomach,
To the point of exhaustion,
To the regret of a feeble button,
Too superficial,
Too excited,
To remain amongst the rest.
Do you know the weight of his soul?
200 lbs,
500 lbs,
He's got too much heart,
Much mass,
Tough skin.
Aug 2, 2020
Aug 2, 2020 at 7:52 AM UTC
as graphic as yours
a slowly lifted skirt
a hand on her thigh
gliding up to her bare heaven
bare ******* with tense ***** *******
gasping sounds cries of yes yes yes
her hands on my man pride
stiffening in the limelight
a little more risque a spank on a bare
cute well formed ***
a ******* in the backseat
a tongue teasing a small cute slit
two girls and a ******
or two midgets and one twelve inch ****
the words loud raw pelvic **** me
yes yes yes
or is it more ***** to show the latest massacre
in a school 26 dead, or
a misguided american "Smart" bomb wiping out six doctors without
borders and 50 Syrians
or the lies of our politicians promising us the world so
we may vote for them , or a young girl who is naturally
getting experimental getting pregnant and giving up her baby for adoption because she did not get education or protection. And then she gets HPV and dies at fourteen from cervical cancer
or is it just me that thinks the nightly
news and the stumping of a bunch of lying hypocrites is more ******
than a bare ******
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
A stampede of oxen
stumping the head
Cacophonous Canaries
Crucifying the mind
Needles avalanche
Down the cerebrum.
Tranquility a scarcity.
The skull longing to be hewed
In half so it can breathe again.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
the night shoals of city lights,
where stumping feet
gives their own interpretation
to the baseness of silence
nothing is serene
just marked time
with feral pride
stretching into tied darkness.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
I've come to love
and know
the color blue to mean
not a Blue Monday
Blue Note or joke
and don't much care to sing the Blues
or for that matter
give them
because truth be told
most of the time
I want to caucus
with those
pumping and stumping
for a Blue Hawaii
or the warm blue waters
pickling poetically
the clam shell white bottom
of Palancar Reef
Whit Howland © 2019
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 3:32 AM UTC
words.
i just
love
them.
big ones,
little ones.
just love them
they are like
honey on my lips,
poprockz candy to my
brain.
they crackle and fizz:
igniting,
exciting,
vibrating,
reawakening...
synapses too quiescent;
jiggling,
wiggling,
slapping,
trappin,
thoughts....
caught snoozin and napping;
flip flopping
flim flam-ing
photograph
framing...
opinion only halfway dressed;
jitterbuggin,
jiving,
striving
sometimes conniving....
fighting for a voice;
half formed,
brainstormed,
uninformed,
spoken on a baited breathe,
giggle, gaggle,
gobbledegook...
given egress;
hornswoggle,
bing bang boggle,
lolloping through....
galumping,
triumphing,
tree stumping....
both
me
and
yoohoo
too!!!
zip
it,
zinger
coming
on
thru.
my
mind
a
veritable
word
zoo
where i
graze
and nibble
and
nab
a
theasuarus
or
2
.....
words.
i just
love
them.
.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
***
Sensual, explicit, extraordinary
FOREPLAY
Communication, touches, eye contact, spiritual pull.
Passion, Intimacy, ***
***
The combination of raw, untamed energy,
Unsuccessfully molded into one.
Bursting with each arch
Burning with each grunt.
Heart thumping to each melody
Mind so white as bliss rockets out her body.
***
Caress your thighs,
Let me strum and create a band
drum and create a symphony
key and harness the harmony
Let me orchestrate your body while you sing for me.
***
Let me whisper a Terza rima
“Do you want to be ******
Foreplay.
Grazing your thigh, looking away
Small subtle smile appearing.
Sneak peeks, blushing, lip biting.
HUNGER
There’s a hunger,
A craving for more.
Chest thumping, heart stumping
Slowly, I exhale
Deeper I go into this autumn forest
Lost and excited about this evening breeze.
“Touch me”, I whisper
As each part of you covers, marks what is within me.
Licks, bites... more!
Heavy breathing
Tongue twisting.
My voice wishes to be heard.
Unleash your inner beast,
Burn me
Warm me
I’m raging wet and cold!
Intimacy, Passion
Call out your soul,
Mine humbly and impatiently awaits,
Restrict your outer,
It’s time for your inner to shine.
Let me paint you with a colour of four,
With each stroke, call out your soul
Mine painfully awaits.
Sing to me
I’ll compose you a piece
One of meant for a goddess.
Before you reach your peak
Call out to my soul.
And fully feel me devour you.
***
Foreplay
Intimacy
Crave my passion
Want, need and be given
Come!
Explore the beauty of the pearl!
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 6:12 AM UTC
The incandescent lights, the crowded subways,
The penetrating fumes, the worried pace,
The ticking clocks and the rushed sweat,
The heavy breathing.
The city moans.
A man welded into a sea of bodies,
Sweat hanging from his frowned brow.
Shaky hands and an empty stare.
A quick pace walks unperceived.
He cannot be seen.
A cellular phone buzzes into his ear,
Vibrating inside his wealthy pockets.
A raggedy angry man shouts,
Like the constant bickering of his wife,
The commands of his boss.
Dark circles have replaced his eyes,
Moans have overcome his speech.
Leisure is an unobtainable dream,
Happiness is once again
An unknown deed.
He stares from outside his window,
Confined within a wooden desk.
Stacked between a wave of duties,
He looks for an escape,
And a tempting distraction.
A thin-boned young woman, with
Child-like body, and undeveloped hips,
Walked without a pace,
Without rush, or march-like hurry.
She pranced, yes, she pranced.
Oh how her body danced,
Without worry, or clenching irk.
Her smile illuminated the beholder,
And her stubby figure, suddenly
Had become graceful.
She turned, her baby blue eyes,
And stared at him in return.
She extended her arm,
She bent her hand.
She beckoned, and he ran.
He took her hand and all
Was left behind.
The city lights, the buzzing screeches,
The never-desolate streets,
And the suffocating sweats.
The yanking automobiles,
The stumping feet, the irritable frowns,
The traffic lights, the ***** streets,
The helicopter roars,
And the rush hour jams.
The bickering wife,
The dictatorial administrator,
The dying parents, the crying children,
The mounting responsibilities,
And countless sleepless nights.
He welcomed her slender arms,
The quiet nights, and the countryside aroma.
The city fumes escaped his lungs,
And he could finally breathe,
Hear, see, taste, and feel.
Oh, how he longs such respite,
He whispers, as he stares down the window.
And slips the hand he had been holding.
She prances away,
And he stands, alone.
In between his desk, inhaling
The city fumes. Exhaling a tired breath.
Hearing the screeching wheels,
The angry drivers, and the busy tack
Of hurried standbyers.
It had only been a rush hour dream,
It seemed.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
tattered memories
of flattery
splash against the backdrop
of pastel coated youthful visions
soft blended colors fade and blend
swirl and collide
embrace and recoil
forever interpreting
the dreams of my childhood –
faces take shape
staring blankly into space
I shake my fist
and race to place
the case at the law bringers feet
bowing at the stone alter
sacrificing time
desperate and forlorn
I say, I say, I say,
boy,
feeling like foghorn leghorn –
cartoon falling down the hallway tunnel
funneling idealism
into tiny glass cups
roughly stumping speeches
at penniless preaches
beseeching those reaching
for free handouts and doubting
the ones touting freedom of thought….
sometimes I get caught up,
lose my train of conscious ideas
this is what that looks like –
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
Thou ***** a minute of adversity,
stumping on the rival with two eyes;
As if an innundation overwhelms the ground
As thou hush the gore splattered
Arid as the utopic vision of the crowds
Everyone has accepted death
Noone bears the sound of the knell:
Thou shall still be petrified by the dark!
Shall miss a moment of ironic cleft:
Where thou tackle on mundanity and self bereft
Condolences to whomever has passed:
Away from a madness that clenches a crowd of no tomorrow, without a promise of longevity,
For they have given in to a visionary of death.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC
What kind of a man can
but a man that could, would not
and who should that man be?
but the man that lives in me
I engineer a situation to situate this simulation
in which I entertain my mind
and I find the stimulation that stimulates each situation is very kind
I don't mind if I am to be
a man that only I could be
and I can see
the man that I should be
is me.
Empathy and understanding
in the making of a man
is as crucial and demanding as the
man quite understanding
who can only understand
the type of man that he can see
and any man would want to be.
Anyway the man that is the man today
must learn that what he has to pay
is his fair dues
and losing sleep will not keep the man I am
from stumping up
I can
be the man I am
and if I am that man
then that man can be me.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 5:50 PM UTC
They predict the day.
They predict the week.
They predict the year.
Oh, here we go again?
Another Prophet's predicting when the world will end.
Suddenly, panic kicks in amongst some of us.
While some of us wondering about our friends and kins.
Who start believing anything spoke?
Oh, ****
Here we go again?
To some in this society.
We truly knows, only one knows the answer to the truth.
It's not no person in the ministry.
They like a scientist trying to say, when the world begun.
Both comes across a little dumb.
It's an answer stumping many of us.
Strange, when this castrophe passes, not to be.
Then , these so call Prophets starts to use reasons.
When the end of civilization, lies within the hands of God.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 5:43 PM UTC
don't tell me i'm strong
because i certainly am not
if i were,
i wouldn't ache the need to hurt myself
or ache the need to jump off the third floor at school
you wouldn't hear me crying in the bathroom stall
or you wouldn't hear me complaining this much
i would be buying my cafeteria lunch
i would be eating my three meals a day
you wouldn't had to stop my feet from stumping
you wouldn't had to stop my eyes from closing
don't tell me i'm strong
because i certainly am not
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
I am thinking of the memories over and over
The highway that lead me to no shame
How it's never changed
It has stayed the same
Lead me to love and never no pain
Showed how much I had to gain
As it was leading me away
It was begging me to stay
What would have happened
If I had never traveled and I had never seen
And I always had to wonder "where"
And I had never been there
Never left me in the dark
Could always count on it getting me home
Never left me alone
Taking me to my favorite fishing hole
"Charlie's Hole"
Where I was always stumping my toes
Where it snowed
But never stopped me from being on the go
Took me to Grandma's for homemade white cake
But it was not mine to take
It allowed me to walk
And me and it had some very long talks
Lead me to the back woods
Lead me to Indian Cliffs
Where that Indian Chief
Was carved into that rock and but still kind of stiff
Where I road in the back of my Grandpa's truck
Always keeping my head tucked
Lead me to my friends
Where there has never been any ends
Where still to this day it leads me home
Where I never feel alone
And
Someday it will lead to where I will have my finale rest
And
One last time it will lead me home
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
does anyone know
the purpose of toes
if not to give a whiff
to my turned up nose
the big ones for stumping
that and nothing more
but what in the world is up
with the other four
how many games of piggie
can a man can play
before he feels that he
gives his soul away
i know some women like
to add shiny rings
but me, the manly man that i am
would never dare such a thing
and i'm no fan of their jam
as something to eat
unless you spread peanut butter
all over both of my feet
so i guess i'll continue this quest
and wonder along
what in the world is the purpose
of all these of toes
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC