"syphilis" poems
love is like syphilis
it makes you crazy
eventually leading to death
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 2:54 AM UTC
I'd heard about problems with police
hard to hear harder to believe
personally I never had a problem
oh a few well deserved speeding tickets
probably cut a break no definitely
I drove very fast especially in the turns
roll-the-tires fast in the turns
that was me
and the more I heard the faster I turned
as a young kid I applied and was accepted
to six colleges six for six piece of cake
why the stress my SAT score equated
to an I.Q. of 1 above plant life
accepted open arms those WASPs loved me
graduate school one for one
best in the country
bar none MBA with honors that was easy
they called it the golden passport yes
passports are even faster
I never had problems
with band-aids
the bank
the insurance company
the healthcare system
never turned down
for a credit card car loan
life insurance policy
or request for a specialist
experience is the best teacher
and the more I learned
the less I wanted to know
and the faster I turned
then I learned
about certain specifics
certain policies
with regard to traffic stops
bank loans rental property
heath care voting rights marriage
read the color purple
and then that invaluable government
syphilis experiment
that would have been inconceivable
even to doctor mengele
that the star spangled banner
has more than one stanza?
really there were four stanzas?
MY country ‘tis of ME
and it was making me feel *****
learned that no one
voluntarily held that flag up
that hellish night
o’er the ramparts WE watched
as slave and freedmen
were ordered
to their near certain death
with the threat of absolute
certain death
then I watched a cop
shoot a kid in the back
in cold blood
near a merry-go-round
on a playground
in baltimore maryland
I liked baltimore
fast very fast he emptied the 10 round clip
of a semi-automatic 9mm Glock 27
into THAT kid's back no hesitation ******
baltimore baltimore baltimore baltimore
I hit the brakes hard
on those fast decades and decades
generations generations generations
of turning
I slowed down way way way down
stopped
took a deep deep deeper breath
then did what I always did and do best
I turned turned turned I turned around
and as I turned I woke
to kneel
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
i peeked into your secret
i unbottuned your sensitivity
with your own sarcasm
you blew my vietnam
my heart is a touchy speaker cable
and you sparked me up
now
i am empty beer bottles
oscillating in your hand
and then you set me down
i am your nostalgia and
you can only think of bad things
like bruised knees and gout
and that summer you
had walking pneumonia and syphilis
and you cried every night
into your mother's arms
i am the cancer you faked
in order to gain attention
i am that boy that fell for it
and gave you syphilis
i am your shaved head
on picture day in the 9th grade
i am your solitude
i am your noise
i am your virginity
being taken in the backseat of your
brother's best friend's parent's
camaro when you were 15
and more than willing
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 7:26 PM UTC
Upon a morning dreary
I took a **** which left my ******* weary
I wiped
I flushed
I exited the bathroom blushed
Twelve hours passed
Since that horrid **** left my ***
And low and behold
A smell flowed to my nose
Just as a burning arose
Underneath my *******
I knew too late the **** had stained
The flesh, my taint tucked under my ******** train
ONE WIPE WAS NOT ENOUGH...
Pretty soon around six o'clock
There came upon my door a knock knock knock
And who was there?
Who did I hear calling to my ears?
It was the *** positive, gonarreah infested, scabies encrusted, syphilis ridden, transexual sex-kitten I had started a relationship with over Craig's List
Now, listen children carefully to this...
***** tucked hisher's lips around hisher's teeth
And began a ******* that could make the Hulk weak
But it was over in a jif
When ***** caught a wiff
And that little sneak
Took a pervy peak
At the feces widely spread underneath
***** RAN AWAY CRYING
I was laughing so hard I thought I was dying
That pesky little poo
Left on hisher bottom lip
Made that entire bathroom trip
FULLFILLING
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
Some time ago in the furnace below
Grew restless the ruler of sin;
He dug through His closet
Composed a composite
Consisting of a violin.
The underworld rang with
Delectable twang
As Lucifer plucked on His strings;
E'en angels flew down
Allured by the sound
Til Cerberus plucked off their wings.
Eventually Satan grew bored of this, too;
That thrill-seeking ******* must capture the new;
So up to the land of the living He flew;
Disguised as a figure whom everyone knew.
First on the agenda of any pretender:
Extinguish the genuine soul;
He arrived in Genoa
Disguised as a boa
And silently swallowed him whole.
With Europe His playground
The Devil, He made sound
That no one alive had yet heard;
He fiddled and plucked,
Gambled and ******
Until inside Him syphilis stirred.
His physical shell He now had to retire;
Back to the depths of the black and the fire;
Forever above will the humans admire;
The legend of strings; the king; the sire.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
.
Henry VIII was a deluded monarch,
he could never have ruled the Earth,
for he hasn't seen his **** for years,
hiding beneath the bulk of his girth.
And wobbling onto the battle field
is not the behaviour fit for a King,
he would have to sit nursing his cysts
and hoping the ointments don't sting.
His eating excess was cause for concern
but his syphilis remained largely unseen,
and one really has to feel so sorry for
whomever it is that is currently Queen.
His penchant for young and younger Ladies
made him a stranger to baths and soap,
and his bed hopping antics to sire a son
bought him much trouble from the pope.
© Pagan Paul (09/12/18)
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
Serendipitous
Sirens
******
Seasick
Sailors to
Satiate
Sickly
Sensual
Seconds
Stalked full of
Sexually
Stimulating
Sentences
Second only to
*** itself;
Sad for
Seasick
Scurvy
Sailors
Syphilis will
Soon
Succeed
Sanity.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
I always knew it
That he wasn't just your friend
Don't get syphilis
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC
This is how I deal with my **** I write it up just for you, my words are cursive for a purpose, it heals the pain I deal with inside. Honest opinions that make people mad, they say I ain't rad, I'm just a fad of ****** hip-hop. I say I am a favour to this industry, but you ****** ain't feeling me, so I keep my lyrics confined with my pride. Ironic syphilis dickwads filled & infused with hate for yah to feel, this is just the real, no need for props. Can't handle me, you can't accept me, but I don't care, i'm rare, not some sell out like black eyed pea's. ****** get mad when I say ***** but don't hate, natives were called ****** too, so I don't want to hear your **** about it. Work out with a wii fit, cheat when I do a spelling bee, lying about everything, trampling the rap game that's how I be. I used to try not swearing because it's just a easy cliche that fake rappers say, but **** it I need to get across my thoughts in a way for you peanut brains to truly understand my **** Is this the innocent kid we used to hear, no that kid died when introduced to this crude society, gentle giant becomes defiant to the ways of how we live. Hulking out against everything wrong, i'll wreck the way we see things, not caring for the feeling you have, make you cry tears that will clear your blind view of the issues we face. So hate me, go ahead, I don't care, in fact i'll come to hater club with you, hear everything you have to say and save it in my eternal thoughts like a external drive. You have no taste for real rap, you probably listen to low life bottom feeders like little wayne, that's not real rap that craps a disgrace.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
Then took her by complete surprise;
Bursting forth into hysterics
I gazed into her glazed, mesmeric eyes
**My intention descending like nightmarish haze;
*Said **** that merit badge
Grandma ***** let the cat out the bag
I wanna play***
She's fixin for a lickin
And I'm dying to get a taste
That ***** glistening so listen
Preheat the oven don't need no glove
I've got an addiction
finna bore in
frictionless!
Instantly smitten,
Her face turned shades of crimson
when I finished with
"Lets play genital hide & seek -
You're it"
It's time to remit demented dementia baby
I'm not so easy to forget;
& I'm shots of splotchy red like syphilis
*Don't front like you won't give me the nookie
Girl urrbody had a crack at your world famous cookies
& I just can't keep my hand out the jar*
Tonight I'll wrestle a cougar with my bare hands
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
Oh Donald Trump may be an angry, narcissistic fool;
A racist, a misogynist and all-round half-baked tool.
Upon his nation and the world, he represents a curse,
but all of that's okay, you see, for Hillary was worse!
Oh Hillary, she had mad cow and syphilis and rabies.
She drank the blood of virgins and she lived to dine on babies,
and from her eyes shot laser beams while on a broom she flew.
In every way she's crooked, for The Donald says it's true!
She once was witnessed soaking in a lava-filled hot tub,
where she was playing footsie with her pal, Beelzebub!
To the Gulf and Caribbean she released the hurricane.
She brings the earthquake, fire, plague, and drought and flooding rain!
Although she now is history, with influence no more,
we must all hate her while The Donald's failings we ignore.
So while Trump spews his hate and puts all progress in reverse,
we must embrace his evil ways... For Hillary was worse!
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 6:15 PM UTC
In school, they used to teach us phrases like:
The fast car, or, The big tree.
But never did they mention the man who,
Upon losing his education like his keys,
Takes a fast car into a big tree-
On purpose.
Then, in school, they taught us drugs are bad,
*** is dope, crack is wack.
Yet never did they once speak of the father who,
Uses drugs to feed his kids,
so that they grow and feed their kids too-
Through purpose.
And, in school, they showed us pictures.
Of Syphilis and AIDS,
To scare us.
But, once again, the graphs and facts were missing,
As though seeing was trespassing upon some truth-
Some purpose.
So I pick up a pen and write:
A suicide story, a poem from the block.
And I sketch a Polaroid of a shaken scene,
Of the things I am not. So that I,
Yes I may lead a life-
With purpose.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC
I hold a secret deep inside
(no, not syphilis)
I thought it might be false
But it's true and not a lie at all
And this causes a problem
So listen up and listen well
Just ignore all the signs you see
Because they'll lead you wrong
Just promise to try
Try and avoid the secret
Because it is a problem
If you would read its lore
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
'LOVE IS BLIND'?
'Love is blind'?
what nonsense!
then how come we have
'love at first sight'?
Shakespeare in one sentence
had hoodwinked us since 1616
true, he wrote great drama and poetry
but we must note
he didn't study medicine
nor opthalmology
and mind you
we are living in the 21st century
with all the science and technology
surely it would be the greatest folly
to just quote the bard's cliche blindly
the eyes have it
ask the ophthalmologist
without the eyes
the lover would not see
beauty
and as a corollary
how could you love somebody
if in the first instance
you were blind id est--you couldn't see!
careful, so careful we must all be
to differentiate between reality
and the ranting of silly poetry
if this myth were to perpetuate nilly-willy
mankind would look really silly
that would look good not even to the slightest degree
and one more thing
please bear with me
and this is the bard's secret history
he had chancre--venereal ulcer
for which he received treatment
could he have written 'Love is blind'
being affected by that odious malady?
London's brothels he did visit frequently
when he was away from Stratford-upon-Avon
he drank a lot too--there is ample evidence
he also had anasarca (oh mercy!)
result of mercury-related membranous nephropathy
( we shall not defile him further-
but his alopecia was due to treatment of mercury
for his syphilis---what a medical litany!)
in conclusion
we could somehow see
that England's greatest writer
was not as bright as he had been taken to be.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
Lord Henry Dickenbottem
Lived among his peers
A mind of deepest arrogance
Concealed between his ears
He spent his nights in gross misconduct
Lounging in his secret quarters
Mistress, maid and washerwoman
Ousted mothers, secret daughters
Hiding sordid love affairs
His endless line of ******* heirs
***** Henry Dickenbottem
Stalked above the stairs
Lady Mary Dickenbottem
Did her wifely duty
The slenderest of all her kin
Considered quite the beauty
Though in the dusk the candle burned
Alone, she stitched a pallid face
And in the dark she sought its words
To gain her shallow masters grace
Guiding will and fooling eyes
Beseeching of the dead to rise
Demon Mary Dickenbottem
She the pure despise
Master Neville Dickenbottem
Best of all his class
Beaten all the school boys
And bedded every lass
Allies of the strongest kind
And making merry of the weak
The liberties were his to take
And never one he wouldn’t seek
His gaze surveyed that which he ruled
All logical and water cooled
Nasty Neville Dickenbottem
Devil-fire fuelled
Young Jemmima Dickenbottem
Innocent and slight
Playing on the borderline
And darting out of sight
Only ever at her ease
When no one else was close about
And etched upon her baby face
The guilty shadow of a doubt
Always blamed if something broke
And speaking just above a croak
Shy Jemmima Dickenbottem
Tangible as smoke
Old Mother Dickenbottem
Lounging in her chair
Lavender and nicotine
Are fighting for her hair
Beware, at night she ventures forth
So best keep safe your tiny tots
She’ll creep up to the windowpane
And ****** them, sleeping, from their cots
Humming in discordant tones
Nimble fingers, cold as stones
Hungry Mother Dickenbottem
Gnawing on the bones
Dear Major Dickenbottem
Five years in the ground
Hoarded every ha’penny
But frittered every pound
Long he served his king and queen
A gentlemanly thing to do
He left the port with many men
And brought back homeward very few
He died away in foreign lands
Of syphilis and swollen glands
Dead Major Dickenbottem
Killed by wandering hands
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC
Pour myself another drink
I should stop writing and denounce HP
It has become a voice to my nightly brain fever
More serious disease than syphilis
As it eats away at my brain
I suspect in much the same way
In past a vent for the toxic thoughts off divorce
Preoccupied in bitter tears and hatred
Not seeing its healing potential till now
A display of my emotion
Sometimes intense yet so often lost to others
A soap box of parody that hid a broken heart
An inverse playground of my deepest fears
In that it has many swings and roundabouts
Of love, for others here
Some home so long since gone
Dealings with grief and loss of substance
My family
Now seems like a wrecking ball formed verse when re read
Others I cannot see where I was in my head
Lights on yet not at home
The words don't fit now
I thought STOP!
Delete
But that would be failed testament to myself.
The gin now speaks not me (metaphoric as drinking Bundaberg Guava as good for the kidneys and to wash down my acidophIlus tablets just to clear up that I'm not a wino!)
A bottle opened to embrace
Odd as I can't remember when I last loaded
More so on a school night
I was told to look in not omit myself by helping others
Give me some me time
I have time
I dwell, cogitate to detriment and find no solution
So Yes may be his answer and his inner solace
It is not yet for me.
Goodnight Mrs Kalabash see you in St Louis
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 9:27 PM UTC
Drive off the edge of a shallow cliff
Congrats, you've made it off the curb
Doing drastic things has never been my specialty
Let's live vicariously through someone else
I won't feel anything
But that cuts both ways
Melodramaticism spills forth onto a page that exists
Only because we want it to.
Philosophy in this place
Semantics in schools
School of thought
School of rot
School of wrought
Insides sink like they're covered in ink
Resting in my pelvis
Anatomy is for the birds
But people have it too
I'm still waiting,
Haven't you heard?
I'm still a ******
Wrong wait,
As in: wait here just a little
I've got more to say
Feeding experiments to those most hungry
Let's secretly give syphilis.
Disgusting peoples live throughout our days
The devil and God are raging inside of me
Let's be brand new
Just nonsense,
drivel
Welcome to my poetry
There's meaning here, seriously
Just, please, don't let go of me.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 3:11 PM UTC
close your eyes, and perhaps in doing so,
you will dream a dream never dreamt before.
in this dreamt world there are insects that glow,
and language that won't make sense anymore.
with very strange phrases like "civil war,"
and even stranger like "life after death."
there will be giant metal birds that soar,
people underwater not holding breath.
they will call it the land of the free, with
stories of black men given syphilis.
and these stories are labeled fact, not myth,
but still something historians will miss.
of course, this all seems unlikely to me.
now open your eyes, tell me what you see.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 10:21 AM UTC
Livin' out Hefner's flesh colored dreams
Hangin' with bunnys and beauty queens
Bangin' Springsteen's pleasure machines
Makin' the scene, some say obscene
Spent at the end of a hot summer day
Lookin' for needles in tall stacks of hay
Cryin' for someone whose gone far away
She's the only one who could make it okay
**** films and syphilis ruined my soul
Glossy magazines I bought and stole
Devoured my heart, left just a hole
Juvenile lust has taken it's toll
Dreamin' of Hefner's flesh colored lies
Layin' my head 'tween some prostitute's thighs
Numb and alone, how I've come to despise
Can't wait until this part of me dies
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
Lip Dip Paint
One Two
Lip Dip Pain
Three Four
Lip Dip Pai
Five Six
Lip Dip Pa
Seven Eight
Lip Dip P
Nine Ten
Lip Di
Eleven Twelve
Necrosis of the teeth
the bone becomes brittle
limping with sore feet
the jaw shatters
sores line the throat
mouth only of gums
blood starts to flow
only holes left to tongue
red seeps out the mouth
doctors say this must be syphilis
Oh God, it hurts
to work for greed so villainous
Lip D
One Two
Lip
Three Four
Li
Five Six
L
Seven Eight
Nine Ten
Another girl in the ground again
Eleven Twelve
It's safe, don't you want to
radiate?
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 1:36 PM UTC
Tick tock went the clock,
echoing
through monastery halls,
synchronizing the actions of men,
building up modernity’s walls.
Creatively destructive,
eternal
yet fleeting,
modernity was paradoxical,
according to the Harvey reading.
Art had expanded,
abstraction arises,
and Sigmund loves his mom,
more than anyone realizes.
Our friends the id,
the ego and its super,
tell us who we are,
Freud has the world in a stupor.
A catch-22 for dear Pablo,
who will sleep with a ****
but is terrified of syphilis,
as is seen in his art.
There was power and truth,
and Foucault says we’re repressive,
but suddenly things change,
Postmodernity becomes quite impressive.
PoMo cares not for beauty,
or what pleases the public eye.
It’s style for style’s sake,
in the buildings stretching toward the sky.
Uma dances with John,
a young boy finds a severed ear,
Joaquin loves his OS,
PoMo film is, well,
Queer.
Yuppies love pastiche,
their lofts were once a workplace,
they’ve coated them with chrome,
they’ve gentrified the space.
Unlimited breadsticks
have soiled the very Italian name,
Baudrillard says it’s simulacrum,
there is no truth, it’s all the same.
We traipse through this
postmodern world,
not knowing postmodernity
is where we are.
We wear workboots to fashion shows,
we worship that reality star.
We think we’re special snowflakes,
and skinny jeans make us cool,
and media exposure’s made us cynics,
quite impossible to fool.
What we don’t realize is that
we are not our own,
we are pseudo individuals,
through PoMo we have grown.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
I met him at a dust-bowl bus station
In Mobile, where buses wore dust trail capes.
Roaches clicked in the water fountain basin.
With charisma he denounced
The muddled spray of birth and spring,
The spermy apocalypse brought forth by an
Army of mad babies with syphilis-splintered brains.
He had gambled for three nights,
Wonder and reason backing his chips —
Small blind, big blind.
He had the shoulders of a man who locks the door
And hides the key — an invisible traveling carnival
Trailed his gait on a pace-worn floor.
Bed bugs had made Braille of his arm.
He was going off to a camp south of Cabbage Town
Where he would sweat beneath the sun,
Surrender beneath the stars,
And dream of the ten women he’d made.
He told me he hated knowing he was in control,
And that it was the saddest part of the darkest hour.
Aug 18, 2024
Aug 18, 2024 at 12:36 PM UTC
Now 20 turning 21 this month, but you don't realize the time and where it went until you reach a certain age.
20 still young but not as young when you think back to years ago.
When i was 10 i thought my teenage and adult life would be filled with what we see on the movies, full of life, party and fun.
But it really isn't like that, when you reach a certain age maybe for some what you wish you had may never become.
Never being able to join the cool kids, go to parties to have sleep overs because you're not labeled as "cool".
Time's have changed since back in your days, or our days.
No more house parties as we used to see, just more reckless than what old generation of the youthful playful teens would be.
I used to think drugs, parties, alcohol, loud music, *** and being popular would be cool, (isn't that what we all thought high school would be like?)
but now i look back and think it wouldn't be fun to...
die from drugs, puke from poison, carry maybe syphilis.
But maybe being able to join a party or 2 and be a bit popular and be liked would be cool.
Or would it?
Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 11:13 PM UTC