"tactically" poems
Lustfully creating chemistry in the bedroom,
Day dreams to wet dreams,
May I play out my sinful thoughts on you?
Your body—my favorite leisure.
Cravings unbearable,
The flavor of your lips forever engraved in my memory.
Will the next be better than the first?
Again a chance to savor your sweetness,
—To hear your moans escape.
Your body against my body, rhythmically our hips gyrates.
Desire for your passion—longing for your embrace.
The ******* of my neck—bites I cannot take.
Excitement, I cringe at the presence of you.
Fingers tactically stroking—smear my wetness.
Low gasps when you penetrate.
****** after ****** now allow me to stimulate.
Exposing all of my weaknesses,
I want you—intimately; the best way.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 3:41 AM UTC
*And suddenly he finds this--
the season of strange happenings
befall upon him.In Bangkok rains lashed
for three consecutive days without stop.
Huge pythons with strange markings
undulated over waves, that were roads
three days before.A stranger to the town
he feared the fury of river Chao Phraya
but this girl took care of him well,
and when rain paused slightly
she suggested they should eat out.
He left it to her choice, though never knew
much about her, say he was careless.
In that dim-lit restaurant, she said
most unexpected things happen certain days,
and what she said was really true.
She ate his past wholly, so quick
when no one noticed, it was truly smart an operation.
It tastes exactly like Thai cuisine she told him, as if pleased,
full of aromatic leaves of herbs.
He just sat like a zombie, would he understand
the meaning of that sabotage, ever?
As she whispered her words in his ears,
he wanted to contradict, tell her about
coconut milk, pepper and condiments
in which his memories of past were marinated,
like his mom's incredible curries
of fish from Kerala coast.
She pretended she didn't hear
all his memories of spice coast,
she had tactically usurped.
Then a doubt creeped in to his mind
"Is she a banshee, after me?"
She persuaded him to take a stroll
along the bank of Chao Phraya in spate
None would believe him later
his eye witness account of the girl
who ate all his spice land past
jumped in to Chao Phraya turning in to a big fish
and disappeared, never to reappear.*
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 1:49 PM UTC
Can you feel the resonance throbbing gently through this subtle discourse?
I constantly find your lustful innuendo to be an incredibly pleasurable experience. Like your a magical lyricist.., Your words urge to create masterful penetration's through laced pages with in me you bring out the artistic'ness hidden deep with in me.
Rhymes and rhythmic vibrations build up until finally they gush forth with musical symbols, A stream of lyrics resounds in & out of my orchestra,
While we attempt to concentrate on our next feature.
You have me unable to distinguish the next verse for our repetition's, Artfully your lyrics coincide with my own causing phrases to be come literate and a **** good read, Flowing melodies,
While you impregnate my text with all your, your lyrical kiss&naughtiness.;
Filling up my syllable's,Reconstructing my vocabulary.
Our rhyme is basic element that defines the couplet, LOL Coupling as we do.
Our consistent element is the repetition of form,
As in me and you forming as one Not in-difference to you ,
Just with small changes,
in your technique
As we face off while playing out these scene,
Your persistence of our sonnet reverberates like multicultural dance,
I'm competitive while feeling in awe of you. Your sweet tunes ripple down my spine,
while our word play
brings havoc to my mind. Like a chant or a sweet harmonies.
Causing mental eruption's. Conversing about to end,
tactically you evoke emotional & sensual response, But I'm
keeping up with your lyrical flow. Rhyme for rhyme,
as each adjective courses through me, in and out while you become a
cunning linguist
master!, I'm about to overflow as you
Cause me to rhythmically fall victim to
insightful
Poems!
Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 7:58 PM UTC
Sophisticated creations created in sophistication
Humbly stumble your rocket ship upon us
Show us the ways of wisdom
The gears to greatness
Greetings from above…
Indescribably intuitive taking part of our tuition
Relaxing everybody with your percentages
Because everybody loves your mathematical mysteries mingling with minds mistaking us monitoring the minutes of our total misguidance
You guide us through that too…
Tactically tyrannical, democratically demonizing our demands
Demanding our demons
Because without the demons dictating our lusts as districts for us to be in
You are but a simple voice
Maybe so inhumanly loud and annoying
But incompetent
Powerless…that freaks you out…
Notorious nuzzles nurturing our children
Not so new of an idea
Because were used to getting
Tips of our rights smuggled through the windows you chose to open
Then smile and wave from up there
Because being like us is too mainstream
Becoming like us is an impossibility possible only when you become wood
Stiff wood
Moving around on shoulders
Standing in line on
The borders
Of dirt and human form
Following your followers with flowers on top of you facilitating your families fascinations that yes, youre gonna be alright down under
Flashback to the fudemental moments of your life
And you’ll realize
It’s when you killed the father
Suffocated the mother
Ripped the brother apart
And told the son…hey let me help you
But this is when you die…
If we all **** you in our minds youre dead
And only then…would “up there” be nothing but a shameful figure
Rather than a worshiped emblem of total **********
And only then…would we gain life…
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
aware of my depravity
pressed down by the gravity
kept down by the havoc it spills actually
it's sweet like a cavity
it'll confront you callously,
it'll tactically relieve you of your faculties
aware of my depravity
seeing how it got to me, seeing how it held hold of me
No plan of letting go of me, feeding me feelings of apathy
my demons parade me, pageantry , steal from me, give me fantasy
somebody send the cavalry, somebody take this pain from me
somebody save myself from me, give me back my captaincy.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC
Obiter Dictum,
swollen backlash in pursuit of a belt,
momma I swear I'll never sag my pants again.
Victim of a victor system I refuse to be a victim,
I'm on the guess list of an addict refusing treatment,
allow me to use a well spoken perspective,
Death, inspire your deadliest of boom foreal weapons,
a new clear-er suggestion,
seek and destroy tested,
a radiant child radiating at his best but at best still they detest,
chop and ***** your loose or luke troop,
holy war is clocked at 12 past noon,
O biter christian,
oh lord forgive you,
seventy seven times seven,
this clearly says not for human consumption or misuse,
a door with no hinge,
a room without a view,
introducing bedlam,
hell is just a match made in heaven,
how many more words do I have to use to prove to you bloated youth,
tactically destroy any skyscraper presented over you, fa5v_O, for the truth.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC
The poet is not a writer,
though she uses words,
the difference lies in the sentiment,
when he writes a book,
he writes it in order to educate and entertain,
when she writes poetry,
there is a fleck of the unseen,
there is a dream-like quality to the poem,
chaotic rhythm trying to make sense of the madness,
a maddening landscape as surreal and cerebral as Eloheim,
and still the poet persists,
but it is for this reason that understanding breaks down,
and while the poem is often misunderstood,
still she writes for others,
fighting desperately for a cure,
a cancer that all things dendritic cannot touch,
a wound that runs unabated through culture and the human imagination alike,
she writes poetry for future generations,
for her children to read,
leaving the fire lit aflame in the hearts of the next generation,
but each generation fewer and fewer take up the charge,
fighting the good fight is obsolete,
and so it is for the few to tacitly and tactically,
with a tactile touch,
fix the accumulation of those who came before.
I am not a poet,
I do not write for the greater good,
I write for myself,
for the well-being of the being in my head,
for the scrapping in the derelict corners of my mind,
grey matter splattered on false sentiments,
lies and truths mingled betwixt cortex and stem,
a tree burgeoning upward,
and so I do not write for you,
but for myself,
for I am no poet,
lost in rasping of my own words,
in tranquility I fester,
for I owe you nothing,
and from beneath that pretense,
I hang.
I would say that the death of the poet,
is the death of language,
though art fell victim long ago,
and so I find solace in its falling leaves.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
In Pakistan
The CIA has bombed bombs funerals in Pakistan
I heard in this interview
Yes this nation sometimes kills the innocent
But that is nothing new
The Pakistani government cooperates
With the drone strikes
The UN investigation is being stalled by our government
This high ranking U.S. official said,
"We are the only country that thinks
We can use drones wherever we want,
Outside of a hot battlefield."
U.S. citizens are told the strikes are lawful
Our courts are being blocked from
Weighing in on the issue
They have had hardly any impact on the Taliban
According to the state department
Al Qaeda is 10 times stronger in Yemen today
Than when the drone program was started
According to the expert
Tactically they can be successful
Strategically we too often don't know what
We are doing with them
Often the operators
Are traumatized by what they experience
3 or 4 year stints with no down time
The operators were internalizing their experiences
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
BY Arcassin B.
Spoken words are beyond my calibur,
but I , can occur in different places,
placing my mind in others and thrusting my
anger forward tactically finding out that
emotions can be stored below my tough exterior,
as long you don't hit hard below the waste,
and further taste my anguish or demise,
its not you , your ignorance is what I despise,
I turn light into dark in my despair when I
fall apart,
entitled to my own failures looking back at my life like
who was I compared to if its not you?
I will make my mark in this pointless corrupted country,
running in and out of the spirit realm,
seeing my true purposes and letting myself grow.
©abpoetry2020
Mar 19, 2020
Mar 19, 2020 at 12:33 PM UTC
i was swimming
its more like flailing really
just trying to stay afloat
to return to shore
to move toward
a place where i could be sure-footed
or at least MORE sure footed
flapping my arms like this
hell
i would have settled for quicksand
thats when i realized how blue the waves were
how clear
the medium that housed
the vibrantly colored guppies
the sunset that illuminated them
palpabale and tactically enticing
clouds that you could
both consume and caress
how warm the water
how cool the breeze
then a relaxed posture
a calm breast stroke
to the nearest outcropping
and after i approached
scaled it to its pinnacle
bare feet and hands
****** now for good reason
but here i stand
atop lush grass
drip drying
with a view towards
the place where i floundered
ill stay up top
here with the magnificent view
you take the "hi" road
and ill take the high road
as long as we meet here
at the overlook
as long as we hold hands
gaze towards to waves
time the tide
encounter enchantment
we can swim later
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
It doesn't burn my throat fast enough. It doesn't rebel against the other acids in the pit of my stomach. It doesn't make me want to clench my jaw and inhale profoundly. It leaves me alleviated. Leaves me in a trance. It's quite strange. Your absence affects me more than your presence. I'm always looking for answers that don't require to be answered. Yet here I am. With a triple distilled bottle of Tequila in one hand, and a flimsy phone in the other. I know you're not the type to ask who made me like this, but rather ridicule me for my abusive behavior. For the tactics and niche I picked up making me yet, so defensive . I'm unlearning it due to inheritance. I know you're not the type to care what traumas you tend to trigger, but I am the type to figure out what wounds are still fresh and what scars still remains. But who's to say I can differentiate, using it tactically or using it sadistically. I'm so attracted to what's so broken, and it hurts to look in the mirror because I reflect such brokenness. I leave my hand and foot prints on your sand and run away like I never moaned or whispered the sweetest lies.
Wrote to myself awhile ago: They're going to ridicule you, for how you love. I like that about me, I no longer hide anything.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
We put bad people in boxes
with bad people
so multiple wrongs will make a right,
we trust our security with faces
that have to prepare a conference to tactically decide how to answer a personal question,
we smile and say good morning cause we can be bought,
we all want someone,
we all want to be left alone,
we want the lights to stay on even when we’ve voted for poverty,
we want perfection while we belittle the astounding,
we’re wearing masks cause it’s easier to be hateful and indifferent than show compassion,
while we keep begging for someone to love us,
“someone please,
I’m so alone,
please just some love…really you like that band?
that idea,
that belief?
you’re ********
you’re weak and mentally below me as a human being,
god you actually care what I think?
you’re so pathetic,
cause I don’t care about anything you have to say,
you actually want to help me with my problems?
just because I complain every second of everyday doesn’t mean I give a **** about you caring, that’s weak.”
we have always been ******
we have always been stung,
we have always been dumb,
and you’ll learn nothing cause no one does,
keep building bridges made of match sticks into that black hole mirror
i’m just here for the fireworks
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 3:49 AM UTC
He spoke in a rough gruff of a voice, trying to hide his disintegrating stability. His neck was moist, appearing to have lost the capability.
"Rosy, my dear, what do you find so grotesque about love?"
"It's not love, it's what love does to you,"
She responded without hesitation. Evidently hiding her deprivation.
He sank into his ribcage, tactically turning air into mist.
"Then tell me, what is love?"
He latched on unwillingly to the idea that their thoughts could coexist.
She shut her eyes in dismissal and bit her lower lip, clenched her jaw real tight
"To tell you the truth Vincent, I don't quite know. I've tried desperately to understand it, with all my might. But I know that it isn't love if you don't collapse into the palms of another like an unstable building when they touch you."
"Be weary my dear, your humanity is showing."
He said with a slight gust of laughter. As if his sarcasm is bestowing.
**"Remember that day in July, when a butterfly landed on your hand? And you picked it up and pinned its wings? You do that with everything, you know.
And truly, it stings."
** The words lunged from her throat like a long awaited confessional, done by a man sought out by death. Because the concept of peace is obsessional.
"You know that I'd never keep you from flying. I'd never make you choose a cool winds breeze over a life spent in my cage. I wouldn't stand to hear the tortures of your crying."
He swallowed a hard lump down his chest.
"You showed me where to look amongst the gardens and the graves. You pointed out the masters and you pointed out the slaves."
She slid out of her identity into something more comfortable.
"You must understand, my dear, you are beautiful but you do not mean a thing to me. Love can never be interminable."
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
Masterfully present in mind and spirit.
The days roll forward on a tactically drawn out chasm of
misguided thoughts, and uncharted feelings.
Misplaced emotions drive a long
continuous bludgeoning of my inner sanctioned light.
Its as if ones own being is held hostage by its clever attempt
to be whole again.
Too many edges to uncover,
a minefield of chopped sections of life,
waiting to be stepped upon; all driven towards one
harmonious ending, the need for love.
An outside influence to catch an unstoppable force
from self destruction.
I tread carefully, each step forward signaling
a bitter remediation of myself, crafted so that only
a significant soul can unearth that which one has
held blanketed for ages... eons.
Another wanderer is needed for the part with this man.
Walk wisely,
you may be his end.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
The Behemoth of my brain
remains
to this day never slain
a constant drain
on my mental faculties
my mind is full of insecurities
my speech slurred with inaccuracies
but tactically I meander through the minefield
my wit my only weapon
without shield or protection
for the beast that lies dormant
waiting to escape
the cage of my subconscious
so I remain cautious
exhausted
from the constant battle
the haunting rattle of chains
that reverberate through my brain
like an oncoming train
but my feet are fixed to the tracks
no time to relax
gotta face facts
it's me or the beast
now released
let the fear begin
which starts within
a tiny seed that grows
with every thought or deed
its only chance to succeed
just you and me
a fight to the death
you steal my heart and my breath
what have I left?
one thought to survive
the reflex dive
as I submerge in water
I just caught yer
before you could commit your crime
I guess....
at least till next time.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC
I trusted you.
It's not much, three words
not love or endless faith proclimations
nothing more than a smile and a fond glance, maybe
it's not like we've known each other all that long
but it adds up, you know?
Simple math, add the hours to the days
and those conversations we had late at night
and get the solution:
a night where I felt like I could pour out my soul
Not much, not much,
but enough
Then shock, betrayal
I added it wrong, carried a one that wasn't there
and somehow expected more of you
My mistake, tactically stupid, I know
Who goes to war with an ally they hadn't tried in battle
with no written record of a truce?
Rookie mistake.
I won't be so foolish again
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
You should not do it
secretly: but unnoticed --
just tactically.
Feb 11, 2023
Feb 11, 2023 at 2:44 AM UTC
Poetry and artistic expression,
make me feel so vulnerable.
The pseudonyms hide my blushes.
from a juxtaposed complexion pale,
Set sail in to the blank page.
Making waves on those contoured lines.
the island of design is on the horizon,
yet it changes state each time we arrive.
i’m not surprised,
bashful,
tactically sound.
the waters are calm,
but i’m anxious,
until my feet feel solid ground.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 6:14 AM UTC
Follow me!
come
to
my world
That is
soo
not full
of
followers
i wrote
stuff
with
my feelings
and honest opinions
but i need
people
nor
crowd
for
me to
deliver my
appellations
actually
tactically
phsically
socially
and
verbally
are somehow
maybe
confusing
you
mentally
but
dont
really
mind
what
i say
because
i am
only writing
this to
maybe
somehow
get some
attentions
XD
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
A nation, besieged by an enemy force,
was encircled and close to defeat.
The leader of the beleaguered army
wanted to capitulate, hoping for leniency
from the tactically superior general,
who'd beaten him at every turn.
A young, ambitious officer,
looking to stand out from his rivals,
came up with a plan to eliminate
the unbeatable general.
A soldier would surrender to the invaders,
spreading a rumour,
so impressed by the talented general,
the citizenry would **** their monarch
proclaiming him their new leader.
The canard was told to everyone
the captive had contact with.
The soldiers argued,
was the prisoner lying or telling the truth.
It didn't matter anymore,
the seed of sedition was planted.
Other military leaders,
envious of the general's success,
quickly relayed the possible betrayal
to their ruler.
The belligerent king, fearful his sovereignty
might be under threat,
recalled the effective general
under the guise of an update.
On the generals return,
the king had him executed for treason.
In the ensuing uncertainty,
the defenders regrouped,
launching a counter-attack.
The new general, chosen by the king,
less competent than the last,
lost all the territory,
won by the former military leader.
The defending army, now on the offensive,
outmanoeuvred the invading force,
driving the enemy from their dominion.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 4:53 AM UTC
In a pool full of words my fingertips dance with elegance. Stringing together blissful melodies as I paint sentences of succulent decadence. Coated in benevolent embellishments. tactically crafted paragraphs are like scents seen evanescent.
Aug 17, 2019
Aug 17, 2019 at 10:48 AM UTC
We waft and wend our way through life
Avoiding complication's strife,
We meld our courtship to the mould
Incorporating righteous hold,
All the while, ***** our head
Until such time that we are dead.
Some abide by rules, absurd
Others running with the herd,
A few deny the Devil's work
Others conjure the berserk
Wherewithal we come and go
As tactically, as best we know.
Some we win, some we lose
We play the cards, as best we choose,
For life is but a gambled toss
Of joyful win or saddened loss
With courage then, we all stride out
In optimism's bouyant shout.
When, at last, the curtains fall
Aloft, we hold, summation's call,
Good or bad, that last decree,
Bears determination's fee.
For judgment's tidal vanity
Is but a ripple, to humanity.
[email protected]
19 May 2024
May 18, 2024
May 18, 2024 at 11:07 PM UTC