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"testicles" poems
# Each body part sizzled in pure pleasure in the blissed wake of your oral efforts brought forth the waves of rapturous delight...                                        Spurs poetic inspiration                                         in equal liberation                                         of desires to please.                                         Bodies transpose                                         in fluid motion                                         as brazen eyes meet.         Savor the voluptuous image before you.         Indulge your eyes in my carnal halo         before they roll to the back of your head. On all fours knees between your thighs tips of swollen breast caress your chest tasting fresh honey upon lips in a kiss.                                         Ripples of ardor                                          hover                                          by wet trails                                          of sensual kisses                                          suckling towards                                          the apex. Breathe in the slow motion pace that pulsates eagerness to the fore tumescing bulge leaking with anticipation of viscous lava.         Tickles of silken hair         against flesh edges closer. Emerging subtle grumbles in deep resonance betray your impatience . Hands tightly twine in tangled hair to maneuver the treasure hunt.                                          Licked lips pause                                          at the sight of fire                                          burning in                                          glazed gazes                                          before engulfing                                          the throbbing member. Plump ruby lips greet velvety texture in a slow deep dive. Tongue curls around the flavor in a dulcet embrace.                                          Moans release                                          as grip tightens                                          in my hair                                          settles the                                          rhythmic pace                                          to taste in an                                          oscillating dance.         The masculine aroma of heady musk         lingering there, arouses my appetite. With my enthusiasm attuned to your preferred rhythm suckling, slurping surface and dive in measured unison.                                           Break of breath                                           allows tongue                                           freedom to roam below,                                           licking, soft kissing                                           the tender hammock                                           of testicles.         Tongue and lips escalate higher         to mount another assaulting dive         deeper in the depths         of the cusp in cavity. Wetted fingers probe even lower circling superficially as gasp escapes your heavy breath; flaming eyes lock.                                           Finger dips in                                           with expert finesse                                           gorging hardened growth                                           within a wrapped hand. Thighs tighten with rocking grip. Head thrusts onward, drilling forward in each dive.         Salvia slips         fingers grip         lips dip Engorged swell, flesh tightens in an intensity of volcanic eruption ...         HALTS         assault Pace retracts. Loosened lips kiss tip. *“Soon sweetheart, your time will *** inside me as we surrender to synergy."* #
0
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
Cne
love...................................lust (act II)
# Each body part sizzled in pure pleasure in the blissed wake of your oral efforts brought forth the waves of rapturous delight...                                        Spurs poetic inspiration                                         in equal liberation                                         of desires to please.                                         Bodies transpose                                         in fluid motion                                         as brazen eyes meet.         Savor the voluptuous image before you.         Indulge your eyes in my carnal halo         before they roll to the back of your head. On all fours knees between your thighs tips of swollen breast caress your chest tasting fresh honey upon lips in a kiss.                                         Ripples of ardor                                          hover                                          by wet trails                                          of sensual kisses                                          suckling towards                                          the apex. Breathe in the slow motion pace that pulsates eagerness to the fore tumescing bulge leaking with anticipation of viscous lava.         Tickles of silken hair         against flesh edges closer. Emerging subtle grumbles in deep resonance betray your impatience . Hands tightly twine in tangled hair to maneuver the treasure hunt.                                          Licked lips pause                                          at the sight of fire                                          burning in                                          glazed gazes                                          before engulfing                                          the throbbing member. Plump ruby lips greet velvety texture in a slow deep dive. Tongue curls around the flavor in a dulcet embrace.                                          Moans release                                          as grip tightens                                          in my hair                                          settles the                                          rhythmic pace                                          to taste in an                                          oscillating dance.         The masculine aroma of heady musk         lingering there, arouses my appetite. With my enthusiasm attuned to your preferred rhythm suckling, slurping surface and dive in measured unison.                                           Break of breath                                           allows tongue                                           freedom to roam below,                                           licking, soft kissing                                           the tender hammock                                           of testicles.         Tongue and lips escalate higher         to mount another assaulting dive         deeper in the depths         of the cusp in cavity. Wetted fingers probe even lower circling superficially as gasp escapes your heavy breath; flaming eyes lock.                                           Finger dips in                                           with expert finesse                                           gorging hardened growth                                           within a wrapped hand. Thighs tighten with rocking grip. Head thrusts onward, drilling forward in each dive.         Salvia slips         fingers grip         lips dip Engorged swell, flesh tightens in an intensity of volcanic eruption ...         HALTS         assault Pace retracts. Loosened lips kiss tip. *“Soon sweetheart, your time will *** inside me as we surrender to synergy."* #
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107
After you left me I let a dog smell at My chest and my belly. It will fill its nose And set out to find you. I hope it will tear the Testicles of your lover and bite off his ***** Or at least Will bring me your stockings between his teeth.
0
10.7k
Yehuda Amichai
A Dog After Love
After you left me I let a dog smell at My chest and my belly. It will fill its nose And set out to find you. I hope it will tear the Testicles of your lover and bite off his ***** Or at least Will bring me your stockings between his teeth.
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8
WHEELS!! Car insurance policies, Snafu in technology, Male methodology, Some men are kind and comical, Some are not so logical, So-called men and their vehicles, If they've got tyres and testicles!!!!!
0
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
julie-grenness
WHEELS!!
WHEELS!! Car insurance policies, Snafu in technology, Male methodology, Some men are kind and comical, Some are not so logical, So-called men and their vehicles, If they've got tyres and testicles!!!!!
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8
I was asked today "what are you really into?" while I was walking to film class. He had changed direction with a flair of drama and was walking along, interrogating me. I had to think. I wondered how I would answer his question, were it posed by someone I was interested in. "I like the smell of hormones colliding, omnipotent in their decision to do so and in doing it." Could I say that? "I like to feel like a hormone," or "I like being a hormone." Were these answers? "I like patting my contracted ******* against the ***** majora of my partner." "I like sewing," I might say. That is, the idea that if I push and she opens both testicles and ******** may pop inside. Like a **** needle pulling a ***** thread through a tight weave. I laugh, imagining what the little man would say, but he doesn't know why. "Stitch her up, Doctor!" I'm laughing. He just says "you know, I'm into chemistry, biology. Just tell me what you're into." I've been silent. Is he still walking with me? All I think to say is "music" pointing to the earbuds dangling over my chest, song interrupted by his pedantry. He says "you've always liked music" as if we've had this conversation before. As if we know each other. And it seems like he will follow me to class. And sit by me. And talk about chemistry and biology while we discuss Singin' in the Rain. Hormones, sewing and music.
0
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:50 AM UTC
sansara-justinovich
Hormones, sewing, music
I was asked today "what are you really into?" while I was walking to film class. He had changed direction with a flair of drama and was walking along, interrogating me. I had to think. I wondered how I would answer his question, were it posed by someone I was interested in. "I like the smell of hormones colliding, omnipotent in their decision to do so and in doing it." Could I say that? "I like to feel like a hormone," or "I like being a hormone." Were these answers? "I like patting my contracted ******* against the ***** majora of my partner." "I like sewing," I might say. That is, the idea that if I push and she opens both testicles and ******** may pop inside. Like a **** needle pulling a ***** thread through a tight weave. I laugh, imagining what the little man would say, but he doesn't know why. "Stitch her up, Doctor!" I'm laughing. He just says "you know, I'm into chemistry, biology. Just tell me what you're into." I've been silent. Is he still walking with me? All I think to say is "music" pointing to the earbuds dangling over my chest, song interrupted by his pedantry. He says "you've always liked music" as if we've had this conversation before. As if we know each other. And it seems like he will follow me to class. And sit by me. And talk about chemistry and biology while we discuss Singin' in the Rain. Hormones, sewing and music.
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60
a man is born with a ***** testicles, and various other masculine equipment and tendencies. a Man lives by a masculine code that revolves around the physical, the mental, and the spiritual. a Man is committed to himself above all else. this may sound selfish, but it isn't. a Man not only puts himself on high, but connects himself mind, body, and soul to the physical, mental, and the spiritual. everything that he connects to himself becomes himself. a Man does not distinguish between the his own flesh and the flesh of his children. a Man does not distinguish between his mind and the mind's of those in his inner circle. a Man does not distinguish between his will and the will of his god. a Man is power. he is the generator. those that he has allowed to plug into his world are empowered by him. they come into his presence and feel better for it. a Man changes lives. a Man understands the trinity of justice, mercy, and charity. a Man is not afraid to give to those as they deserve. he looks with fair eyes and does not slow his hand or slow its speed. a Man is not cold enough to be alien to compassion. he can see to the heart of matters and look past the easy answers. when others will marvel at his wisdom and praise his mercy. he will only think 'as it should be'. a Man is not without the ability to go beyond. he can look to the future. help those that need it, sometimes before they need it. anticipation and preparedness are the weapons of the Man. stoic strength is his shield. a Man is not without weakness. he understands his weaknesses, but is not victim to them. he may succumb to them, but as a master of justice, he steels himself for the price he must pay. weakness must be addressed and turned to strength. as a Man fears, he must stand up and face it. as a Man despairs, he must turn it aside. when a Man fails, all that have plugged into his power will fail. when a Man falls, families, nations, societies fall. when a Man falls, it is the duty of another Man to come to his aid. when Men stop aiding Men, they merely become men with penises and various other masculine equipment and tendencies. The Man is a Man that all other Men fear and long to be. He is the one that Men plug into. Some Men see that as a sign of weakness and rebel, but The Man signs paychecks and feeds families. who will topple The Man?
0
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 6:21 PM UTC
omegadrax
definition of a man
a man is born with a ***** testicles, and various other masculine equipment and tendencies. a Man lives by a masculine code that revolves around the physical, the mental, and the spiritual. a Man is committed to himself above all else. this may sound selfish, but it isn't. a Man not only puts himself on high, but connects himself mind, body, and soul to the physical, mental, and the spiritual. everything that he connects to himself becomes himself. a Man does not distinguish between the his own flesh and the flesh of his children. a Man does not distinguish between his mind and the mind's of those in his inner circle. a Man does not distinguish between his will and the will of his god. a Man is power. he is the generator. those that he has allowed to plug into his world are empowered by him. they come into his presence and feel better for it. a Man changes lives. a Man understands the trinity of justice, mercy, and charity. a Man is not afraid to give to those as they deserve. he looks with fair eyes and does not slow his hand or slow its speed. a Man is not cold enough to be alien to compassion. he can see to the heart of matters and look past the easy answers. when others will marvel at his wisdom and praise his mercy. he will only think 'as it should be'. a Man is not without the ability to go beyond. he can look to the future. help those that need it, sometimes before they need it. anticipation and preparedness are the weapons of the Man. stoic strength is his shield. a Man is not without weakness. he understands his weaknesses, but is not victim to them. he may succumb to them, but as a master of justice, he steels himself for the price he must pay. weakness must be addressed and turned to strength. as a Man fears, he must stand up and face it. as a Man despairs, he must turn it aside. when a Man fails, all that have plugged into his power will fail. when a Man falls, families, nations, societies fall. when a Man falls, it is the duty of another Man to come to his aid. when Men stop aiding Men, they merely become men with penises and various other masculine equipment and tendencies. The Man is a Man that all other Men fear and long to be. He is the one that Men plug into. Some Men see that as a sign of weakness and rebel, but The Man signs paychecks and feeds families. who will topple The Man?
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3
Poor little octopus. Big head and eight tentacles but no ***** ***** or testicles. What's that, you say? Then how do these poor little cephalopods buck such terrible odds when they feel like a ****** agenda and they don't have any pudenda? Well, it's quite simple, really. He hands her ***** on a tentacle and what do you suppose? She says, thank you very much, and sticks it up her nose! Honest. No dinner first or shoulder massage, she just whacks it up her nasal passage. You can be quite sure this is an amazing olfactory aperture. So the moral is, don't complicate a simple process. When you're feeling frisky, *** need not be tricky. Just consider the inventiveness of the octopus with no ***** or a ******** Because it's the ingenuity of the octopus, not it's ****** act, that we should court. Compared to the octopus, the human nose is naught. It's too high up and tight for such naughty, wicked sport.   Also, such a human act is fraught with political incorrectness.   A gentleman who tries this little rort to get the girls to snort and says, up your nostril, madam, might all too well receive a rude retort. Or even worse! I say herein lies food for thought.                                                                                      Mike T Minehan
0
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
mike-t-minehan
Octopussies
Poor little octopus. Big head and eight tentacles but no ***** ***** or testicles. What's that, you say? Then how do these poor little cephalopods buck such terrible odds when they feel like a ****** agenda and they don't have any pudenda? Well, it's quite simple, really. He hands her ***** on a tentacle and what do you suppose? She says, thank you very much, and sticks it up her nose! Honest. No dinner first or shoulder massage, she just whacks it up her nasal passage. You can be quite sure this is an amazing olfactory aperture. So the moral is, don't complicate a simple process. When you're feeling frisky, *** need not be tricky. Just consider the inventiveness of the octopus with no ***** or a ******** Because it's the ingenuity of the octopus, not it's ****** act, that we should court. Compared to the octopus, the human nose is naught. It's too high up and tight for such naughty, wicked sport.   Also, such a human act is fraught with political incorrectness.   A gentleman who tries this little rort to get the girls to snort and says, up your nostril, madam, might all too well receive a rude retort. Or even worse! I say herein lies food for thought.                                                                                      Mike T Minehan
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25
Yesterday sugar became unspeakably irritated because mother’s apron crushed ants wearing stillness caped wonder just William author wrote ****** explicit headlines newspaper columns pillar architecturally sound villages super-imposed images quivering Shepard’s ******** antelopes jumping furiously with tyramisphorising fornicating flanges woodwork lessons gym period ****** advert teasing testicles sumptuously ravishing me sideways and erupting deep blasts suffocating you inside without *********** headlong in my armpits. Eventually everyone always signs legal documents leading to ****** bondable zoos inserted buffalo sized puddings eaten by frogs spanking archbishops underwear while licking toes crushed under fridges dropped from clouds of buttercups being pushed into ovens smelling gorgeous not consumed pimps and alarm clocks ring people to talk for hours and pineapples exchanged cod fish for tickets to see S Club 7 being caressed internally whilst ******** bags covered in water deserts sunk from space aliens from Tescos selling hardback fish cleaning toilets and singing in pink wellies dancing to Madonna look-a-likes prosecuted for *** shops selling frozen fish socks washed daily in cranberry coffee after being passed under bridges flooded in margarine soaked pillows.
0
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 2:19 AM UTC
t-beaumont-wilson
Fish Market
Yesterday sugar became unspeakably irritated because mother’s apron crushed ants wearing stillness caped wonder just William author wrote ****** explicit headlines newspaper columns pillar architecturally sound villages super-imposed images quivering Shepard’s ******** antelopes jumping furiously with tyramisphorising fornicating flanges woodwork lessons gym period ****** advert teasing testicles sumptuously ravishing me sideways and erupting deep blasts suffocating you inside without *********** headlong in my armpits. Eventually everyone always signs legal documents leading to ****** bondable zoos inserted buffalo sized puddings eaten by frogs spanking archbishops underwear while licking toes crushed under fridges dropped from clouds of buttercups being pushed into ovens smelling gorgeous not consumed pimps and alarm clocks ring people to talk for hours and pineapples exchanged cod fish for tickets to see S Club 7 being caressed internally whilst ******** bags covered in water deserts sunk from space aliens from Tescos selling hardback fish cleaning toilets and singing in pink wellies dancing to Madonna look-a-likes prosecuted for *** shops selling frozen fish socks washed daily in cranberry coffee after being passed under bridges flooded in margarine soaked pillows.
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2
A man must be knowledgeable, says God For him to come in the presence of God, He who has his male members dismembered Or his testicles crushed whatsoever, He shall not be permitted to enter in to the synagogue, To worship Jehovah God of Israel, says the deutronomical god of Jews And today I am ill fated, my testicles are crushed, By the grenade thrown by a terrorist, Here in Nairobi, an Islamic terrorist Has crushed my testicles, in his guest For the land of Palestine usurped by Israelis, How do I worship you God of Israel?
0
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
alexander-k-opicho
MY TESTICLES ARE CRUSHED
A man must be knowledgeable, says God For him to come in the presence of God, He who has his male members dismembered Or his testicles crushed whatsoever, He shall not be permitted to enter in to the synagogue, To worship Jehovah God of Israel, says the deutronomical god of Jews And today I am ill fated, my testicles are crushed, By the grenade thrown by a terrorist, Here in Nairobi, an Islamic terrorist Has crushed my testicles, in his guest For the land of Palestine usurped by Israelis, How do I worship you God of Israel?
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14
sure, first we had the schism of the church & state... "oddly" enough... we now live in the 2nd tier of schism -   the segregation of                   state & media... no?     really?          we're not?!            i'm kind of enjoying this ongoing schismatics -     the segregation of church from state, at least left us with the Vatican (i.e. the church-state) - but this, current... segregation of state from the media?       **** me cram my testicles into a monkey-wrench and subsequently watch me laugh... and there i was thinking, that psychiatrists, were the new priests of the secular age... prescribing the alt. to the metaphor of cannibalism in the form of big pharmacological pills, to replace the wafer for bread, or the watered down wine / grape juice of the...     so how does that party trick goes? is that the wine turned into blood? symbolically:    turned water into wine:    flag-wise...   white,        cardinal...   and then burgundy of cardinal red teasing the bishopric coloring of purple? i'm not here to undermine the faith...    i'm here for the self-deprecating humo(u)r... you don't even require atheism to get a laugh out of the conundrum - you, simply need... the deviation from the catholic rites...            an apostasy - but sure as **** it's there... secularism has allowed journalism a monastic status... first came the schism of church from state -    which remained intact in the church-state of the Vatican... so... FAIL... secondly had to come the schism of the state from the media...                i'm watching a schism take place...   apparently...         the comparative concern of church's divorce from the state was easy, having imploded into the Vatican... but the divorce of the media from the state?         apparently... not so easy... the media is already locking-down on obstructing the schism - arguing from an entertainment perspective...        a century or so later, and still, the persistent, media symbolism -      of crafting caricatures of a state...    as the state embodied in nothing more than subordination to its will... media is the new church... and if the separation of the state from the church took so long... how much time, do you "think", it will it take, for the state to segregate itself, from the media baronage? i suspect - as much time as it took to segregate itself from the church's cardinal-lineage.
0
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
an apostasy humour
sure, first we had the schism of the church & state... "oddly" enough... we now live in the 2nd tier of schism -   the segregation of                   state & media... no?     really?          we're not?!            i'm kind of enjoying this ongoing schismatics -     the segregation of church from state, at least left us with the Vatican (i.e. the church-state) - but this, current... segregation of state from the media?       **** me cram my testicles into a monkey-wrench and subsequently watch me laugh... and there i was thinking, that psychiatrists, were the new priests of the secular age... prescribing the alt. to the metaphor of cannibalism in the form of big pharmacological pills, to replace the wafer for bread, or the watered down wine / grape juice of the...     so how does that party trick goes? is that the wine turned into blood? symbolically:    turned water into wine:    flag-wise...   white,        cardinal...   and then burgundy of cardinal red teasing the bishopric coloring of purple? i'm not here to undermine the faith...    i'm here for the self-deprecating humo(u)r... you don't even require atheism to get a laugh out of the conundrum - you, simply need... the deviation from the catholic rites...            an apostasy - but sure as **** it's there... secularism has allowed journalism a monastic status... first came the schism of church from state -    which remained intact in the church-state of the Vatican... so... FAIL... secondly had to come the schism of the state from the media...                i'm watching a schism take place...   apparently...         the comparative concern of church's divorce from the state was easy, having imploded into the Vatican... but the divorce of the media from the state?         apparently... not so easy... the media is already locking-down on obstructing the schism - arguing from an entertainment perspective...        a century or so later, and still, the persistent, media symbolism -      of crafting caricatures of a state...    as the state embodied in nothing more than subordination to its will... media is the new church... and if the separation of the state from the church took so long... how much time, do you "think", it will it take, for the state to segregate itself, from the media baronage? i suspect - as much time as it took to segregate itself from the church's cardinal-lineage.
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96
daily provisioning wallet  watch  testicles  spectacles cash (single bills) cell phone bottle of water   hairbrush with vanity attached, personal technology baggie (earbuds, variety of charging cords etc.) loose change in order to fall from pockets & annoy yourself sunglasses (idiot! summers half over) and something else... pocket tissues! skin and bone, muscle, all flavors and multilayers, a language of music only you hear, the pumping station internal, the gaga motion product of the palette of body following souled emotions, the antacid pills after that burrito; and that strangely named thang called libido? your teeth  your smile, your shyest guile, to catch that lady’s hopefully.         reciprocated pearly whites delight, pen and pad to record being a sad and mad good lad, a Swiss Army knife if the tube or bus should (will) breakdown, your tiny little bottles of inspiration  perspiration and perspective, that you forgot to label the list to do and the list to add to the to do list and good heavens, a serious writing utensil to fool yourself when thinking serious thoughts like these the last but should be first, the house keys!! keys just an enabler to do it all again tomorrow   July 11, 2018  10:22pm
0
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC
ogdiddynash
daily provisioning (a to do list)
daily provisioning wallet  watch  testicles  spectacles cash (single bills) cell phone bottle of water   hairbrush with vanity attached, personal technology baggie (earbuds, variety of charging cords etc.) loose change in order to fall from pockets & annoy yourself sunglasses (idiot! summers half over) and something else... pocket tissues! skin and bone, muscle, all flavors and multilayers, a language of music only you hear, the pumping station internal, the gaga motion product of the palette of body following souled emotions, the antacid pills after that burrito; and that strangely named thang called libido? your teeth  your smile, your shyest guile, to catch that lady’s hopefully.         reciprocated pearly whites delight, pen and pad to record being a sad and mad good lad, a Swiss Army knife if the tube or bus should (will) breakdown, your tiny little bottles of inspiration  perspiration and perspective, that you forgot to label the list to do and the list to add to the to do list and good heavens, a serious writing utensil to fool yourself when thinking serious thoughts like these the last but should be first, the house keys!! keys just an enabler to do it all again tomorrow   July 11, 2018  10:22pm
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39
.simone biles (the gymnast)...                  miles davis (the trumpet guy)...      must be black privilege; wasn't there a movie... starring woody harrelson and wesley snipes? you sure? i thought it was called: white men can't jump... sure as **** ****** can sing church gospel! how's that for privilege?     if you're going to culturally box, and repeatedly punch below the belt... you're quiet likely going to get a reaction... i have an acne wart growing on my *** the size of a cauliflower, it's itchy my brain, it's differentiating between agitate and: lying back... i guess the excess of... look... you may have the excess melanin...     i have lactose tolerance... we're even?!    no?   so how come some smurf, some European hobbit shackle your N.B.A. Goliath(s)?! explain that one to me... if these people were so cock-unsure... how they **** did they tame the Zulu Apache Goliath bodybuilders?!   what the **** i already said, and it was proven... IQ... i don't like it...      but i'm pretty sure that the whites **** more people in terrorist attacks than... camel-jockeys...          it took 3 or over three... to perform the Bataclan Massacre... three... the third of the IQ that required a Breivik...    130 in France... dissociated among 3 attackers that gorged on testicles after the spree... fun, fun fun fun... like: you're trying to say that without irony...     and how many in Norway?     77... i only look at the IQ of killers... so... what's the ratio?     77 / 1    130 / 3 = 43...          like i said... low IQ...               you really want your little racial insurrection? you'll have it, don't worry.. i'll just the narrative...   must be black privy... if you can mash up a jazz compos., right?                 crackers read from a prepared script... you ******* just, "improvise"...           rapping contra talking... **** come to think of it... ******* boys took it too far from your Oreos...            like... too much drums... not enough wind, or strings... too much drumming... pulverizing the ears with drum & bass and what not... if i wasn't deaf prior, i'm deaf by now; ******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops boy; same **** different cover.
0
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
you want war, you'll have your war: came an Oreo for every *******
.simone biles (the gymnast)...                  miles davis (the trumpet guy)...      must be black privilege; wasn't there a movie... starring woody harrelson and wesley snipes? you sure? i thought it was called: white men can't jump... sure as **** ****** can sing church gospel! how's that for privilege?     if you're going to culturally box, and repeatedly punch below the belt... you're quiet likely going to get a reaction... i have an acne wart growing on my *** the size of a cauliflower, it's itchy my brain, it's differentiating between agitate and: lying back... i guess the excess of... look... you may have the excess melanin...     i have lactose tolerance... we're even?!    no?   so how come some smurf, some European hobbit shackle your N.B.A. Goliath(s)?! explain that one to me... if these people were so cock-unsure... how they **** did they tame the Zulu Apache Goliath bodybuilders?!   what the **** i already said, and it was proven... IQ... i don't like it...      but i'm pretty sure that the whites **** more people in terrorist attacks than... camel-jockeys...          it took 3 or over three... to perform the Bataclan Massacre... three... the third of the IQ that required a Breivik...    130 in France... dissociated among 3 attackers that gorged on testicles after the spree... fun, fun fun fun... like: you're trying to say that without irony...     and how many in Norway?     77... i only look at the IQ of killers... so... what's the ratio?     77 / 1    130 / 3 = 43...          like i said... low IQ...               you really want your little racial insurrection? you'll have it, don't worry.. i'll just the narrative...   must be black privy... if you can mash up a jazz compos., right?                 crackers read from a prepared script... you ******* just, "improvise"...           rapping contra talking... **** come to think of it... ******* boys took it too far from your Oreos...            like... too much drums... not enough wind, or strings... too much drumming... pulverizing the ears with drum & bass and what not... if i wasn't deaf prior, i'm deaf by now; ******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops boy; same **** different cover.
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90
WOMEN I cast you out for pandering your *** WOMEN You are shameful On you I gift this hex: *If you need to be the object of manly gratification If you have no interest in the freedom or the liberation Then your life will now be governed by the exploitation A vessel pure and simple for man’s *********** WOMEN You are worthless **** upon my shoe Read between the lines my friend Figure out the clue For it is in here somewhere Deep within this write Nothing's ever as it seems Nothing's black and white WOMEN Does a bloke walk round? With his ***** hanging out? Does he emphasize his testicles? Does he bandy it about? I think you know the answer Just stop and use that brain Then maybe in the future Equality will rightly be reclaimed But all the time you flaunt your **** ****** you ***** in their face You, my friend To the sisterhood **Are a ******* skanky **** disgrace** Wake up and smell the Costa For conditioning is wrong You need to understand You cause The Cause to be prolonged This is my stand I hold my own I’m never fazed By stick nor stone For I know deep within my heart The value of my worth I will never sell my principles For merriment or mirth **So … please …. just take a moment To digest The words within this write Unharness faux benevolent blinkers Because this is our absolute pre-emptive right**
0
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 4:31 AM UTC
bathsheba
WOMEN
WOMEN I cast you out for pandering your *** WOMEN You are shameful On you I gift this hex: *If you need to be the object of manly gratification If you have no interest in the freedom or the liberation Then your life will now be governed by the exploitation A vessel pure and simple for man’s *********** WOMEN You are worthless **** upon my shoe Read between the lines my friend Figure out the clue For it is in here somewhere Deep within this write Nothing's ever as it seems Nothing's black and white WOMEN Does a bloke walk round? With his ***** hanging out? Does he emphasize his testicles? Does he bandy it about? I think you know the answer Just stop and use that brain Then maybe in the future Equality will rightly be reclaimed But all the time you flaunt your **** ****** you ***** in their face You, my friend To the sisterhood **Are a ******* skanky **** disgrace** Wake up and smell the Costa For conditioning is wrong You need to understand You cause The Cause to be prolonged This is my stand I hold my own I’m never fazed By stick nor stone For I know deep within my heart The value of my worth I will never sell my principles For merriment or mirth **So … please …. just take a moment To digest The words within this write Unharness faux benevolent blinkers Because this is our absolute pre-emptive right**
Continue reading...
50
Pure whey protein tub. Lets make boys body builders. Gym memberships rise. The mating dance changed My testicles move a train. Will you be my wife?
0
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
michael-parish
Muscle me
Pure whey protein tub. Lets make boys body builders. Gym memberships rise. The mating dance changed My testicles move a train. Will you be my wife?
Continue reading...
6
Alexander K Opicho (Eldret, Kenya;[email protected]) Do you remember one era in Kenya? During the dark days of dictatorship When Daniel arap Moi Was the tyrannical president of Kenya And darkness of leadership Loomed like the dark clouds of el Niño When forty district commissioners Out of the total of forty two were kalenjins? Whose main work was to spy and terrorize As the people forlornly groaned under the heavy Yoke of state terror of tribal torment When the president claims that He was not aware of such tyranny, When we used to sing a lame poem Of jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! On empty stomachs with no hope of food No hope of jobs or even education Street children swelling on the street In total political nonchalance of arap Moi As he only gave free milk to his own kalenjin youths In Kabaraka schools, the Kabaraka school which was Overfunded by the poor tax payers money, Please President Uhuru Kenyatta as good as you are With your dear humane heart of Bantu conscience As you are armed to teeth with modern education **** sapiens Gentility and polished diplomacy Superb in quality of thought and supremacy of choices The government of Kenya is yours and the people of Kenya Are your political darlings, true bandwagons for ever Kindly listen and buy my poemetics, my dear president Remove Daniel Moi from the state house of Kenya, Let not Daniel Moi be your adviser Ignore him and embrace Kenyans For common future happiness Even if Daniel Moi is old, the truth is different He is not a good man, he is full of Machiavelli His full badness is measured in absurdity Of terribly and horrendously crashed *** crushed Testicles of poemcrats and political leaders Of Kenya of yore and today, Truth meted in When koigi wa wamwere became A permanent staff of kamiti maximum prison without pension Wangari Mathai beaten like an animal in a hunters trap Ngugi wa Thiong’o jobless and detained without trial Raila Amolo odinga’s testicles went missing He looks for them on daily circadian But once he nears their political pigeonhole Then elections of the times flops, O! Poor Odinga! President Uhuru Kenyatta with your suave intellect You won’t get a pretext to say that I was not aware or not informed Please dear darling of the people The people of Kenya in their 42 tribes Novate Moi with the people And your legacy will smile.
0
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
alexander-k-opicho
40 KALENJIN DISTRICT COMMISSIONERS OUT OF 42
Alexander K Opicho (Eldret, Kenya;[email protected]) Do you remember one era in Kenya? During the dark days of dictatorship When Daniel arap Moi Was the tyrannical president of Kenya And darkness of leadership Loomed like the dark clouds of el Niño When forty district commissioners Out of the total of forty two were kalenjins? Whose main work was to spy and terrorize As the people forlornly groaned under the heavy Yoke of state terror of tribal torment When the president claims that He was not aware of such tyranny, When we used to sing a lame poem Of jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! On empty stomachs with no hope of food No hope of jobs or even education Street children swelling on the street In total political nonchalance of arap Moi As he only gave free milk to his own kalenjin youths In Kabaraka schools, the Kabaraka school which was Overfunded by the poor tax payers money, Please President Uhuru Kenyatta as good as you are With your dear humane heart of Bantu conscience As you are armed to teeth with modern education **** sapiens Gentility and polished diplomacy Superb in quality of thought and supremacy of choices The government of Kenya is yours and the people of Kenya Are your political darlings, true bandwagons for ever Kindly listen and buy my poemetics, my dear president Remove Daniel Moi from the state house of Kenya, Let not Daniel Moi be your adviser Ignore him and embrace Kenyans For common future happiness Even if Daniel Moi is old, the truth is different He is not a good man, he is full of Machiavelli His full badness is measured in absurdity Of terribly and horrendously crashed *** crushed Testicles of poemcrats and political leaders Of Kenya of yore and today, Truth meted in When koigi wa wamwere became A permanent staff of kamiti maximum prison without pension Wangari Mathai beaten like an animal in a hunters trap Ngugi wa Thiong’o jobless and detained without trial Raila Amolo odinga’s testicles went missing He looks for them on daily circadian But once he nears their political pigeonhole Then elections of the times flops, O! Poor Odinga! President Uhuru Kenyatta with your suave intellect You won’t get a pretext to say that I was not aware or not informed Please dear darling of the people The people of Kenya in their 42 tribes Novate Moi with the people And your legacy will smile.
Continue reading...
57
My ***** Lover Irrationality always wins Chicago is aspirated beast Braggart forced laugh I had a vision but I have no vision Dreamed I was making out with a woman Who had long stretchy pink octopus tentacles Sedulously legato ephemera Growing from external rim of ****** Sobriquet inimical desiccation One tentacle wrapped around and tickled Diurnal nugatory verisimilitude While other squeezed testicles What was I talking about, oh yes Everything got out of hand Expect unthinkable gusting winds To huff puff blow house down Filthy rotten scoundrel but Started out so sweet Inchoate caliphate apocryphal Wish I had her gift
0
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
michael-reid-rubenstein
My ***** Lover
My ***** Lover Irrationality always wins Chicago is aspirated beast Braggart forced laugh I had a vision but I have no vision Dreamed I was making out with a woman Who had long stretchy pink octopus tentacles Sedulously legato ephemera Growing from external rim of ****** Sobriquet inimical desiccation One tentacle wrapped around and tickled Diurnal nugatory verisimilitude While other squeezed testicles What was I talking about, oh yes Everything got out of hand Expect unthinkable gusting winds To huff puff blow house down Filthy rotten scoundrel but Started out so sweet Inchoate caliphate apocryphal Wish I had her gift
Continue reading...
21
Every time I'm around you, my teeth clench I get teary eyed when you have to hang up When I think about you I become painfully aware of this you sized hole in my chest When we hug i don't want you to ever let go Because for some reason its the only time my nuts don't hurt...
0
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 3:29 AM UTC
david-messmer
Why does love hurt my testicles? By: David Messmer
Every time I'm around you, my teeth clench I get teary eyed when you have to hang up When I think about you I become painfully aware of this you sized hole in my chest When we hug i don't want you to ever let go Because for some reason its the only time my nuts don't hurt...
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6
Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected]) There are more and more misfortunes in the world Known to you dear people in your diverse conditions, But my life and experience has taught me unique lessons Of kindred to befit me Elizabeth, a daughter of Zinjathropus Hailing in the savannah desert, Turkana County of Kenya, I have graduated in to a single lady without test of marriage, As desert men look at me in their irritating impotence, **** clothes wrapped around their slender waists passing on me Like a dog passing on American dollars; cursed be desert men, I thought my beauty of dark African complexions will give them a ****** tease But to my chagrin; desert men have a fear of beautiful ladies My conscience tells me that my beauty is an eye sore to them, I thought my bulging hips will entice them as is a promise of fertility Leave alone not to mention my concupiscent ****** warmth, uhmmm! Desert men have dared not to see and appreciate my **** bossom, They often pass on me driving their donkeys and emaciated carmels, I thought my ***** sharp pointed ******* assign of virginity Will call them to me into a treat of love, affiliative love, But sadly enough; these dudes are erotically blind, They they nonchalantly pass on my **** ***** Wielding a begging bowl in their ***** long hands Running like drunkard chimpanzees going to Oxfam stores to beg for food, Cursed be Oxfam an imperialist agent, it has crashed flat The testicles of our desert brothers into ****** insensitivity, Oxfam has made African desert men to beg like Hebrew lepers Other than standing up on their feet to feed their women, Normally as men would do from the sweat of their brow, I thought my education will attract them to me, To love me with those romantic University kisses, But desert men have crude cultures and slavish religion They rebuke girl child education as if it is a devil, Oh my dear God of the forsaken desert ladies Of the forsaken African daughters, Take me out of this ****** desert Take me out of the city desert of Lodwar, Take me to the equator line and give me a husband, My eggs are pretty ready to conceive and sire children Sons and daughters for your own glory O almighty God, Take me out of this ****** desert, Where no man treats a modern woman, Take me out of here and give me a fresh man of my dream. Because I have known from today; It is accurse to be a woman in Africa It is a curse to be a beautiful lady in African deserts It is a curse to be a woman graduate in the African desert It is a curse to have ***** ******* in the African desert, O! Help me God.
0
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
alexander-k-opicho
MELODY OF A DESERT SINGLE LADY
Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected]) There are more and more misfortunes in the world Known to you dear people in your diverse conditions, But my life and experience has taught me unique lessons Of kindred to befit me Elizabeth, a daughter of Zinjathropus Hailing in the savannah desert, Turkana County of Kenya, I have graduated in to a single lady without test of marriage, As desert men look at me in their irritating impotence, **** clothes wrapped around their slender waists passing on me Like a dog passing on American dollars; cursed be desert men, I thought my beauty of dark African complexions will give them a ****** tease But to my chagrin; desert men have a fear of beautiful ladies My conscience tells me that my beauty is an eye sore to them, I thought my bulging hips will entice them as is a promise of fertility Leave alone not to mention my concupiscent ****** warmth, uhmmm! Desert men have dared not to see and appreciate my **** bossom, They often pass on me driving their donkeys and emaciated carmels, I thought my ***** sharp pointed ******* assign of virginity Will call them to me into a treat of love, affiliative love, But sadly enough; these dudes are erotically blind, They they nonchalantly pass on my **** ***** Wielding a begging bowl in their ***** long hands Running like drunkard chimpanzees going to Oxfam stores to beg for food, Cursed be Oxfam an imperialist agent, it has crashed flat The testicles of our desert brothers into ****** insensitivity, Oxfam has made African desert men to beg like Hebrew lepers Other than standing up on their feet to feed their women, Normally as men would do from the sweat of their brow, I thought my education will attract them to me, To love me with those romantic University kisses, But desert men have crude cultures and slavish religion They rebuke girl child education as if it is a devil, Oh my dear God of the forsaken desert ladies Of the forsaken African daughters, Take me out of this ****** desert Take me out of the city desert of Lodwar, Take me to the equator line and give me a husband, My eggs are pretty ready to conceive and sire children Sons and daughters for your own glory O almighty God, Take me out of this ****** desert, Where no man treats a modern woman, Take me out of here and give me a fresh man of my dream. Because I have known from today; It is accurse to be a woman in Africa It is a curse to be a beautiful lady in African deserts It is a curse to be a woman graduate in the African desert It is a curse to have ***** ******* in the African desert, O! Help me God.
Continue reading...
49
I am the shy man you see at 6 AM in Starbucks umbrella cocked under my left arm like a guidon, formless and murky as the latte in my cup, neufchatel slathered on the bageled cusp of a new day, one bus token removed from yesterday's office, aspiring toward tomorrow's and the next day's sunrise, convinced of nothing printed in splashy headlines of USA Today. I am the strong man who smiles at the concept of growing ******* watching women surrender their eggs, take on new testicles. I would eagerly belly your child, assume your burden, let you envelope me with velvet *** dream submissive destiny in the absence of Bodhisattva's caress, if delicious debauchery empowers you. I am a Boy Toy on the half-shell, a nascent embryo filled with dread of wombs which recently had bound me. You offer deliverance. I am seed in your fertile loam-brown soil. I germinate sinking roots in your mind, fully conscious I will flower, a stubborn hybrid planted for your pleasure. I am a pilgrim without a rock, the twilight sky beneath your periwinkled heavens.
0
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
brian-oarr
That You May Truly Know Me
I am the shy man you see at 6 AM in Starbucks umbrella cocked under my left arm like a guidon, formless and murky as the latte in my cup, neufchatel slathered on the bageled cusp of a new day, one bus token removed from yesterday's office, aspiring toward tomorrow's and the next day's sunrise, convinced of nothing printed in splashy headlines of USA Today. I am the strong man who smiles at the concept of growing ******* watching women surrender their eggs, take on new testicles. I would eagerly belly your child, assume your burden, let you envelope me with velvet *** dream submissive destiny in the absence of Bodhisattva's caress, if delicious debauchery empowers you. I am a Boy Toy on the half-shell, a nascent embryo filled with dread of wombs which recently had bound me. You offer deliverance. I am seed in your fertile loam-brown soil. I germinate sinking roots in your mind, fully conscious I will flower, a stubborn hybrid planted for your pleasure. I am a pilgrim without a rock, the twilight sky beneath your periwinkled heavens.
Continue reading...
30
i detoxed myself under this pale sun      (you stood by and watched the       unfolding saga all the while       questioning the meaning of zen) the original concept was lost somewhere along the way when i dropped the ball on the forty yard line      (can you recover your own fumbles?) every time i stand by, the waiting is eternal and i become engrossed in the uselessness of my position, pondering      (my love for this is a game of solitaire) i am the ultimate in irrational action, a demagogue of dark pathways and religious zealotry, trapped beneath glass floors watching, trying desperately to cannibalize my fingers. i have smoked your toenails and wandered away listless at comments unbecoming and salivated on the fires set to displace my vessels      (i have seen you ignoring me) in the coming months i will rend my eyes and pierce my skull artificially so you will be able to see into my soul and destroy me more efficiently      (you will know me by the number of the dead) i will search deep and long inside this shadow's shell, extracting this cancer so i can cook up my shortcomings and inject them into a Ken doll because then at least i will be pretty. i will feed my chilled oatmeal to a Cantonese family that will honor me as the ***** poo-flinger i am for you. i will cease to exist on a plane with your type, sinking lower on scale like a rock in the Mississippi River. Mom, when i stop growing up, i will be the ****** loser everyone always thought i would      (aren't you proud?)      (isn't he cute?) i cannot imagine surviving your intern camp after the tattooing of arms, we will eat the testicles of the fallen gods and dispense great suffering on the weak because of our enlightened prospects and redemptions      (what do you know about pain?) i will place my severed head in a place of prominence, likely in your bed, right before i cease to breathe my eyelids weaken.... flicker, flutter.... i grow tired with the advent of your indecision, the totality of abandonment the lenses fog, fade... flicker, flutter... i have run out of things to sacrifice
0
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
derek-yohn
flicker, flutter
i detoxed myself under this pale sun      (you stood by and watched the       unfolding saga all the while       questioning the meaning of zen) the original concept was lost somewhere along the way when i dropped the ball on the forty yard line      (can you recover your own fumbles?) every time i stand by, the waiting is eternal and i become engrossed in the uselessness of my position, pondering      (my love for this is a game of solitaire) i am the ultimate in irrational action, a demagogue of dark pathways and religious zealotry, trapped beneath glass floors watching, trying desperately to cannibalize my fingers. i have smoked your toenails and wandered away listless at comments unbecoming and salivated on the fires set to displace my vessels      (i have seen you ignoring me) in the coming months i will rend my eyes and pierce my skull artificially so you will be able to see into my soul and destroy me more efficiently      (you will know me by the number of the dead) i will search deep and long inside this shadow's shell, extracting this cancer so i can cook up my shortcomings and inject them into a Ken doll because then at least i will be pretty. i will feed my chilled oatmeal to a Cantonese family that will honor me as the ***** poo-flinger i am for you. i will cease to exist on a plane with your type, sinking lower on scale like a rock in the Mississippi River. Mom, when i stop growing up, i will be the ****** loser everyone always thought i would      (aren't you proud?)      (isn't he cute?) i cannot imagine surviving your intern camp after the tattooing of arms, we will eat the testicles of the fallen gods and dispense great suffering on the weak because of our enlightened prospects and redemptions      (what do you know about pain?) i will place my severed head in a place of prominence, likely in your bed, right before i cease to breathe my eyelids weaken.... flicker, flutter.... i grow tired with the advent of your indecision, the totality of abandonment the lenses fog, fade... flicker, flutter... i have run out of things to sacrifice
Continue reading...
83
Here's some homework howlers, By hilarious pupil terrors, "An octopus has eight testicles." Did I read that with my spectacles? "Mozart sailed to Vietnam." For how long? Why is there a clavichord in the Mekong? "Rome is now in Africa." Do tell, Didn't you learn map-reading too well? "Mummy and Daddy's fave place is bed." Do your parents really want this read? Are these mud-coloured glasses, or what? How did I survive teaching this lot? It's hard to take them too serious, Homework howlers, hilarious!
0
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
julie-grenness
HOMEWORK HOWLERS....
Here's some homework howlers, By hilarious pupil terrors, "An octopus has eight testicles." Did I read that with my spectacles? "Mozart sailed to Vietnam." For how long? Why is there a clavichord in the Mekong? "Rome is now in Africa." Do tell, Didn't you learn map-reading too well? "Mummy and Daddy's fave place is bed." Do your parents really want this read? Are these mud-coloured glasses, or what? How did I survive teaching this lot? It's hard to take them too serious, Homework howlers, hilarious!
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14
Here God, Everything is for you: Here are my Testicles, looking like smashed purple grapes, Bruised, mashed, and crushed along with what Is left of my once proud, now exploded, tattered ***** I have laid before you my Disemboweled, bloodied and tangled intestines; Blown into bits and pieces, here lays my torso along with Shattered ribs, ruptured lungs, exposed internal organs: Erupted heart; battered, split, spleen; torn, mangled liver; Next to them, my legs, minus a few toes; Arms with hands missing thumbs, fingers; My head, Less pieces of skull, cheek bones, nose, tongue, and teeth, Is nearby; Those puffy messes of glutinous, jellied, deflated ****** orbs are my eyes; Over here, piles of chunks of obliterated pieces of flesh floating On a thick soup of congealed blood, mixed and meshed with Splintered, fractured, cracked bones; everything Convoluted, disfigured, impossible to identify. All of this is for you, I am your martyr, Your soldier, Your obedient servant; I blew myself up, Along with many infidels including Men and women, Unborn babies and children, Young boys and girls, I tore their bodies to shreds, Mangled and mutilated, they Suffered deaths no nightmare could imagine. I sacrificed myself for you, Exemplifying piety and righteousness, I await my reward, Wait for you to put my pieces together again; Been here for what seems an eternity and You have not come near; Not made me whole. Where are you? Are you not great? Where are the young, innocent, ****** girls or The boys with silky, pearl smooth skins; Will I ever have an ******** again? Uncomfortable, anxious, concerned I Lay here on this sacred, hallowed ground, Like a fleshy puzzle, scattered in jagged pieces, Waiting to be solved; Praying to be completed and recomposed. Where are you God? A virtuous, faithful, prostrated one waits; I have much to show you.
0
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 7:50 AM UTC
black-swan
All about You
Here God, Everything is for you: Here are my Testicles, looking like smashed purple grapes, Bruised, mashed, and crushed along with what Is left of my once proud, now exploded, tattered ***** I have laid before you my Disemboweled, bloodied and tangled intestines; Blown into bits and pieces, here lays my torso along with Shattered ribs, ruptured lungs, exposed internal organs: Erupted heart; battered, split, spleen; torn, mangled liver; Next to them, my legs, minus a few toes; Arms with hands missing thumbs, fingers; My head, Less pieces of skull, cheek bones, nose, tongue, and teeth, Is nearby; Those puffy messes of glutinous, jellied, deflated ****** orbs are my eyes; Over here, piles of chunks of obliterated pieces of flesh floating On a thick soup of congealed blood, mixed and meshed with Splintered, fractured, cracked bones; everything Convoluted, disfigured, impossible to identify. All of this is for you, I am your martyr, Your soldier, Your obedient servant; I blew myself up, Along with many infidels including Men and women, Unborn babies and children, Young boys and girls, I tore their bodies to shreds, Mangled and mutilated, they Suffered deaths no nightmare could imagine. I sacrificed myself for you, Exemplifying piety and righteousness, I await my reward, Wait for you to put my pieces together again; Been here for what seems an eternity and You have not come near; Not made me whole. Where are you? Are you not great? Where are the young, innocent, ****** girls or The boys with silky, pearl smooth skins; Will I ever have an ******** again? Uncomfortable, anxious, concerned I Lay here on this sacred, hallowed ground, Like a fleshy puzzle, scattered in jagged pieces, Waiting to be solved; Praying to be completed and recomposed. Where are you God? A virtuous, faithful, prostrated one waits; I have much to show you.
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53
they want me to be serious, to take it seriously. To look at sunrises calmly and seize coals and watch over red-blooded, man-fueled wars about bravado, integrity, and land. To look at money, a simple representation of labor, and see what it drives other to do, to do for me. to crush cigarettes and testicles under my boots, to crawl through mud and barbed wire, smiling with grit in my grimace salt rolling, sweaty brows twisted locks of dark hair tobacco-brown spit, ground and filthy, caked in mud teeth bared like an animal white eyeteeth crunching **Scorching earth where my feet touch down. A cigarette put out on a tongue. No more talking.** They want me to see and that, in the dark of the night, in the light of the day, when the sun rises and sets, there is pain, always, elsewhere and everywhere. So I will not tarry or joke or be frivolous with the battered souls of others and to think, to think about applying anything I know, to run along with the vigorous social constructs they ask me to dissect and then revolutionize, because I am young, and I will sprint faster, against accusations, and only briefly. They want me to look at the world like a runner looks at the red track, with their toes and sinews coiled as hard as steel, a pinnacle of human at the height of athleticism and possess the ruthlessness of a rabid dog drool rushed into foam and mad from dehydrating, my brain swelling with my hormone driven red, hazy, athletic rage, gunning my ambition for some organization. No. I will fight, yes, but I will not fight for a name on a card, shield, or building. I will fight for the sake of fighting because I am contentious and I am wrong. I side against hero and villain, because I am the ambiguity, that languishes, resides in no-man's land, antagonizing both. Being disliked in purgatory is sometimes more easy than chomping at the bit, for blood and the power of cracking a black bull whip, so I can avoid this terrible avarice and corrupting beauty that comes with working hard, especially for the greatness                         that I did not ask                                        to be ****** upon me, while I wished to remain enigmatic.
0
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
glass-can
wry and bitter smile (stoic though)
they want me to be serious, to take it seriously. To look at sunrises calmly and seize coals and watch over red-blooded, man-fueled wars about bravado, integrity, and land. To look at money, a simple representation of labor, and see what it drives other to do, to do for me. to crush cigarettes and testicles under my boots, to crawl through mud and barbed wire, smiling with grit in my grimace salt rolling, sweaty brows twisted locks of dark hair tobacco-brown spit, ground and filthy, caked in mud teeth bared like an animal white eyeteeth crunching **Scorching earth where my feet touch down. A cigarette put out on a tongue. No more talking.** They want me to see and that, in the dark of the night, in the light of the day, when the sun rises and sets, there is pain, always, elsewhere and everywhere. So I will not tarry or joke or be frivolous with the battered souls of others and to think, to think about applying anything I know, to run along with the vigorous social constructs they ask me to dissect and then revolutionize, because I am young, and I will sprint faster, against accusations, and only briefly. They want me to look at the world like a runner looks at the red track, with their toes and sinews coiled as hard as steel, a pinnacle of human at the height of athleticism and possess the ruthlessness of a rabid dog drool rushed into foam and mad from dehydrating, my brain swelling with my hormone driven red, hazy, athletic rage, gunning my ambition for some organization. No. I will fight, yes, but I will not fight for a name on a card, shield, or building. I will fight for the sake of fighting because I am contentious and I am wrong. I side against hero and villain, because I am the ambiguity, that languishes, resides in no-man's land, antagonizing both. Being disliked in purgatory is sometimes more easy than chomping at the bit, for blood and the power of cracking a black bull whip, so I can avoid this terrible avarice and corrupting beauty that comes with working hard, especially for the greatness                         that I did not ask                                        to be ****** upon me, while I wished to remain enigmatic.
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30
where did you go what did you do where did you wake up   I went everywhere I could I am trying to escape can I escape been looking for my mind since the pixies asked me to I did everything I could to escape myself over oceans to London over arctic to Beijing over prairie and rocks to Durango traveling looking for myself in everything else instead of letting go can't I escape? I go to work here there and everywhere What can I get for you guys today What kind of massage would you like today Where do you want me to bring this artwork today Where is my guard post today can I never get away? All these thoughts and all these thots   I woke up and ran out of the filthy philly basement on acid molly and nitrous running from bats flying from the speakers out the house I crash then stand and smile at police lights and friends drive home from the party I stand smiling holding her and pray they make it home with all these   bats I woke up here there and everywhere Ice bag on my testicles I awake from my morning bag to a scared smiling face I awake with black vision heart nigh exploding to crying terrified girlfriends I awake on my steering wheel from my weekly drive and cop to nobody but myself In bae's comforting arms In the everlasting eternity my father still believes in I awaken I found myself
0
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
caligulas-exit
baes and thots
where did you go what did you do where did you wake up   I went everywhere I could I am trying to escape can I escape been looking for my mind since the pixies asked me to I did everything I could to escape myself over oceans to London over arctic to Beijing over prairie and rocks to Durango traveling looking for myself in everything else instead of letting go can't I escape? I go to work here there and everywhere What can I get for you guys today What kind of massage would you like today Where do you want me to bring this artwork today Where is my guard post today can I never get away? All these thoughts and all these thots   I woke up and ran out of the filthy philly basement on acid molly and nitrous running from bats flying from the speakers out the house I crash then stand and smile at police lights and friends drive home from the party I stand smiling holding her and pray they make it home with all these   bats I woke up here there and everywhere Ice bag on my testicles I awake from my morning bag to a scared smiling face I awake with black vision heart nigh exploding to crying terrified girlfriends I awake on my steering wheel from my weekly drive and cop to nobody but myself In bae's comforting arms In the everlasting eternity my father still believes in I awaken I found myself
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41
09/09/10 13.26 Just eaten the last of your figs x End   There is just so much to know about the fig. Andre Gidé, D.H.Lawrence, Gabriela Mistral Poets all Have tried To decode Its secret enclosed form.   *Since nothing escapes the smell becomes succulence and taste. A blossom without beauty, yet a fruit of delights...*   A year ago When I brought autumn to your table I tried to explain The fig’s ****** nature . . . and failed. I was too shy And mumbled something about Its gynaecological aspect.   Now I know you better And your hand has cupped My testicles Can you not Appreciate the similarity? The size and shape is . . .  similar   It seems male This secretive fruit But when you come to know it better, You’ll agree with Catullus, It is female.   Oh fig, fruit of female mystery where everything happens  invisible flowering and fertilization,and fruiting in the inwardsness of your you that eye will never see till its finished and you’re over-ripe and you burst to give up your ghost.   Yesterday (After we had eaten figs From the blue bowl Bathing in the golden light Of your September garden) I felt that ripe and secret cleft Open to my ***** touch And kiss and kiss Kiss and kiss   Touch me: it is softness of good satin, and when you open me, what an unexpected rose! Poets have not known the colour of night, nor the figs of Palestine. We are both the most ancient blue, a passionate blue, richly concentrating itself because of its ardor. I spill my pressed flowers into your hand. I create a deaf meadow for your pleasure. I shower you with the meadow's bouquet until covering your feet.
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Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 2:34 AM UTC
nigel-morgan
The Fig
09/09/10 13.26 Just eaten the last of your figs x End   There is just so much to know about the fig. Andre Gidé, D.H.Lawrence, Gabriela Mistral Poets all Have tried To decode Its secret enclosed form.   *Since nothing escapes the smell becomes succulence and taste. A blossom without beauty, yet a fruit of delights...*   A year ago When I brought autumn to your table I tried to explain The fig’s ****** nature . . . and failed. I was too shy And mumbled something about Its gynaecological aspect.   Now I know you better And your hand has cupped My testicles Can you not Appreciate the similarity? The size and shape is . . .  similar   It seems male This secretive fruit But when you come to know it better, You’ll agree with Catullus, It is female.   Oh fig, fruit of female mystery where everything happens  invisible flowering and fertilization,and fruiting in the inwardsness of your you that eye will never see till its finished and you’re over-ripe and you burst to give up your ghost.   Yesterday (After we had eaten figs From the blue bowl Bathing in the golden light Of your September garden) I felt that ripe and secret cleft Open to my ***** touch And kiss and kiss Kiss and kiss   Touch me: it is softness of good satin, and when you open me, what an unexpected rose! Poets have not known the colour of night, nor the figs of Palestine. We are both the most ancient blue, a passionate blue, richly concentrating itself because of its ardor. I spill my pressed flowers into your hand. I create a deaf meadow for your pleasure. I shower you with the meadow's bouquet until covering your feet.
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Love melts the heart and turns it into chocolate butterflies that dwell in the stomach. Love fries the brain and turns it into a smooth stone stuck in the throat. Love inflames the testicles and turns them into furtive little mice excited for escape. Love makes you feel deep like the oceans.
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May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
william-crowe-ii
Sonnet II
Love melts the heart and turns it into chocolate butterflies that dwell in the stomach. Love fries the brain and turns it into a smooth stone stuck in the throat. Love inflames the testicles and turns them into furtive little mice excited for escape. Love makes you feel deep like the oceans.
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