"testicular" poems
*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!&#£
if you prefer political
sensitivity and a blanket
and a ***** and a nanny);
unlike germ- -any (+)-
where they love to **** on each
other in the shadow
of the crucifix procreating for films,
while in england they're
into children;
owning a use of a word,
venerating its usage:
where's the Schengen vocabulary?
i want to be there -
free flow of words like spotting
a kestrel in my garden one time,
while the traffic shovels hours
into comparison with sea waves
and a traffic-jam becomes a static tsunami
for the eyes.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
Millions of tiny could-bes
Swim upstream in hope
That they might someday
Grow up to release
Their brothers and sisters
All over your face
In a gooey, sticky mess
That makes it on the internet
So that millions of other
Tiny could-bes
Can be freed from their
Bulging testicular prisons.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
The professions of our leaders are paraded across longitudinal and latitudinal vistas. However, I have to ask: Whatever happened to the possession of that which is professed in our contemporary shell of delusion?
A princess may depart from her Celtic docks in order to sail back to her Anglican roots; and the fabric of high society may display an appealing veneer which covers explicit nakedness in the name of mass psychology.
So, my articulate propagate of conformity, I urge you to don the profound tuxedo at your avoidant desire. But please do not seek for me to enter into the denial of our core identity.
For those who are willing to rock this boat of ludicrous salesmanship, I raise my glass to testicular rectitude which transcends gender stereotypes.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
to hell wih your ****
what about my *****
throw your breast cancer fits
ignore my testicular calls
pink ribbon products all around
no ball cancer ice cream anywhere found
my sack has no chance
in this pseudo equality dance
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC
. people are always left curious about the stories of homeless people... within the regards of why they became homeless... you want to hear my story? i sat down with one homeless person... you know what he told me? you want to know? he said: MY MOTHER TOLD ME TO NEVER TELL A LIE... wow... wow... so it became my ambition to never tell a lie... i became homeless because my mother advised me to never tell a lie... guess telling lies pays off... whatever it pays with or for... i became homeless because my mother told me to never tell lie! wow! so much for poetry being written while sober... what is expected? unruly truths, falsifications, this that and the other... hell... i'm a drunk... chances of me involved in a relationship are the basic focus of: SLIM... but? HEDNINGARNA - VARGTIMMEN... Finnish folk music.
***** does my head in,
minus the thought-and-question:
do i have a head?
dunno....
whenever the moon rises...
i get a tease of the giggles...
ha ha...
and my face contorts into
a posit of one if those faces from
an apex twin video...
funny as any royal ****
turned into ****
flushed..
now i want you to remember:
never meddle with a madman...
he's been prescribed his
medication,
he's been diagnosed...
come near me and a cancer
sufferer...
dox me!
dox me!
dox me!
i, dare, you!
but i know the person,
or rather, the type...
i won't be doxed,
because what i'm proposing
will not be matched
in execution....
****** parodies
of testicular cancer!
that quote for Albert from
the dark knight:
i am....
some people just like to watch
the world, burn...
i am...
dies, ich bin:
this, i am!
at least i have more constancy to
make comparison of
the Hebrew gott...
ich bin das ich bin...
my alternative?
dies, ich bin!
now...
i am: now!
and when i drink and turn
into a *******
it's to salvage some fathom
or what remains to be
justified as:
resolve.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
The vibrancy of youth now succumbs to the anaesthetic of indifference, like testicular feminisation of the masses.
I often contemplate the indifference of cacti in Arizona, where handle-bar moustaches curl with the worldly-wisdom of motorcycle gangs.
So, strip meat from the perimeter of the wishbone and feel the waves of nocturnal celebrations, as we slide into a deep winter slumber.
You will waken from a crisis of identity and be emancipated from stereotypical cavities where thorny plantations thrive amidst unforgiving terrains.
Snap it in half, and you will see mystical Arabian genie’s arise from magical carpets.
Oh, one more thing: I am not a detective.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
Charles ate a Rocky Mountain
oyster shell from the spleuchen
of a bee resting on a bed plate,
but then fell asleep.
Glandular curvulas search for
the meaning of life;
to **** and be ****** by the nerve centre.
Clooties of the Yellowstone national park
make regretful decisions, that lead to excessive
crying, and dry/wet heaving for
MTV'S SPRING BREAK BLAST:
The ending is on pp.22 featuring beam rays
telltale sign of stirless beaches and nights irritating
my irritatory sun causing me
to
fumble
from the letter shape of my family tree.
Quintessentially, but not really, reptilians smiled
to eat sour investment of telltale
signs of testicular cancer,
while sending SMS messages to
acquaintances blabbering
"Come over and watch a movie ;)"
and gloating of recently acquired masseuse skills.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
Poetry is art
it is beautiful
grabs the ***** with words
and refuses
to let go
from the moment the stanza
reaches your brain
you're hooked
like the first beer
the first line of *******
it takes the wheel
and drives you
to insanity
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC
Today, I got punched in the face,
And I really liked it.
My lip roughly grazing the surface of my teeth,
Gently slicing my pomegranate edges.
My blood, tastes of used battery acid
Stinging my tongue on contact.
My head swung back a bit
As gravity seeks an answer
And always comes to collect.
I boomeranged back in place,
Just in time to hear the ringing
A deaf melody heard only by my ears.
When it was over I realized
My excitement was premature.
it all happened so fast.
Left me with the blues, a testicular protest..
I looked down at her.
Told her: “Now this side”
Today I got punched in the face twice..
And ******* loved it..
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC
Dylan Thomas told us
Do NOT go gently into that goodnight
We're supposed to fight that light at the end of the tunnel
Squeeze our blood from the stone of life
Carpe the diem while we still can
Bust off the hinges before our coffins get that last nail
Live fast, die young, and leave a haggard corpse
Drive the course of life with the pedal to the metal and the speakers bumping
Thumping our anthem in rhythm with our ticking countdown clocks in our chests
Race against time to sock in all the living we can
We're meant to live life to the fullest
Fly by the seats of our pants
Passing by life's spectators and pitying them
Because their vicarious living will never equal
Our visceral, tangible moments of exuberance and excitement
We must continue to chase our dreams with the same joy and determination
That we used to chase after butterflies and baseballs with
Now is the time to grab life by the ***** and squeeze
Squeeze hard and never let go
Because if you do
Life is sure to be displeased about testicular torque that's been applied
We were not meant to accept the hand we were dealt
Life is a game and we're meant to play it
Cheat it, hack it
Find the loopholes and exploit it
We are allotted a short time in existence
It's a gift to us
And to do anything less than take full advantage
Would be like spitting in the faces of those who were given less
Every wasted second is a second closer to the end of your countdown
So I implore you
Throw down your baggage
For it will only slow you down
Stop living with a twisted neck
The past is meant to be remembered, not watched
Stop living for money instead of happiness
Listen to yourself for once and follow your desires
All the money in the world doesn't mean a thing when your heart's not happy
Lean on your loved ones when you must
And be there for them when it's your turn
So again
Burn your baggage, and live your life as you see fit
Smelling the roses when the moment calls for it
But blistering past if you already know the aroma
And something else is happening down the road.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
"Come in, come in", he says kindly
Like a child on his first day of school I entered the room in which the nature of mankind would be revealed.
A sympathetic conversation led to the rubbing of his raging hand against my lower, intimidated back
I was using the ****** power I have as a woman to lead him into the craving of my anatomy
but I was afraid, and I didn't want it..
I wanted him to stop, but I didn't want to stop
Tonic Immobility was my immediate reaction reaction to the abusive touch of a priest who used John 1:9 as his excuse
My body - naturally reacting to its sexuality leaned itself to the predator, with desire but with fear...
Obsessing over ******* I spent my sundays ************ instead of going to church
I found myself continuously watching *********** and drawing vaginas in class
But most importantly - trying to make sense out of my ****** encounter with a priest - I found myself thinking of the bizarreness of human nature...
Thats what it was...
Human nature...
The priest was condemned due to his commitment to God, to the church.
His human nature refused to be repressed any longer, he refused to continue having testicular pain due to the vasocongestion
he needed
he needed
he needed
I needed
I needed
I needed
because by nature I desire ***
because by nature I am ******
because by nature I am promiscuous
Our religion had deceived us into believing that that Human Nature is a sin
Our religion had turned our ****** desires into feelings of guilt
Our religion repressed our entire nature
When in reality,
theres no such thing as sin, at least not in nature...
–Frida Virrueta
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
Testicular torsion,
Abortion,
I'll have another portion,
Of chips,
I hope they come with,
************* DIPS,
Fresh mesh,
Enough said
#therevolution
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
Curfew dogs pay no
heed to black sheep
Darkness differentiation
derides no delegates
Church bells silence
testicular pendulums
Hands semaphore -
timeless clock towers
Shadowless alleys
cat controlled kerbs
Embers doused, ashen
Phoenix faces cindered
Light rationed through
ill fitting shutters
Charred wood remnants
wafting weightlessly
Whispering eavesdrops
cobblestone chattering
Town crier echoing in
mnemonic mutterings
A rising intonation
dies on rebound, silence.
<>
Lockdown |ˈlɒkdaʊn|
nounN. Amer.
the confining of prisoners to their cells, typically in order to regain control during a riot. the lockdown has been in effect since October 1983.
• a state of isolation or restricted access instituted as a security
measure: the university is on lockdown and nobody has been able to leave.
<>
Curfew |ˈkəːfjuː|
noun
a regulation requiring people to remain indoors between specified hours, typically at night: a dusk-to-dawn curfew | [ mass noun ] : the whole area was immediately placed under curfew.
• the hour designated as the beginning of a curfew. [ mass noun ] : to be abroad after curfew without permission was to risk punishment.
• the daily signal indicating the beginning of a curfew: they had to return before the curfew sounded.
Oct 26, 2020
Oct 26, 2020 at 9:12 AM UTC
I didn't have the guts to be a rebel
All the counterculture called at me
Asking me to join
In living rooms with Goodwill couches
Owned by a friend of a friend of a friend
They reached out to me
Hands and hearts so open that they couldn't stop bleeding
Asking me to join them
To make what I felt
To do what I wanted
Regardless of whatever the rules said.
They asked me,
Passing the tokens of a shared insobriety
That sought out the essential truth beneath
A thousand and one layers of culture and biology and social pressure
That only ever manages to turn diamonds into coal
I don't have the testicular fortitude to forsake the gifts of my birthright
My middle-class hope
Of a sliver of land beholden to an HOA
Of a wife who loves me kind of and children that will hold me to an anachronistic social standard that will leave me wanting
But it could be mine
It could be a world of my own making
With love and joy and plenty
And the mediocrity and turmoil
That is essential to life whether it is good or bad
It could be mine
The true face of the world is violent
And life struggles unconditionally to enact it's will on a world
That has extinguished more species than are alive
We are mayflies in the cosmos waxing and waning
And no one cares
And no one guarantees that I will eat tomorrow
Let alone find love
Or persist in the presence of my ancestors.
I don't have the ***** to wager my little bits of happiness
Even if there is a slim chance to change a million minds or more
Call me a coward
Call me a pragmatist
In a century call me dead
Right now you can call me mostly happy
And I don't know if there is anything better
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 2:04 AM UTC
A suspicious lump appeared in the pit of his tummy.
His woman, a professional in training noticed it,
She was also a mummy,
But not his.
A little education, a spot of worthwhile interest told her something wasn't right.
Sent him to see the medical man after a somewhat worrying night.
The doctor had a serious face as he forged forward with his diagnosis.
Orchids are such beautiful flowers,
He had to have his flower stole.
Had an orchidectomy.
Poor soul,
This chap, he had testicular CA.
Almost stole his manhood away.
Gave him a prosthesis, made of plastic.
Like a weird egg.
Pretty unpleasant, necessarily drastic.
The woman, the professional walked out of his life,
She saved his life, but was never his wife.
Now he's absolutely fine,
Alive and well,
After chemotherapy,
and a little bit of time,
No longer mine.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
(alter knit lee titled: vita in oculis nudato)
goo goo gaga I wanna yell
cuz, synonymous
with other wordsmiths,
or...well
whatever will eire'n burr,
a sought after creative
passionate pursuit aye tell
ye a boot me own aha...eureka insightful
revelation explaining
ma quotidian writing spell,
and phalanges skitter
across qwerty keyboard
at light in an attempt to quell
onslaught tidal wave crashing
upon me conscious state pell mell
which tsunami flood spongy
heady gray matter with hell
over high tide heals assailing,
bruiting, clobbering this fell
low inducing (me) to play
Handel's Semantic Water Music
on the smallish piccolo cello
which Sirens of Tighten,
(who just appeared out of thin aire -
cuz scriveners can resort
to prestidigitation to make appear
any necessary entity
without rhyme or reason),
anyway, this sylph sea Oceanids nymph
i.e. mermaids didst dee clear
particularly via
barely audible verbal communication
sotto voce en dear
ring gently beckoning
affinity this modest heir
to secret himself within secluded lair
whence, an automatic
erectile flickr, kickstarted,
levitated, and manifested
an instantaneous jubilant kik
lobbed me near
this seductive, sedulous, and sedum
scented sir experienced hypnotic stare
charming froto into trance scandent state
as if by magic the tubular
testicular proboscis didst inflate
aptly serving as modus operandi flagellate
thus proving a "happy ending" against being celibate.
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC