"titbits" poems
I ain’t got no intimate, ain’t got no stiletto heels
Ain’t got no Lsd, ain’t got no smack
Ain’t got no partners, ain’t got no drill
Ain’t got no slapstick, ain’t got no hanky—panky
Ain’t got no Lsd, no slot to mount
Ain’t got no castrato, ain’t got no crumpet
Ain’t got no conjoined twins, ain’t got no nuns or eunuchs
Ain’t got no whipcord, ain’t got no adoration
Ain’t got no ******** ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no ******
Ain’t got no oscillation, no shags
No uniform, no parts
No smack, no drill
No partners, no peccadillo
Ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no whipcord, no propagators
No titbits, no intimate
I jabbered, I ain’t got no uniform, no hanky—panky
No peccadillo, ain’t copulated till one is blue in the face to have a funny feeling
And I ain’t got no ******
Oh, but what have I copulated, oh, what have I copulated
Let me tell what I copulated and nobody’s going to enlarge telescopic
I got my ***** on my face
My extra—sensory perceptions, my knobs
My ****** peckers and my ********
I got my stuck—out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** my *******
My thingummies, my cockles of the heart and my posterior
I got my ***********
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got ***** I’ve inseminated cheerleaders
I’ve got bottomgremlins and hacksawhoodoo
And Mephistophelian juggernauts too like you
I got my ***** my pistil
My ESP, my knobs
My vaginas, my peckers and my ********
I got my stuck-out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** and my *******
My ***** my ***** and my posterior
I inseminated my ****** sorbet
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got my ***** I got my slipperiness, my *****
I got *****
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:29 PM UTC
Alice and I were fudged fruiting inside Falstaffian freakish fleur–de–lys:
She inside a quack–aztec–tattooed tank,
Me inside a pendulous magenta harness with polydactyl–perverted plumes bespattered into it.
In the ****** **** of that kaput flophouse
We creosoted our conks all the cockatrices of the gorge–de–pigeon,
Inside crotches, Jacuzzis and homocentric Action Men.
Alice, with the pornographic bend sinisters in the teeth of her poltergeistish fajita crocodile,
Smacked of the plug–ugly poofter of a south–south–west by south sackful sandbank.
I cemented the jaundiced dangler of an ostrich to my prick.
With that and my uncut fiddlestick of knobs
I was the idiosyncratic and wholehogging sadomasochistic slapper!
We banged the bush streaming proboscis in tentacle
Through smorgasbords of hermaphrodites and high muck–a–mucks
While Ravi Shankar’s idioglossias and cockchafers juddered our titbits.
Our Moonies were classically cracked flabelliform by the time we disinterred them.
Alice managed to fornicate incognito white elephant on behalf of myself
And we were passionately on the back of the dingdong, naked as our Moonies.
We kept one’s pecker up wrapped up in the shadowgraph
Athwart ever-strangling girdles of formaldehyde, ozone, fomenter and widow’s weeds,
Athwart polytetrafluoroethylene–pricked precipices and then down to the butts
Where we both came to a sticky end on our jockstraps and leered at the ballet dancers
That we then penetrated rhythmically by elongating tumescent our gang banging tentacles.
Through comfortable French knickers I burped, “Thank you for ****** me everywhere, Alice”.
In the soporific honeypotspunk, aped on the ooze,
I could smell that her **** had made her ******* type soap flakes break the sound barrier,
Splashing out a ***** whale seed skirting her jowls.
“You’re fragrant, flypaper”, she rapped.
The Government gabble that little green men who hammer out the sexagenarians weren’t on board.
Inside spleen of the spliffs, inside spleen of my gangrenous Pollyanna, I will over one’s dead body evacuate.
I will over one’s dead body evacuate.
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
it's the little things
that please me
color coded my earbuds
so I know my right from my left
in the pitch black.
it's the little things
that please me,
and the big things
that defeat me.
I'm rich in itty-bittys
**There are no definitions available for itty-bittys.
Did you mean:
itsy-bitsy titbits itty-bitty-butts?**
yeah,
all three, thanks for doing the writing for me.
some-a-day,
gonna get me a big big closet,
a whole closet room,
to store my itty bittys teeny weeny
tidbits riches.
if I make it to
some-a-day,
just can't find it on my calendar,
but every morning
I wake to big things
wishing me cruelly
have-a-nice-day.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
We're all mad here.
Surviving dead
Blood thirsty creatures
Silvers and golds
Notes and cards.
Screeching screams in the night
Wolves silenced by the frowning moon
Yelling children
Drunken fathers
Thieves of innocence
Food that cannot be eaten
Metal to metal
Guns n' gangs
Hunger
Poverty
******
Rage.
Creeping
Stalking
Taking
killing
Creatures locked in prison cells
Creatures lurk, disguised in disguise
Turf wars
Wolf in wolf's fur that fails to fit
Fits
Slits
Titbits
Pistol whips and
Quick tips
Trenchtowns
Slums
Poor millionaire
Plural.
Misoverstandings;
Understandings, we'll call them.
Look down
Sit down
Shut down
Lay down
Sign out.
Credit checks and barcodes
Exploitation
Infusion
Confusion
Institutions
Misuse
Abuse
Abstruse
Man's soul misplaced
And
His eyes
His hands
His heart
His love
His peace
His life
Alike.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
You made your way from the john
to the dining table
and Auntie said
have you washed your hands?
yes
you said
are you sure?
Auntie asked
looking at you
with her fixed stare
and the black mutt
under the table
gazed at you too
I washed them this morning
you said
let me see your hands
Auntie said
and so you held out your hands
and she turned them over and up
and held them looking at them
you’re meant to wash them
after going to the toilet each time
she said
not just
when you get up
in the morning
she released your hands
and you looked at them
as if they were suddenly there
before you for the first time
so you had best wash them
Auntie said
before I dish up your dinner
and so you went back
to the wash room
and turned on the tap
and taking soap
between your hands
you washed and rinsed
and dried them
on the white towel
on the rail and went back
to the dining room
and showed your aunt
that’s better
she said
now go sit down
and wait for your dinner
and the black mutt
put its chin on your lap
waiting in anticipation
for titbits from your plate
and Auntie called out
from the kitchen
remember to say your prayer
before meals
and you said ok
and muttered
thank you for what I’m about to eat
may there be few vegetables
and lots of meat
and the mutt’s dribble
wet your thigh
its jaw lingering there
giving you
its dark eyed stare.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 9:27 AM UTC
Its hard to deny the thought
you won't always be here,
because you won't.
One day I'll post if people want to mark your passing
they should get to a place
where your gone leaves that dreaded space.
But not right now:
now we can laugh
and you can hold my hand with love
as I'm getting off the bus,
we can argue about the merits of giving titbits
to that little tabby ****
We can arrange to meet for dinner
in a greasy spoon
and after our fill of calories part with the words "I'll see you soon."
We can chat about football and how City win supreme,
you can peck my head
about if I'm keeping my flat clean.
Of all this I want more
but for the now
I'll be glad
that when people ask what I did last night
I'll reply that I went for drinks with my Mum and Dad.
Feb 18, 2022
Feb 18, 2022 at 11:20 AM UTC
Does it all lead to just this,
a gaping hole in the ground,
sniffing but impatient mourners
their predictable tissues at the ready?
an all-too-practised priest in familiar garb
does the expected; his suitably tremulous voice
has the standard formality as he goes through the ritual
and those years of convolution spiced with some straight and narrow
do they culminate in this terrible charade?
Surely this can't be it, this cavalier show by fellow-travellers,
by small cliques here and there, sharing juicy titbits of gossip
- least concerned with the slowly sinking forgotten casket
in my heart of hearts i say this can't be it, surely!
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
She purrs, the love cat
Her space on her favorite cushion
She makes space for herself,
On a couch I don't own, but may as well now
That's because everything I own
Really belongs
To her, actually I guess
And maybe we both know that
Naturally......................
I'd give it freely anyway,
But that's not fun
For a cat,
so she take titbits
Just for fun,
Cats like fun
Sometimes, and
other times they are
Serious in intent.
She leaves reminders
Of when she's been, here
In my territory
to keep other cats
In their place, which is important
If she is not here
the Love Cat is a very clever feline
So she likes to poke and hide
Yes, she is a curious one, but then
Isn't that what makes us
clever tomcats fall
From sash windows of lofty
seemed safety.....
into the streets of love,
where all the Toms
and love cats are
seeking mates
and vicious fights
with nothing to lose;
side tooth and rear claw
Break out often
Yes, but aye, we are mated
if you must know,
that love cat and I
By natures' old laws
Her in woolen scarves and odd socks
Me in baggy pants
and flannel grey T-shirts
Don't tell me how,
but we know.
Sometimes we play in the linen
Like all our feline companions
Other-times we just lie and stare
Into curious sets of eyes,
A staring competition
Between loving predators,
In love with each other
Bright and fiercely
But perhaps
not in love
with the world itself
Paul 2014
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
This life is buffoonery
I'd sooner be
somewhere
imaginative.
somewhere
where I could live
quietly.
Free to roam as I please if it pleases me,life teases me with titbits makes me sit on the fence,but I'm restless to go, need to search out and know what I don't know,hence
I'll not be here very long,going to find what's right with the wrong of it and not sit here vegetative,getting the gist of it and finding my way through this list of things I must do,which I'll do very soon, as soon as soon is not later than tomorrow's full moon I'll be fine and dandy which comes in handy.
When I go will you come,come and join in the fun or will you stay on the fence?
pretend that you know it all and like a ninepin you're bound to fall,I'd rather be a bouncing ball,
it's your call.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 6:37 AM UTC
The gulls give their cry, high over the beach,
As they scramble for titbits within their reach,
Scavenging around, for whatever they can,
And fine, tasty morsels cast aside by man.
Junk food wrappers and ice cream tubs,
Empty beer glasses from nearby pubs,
BBQ burners, dumped in the breakwater,
Put it in the trash fool, you know you oughta!
Waste, refuse, ******* trash,
BBQ leftovers, hot powdery ash,
A throw away society, so clearly we are,
With implications so deadly, both near and far.
The world on our doorstep, so varied and rich,
From lakes, rivers and streams, or even a ditch,
Fish, dolphins and porpoise, all live in our seas,
At the mercy of litter, cast adrift on the breeze.
Floating up on the surface, carrier bag jellyfish,
Eaten by dolphins, disappearing with a swish,
Pop cans a plenty lie strewn in the sand,
Lying in wait for a child's playful hand.
The litter we dump on those hot sunny days,
Takes it's toll on our wildlife in a number of ways,
Mistaken for food, strangled by waste,
By the trash we discard as we leave in such haste.
Picnics we carry for miles in the car,
But that trip to the bin seems a journey too far,
Such disregard for our wildlife, just doesn't seem right,
Just another trademark of the human parasite.
So when next on the beach, having fun in the sun,
Pick up all your litter, you could be the odd one,
Or all the dolphins and fish, and the creatures that slither,
Could sadly become just the ghosts in the river.
Cinco Espiritus Creation
2017
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 5:00 AM UTC
They are bringing the curtains
down over you,
the thick, viscous velvet curtains
and your story will end,
a final cut that runs
drunk away from the page,
as if you almost wanted it to happen,
like ‘here are my last words,
leave them raw and unfinished’,
a stream of ink your last remark.
Now, they all go fishing for something.
An ugly clutter of hands
picking at the pieces,
a hunt for golden titbits
to fizzle blindingly in their eyes
and bring about a shout,
a revealed mystery
which knocks them out.
Fifty-two years
of nit-picking through
the word-filled marshes
left behind
to last another fifty-two.
They have up-dug
silver slivers of your history,
re-heated them and rewound the tape
so they can swig your accent,
watch you unravel back
from thirty to twenty.
Book-club talks on your hair,
your scar,
your marriage,
every drop like a pinch of acid.
With a crackle, a drag,
it is said.
Is it done?
Is playtime over
with their favourite
aging marionette?
Maybe time has passed,
enough so they’ll only **** you again,
between the phone ringing
and the cup on its coaster.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
I sit around your table
waiting for titbits
to fall into my memory
memory forever fading
they say
as the years grow older.
But I still listen
squirreling each crumb
then taking them out
when no-one is watching
I string them together
trying to make sense
of the songs you sing to me.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
They beseech God of Fire to burn me
-
The hungry Fire consumes,
my dead flesh and futile bones,
with its leaping flames.
-
The titbits of bones and ashes,
literally the pieces of me, are immersed in river.
-
My physical body is fortunate.
My soul is loitering nowhere to go.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 6:35 AM UTC
At our fingertips, we have all the knowledge that we, as a species have collected. Billions of facts, millions, of observations, thousands of random little websites designed to educate or entertain.
But we spend our days and nights and days again talking to other people online; because no amount of facts or knowledge or little titbits of information could ever make up for a touch of human contact.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC