"tottered" poems
Lemons- in fanfictions, a gritty or ****** scene.
I watched your Adam's apple bob
As you swallowed your arousal.
My head was swirling with the scent of lemons,
And I couldn't help myself
As I tottered towards you on my intoxication,
Inebriation.
My hands hit your chest,
And in our unsteadiness,
My extra push sent us tumbling...
Down onto the Citrus yellow sheets of your bed
My mouth on your neck,
Wanting only to taste your Lemon sweat.
Your eyes wandered freely,
And your hands soon followed.
Touching my *******
The perky *******
You put your mouth on one,
Extracting from it some sour mix of sweetness,
The lemon in my veins.
We mashed together,
Your member against my cavity,
Pictures of lemons in my mind.
Your hand round my throat,
You began to speak harshly,
Lemon tainting your soul.
The acid in your words,
Acid on your fingernails as they tore my skin...
It hurt,
But it hurt like the beautiful Lemons that brought me here.
You put yourself in me,
Again and again
You forced my body into submission.
My tears burned with the citrus,
My eyes now yellow,
Like the lemons.
In this lighting,
Your skin looked yellow too,
I could almost say your head was a lemon...
Pain resurfaces,
Blood,
The sensation that something was flowing into me,
I knew your lemon juice had filled my pitcher,
Now it was available for drinking.
And you did,
You drank your lemon juice with my sugar,
Lemonade of us two.
Pleasure rocked my body,
And I felt your lemon invading me.
But you yourself,
You were drawing it out of me.
My walls pulled in,
They clenched,
I let out a shrill.
The smell of our lemon sweat
Once again,
Pervading the room.
You collapsed beside me,
The drug wearing off,
Lemons exiting your mind already.
I wasn't done though.
I'm still obsessed.
Still obsessed with lemons.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
A dancing Bear grotesque and funny
Earned for his master heaps of money,
Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey,
And cheerful if the day was sunny.
Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood
He tramped, and on some common stood;
There, cottage children circling gaily,
He in their midmost footed daily.
Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle
Were quite enough his brain to puzzle:
But like a philosophic bear
He let alone extraneous care
And danced contented anywhere.
Still, year on year, and wear and tear,
Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear.
A day came when he scarce could prance,
And when his master looked askance
On dancing Bear who would not dance.
To looks succeeded blows; hard blows
Battered his ears and poor old nose.
From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon;
He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon,
Capered in fury fast and faster.
Ah, could he once but hug his master
And perish in one joint disaster!
But deafness, blindness, weakness growing,
Not fury's self could keep him going.
One dark day when the snow was snowing
His cup was brimmed to overflowing:
He tottered, toppled on one side,
Growled once, and shook his head, and died.
The master kicked and struck in vain,
The weary drudge had distanced pain
And never now would wince again.
The master growled; he might have howled
Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled.
So gnawed by rancor and chagrin
One thing remained: he sold the skin.
What next the man did is not worth
Your notice or my setting forth,
But hearken what befell at last.
His idle working days gone past,
And not one friend and not one penny
Stored up (if ever he had any
Friends; but his coppers had been many),
All doors stood shut against him but
The workhouse door, which cannot shut.
There he droned on,--a grim old sinner,
Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner,
Unpitied quite, uncared for much
(The rate-payers not favoring such),
Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare;
Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear
Danced back, a haunting memory.
Indeed, I hope so, for you see
If once the hard old heart relented,
The hard old man may have repented.
4.6k
1757
Upon the gallows hung a wretch,
Too sullied for the hell
To which the law entitled him.
As nature’s curtain fell
The one who bore him tottered in ,—
For this was woman’s son.
“’Twere all I had,” she stricken gasped—
Oh, what a livid boon!
2k
There once lived a family of rats, caught up in wires and tubes and they probably thought they had it good until
the car started.
That car’s air conditioning smelled like death stench for weeks, until we
got it looked at.
Who knew we killed a family, who knew they ate their way under the hood,
who knew we killed a family and they reminded us of it for weeks.
——
My mother and father killed my dog, barely big enough to not be called a puppy anymore,
they ran over her,
as she slumbered in the tall weeds and grasses of a field.
——
We had a chicken named Thumper, his body grew big but his head never did,
and he teetered and tottered on ballerina pointed feet, and
the other roosters wanted to
eat him alive.
When we sacrificied him,
my parents plucked his back,
and they saw that his skin was a green-purple secret,
hidden by a humpback and so
many feathers.
——
Our third horse got caught in the river.
Big Mama got caught in Little River.
I guess it’s not surprising when big things die when they get caught in little things.
——
The coyotes got the rest of the chickens.
——
The rattlesnakes almost got the rest of the horses.
——
Most people don’t know that farm-fresh eggs are covered in blood.
——
We had two of the largest, ugliest geese.
They flew away.
——
The cat died under the hot tub,
we couldn’t find her for days.
——
The forest is always a graveyard,
is always hallowed ground,
is where we buried the animals.
Then they built a subdivision.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:22 AM UTC
To my ninth decade I have tottered on,
And no soft arm bends now my steps to steady;
She, who once led me where she would, is gone,
So when he calls me, Death shall find me ready.
1.9k
Oldest thing I ever did see,
Skin a mountain range of
Crumpled/crinkled crepe paper
Peaking in altitudinous pouches
Under his eyes, dragging with
Their weight dewlapp jowls
Down to a waddling,
Flabby neck, eyes camouflaged
Under light, fuzzy swatches of cotton,
Mouth slack and vacant, dribbling.
Hobbling with a stoop, knees bowed,
Back arched at an angle, a
Tilted arrow. He tottered over to me,
Inches, feet, miles, years too young,
Smiled brightly to reveal an empty,
Gummy mouth rimmed with
Birthday cake, pallid arms
Outstretched, head splotched with
A thin, wispy cloud of hair,
Half-full and forgotten baby’s bottle
On the carpet behind him.
How quickly they do grow.
Oct 19, 2010
Oct 19, 2010 at 12:18 AM UTC
From the framed picture hung on the wall
Two faces look nobly down
The faces of my grandma and grandpa
Taking me to the times gone by
Smiling at their wavering progeny,
They retell the saga of their blissful life
A life of selfless share and care
Inspiring generations in their travail
Curling back to times and climes primeval
I hear the sound of their footfalls aloud
In a humble dwelling, joyfully they lived
As children of the soil with hands full of toil
They worked together from dawn to dusk
Greeting every new dawn with fresher zeal
Their hearts were securely fastened in love
And had needs minimum and complaints nil
Two fountains that sprang from sources different
Had merged together before their early teens
Through wedlock they had been customarily bound
At a time when they hardly knew what it meant
Had played together as buddies for long
Until instinct made them man and wife
When fledglings were hatched in their little nest
They worked together never knowing rest
Hit by adversities hard, at times they sank very low
But with resilience, bounced back
And frugally saved every nickel and dime
To meet the needs of their growing household
They tottered together in the evening of their life
Serving as prop to each other when about to fall
In their twilight years, ambling the corridors of memory
They reminisced sweetly the joyful events of life
Now they lie together in the same churchyard
Two streams that evenly and tranquilly ran side by side
Never once been shattered on the rocks and shoals of life
Making one wonder if their life is History or Fable
In the swelling magnitude of our life
Though trivial was their share
Yet they stay as beacons of light
Leaving a trail of light to blaze our paths
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
Nailed and ******* on hands and legs,
Maimed and marred beyond repair,
Cut and bruised out of shape,
Stripped and peeled, so bare to shock,
Lo, there lies a man! The Son of God,
On a cross erected on the summit of the Mount,
Brutally suspended between Earth and Sky,
Stationed amid thieves on either side.
He slipped and slithered under the yoke of weight,
And tottered the rugged route to Calvary,
Scourged and flogged all along,
He bore the cross with none to help.
Never complained nor cursed but suffered the pangs,
Never whined nor moaned, but drained the cup,
Through His death, mankind was to be redeemed,
By His precious blood, their infirmities to be cleansed
It was for our sins that He lay down His life,
It was our misdeeds that made Him bleed,
It was for our lust that He was painfully stripped,
It was our arrogance that bent Him low.
None could gauge the agony he endured,
No man ever performed such a daring deed,
To liberate mankind, the Lamb was slain,
To lead his Flock, He walked in front.
‘Love your enemy’ was the mantra He recited,
What He preached, He relentlessly practised,
While writhing in pain, He prayed for His foes,
Pleaded with his Father to spare the wrath.
When wrongly accused, never said He a word,
Unruffled remained He on painfully betrayed,
Hard it was to be deserted by those He loved,
Sore it was to be treated so very rude.
The Son of Man came seeking the missing sheep,
He builds from where everything is wrecked,
Rejoice in Him, for He is our Lord!
Adore and worship, He deserves to be praised.
Peace was what He promised the world,
Grace was what He gifted to all,
Look up to the Cross when trials confront,
And cast your burden at His feet!
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 6:44 AM UTC
In a midnight lamentation,
the soul (suppressed) of reprobation,
wallowed in wasted conspiracies-
unjust (censored) confirmations.
My shoes (foundation) which were half on,
stained the beer (love), which was half gone,
that he camped- (devoted) so entitled,
marvelously, (masculine) so magnificently upon.
Ongoing obstacles, alluring alike,
repressed restraints depicted, despite-
ones that evaded, encompassed our love,
which freshly, faithfully, finally took-flight.
That beer (blazing) tottered so temping-
wrongfully, radiantly, reluctantly-right!
It swiveling-and-spinning, (dangling) around the axis of life,
Makes this, yet another- lamentation in the night.
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 2:22 AM UTC
Sudden was the descent of poetry on me
I tottered under its weight
My body heated up like the sun
A frying egg yolk on the pan
My blood started burning…. burning
A strange madness crept across my senses
Intoxicated as by an excess dose of ale
Or drunk with the vintage wine
Or by some mystical disengagement
I started levitating
Wings sprouted up suddenly on my sides
I reeled round and round
Flew up and up
Meteors flashed past
Stars blinked
Larger celestial bodies stood still
Strange sounds fleeted past my ears
My heart palpitated,
Like the rumblings of thunder
My eyes glowed like fire *****
A shout I heard afar
Over the heavens’ mysterious rim
Muffled though, I could decipher it;
“Welcome to the clan of poets”!
Around me, I saw multitudes of poets
Young and old, their faces blazing
Like a thousand lanterns lit
In that blinding brilliance
My filmy wings burnt outright!
Like Icarus, from the heights
I flopped down to the chasm below
In the scattered heap of flesh and bones
A faint stir …..
…………………..
The feeble flutter of a poetic heart
Before it was finally stilled!!
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
as you woke walking and the path
wound up ahead where pearly snails trailed
moon-shine and the trees like tall elegant
women high over fretted twinkle stars
what had it meant, the day? The wind
was a silken scarf that wrapped your eyes
so you tottered on the cobbles, laughed.
A friend waved across the town square
somewhere, a child's toy in the gutter
as the sweet rain sprinkled your face
and hair fanned out in an ocean of breath
but the dark gathers and the trees give wild
voice, your toiling feet groan for rest, refuge
of starlight cottage
Is the lover there? Will the tall trees shelter
you, star gems gleam in safe seclusion
on the mantel spread scarf
and your eyes dream the warm night?
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 7:18 AM UTC
I was on a ship, a ship on the high seas;
With nobody on the deck,
Sailing through heavy, stormy waters.
Who's at the helm?
I don't know - swaying from side to side
the vessel tottered on, metal
oar-rests clanging to wheezing winds
and boisterous, surging waves.
I suddenly get a call on my mobile - how
on earth did I have network?
'I can see her', says the voice, 'an austere
lady leading the ship'. Is she
the same helmswoman who charters
universes before they come alive?
I walked downstairs, finding the parlour.
And decided I should paint,
to **** time: time, the enduring mystery.
Is this a dream? I consulted
Varo and dipped my brush in black
and splattered oil over canvas.
Dots, like sparkling stars, I see threes and
twos, and fives. Looking eerily
like loaded dice. Am I cruising through
skies? Is this my destiny loaded?
This is an allegory, says Martel. Agrees
Jung; Breton seems pleased.
Freud, though, says I'm just paranoid,
and this, my willful imagination.
I wake up, and find myself on a ship.
There's no one on the deck.
I have a mobile phone in my hand.
Miracle: there's network,
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
Driving through the old town
where my father was born,
I'm stunned to silence while
he tells me the stories of houses.
This man I've always feared
who acts like he can't remember
mistakes or childhood,
legends and accidents,
who I'd swear was never born,
just always existed, strong,
who my mother claims
is incapable of memory and
sentiment, tells me, quietly and
unannounced, about an old woman.
Sat on her porch, Sharon,
at that house there on the corner.
He tottered over and talked to her
at four years old.
She had blue and green parakeets.
Took a drag of her cigarette
watching the world pass her by
wearing memories only she
knew the pain of bearing alone.
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 10:08 AM UTC
We all piled out of the pub
****** as a load of newts;
'Where to now boys?'
Bellowed naughty Niall O 'Neill
(that's notorious nineteen pints a night Niall)
As he tottered over to his Pa's Rolls Royce.
*'Do ye think ye should be driving
With that record-breakin' skinful
I just seen you put away?'*
Enquired serious Sean slurringly
From his slightly inconvenient
Viewpoint in the beery gutter.
So we all clambered gaily into the car
And roared off into the enchanted night
And then this ****** stupid clodhopper
Who didn't even have his driving licence yet
Came round the next corner in his Ford
And got sent to Kingdom-sodding-Come.
*'Oh **** would ye just look at the mess
The oul' fella's made of me Daddy's car,
And it's his pride and joy so it is!'*
Cried Niall O'Neill in incandescent rage,
As he surveyed the largest insurance claim
In the County Wicklow for twenty years.
How fortunate Father Tucker and Garda Sergeant O'Toole
Could both testify from their vantage point
In the front seat of the devastated Roller,
The accident was not Niall's fault at all, at all,
As the other stupid sober ****** was on
The wrong side of the ****** street.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall
And that was his first mistake
For eggs can be overly delicate things
Quite likely to fall and break
Humpty-Dumpty tottered and fell
Kersplat! He was runny and raw
Desperately scooping his gooey insides
As they spluttered out onto the floor
Humpty-Dumpty twitched for a while
‘Til his innards were down to the dregs
And all the kings horses and all the kings men
Are not paramedics for eggs
**
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC
You sang me John Mayer in my ear
Eyes half-closed from drunken drowsiness
And happiness
I teetered and tottered, young next to you
A little rambunctious and uninhibitedly grinning
Into your pupils, black holes swimming in blue
It was not electric or chemical or explosive
It was unpredictable but apparent
It was real and it was raw and it was sweet
Your whispers linger in my heart still
The tender caress of your hand
Urgency and gentleness
I chose to leave
It was my decision
I understand this
And I know I a built a wall, claimed the title of introvert
But you know as well as I do
It meant something
One day you'll be famous and you'll have everything
You ever dreamed of, exactly like you planned
Your hopes, your ambitions, the one
And I will too, though I waver on that belief right now
I'll be wonderful too
And in the back of my mind, I imagine you will still remember the sweetness
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 11:46 PM UTC
MY NAME CAN BE FOUND IN THE ALPHABET IF ONE OBTAINS THE FOURTH...THE FIFTEENTH...THE FOURTEENTH... FIRST... TWELFTH AND TWELFTH AGAIN LETTERS TAKING CARE TO USE A CUTE ACCENT ON THE 15TH LETTER.
Alice was having 40 winks
( but she hadn't yet got to wink no. 13 )
when she was so very rudely
interrupted by a giant hand
taking her '...IN WONDERLAND"
down from the topmost shelf
she had been resting on
for many many months undusted.
"Welllll!" thought Alice to herself
'...that blew the cobwebs away!"
yawning loudly as it dawned
upon her what had
befallen her pages.
She couldn't tell that the hand was
Irish...but it was indeed.
"A great wind blew and
I was scattered!"
she remembered the ****** Queen's speech
or words...to that effect...not exactly right.
The hand was the hand
of an Irish poet
and with a howl she
fell through a vowel
in his voice "O!"&
again "O!"
landing with a thump on her
coccyx
in the middle of a white white
page.
It was as if
all the world had turned
to snow & "O!" she said &
"O!" once again and again.
"It would appear that I am
about to be
poemed by this
Irish poet person!"
Alice had become quite
adept
at talking to her hand
because her face did not want to know.
And so with a final flourish she
found her self scribbled
and held down by his words.
"Really his handwriting is
illegitimate!"
she told herself as she
tottered upon
a final full stop that
continued on
until it had become an
. . .
as darkness fell just as
the covers closed upon
the Jane Austen 5 Year Diary
she was being written into.
She continued oooOOOing
although she knew it was
very unbecoming
for a Victorian child
composed mostly of Carrollian words
& Tenniel'd cross hatchings.
The Irish poet had vanished back
into the kitchen
to make a cup of
Earl Grey Tea.
"Mmmmm!" he said to himself
& again
"....mmmmmMMMMM!"
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC
ever is where?
I am at it
I never have seen
a ridge where night
touches the dew- or
sunlight glows
on both the day and you.
There I sat upon
a ledge teetering
fearing heights
and the depths of darkness
below. Tottered
down upon spoiled grounds.
Ever is where- over a hill?
may we ever see
sun glints-
on green
eyes
strong trees,
sowing seeds
in sunlights.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 3:05 AM UTC
The red high chair,
Now empty there,
Has carbon foot-prints
On scuffed rails,
And impressions
On the tray.
Like digs from earlier days.
Her first steps were small,
Unsure, unstable,
Needing balance,
Yet proving able.
A two-step dance,
An infant's prance,
An infinite chance,
She tottered to the door,
Drawn and wanting more.
But I fell,
Forlorn,
With those wee steps,
She was gone.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
It was back in his hey day
when elves used to be nimble
Sitting all day listening to stuff
Sat on a shiny silver thimble.
They were their bar stools at the bar
drinking dandelion beer till drunk
It was a powerful brew that blew their socks off
Revealing their toes that really stunk.
Feet washing was not their thing
Dandelion beer was more their cup of tea
They had to wait till the peas dropped
to have a nice bath in the pod of the pea.
You can imagine elves in a line at the bar
All taking their first swig of the beer
They pow, their socks would all shoot off
a picture that to you and me is most queer.
Then the stench of smelly, ***** feet
Giggling was the order then of the day.
They would see who had the smelliest toes
Sniffing and giggling along the way.
The one that won had to down a jug
of the powerful dandelion beer with froth
Then roll the victor under the table to sleep
and cover him up with the tablecloth.
The little winner with stinky feet
snoring while the others giggled.
Then with daisies stuck to the side of his face
The drunken victor wriggled.
"Roll me home, will you, my chaps, roll me home"
They did as they were told and parked him by a tree
to steady himself when asleep they thought.
On returning ten hours later, he had rolled free.
He was slumped under a mushroom, upside down
He had obviously been singing his heart out.
On went his socks up he stood sort of upright
Tottered off to see what the fuss was about.
He did not get very far, he tripped over a leaf
His eyes closed shut and off he slept till sober
Which was a day or three, this drunken elf
certainly had a day definitely to remember.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
Let them say alarmed by my soul's quiescent invisible riot
you heard my despondent deafening silent shout
and rather than cast aspersions upon my scraggy idiosyncrasy
without doubt you lent me wings of optimism to float
for yours were arms that took me in when the world kicked me out
Let them say you walked with me till the end of the road
perspiring, dusty, fatigued yet still endured the load
let them say you tottered with me past my dusk to dawn
they didn't have to ask whether you were truly my own
for you searched piece by piece until you found all my heart
stitched them together to hold my world from drifting apart
that you saw me through to ocean from spring and river
and I moved on from my rough past because you were my lever
Let them say you saw me to Tuxedo from tattered pants
and even when waves of coercing constrains hit you still gave us a chance
that you weaved an intricate basket of forever out of every now
and as such we crossed even the most shaky of bridges we never knew how
Ultimately, let them say you were my best story, one never ceased writing...
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
MY NAME CAN BE FOUND IN THE ALPHABET. . . IF ONE OBTAINS THE FOURTH...THE FIFTEENTH...THE FOURTEENTH... FIRST... TWELFTH AND TWELFTH AGAIN LETTERS TAKING CARE TO USE A CUTE ACCENT ON THE 15TH LETTER.
Alice was having 40 winks
( but she hadn't yet got to wink no. 13 )
when she was so very rudely
interrupted by a giant hand
taking her '...IN WONDERLAND"
down from the topmost shelf
she had been resting on
for many many months undusted.
"Welllll!" thought Alice to herself
'...that blew the cobwebs away!"
yawning loudly as it dawned
upon her what had
befallen her pages.
She couldn't tell that the hand was
Irish...but it was indeed.
"A great wind blew and
I was scattered!"
she remembered the ****** Queen's speech
or words...to that effect...not exactly right.
The hand was the hand
of an Irish poet
and with a howl she
fell through a vowel
in his voice "O!"&
again "O!"
landing with a thump on her
coccyx
in the middle of a white white
page.
It was as if
all the world had turned
to snow & "O!" she said &
"O!" once again and again.
"It would appear that I am
about to be
poemed by this
Irish poet person!"
Alice had become quite
adept
at talking to her hand
because her face did not want to know.
And so with a final flourish she
found her self scribbled
and held down by his words.
"Really his handwriting is
illegitimate!"
she told herself as she
tottered upon
a final full stop that
continued on
until it had become an
. . .
as darkness fell just as
the covers closed upon
the Jane Austen 5 Year Diary
she was being written into.
She continued oooOOOing
although she knew it was
very unbecoming
for a Victorian child
composed mostly of Carrollian words
& Tiennel'd cross hatchings.
The Irish poet had vanished back
into the kitchen
to make a cup of
Earl Grey Tea.
"Mmmmm!" he said to himself
& again
"....mmmmmMMMMM!"
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
I spotted a gull flying over the bay
not more than a foot ‘tween her wings and the waves,
with feathers unfurled, flap and flail as she try,
she hadn’t the strength left to climb toward the sky.
I spotted a gull flying over the trees,
unable to fight the northwesterly breeze,
he tottered while gliding, unsure of his route,
completely resigned now to be blown about.
I spotted a gull in the jaws of a shark,
his hollow bones breaking, with blood running dark.
His face was of shock now, amid razor teeth;
how could he have known what was lurking beneath?
I spotted a gull on a rock, old and frail,
her beak nestled close to protect from the gale,
alone on a cliff ringed by thundering sea.
I wondered what plans fate was making for me.
Feb 26, 2020
Feb 26, 2020 at 10:43 AM UTC
We never said goodbye
before you died
I think perhaps
you wanted it that way
you'd be proud, I never cried
alas, I was not there, that day.
two thousand miles away
I got an email
it was, just like they say,
a bolt, right out of the blue
a notice of your death by cancer
I was unprepared, I never knew.
Parents are supposed to be
the first to die, not a daughter
I never got over the loss
of my little boy
my heart and soul,
now twice, was tottered
my emotions totally destroyed.
Only God knows the heartache
the sorrow of a life gone by
the devestation of a famiy loss
the answers to the question...why?
May 14, 2025
May 14, 2025 at 5:45 PM UTC