"undies" poems
Human Observations (the woman pees)
if you walk the world with pen and paper
or eclectic electronic devices,
sure as the sunrise espied,
the pen will quick leak
when wearing white
and so will too the
righteous words
righteously,
thereafter
when you can't sleep and you must
slam your sweaty fist into pillow
know that the pillow is
silent thinking, dude,
you really ain't
got a hope, a
prayer
fallen asleep in the soaking tub
a thousand and one times,
ain't never drowned like
the warning ones say I
will do but only when
restless in my rustling
no-safety night sleep
in my lumpy bed,
where I’ve already
dream-drowned
a million
times
the woman pees, safe and secure,
comforted by the knowledge
that we have bathrooms
separate, her toilet,
man *** free, tho
we just finished
making sweaty,
fluid swapping
***
she does not, won't put on makeup
in her pj's to take out the garbage,
that is why she keeps loverman,
so handy, nearby, shamelessly
firm, unwavering, good god,
great for one "disposable"
use per night
when you tell your child that you love them,
and they do not reply at all, it isn't that they
don't love ya back, 'tis only that they haven't
learned to love themselves
something well that just
cannot be
taught.
the more trinkets I buy her,
more she screams stop,
but never not once
has she said, here,
take it
back
if you don't believe in Faeries and Elusives,
try, for then you have a middling chance
of getting the missing, disappearing
whole sock hiding
in her ******
back, intact
If must look up the time where your
love is currently hiding/residing,
then the probability is more than
1.000, that you no longer love
her enough, or
she, you,
not at
all
you know it is time to shut down,
hang up the pen and close the
iPad cover, surrender,
give up the poetry gig
4 real when you start
to prefer an
autocorrect
suggestion
~
More to follow.
someday.
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 7:19 PM UTC
Of all the ****** that i like,
The best would be of lace and white,
But then again, there's so so much,
There's even knickers with no crotch!?,
Those little bras for beginner *****
Or leather gear, for naughty moods,
And not forgetting Bridget Jones,
Come on girls, we've all got those ones.
Those yummy corsets **** us in,
We'll shake our hips and bear a grin,
To tantalise and tease men so,
Our ***** with tassels on, so guys can, ahem, grow.
Those fishnet stockings cost a bomb,
But ladies, that's why we put them on,
We feel so **** and so do they,
So that's why we get them to pay.
Silk and satin, black or red,
Or going commando instead,
What then girls, do we love these things for,
Because they'll only be scattered on our bedroom floor?...
Apr 9, 2010
Apr 9, 2010 at 6:51 AM UTC
She don't like her eggs all runny
she thinks crossin' her legs is funny
she looks down her nose at money
She gets it on like the Easter bunny
she's my baby
I'm her honey
Never Gonna Let Her Go
He ain't got laid in a
Month of Sundays
I caught him once
and he was sniffin' my ******
he ain't too sharp but he gets things done drinks beer like it's oxygen
and he's my baby
I'm his honey
Never gonna let him go
In Spite of Ourselves
we'll end up sitting on a rainbow
Against All Odds
honey were the big door prize
We're going to spite our noses
right off of our faces
there won't be nothin'
but a big ol' Hearts
dancin' in our eyes
she thinks all my jokes are corny
convict movies make her *****
she likes ketchup with her scrambled eggs swears like a sailor when
she shaves her legs
she takes a lickin'
she keeps on tickin'
I'm never going to let her go
He's got more ***** than
A Big Brass Monkey
he's a whacked-out ******
and a love bug ******
Sly as a fox
crazy as a loon
when payday comes
he's howlin' at the moon
he is my baby
and I don't mean maybe
I'm never going to let him go
In Spite of Ourselves
we'll end up sittin' on a rainbow
Against All Odds
honey were the big door prize
we're going to spite our noses
right off of our faces
there won't be nothing
but big ol' Hearts
dancin' in our eyes
In Spite of Ourselves
Written by John Prime
Cherie Nolan- A favorite wedding tune
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC
I've been ceaselessly sweating since June
And without fail every day around noon
My arm pits are sopping
My ****** are sodden
I feel about ready to swoon
It’s been glorious weather since June
I’m not sure if you’d think it too soon
But top up the icebox
For Pimm’s on the rocks
And celebrate all afternoon
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
*This is one of the racier "Memories" poems by the great Barry Hodges, my alter ego.
It might well make you come involuntarily in your ******
How happy was I once with the wind in my hair
Wandering o'er the dales with joyousness unmeasur'd,
In the sweet long passed innocent days of platonic love
When stolen gropes and kiss were to be treasured.
But all good and true things come to a sad close
And my poor first love lies in her grave so sorrowfully
Having been crushed to death by a runaway steamroller
Before I managed to go all the way quite thoroughly.
What a waste of delightful teenage flesh was that
Yet perhaps I had a narrow escape from the derangement
Which might have been mine had our trysting
Led to a semi-permanent matrimonial arrangement.
For I recall one afternoon in the old ABC cinema
In the delighful Yorkshire spa town of Harrogate,
Sitting next to my gorgeous love in the back row,
Exploring her not so very private parts on a hot date.
How I cursed the management's niggardly folly
In not showing a film with hot romantic blood
But saving pathetic pennies by putting on
Daffy ******** Duck and Elmer ******* Fudd.
But yet I perserved with my digital explorations
Unaware that the throbs my fingers felt were no dream
But darling Elsie laughing like a proverbial drain
At Daffy's hilarious anatine adventures on-screen.
'Twas then I began to wonder about the viscous liquid
I had hitherto imagined was Elsie's lovejuice flowing
*(dear, dear reader, cease your perusal of my tale forthwith
if you are of a nervous disposition or prone to food up-throwing)*.
It was only a careful examination of my sopping knuckles
In the dimly lit gents after old Daffy's film was done and dusted
Which revealed that my dearly beloved had leaked
Big time out of both ends, leaving my fingers well encrusted.
O to think that, but for Daffy, I might have been lumbered
With a different kind of bird for whom double incontinence
Was a way of life (thus, the fatal steamroller she encountered
The very next day was a blessing from kindly Providence).
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
heatwave
night air barely sighs
heatwave
bodies lie far apart
on sweat damp sheets
heatwave
tuxedo boy sleeps
spread eagled, legs asprawl
on wet shower tiles
heatwave
the god child
twists and turns
in superman ****** under
mosquito-net blown by fans
heatwave
outside small things
bathe & scurry through waterpans
placed on fast dying grass
and larger things drink
gulping mouthfuls from the pond
heatwave
and we all await the breeze
and the small hours of the night
when the temperature drops
when the air cools enough
so as not to stifle breath,
anger minds, open lips
leaving hurt behind
heatwave
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 9:01 AM UTC
Someone stole your ****** and now you're feeling under.
Debriefed but not on how to deal with this outfit.
What to do? go out? fit in? Irked but no shoes or shirt.
Took it off of your back and replaced it
with a lack of faith in what this place is all about.
So you hung up your ***** laundry for all to see and they took it.
No mystery just misery. To the wanderer who said "if home is where the heart is, than I'm cynically homeless" unaware that if home is where the heart is YOU are always home.
They may have taken the shirt off his back but he would have given it gladly, cause that's not the sort of belonging he longs for. Wasn't quite his idea of clothing the homeless, but its done nonetheless.
But you got your head, shoulders, knees and toes so who needs clothes? When you're transparent. To the one who feels alone, take comfort in the fact that someone's now literally walking in your shoes... and socks ... and shirt.
Solitary days still leaving him contemplating underwhere? And underwhy? But what's garment to be will be and he'll be alright because his light shines bright, even if he doesn't see it in the glare. There's something fresh in the air. It's a mean feat, but once he learns to stand on his own two, in the space of a haunted Manor will stand a Man. One that can, will and do.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
i can't believe i'm living out my life's
10 seconds of stupidity with
an un-payable debit account security
of future credit, loans, debt and moaning...
**** me double twice blind with a joker in hand...
of course i'm stupid, i got educated in
a world that pays you back with menial
labour, to look pretty... seriously,
don't do the stupidest thing imaginable and
get yourself a university degree, unless
you're a woman, that's fine, you'll get to
meet and voluntarily wet your ******
with the next president of Romania,
but we need idiot mechanics, and believe
me, i'd rather oil up car pistons like
stroking giraffe necks of Myanmar women....
from **** generals cited through to Epicurus' citation...
believe me, i wish i was smarter,
most of posthumous fame is a regard of
obstructive i.q.,
we were believed to not take offence at our
exposure to systematisation
which educated both thief and banker...
none of the two differ... both excusable buffers...
we trusted people... trust was our biggest idiotic remark...
and now the earth in spin... for endless maxims:
it's like that... and that's the way it is;
no wonder i end up watching serial killer
documentaries.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
Growing up way back
when life was simple.
There were wringer wash machines.
On Monday morning I remember my mom
fill the wash machine with hot water.
Add soap powder, but watch or it will clump.
Then she added fels naptha soap
Which was a bar, and you sliced off
pieces for the extra ***** clothes.
SIMPLE?
Now she added the clothes
While they are agitating
You wait...
You have a second tub filled with hot water.
to transfer those clothes into, for rinsing.
You always used the same water over.
You started with white clothes,
then eventually by the time the
dark clothes came around
the water looked pretty gross..
SIMPLE?
After rinsing you use that magical wringer.
Which is two rollers that sqeeze all the water out.
Time...it all takes time..
Then into the wash basket.
Laundry back when life was simple...
By then your basket if full of wet heavy clothes.
Out to the clothes line.
But first you had to run a dry cloth to wipe
the dirt off the clothes line.
Hanging up all that laundry
with those cute wooden clothes pins.
Not even clip ones were invented back then.
But the bag which held all the clothes pins
was real cute, it looked like a dress...
SIMPLE?
Socks, ****** shirts, slacks, towels,
oh those heavy towels
and my favorite the sheets.
Time, it takes time to dry those clothes.
Laundry back when life was simple.
Back then everything was ironed.
Starched and there was no spray starch,
or steam iron.
Mom would dip the collars of the shirts
into a bowl of starch,
and roll it up,
it was ready to be ironed.
Laundry back when life was simple...
How can that be a simple time.
I watched my mom and grandma
do this every Monday.
Starting early and it would be evening
when she would finally have
the clothes folded and put away...
The next day was for ironing.
~~~
SIMPLE?
We have the simple life
for now we can throw in a load, have it washed,
thrown in the dryer, and hung up
in a couple of hours.
Taking a coffee break in between
the washing and drying...
by ~ judy
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
Night falls over Soho and, gazing into some cheap tart's eyes
Over a candelit-chequered-food-stained tablecloth,
Beneath my belt an immense ******** lurks leakily,
The seams of my ****** soaked with bursting lust,
My groin twitching in desire for her wanton arse-flesh.
Streetlight shining through threadbare curtains
Glinting sexily over my hairy pounding buttocks;
My screamed roars of pleasure echoing
In the deepest depths of her tenth-rate mind;
Her poor brain collapsing in mighty mid-climax.
Morning reveals a classy scene to chambermaid's gawp:
Spread-legged cold-as-chilled-salami ****
Puny brainbox imploded like mashed bananas
By staggering rivulets of overpowering *******
Like a duck's entrails in an unwashed sink.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
Just Like A Woman
You focus on the act,
The ridiculous derring-do,
Laughing at me
Cause I chased away
In my rumpled ******
The woodpecker that convulsed
Our house at 5:00 AM,
With a decorative pillow.
Focus on the results, says the
Results-oriented man.
Has Woody ever returned?
No and his fate is still unknown,
He may fly forever neath our trees,
But now he knows to stay away
From me and the risk of my pillowy pillory!
P.S. I may (or may not)
Choose to disclose
That upon my return
The house still shook,
From someone's uproarious, convulsed
Laughing at a city boys country heroics.
10:30am
June29 2013
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
The lads
Are streaming ****
Don't be too quick
To scorn;
To understand my monologue
Know Sears stopped publishing
Catalogues
Of women in their ******
And Geographic
No longer shoots
******* Amazons.
I don't claim it's right,
But boys are boys,
Night follows night.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
Met this easy chick that don't **** **** she a no brainer
I said **** my duck and she said "What could be lamer?!"
Defamed, I went home cried and smoked some ******
Watch teletubbies in my ****** like my last name was schiefer
I went to bed and heard a scream
like R.Kelly I peed my sheets
Turns out the ****** was laced some sort of hallucinogen
I'm worried that in my bloods a carcinogen
decided not to worry cause whats the point
We all die so chill and roll a joint
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
Traces of lassitude
Slow down to cruising,
Warmth of the whiskey
Ameliorates bruising.
Putting the feet up
Makes it inane,
That I'm subtly aroused
In mouthing your name.
Subtle arousal
In tracing the line
Of your thin cotton ******
With fingertip fine,
And watching the smile
Slide up to your eyes,
See the blend of your blushing
In murmured surprise.
Oh the glorious sunset
Streams in through the glass
And the shades refracted
Nicely contour your ***
And the whisky is mellow
The mood is sublime,
So the promise of evening
Improves with time.
With serpentine moves
And the grace of an snake,
You uncoil to your feet
And you make your escape.
Mouthing thin fabrications
And utter wee fibs,
You flee back to your hearth
And your husband and kids.
Solace alone Baby,
Solace alone,
With frustration and whisky
All the lonely way home.
As the penitent thoughts
Percolate through unseen,
My sad mind lingers
On what might have been.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
27 January 2010
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 12:08 AM UTC
*The most broken people live on earth.
Not even a good poet and wont pretend to be.
I fell asleep at my desk reading boring poems in school.
I failed the test on how many stanza in a poem.
Writing about broke people makes me feel good.
It's a long *** poem so read it or not read it. Word up!*
Call me white boy playing black hipster like the broken record Miley.
I can't type twerk on my keyboard but turning all ghetto on y'all.
Lady done done all she can to shock and mess with our minds.
What she gone do next, buy a house in a black hood and live there?
That's messed up and so I'm dumb and I love attention.
I live in a big town population less than sixteen thousand.
We listed on the map as a god ****** city. Word up!
I need to be a hipster and I'm going hood on y'all.
In my hood I see houses needing fixing and painting.
Got a friend who lives in a trailer park
metal piece that goes around the bottom of his trailer
fell off and his pipes froze during that weather deep freeze.
He's renting that trailer that should be condemned
like most trailers in that park but who the **** cares?
He's got a roof over his head and he should be grateful
he ain't homeless like the rest of the trailer park dwellers.
Landlords don't give a **** they care about collecting rent.
We got men and women living on internet trolling Craigslist.
Most trolling hoping to find dates are married.
Single men and women seeking sugar daddies and mommies.
They are broken people.
I walk down streets and our old and newer malls.
Same weird *** people shop at both.
I see women yelling at kids with ****** diapers that smell bad.
One used the back of her hand to wipe a snot nose
then went back to talking and texting.
Women with babies at home meeting men they met on personals.
Good place to hide when they married or got men.
Leave the babies at home with sitters or family and find new men.
Hanging out at malls is a fake.
"Meet me at my pickup in a half hour and don't wear ******
Read that message on a burner cell I found at the new mall.
It's a burner so it don't need to be returned.
Read the rest and she is married and has more than one lover
she met off personals.
Work it girl and keep the sugar daddies coming!
How many broken moms who should not be moms exist?
There are too many broken people who exist.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
Beware Hooray
the Cavemen are comin
jumpin up and don knock-kneed
sweepin the hill with their new harvested beard
Howdy chicky chicken leg
What’s goozin under your sweaty shirt
lookin like ma granpa
with ur baby cream breath
or is it maybe somethin else luscious
spring of intermittent discharge
making rainbows duplicate
yep gimme two too
when u come to me
oh when u come to me
cause I am a matured
lovin n **** is my blanched bird nest
neatly crowned above my head
I shall unbind it for
adorable is your lady color short pants
I bet holographic daisies growin
along the tri-d charm
of your ******
if any yeah if any
Beware Oh the cavemen
Run flat out nou
cause I shall feed you
to my auntie’s aging dreams
with the buncha hair on ur face
u look lika somethin
resembling
a man before her famine
Beware Oh the cavemen
Auntie is comin
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
My rages
Tearing pages
Going Cray
Ripping pages
My flow
Changing phases
Amazes
On stages
Front row
Front pages
Your rapping, verbally attacking
Any Enemy slacking
Riff Raff'em
Taking charge
Like a captain
Ice challenge
Chilling living lavish
Way Above average
About to fix me a samwich
Let us with cabbage
Went H.A.M.
Over some beef
Got bread
Hand some cheese
Hate spam
Love trees
Cool breeze
In Belize
Blowing Lush Kush
In blush trees
Across seas
They love me
See a tree huggers bush
Land and strip; No leaves
I'm cooler than an oldies, in his ******
Eating Coco puffs watching ice-t
In a wife-tee, drinking iced ice-t.
Spiking spike, while playing Exite Bike on an old PC
Laughing so hard
I *** ***
I wish you
Could see me
On HD with an HD
With At&T;
Getting my P.H.D.
Figure it out
Too late
Quarter past three
Then they
Passed me
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
NGUS'S ******
YEAH IT'S FUN TO SEE ANGUS'S AC/DC'S ******
HE FELT HE WAS WEIRD, BUT ALSO FELT QUITE COOL
CAUSE AS HE DANCES HIS COOL DANCE STYLE
OFF WENT HIS PANTS TO SEE HIS COOL JOCKS
HE PARTIES UP, YEAH HE PARTIES DOWN
AND HE PARTIES RIGHT WHERE ANY CONSERVOS FROWN
AND IT'S COOL TOO SEE ANGUS'S ACCA DACCA ****** YEAH
YA SEE HE TAKES HIS HAND AND RIPS THE SHIRT FROM HIS BACK
AND THEN SANG OUT THE FLAMING WORDS, WE GOT THE JACK
PLAYING WITH HIS JOCKS, THE ACCA DACCA JOCKS
RUNNIG AROUND SINGING HIS HEAVY METAL SOUND
PRETTY COOL, FOR A ACCA DACCA SINGER LIKE HIM, DUDES
NOW HE IS PLAYING THE GUTAR WITH THE GREATEST OF EASE
AND AS HIS ****** LOOK COOL INDEED
COOL INDEED COOL INDEED COOL INDEED
ANGUS YOUNG IS MIGHTY COOL INDEED
SHOOT TO **** WE BREAK NO RULES
I DID BUT ONLY THE MORALIC RULE
ANGUS'S ****** OOPS HIS JOCKS
GO HOME AND READ FOX IN ANGUS'S ******
YEAH IT'S FUN TO SEE ANGUS'S AC/DC'S ******
HE FELT HE WAS WEIRD, BUT ALSO FELT QUITE COOL
CAUSE AS HE DANCES HIS COOL DANCE STYLE
OFF WENT HIS PANTS TO SEE HIS COOL JOCKS
HE PARTIES UP, YEAH HE PARTIES DOWN
AND HE PARTIES RIGHT WHERE ANY CONSERVOS FROWN
AND IT'S COOL TOO SEE ANGUS'S ACCA DACCA ****** YEAH
YA SEE HE TAKES HIS HAND AND RIPS THE SHIRT FROM HIS BACK
AND THEN SANG OUT THE FLAMING WORDS, WE GOT THE JACK
PLAYING WITH HIS JOCKS, THE ACCA DACCA JOCKS
RUNNIG AROUND SINGING HIS HEAVY METAL SOUND
PRETTY COOL, FOR A ACCA DACCA SINGER LIKE HIM, DUDES
NOW HE IS PLAYING THE GUTAR WITH THE GREATEST OF EASE
AND AS HIS ****** LOOK COOL INDEED
COOL INDEED COOL INDEED COOL INDEED
ANGUS YOUNG IS MIGHTY COOL INDEED
SHOOT TO **** WE BREAK NO RULES
I DID BUT ONLY THE MORALIC RULE
ANGUS'S ****** OOPS HIS JOCKS
GO HOME AND READ FOX IN
YEAH I LOVE ICE CREAM
AND I LOVE LIFE GOING ON ADVENTURES
I LOVE CONCERTS, I HEAR CANBERRA
SAYING, LET'S PUT ON POISON CONCERT
FOR BRIAN ALLAN AND AC/DC CONCERT FOR
BRIAN ALLAN AND TWISTED SISTER FOR BRIAN ALLAN
YEAH, I STILL LOVE HEAVY METAL MUSIC, BETTER
THAN THE ARMY, I LIKE LIVE CONCERTS
I THINK IT'S RATHER GRAND
HEARING, THE CROWD YELL ANGUS ANGUS ANGUS
LIKE THE ****** BURGER ANGUS
I ALSO HATE DAD'S VOICE SAYING YOUR LIUKE ME AND MUMMY BRIAN
I LOVE HEAVY METAL AND I AM HEARING THUNDERSTRUCK AT PRESENT
I AM NOT LIVING IN THE PAST
I AM LIVING IN THE PRESENT FOR A PRESENT
I PREFER HEAVY METAL, I ALWAYS LIKED HEAVY METAL
BETTER THAN THE ARMY, I KNOW THEY ****
BUT WHERE'S THE THRILL, HEAVY METAL MUSIC IS SOOOO COOOOOL
LET'S PARTY PARTY PARTY ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT
I WILL CLEAN MY HOUSE LATER, AC/DC ARE MORE IMPORTANT MATE
BEING COOL IS MORE IMPORTANT AT PRESENT
I LOVE ACCA DACCA, THEY ARE ****** RADICALLY AWESOME DUDE
HEAVY METAL GOES UP, HEAVY METAL GOES DOWN
HEAVY METAL IS PLAYED NICE AND LOUD
AND THEV SCREAM OUT TO THE REAL LIFE CROWD
YEAH ACCA DACCA ARE COOL
WE ARE GETTING RID OF DADS OLD FOGIE
LIKING MY LITTLE CLEANER 24 HOURS A DAY
I KNOW I MIGHT HAVE WANTED THAT, TIMES CHANGE, DUDE
ACCA DACCA ARE RAD
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 4:07 AM UTC
In my childhood bedroom closet
There's a little white ledge
And I kept on the edge
A collection of the trophies I'd won.
The trophy most prized
Was a small rubber guy
That sits atop of a pencil.
Graham booth was the boy
Who gave me the toy
As he smiled a goofy smile.
He looked like a 10 year old Backstreet Boy
Not a Howie - but a Kevin. Or a Brian.
My other trophies include
- I wouldn't want to exclude -
A small piece of rock
That I got
At the Bytown Museum
In grade 4.
Ms. Lewis' class.
Graham Booth was there
(With his boy band hair)
And he told me the rock was
Quote "neat"
End quote.
Sweeeeet.
My beloved knickknacks
(Oh! And a box of tic-tacs)
Weren't the only things hidden in there.
Under the front right corner
Of the soft white rug in my closet
I kept
My soiled underwear.
There were 2 pairs of underwear
Hidden in there,
One purple and the other ones blue.
The blue ones -
Well they weren't great.
Was it something I ate?
Couldn't put them in the laundry basket
In any case.
Couldn't tell my mom
For the look on her face.
She'd wish "Could another child
Take this one's place?!
She's ruined her ******
What a big disgrace.
Those beautiful ******
One purple, one blue!"
So I'd let no one see it:
My closet of secrets.
Some treasures
And some other ones
...Poo.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC
It happened one snowy Christmas eve
The snow was too heavy for flight
So Santa and those eight tiny reindeer
Were stranded with me for the night
After hot chocolate we all went to sleep
With them on my living room floor
The reindeer kept tossing and turning
And all Santa could do was snore
Well, I woke up in the middle of the night
And those reindeer were all in my bed
Comet and Cupid were holding me tight
And Prancer was kissing my head
Then in a flash the room went dark
And in the corner, a tiny elf appears
Believe it or not on top of his head
He had one of my wife's brassieres
I got out of bed to find old Santa
I was hoping he might have an answer
I found him soaking in my garden tub
Where he was taking a bath with Dancer
So I hurried back to the bedroom
But my wife was no where in sight
I found her in the kitchen playing spin the bottle
And that elf said she's mine for the night
Well that did it, I finally lost my temper
I started screaming for them to get out
Santa says, "We can't leave, my clothes aren't dry"
And that's when I started to shout
He pointed to my fireplace mantle
And my stockings were no longer there
For hanging on the nail, still dripping wet
Was Santa's long john underwear
I ran to the bedroom for my rifle
But when I returned they were already gone
My house was a wreck and that elf stole my wife
So I burned Santa's ****** 'til dawn
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
In my head
I am the Russian Roulatte
In a tee *** I beg for trust
When poured out
The foam becomes of your mouth
I do buisness in China
Shipped to Pueto Rico
Make tongues flip as sharp
as a Nurican Dominican
Jitter till hearts stop beating on top of Italian pool tables
I steal breathes from science who believe in what is not in the Bible
I am your Russian Roulette
Make a feline spray a *** spot in here ******
Make a King errect New Your late night star lights when they stu'n
Change the tune in your song
from spittin rap versus to singing to God that you was wrong
I beat the drugs
Put a end to your habbit
So when you feel you cant utter a verse I'll let you howl like a suffering rabbit
Because no one knows how to use me right
I am the only bullet tucked in to take away your life
As soon as I leap forward to your attention you will be adoment to a pension
Stire clear
I am here
No intentions but to terminate erosions
Respect what I may
Careful when you choose to play
You must reconsider the outcome
I am
The Russian Roulette.
© the Russian Roulette S.T. Rebel of Eden
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
Im digging through the log
looking for where it started
at least the clean stuff that i didnt delete
im about 200 taps in
"load earlier messages"
is going to haunt me
my dreams
i hope they have a sound track
sugar ray, perhaps
i need to lay my eyes on
the first thing you said to me
with that fancy new number of yours
seriously
ive been doing this for an hour
ive only gotten back to march
MID-MARCH mind you
but if i had to be honest
the suspense IS NOT killing me
with every tap
of that god forsaken roll-over
i get a different glimpse
of how we used to be
and how we are irrefutably now
there are times where you
dont even show up in my dreams
all i find
a black tank top
comfy black ******
a copy of atlas shrugged
and a signed cannibal corpse ticket
and NO
i dont put them in
my dream ***** pack
OR smell them
OR pass them out to strangers
i leave them there
i leave them there because
i know that your coming back for them
you left them under the street light
to let me know that you
are just popping in for a pint
just around the corner
though my first instinct
jealousy of course
might take shape
before i had the chance to
rub my eyes
sober up
and actually have a constructive thought
i have to admit
a creature as perfectly sculpted as yourself
walking clad in nothing more
than an original colored landing strip
into ANY public house
would get a better pour
than the next ten thousand
so i fold your clothes
stack them neatly
where you can find them
find a respectable framing shop in the area
that would still be open this late
frame that ticket
dead center
on black matte of course
and pick up your book
until my eyes are too heavy to wait
and my mouth too dry
to turn the pages
and i lay down
head atop a tank
toes inspecting the texture
of the sidewalk
until i awake
again
alone
and as ardent as ever
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
It happen one snowy Christmas eve
The snow was too heavy for flight
So Santa and those eight tiny reindeer
Were stranded with me for the night
After hot chocolate we all went to sleep
With them on my living room floor
The reindeer kept tossing and turning
And all Santa could do was snore
Well, I woke up in the middle of the night
And those reindeer were all in my bed
Comet and Cupid were holding me tight
And Prancer was kissing my head
Then in a flash the room went dark
And in the corner, a tiny elf appears
Believe it or not on top of his head
He had one of my wife's brassieres
I got out of bed to find old Santa
I was hoping he might have an answer
I found him soaking in my garden tub
Where he was taking a bath with Dancer
So I hurried back to the bedroom
But my wife was no where in sight
I found her in the kitchen playing spin the bottle
And that elf said she's mine for the night
Well that did it, I finally lost my temper
I started screaming for them to get out
Santa says, "We can't leave, my clothes aren't dry"
And that's when I started to shout
He pointed to my fireplace mantle
And my stockings were no longer there
For hanging on the nail, still dripping wet
Was Santa's long john underwear
I ran to the bedroom for my rifle
But when I returned they were already gone
My house was a wreck and that elf stole my wife
So I burned Santa's ****** 'til dawn
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC