"viperous" poems
Someday I'll hold you like you me charms
Look you straight and deep in your eyes
And let you know how much I lust for you
I'll pull your soft body with me masculine arms
Dead close to mine so that you realize
How glamorously my **** tightens for you
Someday I'll touch your neck with my teeth
I'll graze it so softly that you won't quit
And then pour magical whispers into your ears
The much I've dammed up all these years
I'll place my hard palms beneath your shirt
To softly hard caress your skin so that it'll sweetly hurt
Then I'll place my head onto yours and sigh
Because by this point I'll already be high
Someday I'll be this close and I won't miss
I'll peck your forehead but your lips kiss
You'll shut your eyes and savor my taste
I'll take it one step at a time with no haste
I'll patiently unbutton your outfit
You won't stop me for you'll feel me heat
Someday I'll **** at your beautiful *******
Draped like two cute oranges on your chest
You'll mourn like you're grieved at the pleasure
You'll beg me to quickly find my way inside
But I'll try and keep my control and decide
when to partake of your juicy treasure
Someday I'll explore further down your thighs
Me whom you much loathe and despise
You'll arch like a bow at every touch and laugh like a clown
Yet mourn as I navigate every street of tuna town
You'll beg me to pass through the tunnel of love
And just then I'll swiftly embed myself into nature's glove
I'll place myself above you,I'll be a long awaited burden
You'll hold my posterior as I plough through your garden
Since you say there's no love around here
Further apart your thighs will obediently split
While we make it
Someday we'll walk a thousand miles with no rest
We'll surf the ****** waves till we hit the viperous crest
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
Forged by Hephaestus himself, tempered in Satan's heart.
It moves too fast for the normal eye to see,
But leaves traces of moon glinted footsteps in the fissure of heaven's breath.
In the harmonic tune of clashing instruments, an orchestrated chaos is present.
The chord from the bowstring beats time on wooden shields.
To this, their blade waltz continues.
Their cadence unmatched by surrounding performers,
The maestros continue their viperous style.
Just as a painter cannot take away a stroke of the brush,
A swordsman cannot take away a stroke of the blade.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 5:30 PM UTC
Sunday's bell broke the recess
And three times as professed
The gavel rapped before the rooster's caw
The horn was blown the drum was beat
And in the top of every street
We swooned with the wounded at the wall
And we said nothing just our prayers
But if someone's heard something
Nobody cares
And now with the yellow moon
Fixed beyond the clouds that loom
It soon would be a day the devil owned.
High on horseback thru the mud
They came and bathed their hands in blood
From the thumb up to the funny-bone
And we said nothing just our prayers
But if someone's heard something
Nobody cares
And by and by
We will crawl
Before we fly
High above
The middle of
Utopia
Lightning made the thunder ring
Until the dawn when suddenly
Light divided darkness in the east
Thus once more the wheel has turned
And proved itself a viperous worm
That gnaws the bowels of the beast
And we said nothing just our prayers
But if someone's heard something
Nobody cares
And by and by
We will crawl
Before we fly
High above
The middle of
Utopia
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
what remains...
charred piles of torn up memories
Exposed fragments bitter and lost.
Your Mortal fire burns
every piece, Deadly in its wake.
Is it ok?
Us, a tumor Malignant in nature, benign in fiction.
Your flourescent blue
engulfs until full
eating away all.
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Viperous, you lash
your tongue blackening my heart,
Fatal strikes one by one.
A blaze, your eyes bore into my sole,
Threatening to peel away the love.
It's snowing, particles drop to then end, smothering
my lungs arousing,
an Impending thought that we were not to be.
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 4:30 PM UTC
"It was only a kiss" you'd said
to me, that ended
our wedded bliss.
I caught you and her
of all places, in
my kitchen.
New year's party for the neighbours
right next to the drainer
You, and her from number five.
Warned about her the day we arrived.
Gossip I thought
Jealousy I thought
Vicious viperous women
being vindictive
I thought.
Shows you what thought does
Did you like number five's thighs?
Her sighs?
Did you even remember your wife?
Whilst being depraved, full of vice
lies and cries of lust ?
I expect not, your head
was still full of her lips
Or is it her lips that are still full?
Relationships are give and take
You took too much.
I hate goodbyes.
You've been Blythe about
Your demise with
Number five, and her thighs.
So, to cut to the chase
We cannot revive nor
survive. Your kiss can consider me the ex.
Oh, and by the way
let's just say that the
slice I made today will make no 5
Stay permanently away.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
Venom fanged and dripping malice
I hope my words wound like a
callous
upon your skin.
My madness reigned in by
****** your life in my hands
and Thallium.
On balance I am
unbalanced.
Maybe even deranged.
But, would I know that I was?
Like hapless maggots
you consume.
Like a canvas
soon to be spattered
I await my doom.
Viperous,venomous, *****
that I am,
my malice came with not
your phallus
(I rarely did)
but rather digitalis.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
What could come next on this life-or-death quest;
femmefatales around every corner & turn;
‘Delicious,’ thinks Medea, staying below
in the hold; only one Hero need be
willing to offer himself for sacrifice. . . .
but which; Asclepius, Heracles, Orpheus,
Argus, Tiresias, Theseus or perhaps
even Jason himself
Medusa, a ravenous wild thing, smells invasion
‘This spoils my plans & it stops here and now,’
Ever the rebel she'd been planning a new temple,
Unknown & in secret to be dedicated to nature;
for so long viperous and royally maddened,
now at midnight she hears the mystical lyre,
one string or one thousand, playing near;
Medusa feeling molten, suddenly must stop
gyrating on drunken satyrs’ laps as they throw
Leaves & make it rain on every nymph
throughout her dripping wet forest playground
lying down, she calls for her helpful maidens
Who sweetly rub her from temples to toes
With Nectar of Tiger’s **** and Librium,
which causes true disaster, her legs shuddering,
Her body quakes; the earth itself erupting
with quivering pulsations; the heroes knowing
Well what this all means as all has been
foretold on the ancient stone tablet;
For now though, the heroes of the Argo have
yet to encounter Calliope & the other
nefarious goddesses of her retinue; Muses,
fairies, furies, harpies, nymphs, queens, witches, etc....
by Medusa & Johnny Noir
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
Sickly sweet boys fill honey combs like goblin hands in tiny gloves.
They taste like gummy vows and glass letters.
These boys will rot you from the inside out,
painting organs with grainy sugar,
which dissolves to sour acid.
Beware!
Sickly sweet boys know the right flavours,
yet their labels are flawed.
Always lick before biting.
Toothaches are common,
but sugar rushes won’t last forever.
Sickly sweet boys don’t stay sweet for long.
Candy loses tang over time,
coating is just coating.
Inside is a viperous liquid that oozes like oil.
Ebony, boiling, sticky.
Your tongue will never be pink again.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 9:19 AM UTC
I listen to the coiled out words
Of the viper-tongued miscreants
Placating the willing to walk along
In Involuntary servitude as in a trance
Zombies of the evil spells that liars spin
Where sparks of dissent are overwhelmed
deep deep down
in those murky depths of the swampland
By those willing ...robed in anonymity ...
... tasked with the responsibility.
..of burning down ....the entire world
if we all ....don't accede
To their will....
....obeying all things they do demand.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
Death has come to take its’ fill
From a sleeping serpentine creature
Writhing with longing to make still
A slithering thing with viperous sting
Slashing or smashing never concealing
With no breath left in its’ chest
A cold stiff corpses has no feeling
No heart beating beneath this breast
Only empty eyes praising the ceiling
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC