"wanking" poems
No, you cannot join in.
Unless of course you also want the backlash that comes with kissing girls in public?
Take it-
please
share the homophobia.
I have had enough to last me 18 years of shame
no, this is not a game and you do not have the right to take photographs of me while I kiss her.
Unless of course you are a photographer
here to celebrate our queer love in all of it’s natural beauty.
For my love does not exist for your enjoyment
we are not the characters in your fantasy novel
my love is magical and you cannot publish it.
My love rains all over your non existent parade because your homophobia does not exist at pride
wide-eyed boys
encircle us as if to say that our mouths brush only so that they
can paint the picture,
but you do not belong within my self portrait
you will not dip your ***** brush into my rainbow coloured paint set.
Clean your homophobia into the water
for our love is art
but you are not the artist
and my love is not yours to keep for later
for wanking your anxieties into pleasure whilst you turn my pleasure, into anxiety.
This, is plagiarism.
Copyright my love.
For I should not have to be aware of who is watching
or pointing or shouting or stealing, my love.
So put your hand down your pants and think of your homophobia.
No, you can’t come now
no, you cannot join in.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC
Nobody loves a fairy when's he's fifty
Nobody likes a fairy, old and grey;
And no one loves a bumboy when he's sixty
Wanking in a toilet, fat and gay.
And when a fairy gets as old as seventy
He can't get rough trade any more
And if he finally makes it through to eighty
His dilated **** will be very sore.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
Spirits may come spirits may go.
The only talk to those they know.
Those who have a lending ear and listen to the others here.
Usually grey haired old bags with 20 cats and 40 ****
But Anna isn't quite the same she's not what visitors expect.
She greets each one with a smile.
But their eyes can't see they miss by miles!
Instead the look upon her chest, for what a smashing pair of *******
I even think the spooks just come to take a peak at her ***
Imagine that a ghost on top with an enormous supernatural ****
Slid between her silky legs until she screams and begs and begs.
A medium she thought it was, in fact it was an XL ****
A frenzy in the reading room as more arrive to see her moan.
It's like a wiken **** now, at 44 she's in her prime.
I wonder who will "come" next time.
The psychic circle all a gasp, are playing with their mortal tackle.
Who would have thought she wore a basque, underneath a witches tac.
Now its like a wanking club, spooks and mortals all a tug.
finally she howls with delight.
Another soul has seen the light!
So remember when you see her pass check her **** and little *** imagine she's on top of you in stockings basque and heels to.
Though one thing you should bare in mind...
Unless your dead forget it mate!
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
My hands are numb to all they touch
But I feel their inner workings better than ever.
I notice the strain while I'm writing,
The cramp when I'm wanking,
And the lack of a third line in my triplet.
Their blood runs cool like ethanol.
My eyes sting but they had the whole day,
Let my lungs have their moment.
Smoke soothes only second to air
But my carnal desires placed it higher in demand.
Warn all your kids
And take coughing fits.
The danger is real
That's just how I feel.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
In my room alone,
I lay naked on my bed,
Magazines and videos - laid out nicely,
Not Andrex but Kleenex there instead,
I flick through the pages,
Holding on so tight,
While on the screen there's stuff obscene,
Ejoying this pleasing sight,
Up and down i gently rub,
'Til my head rolls back in bliss,
Faster, faster then i'll stroke,
Thinking of that kiss.
Wishing i were the one up there,
Getting ****** off by a pro,
Instead of spread eagle on my back,
I'd rather be getting a blow,
To have my **** ****** off by her,
The one with shaven lips,
To pull her close and enjoy the roast,
Driving at her hips,
Oh but alone i am with **** in hand,
Wanking myself to sleep,
But i know when i close my eyes,
The visions of you i'll keep.
So for now, content am i,
Playing with my ****
Shooting out my *** in streams,
And tasting it til i'm sick,
I wish that you were back here with me,
To give me such a treat,
Then on my kness, for you i'd go,
And surely find something to eat,
But i'm stuck with magazines and videos,
Of ladies eating out,
So that's my tale for all to see,
What wanking's all about.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
Plundering corruption
A boy an apple from a tree
Son you know that is wicked
Come on, and follow me.
You saw that strange fruit growing
The poor a hanging from a tree
Let's sing another song boys
Call it US democracy
I free all kinds of good boys
In my old boy kinda way
From tyranical oppression
To the kinder Gentler me
And I say you must reform now
To our ever wanking little whim
Chairman Bush is on a roll now
Thinks he's facking Chairman Mao.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
**** **** as the world teaches you to,
And do not be ashamed that you do,
Nasty world clergy keeping you,
Keeping you rather restricted.
Wanking it off and easing the pressure,
Above *********** you always rise,
Not paying heed to their words,
Kiss oneself as much wished.
**** off your tensions and problems,
And do not be uncertain about it,
Nostredamus did it often too,
Kind of intelligentia do it.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 1:43 AM UTC
Lots of ladies there may be, but I haven't had that many
My **** is always active, and I think I would have any
In the past I could have been, just a bit too picky
The art of wanking I did try, but that left my pants all sticky
Some nice **** I would love, or an **** or three
The fairer *** is preferable, cos there's nothing strange about me
It really doesn't seem that fare, when there are many slags
And lots of ugly fat ****** that say they all want shags
But I can not locate any, I wish there was a way
That I could find a nice gal, and not someone that is gay
Nothing against the Lezzers, I'm just not that way inclined
But I'm fed up with wanking, and I don't want to go blind
I would ***** an old gal, with a big fat rounded ****
A squeezable amount of flesh, inside an **** ****
Big fat ****** are welcome, who want it up their bucket
I would like **** your **** and I'd really love to **** it
An **** I could really try, if only the girls would
******* lots of ***** ***** that could be quite good
A large obese girl I would **** with lots of rolls of fat
I'd stuff my **** inside there **** cos there's nothing wrong with that
Ideal worlds would be good, if you could **** the girls you like
But I will settle for a ***** or a well used ridden bike
Even in a ******** they could be a real good ****
If pussy's are full of ***** I'd still **** your *** filled bag
Maybe I could find an old gal who is a real life *****
I would just think so what, and **** her well used *****
After I have loosened up, her tight old ******* hole
I could have a tighter **** with her **** upon my pole
******** the ladies ******** this is always such a dream
Arses will be filled up, and the cat would get the cream
If you want to get ****** and you find any of this thrilling
Get your ***** and arseholes out, ready for a creamy filling
Come on all you fat slags, I'd like to see you naked
And even you wrinkly old bags, to me nothing is sacred
Your ***** cats are required, and your arses are inclined
Fat slags and old bags are still quite hard to find
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
Many houses have been cleaned on ***** window routes
Terraced rows and bungelows and other glass recruits
Customers of differant types some casual, some suits
Pleasent ones and lovely ones, some of them fun hoots
One window shined, revealed behind someones bathroom door
An awful sight giving us a fright, more than we bargained for
We went to clean it was abscene, that horrible thing we saw
Showing his snake was it a mistake, or was he just a *****
Every time we went to clean situations would get worse
We didn't want to catch a glimps, of his ****** immerse
A naked burden it bacame, why was he so perverse
***** windows should remain to conceal that bathroom curse
The anxiousness we both felt, how low he always sank
Unwanted sightings of body flesh and yanking on his plank
Disgusting ways of a deprived mind, so very dark and dank
***** windows are one thing, but not when you ******* ****
We did not want to ascend, with each ladder run to climb
knowing what awaited us we didn't want to see his slime
That bathroom window was regular, he did it every time
His kind of antics should be re-classed as a life of grime
We're not interested in plonker pulling a real discusting stunt
Nakedness we don't want to see, or a nasty shiveled front
Your ***** windows are to much so we will both be blunt
Keep your wanking to yourself and **** off your ***** ****
We don't care how many times, or how much you try
There is no necessitation to see your small **** eye
Confess your sins and tell your wife and don't you effing lie
That you've been bathroom wanking and flashing your cream pie
We told him we're not cleaning, when he dosent wear a stitch
And because he had to ******* **** and treat us like his *****
We're not your pleasure ****** when you've got that certain itch
Your ***** windows we wont clean when your mind is in a ditch
It's time us girls said goodbye you've made us ******* cross
Window cleaners we may be but your not our wanking boss
So now we're gone and you know why, my friend it's adios
And all because you had to flash and have a bathroom toss
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
Fragmented embers of the evening light casting shadows on
the outline of your preferred wanking pants.
Rathmines all blue and black outside
with stern encroaching trees reminding
of your parents
(and what they might be expecting to do now, as opposed
to what you're doing)
encircling empty Doritos packets submissive to
console lights ever glowing
Stacked shores of ruin against life's pursuing
And mocking you in the corner
The amp that laid echoes to a thousand bands
thought of that never were.
Figurehead of a thousand conversations that led to kisses
never so sweet as those felt and remembered
in this dungeon of worn out ego and instilled fear.
Home to one hundred nights of solitude
sans reprieve or want of care
with the stench of student bachelor
left hanging in the air.
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
an old dream of mine
was to hit the
rave scene / clubbing
scene in ibiza...
never done so, i look at it
now like a massive sack
of ***** with little
white tadpoles swarming
around to a rhythmic
wanking.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 6:03 AM UTC
You want masterpieces
but I need time.
My thoughts are formless luminescent snakes
a flickering halo
tiny fluid flakes
I’ve no control of.
It’s not in me to create a
masterpiece
right now
I’m 16.
Did Shakespeare show
potential at 16? Did he win
a golden
key?
Then why me?
Teach me the secrets
of time and the universe.
Whisper them sweetly as you ******
I’ve nothing to say.
For years I will think of nothing
and then one day maybe something and
that will feel like a cold shower
Who’s the Brontë sister everyone forgets?
Does everything matter or nothing? Is it a crime to put my pen on paper without a meaningful idea does anything mean nothing or everything?
Am I simply killing trees pontificating
needlessly?
Do my inky ponderings amount to wankings?
What does it take in this modern age of information
to do something great
with a piece of pen and paper?
I am wasting my day each day doing what you tell me from the minute I wake up at five fifteen to the moment I walk back through my door twelve hours later
my day is
structured
around a list of concepts chosen for me by whom.
Of what do I write of what I know if I know
not and nothing
I know
Wordplay my wankings amount to
hours
I need to
work
on writing and
wanking.
My vocabulary is **** because I’ve no time
for classics and all I do is watch Netflix.
Some people say to me often sometimes
“I wish I was black.”
and sometimes maybe what I want to say is
**** you.”
but what almost always I say is “Me too.”
The mother who birthed me can be labeled only white
my father spent his childhood playing on islands
and together they made something
truly
neither this nor that
and it
always sometimes
drives me mad.
Your face is a map that leads home to me.
Mother may I
lay down
to sleep?
Pumpkin carvings in a row
I’ve nothing to say
for there’s nothing I know.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
Earlier time's my younger days when I was about sixteen
Awareness of the fairer *** when I was sexually keen
**** time's that I did crave why were the girls so mean
When it came to getting ****** my **** was never seen
I thought about their naked ***** whether fat or lean
Activities in **** arts who cares where thier **** had been
If you get your ******* off making sure your **** is bare
Bending over the bed with your cheeks up in the air
Or knelt upon the sofa with my fingers through your hair
I will stuff my hotdog up inside your Derryair
Too many benders coming out and lots of ugly lags
Never enough willing girls and I could never find no slags
There wasn't any nice girls just ******* ***** bags
All I could attract we're bendy boys and horrible *** hags
Getting blow jobs really ****** my **** was never blown
Lots of Fanny's I would poke but none of them were shown
I didn't get no ***** and my seeds were never sown
Just left pulling on my plonker and wanking on my own
I could have had a blow job from all of those Gay boys
Or offered ******* ******** from dried up hobbledy hoys
But I didn't want a crap **** or play with those boys toys
So I never got to **** to much or make that **** noise
Now I am mid forties and I want the same thing now
I still want to stick my **** in some nice meow.
There's only skanky sourpuss or some old stupid cow
I am still in the same boat I have nothing to plough
I still want some nice ***** I'm still in that same phase
Lots of naked ladies ****** in lots of different ways
I'll have to keep on searching until to my dying days
The line is drawn at hobbledy hoys and most definitely gays
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC
Wasted youth stagnated years
Eating away subconscious fears
Broken spirit, minds aloof
Ignorance can't hide the truth
Anxious of loss, alone without light
Chronic wanking took his sight
Arise kindred spirits he found the gap
A Painful exit a misplaced map
Behind his ear lay a match
He struck some light and dropped his stash
Tunnel vision show no remorse
No longer could he stoke the corpse
We will not speak of her again
The apprehensive road began
A twilight spark caught his phone
But he was yet to hear her tone
Captivated by her curse
Anticipates her soulful verse
A stranger unveiled his hidden might
To extract the mind and regain sight
Sent from my iPhone
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
Eris
The press of
some boy’s
Levi rivets
on my hips
and liking it.
School girl poppets,
******* scraps
thrown in our faces.
A policeman
asking Eris
the colour of the
wanking man’s pants.
Fleshy pink she laughs.
Mysteries at 14.
Eris knows men
with fast cars.
Fast hands.
We fast forward
to forget most bits.
Never question
why we are taken,
we never
speak of it.
Why bother,
my mother’s drunk
with the man
whose daughter
Eris is.
Mysteries at 14.
I’m told
no alcohol.
There’s nothing
worse
than teenage girls
disgracing themselves.
Stay nice.
My father’s charcoal
drawing
on our wall
of the woman
with the
pointy *******
She is Eris’s mother.
Double standard
mysteries at 14.
Eris is taller than me,
blocks my way
with her back
as I try to leave.
Stay she says.
Scent of lemon
on her blonde hair,
caught up in a ponytail.
I flinch
as she flicks
it to one side,
like a stamping palomino.
Strands caught
by the butterflies
pinning
the gold studs
to her ears.
Blonde in my mouth,
lemon on my tongue,
best friend,
girlfriend crush.
She turns,
dissolute and desolate.
Eris says we’re enjoying it,
all the mysteries at 14
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 5:49 AM UTC
Strangulation marks on necks
Tendon scars on wrists
Someone wants them near
Who is the normal one out of here?
They are the ones who bring on troubles
The ones who are troubled
Doubting, scared, tabooed
Pills and needles; we’re subdued
White robe opening the blinds
Who is this guy
Let in some light
Into this shady existence
They are the ones who are distanced
Brought to the state of nonexistence
Something’s wrong in mechanism
Of playing a certain role
In this world
And no way to repair
They are there
And still they are not there
Stumbling, crying, wanking
Cutting, suffocating
Fighting, hating
Forever waiting…
They can now stop from doing this
They’re masters of their flesh and bone
But what is it like to live a life like this
To fight and be fought when you’re left all alone
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 11:53 AM UTC
Are you wanking in your stockings in the halls.
It's time that us guys **** and squeeze our *****
We will ride an ugly old old dear
It's their ***** we want to slay
We'd love to **** you silly for the day
[Chorus:]
So here it is merry **** time
Everybody show your ***
look at our arseholes now
We really need to ***
Are you waiting for the fat slags to arrive?
I'm sure their big ***** have plenty room inside
The old ***** always tell you
That their ***** are the best
And their ***** are better than the rest
[Chorus:]
So here it is, Merry **** time
Everybody show your ***
Look at our hairy *****
We really need to ***
Who are you going to do
When your mother has her bit of a *****
Oooh oo oooh oohh
Are you wanking in your stockings in the halls
We'll **** your old fat mother when she calls
We will **** her on the hillside
That's where she will get laid
We'll *** deep inside her
When her legs are splayed
[Chorus:]
So here it is. Merry **** time
Everybody show your ***
Look at our **** holes now
We really want to ***
So here it is, Merry **** time
Everybody show your ***
Look at *** holes now
We really need to ***
So here it is, Merry **** time
Everybody wants a ***
Take your knickers down
We always need to ***
So here it is, Merry **** time
Everybody wants a ***
(It's **** time!)
Get up her ******** now
We really need to ***
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC
Try wanking with your
big toe and longer
toe-ish part..
Its like a ********* with out
the awkwardness..
Except your palm gets jealous,
and starts showing the pressure
it can put on this
relationship..
Jealousy is a digit
not giving a grasp when needed,
cos you choose another appendage.
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 6:11 PM UTC
on the interwebs wanking
and looking for ***
you might get some love
if you put down the tech
I have been people-watching
and the things I observed,
have left me much more
than a little disturbed
our future is doomed
as the youth of our nation
lack basic skills,
like communication
clean their cars out
for Facebook
'cos they think that the world
gives a **** how their face looks
and they want their neighbors,
friends to see
their perfect,
plastic "family"
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 11:02 AM UTC
Just sitting here tonight
letting the words fall from brain
and the tip of my pen
listening to some good rock and roll
wishing I could be playing my guitar
but it's getting late
and I want to keep next-door a friend
my world is feeling dark
and the sky is getting grey
think before morning it will rain
left hand hurting after my hard day working
tonight there will be no wanking
but tomorrow for sure
Pick it up.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
It's 2:30 A.M.
And all I can think about
Is how my currently exposed
Naked body
Could currently be in some creeper guys view and he could be wanking it to the sight of a teenage girl freshly out of the shower
But I really don't care.
It's 2:32 A.M and all I can think about
Is that kid in math class that
Makes these jokes which put me in a state of a constant
“What the **** dude”
It's 2:32 A.M and I'm still thinking about
That kid in math class but i'm realizing that he's actually a pretty sweet kid
It's 2:33 A.M
And all I can think about is
It's 2:34 A.M
And all I can think about is that one time when I ****** up that one thing
It's 2:35 A.M and
All I can think about
Is in 7 months I'll be a legal adult
****
It's 2:36 A.M
And all I can think about
Is well
Nothing, and I can finally sleep.
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC
whenever i hear north americans talking I suddenly conjure up the idea: do these people have a nasal cavity, or are they simply fashioned with the old-school stereotypical impression of the french phonetic bias of the english, i.e.: their stiff upper-lip and their constant cold. touché… replied the englishman, you've been smoking so many cigarettes that you morphed the trilling of the R into a harking hyena sound? why do native speakers have the audacity to think they speak better english, than those acquiring the tongue, esp. the irish? pompous leprechauns i call them; i have a hating for the irish of england attempting integrating, just like i “love” cockroaches, esp. the cock-sure males, 2nd generation kinds… i’d love to scalp these ******* it’s an inhibited pleasure that resides in the head, but it’s still there… once in a pub i found one idiot drum-tapping his nervousness while I returned from the toilet; are these ******* idiots even thinking, or simply “thinking” guinness pour me another pint past the hour of 11? ******* shamrock hikers, spot me a green lucky gem up that mould you call a “mountain”? and i actually did think international football matches took place at Ibrox… look how well i integrated, they actually take place at parkhead; just look at how i picked up on local differences, and actually chose a side! no, I’m well passed integrated, i’m ****** i’ve become a pole as huguenot as any purple or beetroot might be… but i’ll still find the north American accents a missing nasal cavity… it’s like the former english masters cut off all the noses… gnaw gnaw qua qua quack: penguins clapping with teacher bound by the code of seal, suggesting: there really is no other alternative, other than a wet snare in jazz, or in your case, a wet flipper.
Oct 6, 2017
Oct 6, 2017 at 7:27 PM UTC
There are girls none of them call me
In their bed, is where I want to be
Every time I try, I go round the bend
It's not so wrong, if you will be my ****** friend
Maybe tomorrow, you'll sit on my baton
Until tomorrow, I'll just keep wanking on
Down the road there's a guy that's bent
That's the place where I am usually sent
So if I want to **** him for a while
I'll grab his **** and ease it in
That's **** style
Maybe tomorrow, I'll bend the other way
Untill Tomorrow, I'm not going to turn gay
So if I have to have a **** for a while
I'll grab my **** pull it tight
That's Solo style
Maybe tomorrow, You'll let me have a feel
Until tommorow, I'll pull down my own peel
Maybe tomorrow, I'll get my **** chance
Until tomorrow, I'll look on with a glance
There are gilrs thats waiting to undress,
A chance for a fuck...Well thats anybody's guess
If you offered *** you know I wont be long
I'll be there, lets just be fair and I'll play along
Maybe tommorow, I'll find what I'm looking for,
Until tomorrow, I'll peer through your room door
So if you want to **** me for a while,
I'll grab your ring, come round tonight
That's polo style
Maybe tomorrow, You will **** with me
Untill tomorrow, I'll have to wait and see
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 11:45 PM UTC