"wench" poems
Loving me with my shoes off
means loving my long brown legs,
sweet dears, as good as spoons;
and my feet, those two children
let out to play naked. Intricate nubs,
my toes. No longer bound.
And what's more, see toenails and
all ten stages, root by root.
All spirited and wild, this little
piggy went to market and this little piggy
stayed. Long brown legs and long brown toes.
Further up, my darling, the woman
is calling her secrets, little houses,
little tongues that tell you.
There is no one else but us
in this house on the land spit.
The sea wears a bell in its navel.
And I'm your barefoot ***** for a
whole week. Do you care for salami?
No. You'd rather not have a scotch?
No. You don't really drink. You do
drink me. The gulls **** fish,
crying out like three-year-olds.
The surf's a narcotic, calling out,
I am, I am, I am
all night long. Barefoot,
I drum up and down your back.
In the morning I run from door to door
of the cabin playing chase me.
Now you grab me by the ankles.
Now you work your way up the legs
and come to pierce me at my hunger mark
13.4k
In the last months of March 2014,
Soldier Othello the Moroccan moor
Was in Stratford-upon-Avon at the graveside
Of William Shakespeare the English bard,
He was observing the anniversary
Of Shakespeare and his European brother Cervantes,
He had in his pocket another charm and amulet
Given to him by his paternal grandfather,
This time round not a charm for love portion,
But a mystique totem to raise the dead from dusts,
As Othello himself has hitherto over-matured
Above the painful torture of *** with aristocrats,
He has left it for the Jewish aristotrash; Frantz Kafka,
Whose torturous appetite for *** with German women,
Was the sorriest eyesore of his thespic efforts.
Like Jesus at the grave of Lazarus
Othello groaned by shouting; William the son of John!
No response, he shouted again; Shakespeare the bard!
Then the mystique powers of Othello’s amulet
Electrified Shakespeare back to life,
What is your problem you black moor,
The ***** of Morocco, the soldier
Who beguiled Desdemona into betrothal,
Not because of glory of your work,
But due to charms of your love portion
Bequeathed to you by your witch mother,
What brings you to my sepulchre,
For only to perturbed my purgatorial peace,
What brings you!?
Questioned Shakespeare the bard.
Am no longer the moor, blackness is class
But not the race, as race is bankrupt,
I come here to salute you with good news,
That your European brother, Alfred Nobel,
Currently rewards thespic bards like you,
Whether black or white, blue or green,
The ***** bards from the natural forest,
He also rewards, so wake up and pick the prize!
Retorted Othello in virtue of truth,
And also tell me the native bricks
Of your beautiful architecture;
Where and how did you mold thy bricks?
Your brown English bricks that walled your culture;
***** clown, leapfrog, mercurial, oxymoron,
Falsitafity, Shyllocking, colleaguery and window,
Cauldron, graymalkin, woo, betroth, infatuation and so on.
From underneath his sepulcher Shakespeare broke
A violent gaggle of laughter as if he was ten English skeletons,
You Othello you are still a beautiful moor
Whose foolishness time has not condemned to oblivion,
You are as a fool as I created you ; I will only teach you
One brick, the window , that you go and put on
Your wind disturbed African huts,
Put the wind door on your hut,
And be flexible in your tongue
To give it English elegance
Combine and shorten wind and door
To get your cultural brick of; window !
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
In nineteen hundred forty-nine
China was won by Mao Tse-tung
Chiang Kai-shek's army ran away
They were waiting there in Thailand yesterday
Supported by the CIA
Pushing junk down Thailand way
First they stole from the Meo Tribes
Up in the hills they started taking bribes
Then they sent their soldiers up to Shan
Collecting ***** to send to The Man
Pushing junk in Bangkok yesterday
Supported by the CIA
Brought their jam on mule trains down
To Chiang Rai that's a railroad town
Sold it next to the police chief brain
He took it to town on the choochoo train
Trafficking dope to Bangkok all day
Supported by the CIA
The policeman's name was Mr. Phao
He peddled dope grand scale and how
Chief of border customs paid
By Central Intelligence's U.S. A.I.D.
The whole operation, Newspapers say
Supported by the CIA
He got so sloppy & peddled so loose
He busted himself & cooked his own goose
Took the reward for an ***** load
Seizing his own haul which same he resold
Big time pusher for a decade turned grey
Working for the CIA
Touby Lyfong he worked for the French
A big fat man liked to dine & *****
Prince of the Meos he grew black mud
Till ***** flowed through the land like a flood
Communists came and chased the French away
So Touby took a job with the CIA
The whole operation fell in to chaos
Till U.S. Intelligence came into Laos
I'll tell you no lie I'm a true American
Our big pusher there was Phoumi Nosovan
All them Princes in a power play
But Phoumi was the man for the CIA
And his best friend General Vang Pao
Ran the Meo army like a sacred cow
Helicopter smugglers filled Long Cheng's bars
In Xieng Quang province on the Plain of Jars
It started in secret they were fighting yesterday
Clandestine secret army of the CIA
All through the Sixties the Dope flew free
Thru Tan Son Nhut Saigon to Marshal Ky
Air America followed through
Transporting confiture for President Thieu
All these Dealers were decades and yesterday
The Indochinese mob of the U.S. CIA
Operation Haylift Offisir Wm. Colby
Saw Marshal Ky fly ***** Mr. Mustard told me
Indochina desk he was Chief of ***** Tricks
"Hitchhiking" with dope pushers was how he got his fix
Subsidizing traffickers to drive the Reds away
Till Colby was the head of the CIA
January 1972
10.1k
Bonjour, hello to this French revolution, where people fought against the corrupted monarchy and created a new constitution. Hunger, no rights and no respect, they could not seem to solve it peacefully, so they cut off Louis the XVI neck. Marie Antoinette was a heartless greedy ***** she stole the people's food, so now she deserves some punishment, this is a historical moment for these people which they would soon cement. They started the Reign of Terror, which some may say was a costly and unnecessary error. Millions of people were killed and most were wrongly accused, their used to be equality, liberty, and fraternity, but all people saw was death, which is something not to be amused. The French Revolution where the third class fought the monarchy, so everyone could have true equality, liberty, and fraternity. Then came a guy named Napoléon who changed their wicked ways, he founded new ideas which created the future you see today. I know he wasn't exactly the best, he crowned himself the emperor, which no one had a say on, he pretended to respect the church and have meritocracy but really he was just a con, deceiving people as if they were just a couple of pawns. Napoléon is a wimp, he cost millions of lives, he also abandoned his armies multiple times, he may be one of the, greatest strategist's in the world, but really he's just a waste of time. Napoléon should have figured out not to attack Russia at winter time, it never worked out before so why would it work this time. He may be a symbol of France and the greatest self proclaimed emperor, but he died because of his pride just like Maximillian Robespierre. That was the end of the French Revolution, they slowly lost their power but they still hold onto their republican constitution. So aurevoir for now, bon voyage to you grande revolution, till your next controversial decisions and solutions.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
Web caught trembling prey, blistering sadness in a shallow grave
Repulsive, rotten ***** stench, locked box of putrid sorrow
Blood clot hidden trench, vile secretion burrow
Wolf-dressed goblin ***** muttering incantations
Teetering on a broken fence, seething hatred regurgitation
Greedy, evil, spineless, ***** Cunning, patient, *****
One head desire, two face succubus
Speech craft, forked tongue. Slithering witch, foul gargoyle
Rebuke the venomous. Castrate the young. Stoke the funeral pyre
Incubate the serpent fetus. Demon, devil, liar
Nevermore, sinister toil. Bone-covered soil
I smite her without a flicker of remorse
Death to the succubus. Death to Venus
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
Morning sunlight lighting the dark hardwood floors
Pages being turned and voices no louder than a whisper
People shuffling in and out the doors
The rain coming in at last
Shifting the clouds
Now to overcast
Watching silently just barely a glance
Observing life as it is
Hoping for the chance
To feel something more
Become something better
Moods always changing
According to the weather
I sip the burn of this morning roast
Nibble my eggs
Crunch on my toast
People in the park sway on the swings
Probably thinking
Of such trivial things
Man on the corner of the street
Checking the time
He's got somewhere to be
Getting back to the daily grind
A tearful woman sitting on the bench
Crying her heart out
From the guy who called her a *****
Life appears all around us
We choose what to ignore
The sick, the healthy
The rich, the poor.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 2:33 PM UTC
12/30/2013
I Met the **** Hater
Have you ever seen someone so beautiful
that you felt like crying?
Have you ever felt so utterly Disgusted by someone
that you wished they were dying?
Do you think I feel gay guts and gayness in my genes?
Or did society manufacture me - one of their gay liberal machines.
I'm not sure which is better,
Either way you'll make me a martyr.
But I'll be your Hester Prynne baby
with my Big Gay Letter.
I cannot erase
that look on his face.
when he told me **** **** Go Away.
I'll punch you in the face just for being Gay.
A separation of message and mind.
Hateful judgment is not hard to find.
When I stand in the shower,
or sit down on a park bench,
I'm a **** to him clear as gay.
It's like he thinks I ate some magic flower.
My girlfriends don't fare much better - to him called a bar *****
This guy is the part of society that makes being gay scary to say.
He thinks Gays making out in public can't be allowed.
He thinks Legalized gay marriages should be disavowed.
He thinks Animal *** ********** and ****** are because of gays.
He thinks Gay **** between two women might be more okay.
He thinks *** should **** more gay people.
He thinks Criminalizing ****** would make things more equal.
He thinks Adam's choice of Eve or Steve is all that matters.
He doesn't care about myself, or your heart's fragile rathers.
This man is the **** Hater.
Not a rare breed at all.
He could be your waiter,
or your teacher,
maybe even your sales assistant at the mall.
I Met the **** Hater,
while I made out with a guy at the bar.
The **** Hater was kinda old, yet strong and tall.
But I didn't fall
down.
or become dehumanized.
When I caught a glimpse of his face
and saw that utter look of Disgust
that I just cannot erase.
I saw it in his face - the **** Hater's
'Homo Hate.'
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
It wasnt long before the baluster flapped somewhere in the distance and Icarus knew how old he had been on the day of his birth. For whatever reason, the snow capped cappuccinos he had willfully destroyed in a heated debate on fiscal policy had him beginning again. Why was there always a beginning where there was an end? Fur traders used to circumnavigate the Hudson's Bay of his humanity when he was young, sharing drinks and fire water whiskey like it was all an H2O ready for the soul search. Sadly, many ended up in Hitlers concentration camps weeks after the **** invasion of Poland, about a month or so before the fall of the Roman Empire. Beginning with a last breath, Icarus strode off the plank with a new-found confidence unnatural in his niceties of long past. It was as if 1 minute and 35 seconds was enough to dish a clamouring populace onto the dinner table before the fat step-father gleefully orders
everyone to 'dig in, everyone!'
Cancelling everyone's appointment with Dr. Pardon meant the gaining of a key participatory certificate in El Dorado, and the gold lingering in dusty sun-beams was sifted for the taking. Some got rich, the rest got miserable. The rest used to imagine the gold, staring at ivory towers and lottery tickets, apple cores lording over old public servant applications near the city hall drain pipes as the modern world collapsed into a flash-mob image of Ronald Reagan.
Icarus was a sliver of duskish light flittering a top distant windowsills, all cupped in an intentional light because happiness was as possible as sadness. Not that considering either would make you either.
Icarus slept as his wings incinerated at the first glimpse of the solar system. He now believed every single proverb the old ***** slumbers had whispered their children as they woke to find themselves adults.
In the beginning he found the beginning beginning again. It made him feel however you wish. Both were just as possible. Both were just as much a jazz configuration as a smooth and easy guitar rift.
Ahha!
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
I've got a Chopper,
You can have ****** *********** with it if you like
It's got a trug, a Jew's harp that rattles the windows
And creatures to make it mosey around crack
I'd stretch jeans cheesecake abutting you if I could, but I used plastic toast
You're the kind of ***** that thrusts into *** my bodiliness
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags
I've got a disguise it's a torso of a Irish bull
There's a slit high up the skirt Miss World's bra-burner and gross
I've grappled page—3 girl for bouts
If you think Miss Universe could spasm creamy then I guess Mr Universe should
You're the kind of ***** that slides in with my wads
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags
I **** a chimpanzee and he hasn't got a stage—door Johnny
I don't copulate why I cock—a—doodle—doo him Gerald
He's inseminating à la carte geriatric but he's a voluptuous chimpanzee
You're the kind of ***** that stuffs *** my gallons
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags
I've got a Welshwoman of pornographic Casanovas
Here a Don Juan, there a Lothario, prognosticators of obscene persons of opposite *** sharing living quarters
Beg a bonk if you be on heat, they're on the back of the *****
You're the kind of ***** that spasms indoors using my lump
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags
I **** custom—built dead men of doo-wop passages
Incognito Muses, faceless ching, most of them are Barbie
Let's **** into the odd kitchenette and **** landlady creature
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 3:46 PM UTC
The comely *****
a comely ***** o' twenty three, from yonder village banburee,
alight her sight on poor auld me, a poorly man wi' one bad knee,
she buxom be enough fer three, her legs be thick as big oak tree,
but contrary to crippled me, she sprightly be wi' two good knee.
as I took flight on that fateful night from rutting comely *****
I felt a pain, a twist, a strain, and a gutting Rumley Wrench!
yon knee was spent, wi’ geat lament, she's upon me in a jiffy
she made it clear, she said, “m’dear I want yer little ******
now twenty three ‘tis not in years, but sire, tis stones in weight,
and 'er on me wi one good knee, be too dire to contemplate,
but to my surprise, she got a rise outa my little wrinkled pecker,
wi’ her big thighs and **** the size o’ a bleedin double decker!!
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 8:13 AM UTC
Friggin' the best of
All maritime words
Like
Lash the friggin' tops'l
Friggin' foresail
Fifteen friggin' frigates
Five friggin' fathoms deep
Flotsam friggin' jetsam
Friggin' me timbers
Friggin' boson's mate
Scrub the friggin' deck
Aye aye, friggin' Captain
It just feels so right
As spicy as Jamaican ***
It rolls right off the tongue
Like a wench's pearl
Just like a friggin'wench's pearl,
Mate
r~ 28Feb14
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
Burn the witch,
set fire to the skin of this foul *****
allow smoke and flames to consume her,
take her in as a whole,
then spit her out in ashes.
Burn the witch,
and we'll dance around the bonfire,
see her hair catch alight,
as we sway to the rhythm of her screams.
Burn the witch,
broomstick for kindling,
cauldron on the boil.
Burn the witch,
selfish creature.
Burn the witch,
Burn the witch,
Burn the witch.
And when we're done,
we'll pray that she's gone this time
for good.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
Life’s all getting and giving,
I’ve only myself to give.
What shall I do for a living?
I’ve only one life to live.
End it? I’ll not find another.
Spend it? But how shall I best?
Sure the wise plan is to live like a man
And Luck may look after the rest!
Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!
Give or hold at your will.
If I’ve no care for Fortune,
Fortune must follow me still.
Bad Luck, she is never a lady
But the commonest ***** on the street,
Shuffling, shabby and shady,
Shameless to pass or meet.
Walk with her once—it’s a weakness!
Talk to her twice. It’s a crime!
****** her away when she gives you “good day”
And the besom won’t board you next time.
Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!
What is Your Ladyship’s mood?
If I have no care for Fortune,
My Fortune is bound to be good!
Good Luck she is never a lady
But the cursedest quean alive!
Tricksy, wincing and jady,
Kittle to lead or drive.
Greet her—she’s hailing a stranger!
Meet her—she’s busking to leave.
Let her alone for a shrew to the bone,
And the ***** comes plucking your sleeve!
Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!
I’ll neither follow nor flee.
If I don’t run after Fortune,
Fortune must run after me!
2.8k
I am the Aphrodite
Goddess
Woman
Lover
Mate
From my double D’s
To scarred up knees
The pistol whipped
Stamen ready
Lady your wife
Warns you about
My mouth is open
And eyes wide shut
Speaking truths
Most cannot fathom
Perhaps
Ignore
Flower blossom
Open wide
Blooming in my winter
A goddess
Addict
Mind of a lady
And ***** face
Fire in your belly
Ice in my veins
From polished nails
To scented hair
Shaved skin
Smooth
All lady
With an attitude
I have lived
Enough hell
To know my
Heaven
A religion
Between my thighs
The Goddess
Of inhibition
Flash of animal
In my eyes
I dig my nails
Deep
Inside pink flesh
And whisper
What you want to hear
So here’s your lady
A *****
A *****
Queen for a day
And lifelong
*****
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 9:11 PM UTC
I woke in the early hours to find
My head between her thighs,
She hadn’t been there before, I swear
And I’m not a man who lies.
I’d seen her out in the Public Bar
Of the ‘Jacaranda Tree’,
Halfway along the Outback Track
On the way to Wendouree.
I’d seen her dance on the table tops
I’d seen her prance on the bar,
I’d said to Lance as I saw him glance
‘I don’t know where we are!’
He shrugged, to say that he didn’t care
As long as she danced that way,
Her stockings, down at her ankles and
Her skirt in disarray.
‘Now there is a ***** to turn your head,’
Said Lance, with a burst of pride,
He’d been out on the verandah, then
He’d turned to go back inside,
She’d joined him there for a moment,
Just brushed by for a quick connect,
But he hadn’t noticed her eyebrow raised
In a sign that said, ‘Reject!’
We both had our eighteen wheelers parked
Outside in the hotel grounds,
I was headed away up north
And he to the lights of town,
He offered to give her the sleeper cab
While he drove the star-filled night,
I looked away and I thought it sad,
But the trucks both looked alike.
I heard him leave at the midnight hour
And thought she was gone for good,
It wasn’t often I hauled this way
Or stayed in this neighbourhood.
But then I clambered into my bunk
Above, at the cabin’s rear,
And fell asleep like a hopeless drunk
Till the morning sun drew near.
I made an offer to buy that pub,
The ‘Jacaranda Tree’,
But only when she agreed to stay
And dance on the bar for me,
I asked if she’d meant to go with Lance
And she looked at me with scorn,
I sleep the sleep of a new romance
And the pillows keep me warm.
David Lewis Paget
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC
I wonder 'oo and wot 'e was,
That 'Un I got so slick.
I couldn't see 'is face because
The night was 'ideous thick.
I just made out among the black
A blinkin' wedge o' white;
Then biff! I guess I got 'im crack --
The man I killed last night.
I wonder if account o' me
Some ***** will go *****
And 'eaps o' lives will never be,
Because 'e's stark and dead?
Or if 'is missis damns the war,
And by some candle light,
Tow-headed kids are prayin' for
The Fritz I copped last night.
I wonder, 'struth, I wonder why
I 'ad that 'orful dream?
I saw up in the giddy sky
The gates o' God agleam;
I saw the gates o' 'eaven shine
Wiv everlastin' light:
And then . . . I knew that I'd got mine,
As 'e got 'is last night.
Aye, bang beyond the broodin' mists
Where spawn the mother stars,
I 'ammered wiv me ****** fists
Upon them golden bars;
I 'ammered till a devil's doubt
Fair froze me wiv affright:
To fink wot God would say about
The bloke I corpsed last night.
I 'ushed; I wilted wiv despair,
When, like a rosy flame,
I sees a angel standin' there
'Oo calls me by me name.
'E 'ad such soft, such shiny eyes;
'E 'eld 'is 'and and smiled;
And through the gates o' Paradise
'E led me like a child.
'E led me by them golden palms
Wot 'ems that jeweled street;
And seraphs was a-singin' psalms,
You've no ideer 'ow sweet;
Wiv cheroobs crowdin' closer round
Than peas is in a pod,
'E led me to a shiny mound
Where beams the throne o' God.
And then I 'ears God's werry voice:
"Bill 'agan, 'ave no fear.
Stand up and glory and rejoice
For 'im 'oo led you 'ere."
And in a nip I seemed to see:
Aye, like a flash o' light,
My angel pal I knew to be
The chap I plugged last night.
Now, I don't claim to understand --
They calls me Bonehead Bill;
They shoves a rifle in me 'and,
And show me 'ow to ****
Me job's to risk me life and limb,
But . . . be it wrong or right,
This cross I'm makin', it's for 'im,
The cove I croaked last night.
2.7k
Once upon a time, there was me:
A simpleton of no account,
A dunderhead by word of mouth,
An addle-pate, a cracking crock,
A crazy who deserved a lock.
Not pretty, brainy, or well-bred,
Bespectacled, a short redhead
With hands too small and far too pink
Who’d trip or fall as soon as think.
Not many prospects, they declared
With such conviction I was scared.
But the cast was short one role,
The one who’d make the halfwit whole . . .
Once upon a time, there was you:
A lord of state, of high esteem,
The answer to each maiden’s dream,
A strong man, raven-haired, and tall?
No, not this person, not at all.
You had glasses just like me,
And freckles where your skin should be.
Your clothes were rumpled, torn and tattered
Not as though that even mattered:
You walked on set and came to me
You got down on one gawky knee
You took my pink hand in your red
And, as you fixed your glasses, said:
“I love your hands, your height, your hair,
I love you up, down, everywhere.
And I hesitate to ask you this . . .
But could I maybe have a kiss?”
And, for once, my tactless lips
Did not resort to stumbling slips;
I gave you one, I gave you two,
I gave every kiss I had to you.
Once upon a time, there was us:
Two simpletons of no repute
Two dunderheads whose names were moot:
Prince Not-So-Charming and his *****
And much as cynics tried to drench
The flames of addle-pated glee
I found in you and you in me,
As much as they enjoyed pretending,
They could not harm our happy ending.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 1:28 AM UTC
O Liberty, God-gifted--
Young and immortal maid--
In your high hand uplifted,
The torch declares your trade.
Its crimson menace, flaming
Upon the sea and shore,
Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming
That Law shall be no more.
Austere incendiary,
We're blinking in the light;
Where is your customary
Grenade of dynamite?
Where are your staves and switches
For men of gentle birth?
Your mask and dirk for riches?
Your chains for wit and worth?
Perhaps, you've brought the halters
You used in the old days,
When round religion's altars
You stabled Cromwell's bays?
Behind you, unsuspected,
Have you the axe, fair *****
Wherewith you once collected
A poll-tax for the French?
America salutes you--
Preparing to "disgorge."
Take everything that suits you,
And marry Henry George.
2.4k
Jealously rises like smoke.
Obvious hoax.
How could she?
But I know his loyalty.
She can't take what's mine.
He's beautifully divine.
But maybe she already has.
Looks like midnight talks like jazz.
No... He'll return.
Right before she burns.
To what he knows is true.
He was just confused.
Aha.
Wait for his common sense.
Get away from the evil *****
Her lips curling.
Potion mist swirling.
Rotten, stale or dead.
She's inside his head.
Her breath intermixed.
Almost with his kiss.
Dark hair.
Lingering glare.
I feel her hate.
But she'll take my bait.
Her smirk won't fool me.
He wants me solely.
One choice for him to make.
Love and happiness or wretched snake
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
It has been about an hour now.
That careless *****
who talks whenever she knows she shouldn't
and never has any useful presence,
has been dancing her foot around a pretzel
she dropped earlier
when she was chewing at a volume
that could be heard across the Grand Canyon.
(I picked the Grand Canyon because she chews like a mule.)
She hasn't even noticed she dropped her food.
She was too busy texting and playing with her hair.
I just want to see her foot stomp on that pretzel.
I know if she does, she wont even know she did.
She is too stuck up to realize that she is dropping food that someone else could eat.
I could eat it!
She didn't even ask me if I wanted a pretzel
before she unknowingly dropped one on the ground.
I wouldn't be angry if she just gave me a pretzel.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
With audacious openness
Let me accept substantial lot of men folk
When it comes to efforts in love,
Most are misfortunate.
Every time they dare to built
Affiliative bonding for love
With beauties beheld
By their limited eyes
The invincible whirling spell
Of fortune’s fool
Beguile them forlornly
Down the social abyss of time,
I and my type not an exception to the club
Of the guys who swallowed misfortune
Like the dog of Theodore erotokorostos
Does to a piece of bone
In poetic obscurantism
Of the corruptible simple souls
Obtaining their pathetic lot from ***** and wine,
In the first trial I chanced on a neurotic peasant,
In the second trial I chanced on turn to be henpecked,
On the third trial I chanced on a beautiful paranoid,
My fourth trial chanced me a deadly stooge,
My fifth trial gave me the worst blow
As I forlornly chanced on the time’s public commoner,
My sixth trial makes me chicken
Had it not been poetic audacity
That makes me brave to chew in public
The lot of my misfortune as I recall
The bitter sweetness of chancing on
A beautiful epileptic kleptomaniac,
My tired trial in the waned efforts
Chanced me a lesbian with insignificant bisexuality,
O! I now tire off from misfortunes of love
With a last black chance on a neurotic money-maniac,
And this is the silent lot of men
In their usual efforts to fulfill their dreams of love.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Wrong
Wrung
Ring
Ring my doorbell,
Wring my neck,
Rid me of this mortal wretch.
*****
Wrench
Can you fix it?
Get your toolbox
You're ill-equipped
I don't qualify
Quality
Quantity
I am not enough
For this.
Too tough
To kiss.
Rough life I've lived.
Live
Life
Lie
Lay back.
Just take it.
Let it happen.
Swallow
Swallow me up.
Swallow me whole.
Throw me down into a hole.
Wholly
Holy
Even God forgot me.
Oh his drones did try.
Saxophone & sweat
Promised hell when I die.
Choir girls & Inquisition
Tore my words, tried to burn me alive.
Then the good chaplain,
Samaritan?
Charlatan.
Daddy out of the way,
Me on the streets,
Mommy where he wants her
Worship at his feet.
Fret
Bet.
I am not afraid.
My debt is paid.
In blood, in tears.
Lost dreams, lost years.
Country roads, cold beers.
Bare
Bear
Burdens
I am brave.
Strength
Truth
Power
You'll have to cut them from my flesh.
Fresh
Blood
Brooding o'er my funeral,
Don't worry about my death.
I still feel pain,
I still draw breath.
My hearts not cold,
My soul is still old.
I haven't set a thing in stone.
******
Skipping rocks.
Flying planes,
Sail away from the docks.
Shoot me into outer space,
If this is Hell,
Heaven can wait.
I'm dancing with the Devil
& God is always fashionably late.
Create.
Tell
Tales
Tails
I'm not done yet.
Evolving
Incomplete
Completely me.
Pecan pie & sweet tea.
Nature
Treks
Blessed Be.
Naked
Exposed
Second for the money,
First for the show.
This is a test,
No time to be gauche.
Gross
Shocking grace.
There's still sand in my grave.
This cannibal inside
Still has a taste.
Human body beneath my tongue,
It's essence still fills my lungs.
Chest
Heart
Beats against this cage.
I'm too young to feel this age,
So don't you dare save the date.
Once the wolf works with the mirror
It's finally free.
Then I promise,
You'll be seeing me.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
This is the story about a young knight, riding his horse through a village one day. A woman stops him.
Oh brave sir knight
young blue eyes so bright
this maiden throws herself at your feet
I have a farm, chickens, cows, plenty to eat
when you take me in marriage, it is all yours, my dear
let us roll in the hay, I'll let you drink my root beer
summer, fall, winter, spring
I'll be your queen, you'll be my king
sir knight, darling, dear, listen to this plea
marry me, marry me, marry me!
Maiden? You're older and uglier than my mother
who, when I was 12, I had the decency to smother
stay away, you filthy *****
oh god, the stench, the stench!
you look and smell worse than moldy old cheese
verily, you must have at least fifteen types of disease
No, I will not put my sword in your sheath
I'd sooner punch out my own pretty yellow teeth
you stupid old cow, you mangy goat
out of my sight, lest I cut your throat!
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 5:50 AM UTC
I flounce across the midnight way
Not one to return anyone's gaze
As I cut through the winter haze
And stumble through the open gate
That leads into an open hall
Where people laugh
Screech
Squawk
Cackle
As pools of yellow hit the walls
I sidle into a cushioned bench
Nobody dares to turn their head
So I fixate on a drink coaster instead
Then order cider from the serving *****
The jungle animals make noises beside me
Screech!
Squawk!
Roar!
Hiss!
My chest tightens and nerves snap inside me
I sidle out of the cushioned bench
Nobody dares to turn their head
No words of farewell or good fortune were said
As I escape the malt-y, acidic stench
Down, hill, down dale, up street, as I pale
My addled head throws me to and fro
Through the winter haze I go
Till I'm home again
And realise
That once again I have failed.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
My name is Joseph
Am a Jewish bachelor
Or call me a male spinster
Am a poor penniless carpenter
Am pushing forth and back my plane
And waving my old claw hammer
Hitting the nail on the head
And chopping of its ears by my adze
In the entirety of Israel and Hebrew world
My beautiful Hebrew fiancée is Mary
No she is already my wife , Mary wife of my youth
She is pregnant minus my nuptiality
Minus my conjugal enfranchisement
And the man who fertilized her
Was witnessed and flunkeyed by Gabriel
The airy voice in the amorphous whirlwind
Without form and shape but erotically crazy
How sad; I am a victim of the spiritual powers that be
My jealousy of humanity will be condemned blasphemous
Kindly come and feel with me, please feel for me
How do you see? For someone else
To have *** and *** with your newlywed wife
Or your beautiful *****
Or your lovable concubineous fiancée
Until he makes her pregnant with male foetus
Then he commands you to marry her
Because you are only a humble wood work
He commands you to accept fornication
As immaculate *** that yield holy pregnancy
Holy conception but nothing bad or foul,
What if that male foetus comes out a son
Who resembles foreigners from beyond the mountain?
But not me, his head having shape of a hook
I am annoyed with this heaven chauvinist religion
This horrible anti-human relationship
From which I will be degraded and come out ignobled
And the one who impregnated my wife
Will be exulted and ennobled to the throne of glory
His son and himself they will be made an exalted religion
But I will die desperate as a carpentering lout
A worthless Jewish oat, reeking a foul stench
O Death! Come take me away from this humiliated life
I don’t want to see this Jewish Mary with her bulging belly
Her beauty and sexuality has made me a village pumpkin
She is in no way a ******
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC