"whacking" poems
As you plaited the harvest bow
You implicated the mellowed silence in you
In wheat that does not rust
But brightens as it tightens twist by twist
Into a knowable corona,
A throwaway love-knot of straw.
Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks
And lapped the spurs on a lifetime of game *****
Harked to their gift and worked with fine intent
Until your fingers moved somnambulant:
I tell and finger it like braille,
Gleaning the unsaid off the palpable,
And if I spy into its golden loops
I see us walk between the railway slopes
Into an evening of long grass and midges,
Blue smoke straight up, old beds and ploughs in hedges,
An auction notice on an outhouse wall--
You with a harvest bow in your lapel,
Me with the fishing rod, already homesick
For the big lift of these evenings, as your stick
Whacking the tips off weeds and bushes
Beats out of time, and beats, but flushes
Nothing: that original townland
Still tongue-tied in the straw tied by your hand.
The end of art is peace
Could be the motto of this frail device
That I have pinned up on our deal dresser--
Like a drawn snare
Slipped lately by the spirit of the corn
Yet burnished by its passage, and still warm.
7.6k
bow down to women
your superior
admit it
deep down inside
you know men are inferior
always *****
hormonally driven
a slave
to their desire
whacking off
watching ****
chronically ************
for six hours a day
in modern times
men are useless
obsolete
it's a new age
of girl power
female **********
gynarchy
Aug 27, 2021
Aug 27, 2021 at 4:35 PM UTC
I was in trouble
And oh boy did I know it
I came home drunk last night
the hangover showed it
As I crawled out of bed, headache splitting my eyes
I saw my wife with that "I love you but I'm going to **** you" vibe,
but she held it in and on her face a look of concern was her guise
I hurled for about an hour
then my stomach settled down
I looked for my wife
but she was nowhere to be found
I drank some water, and soon after hit the floor
before I slipped into unconsciousness
I saw my wife come through the door
I woke up, and took in my surroundings
I was in a dark , medium sized room
caged in, and the floor was concrete..
And in walked my wife, with a crop and a corset on that hourglass body, she looked ready for a pounding
I wondered.. what the hell was going on?
how did she know I wanted to try this...
when did I let it on?
She walked into the room, I was tied to the bed,
but before whacking me, she surveyed me instead
She walked slowly around me
My eyes drinking in her features,
She whacked me in my chest and said
Look here boy, I'm going to tease you
She slid the corset down, showing one ****** off,
I was now hard where I once was soft
She licked herself slowly
Me getting aroused all the more
I knew my wife was the experimental type
but even she didn't know what was in store
She slid those ******* down
My God she was so wet
She slid her finger inside and said
"Nope, you can't have this yet"
I shook with anticipation. Pleading with her through my eyes
She remained adamant and continued weaving an arousing web, all truth here, I can't tell any lies.
She slid my pants off my legs
And threw them to the floor
She got on top of me and yelled
today you're my personal manwhore!
with that I found myself inside,
bouncing on my cxck
I had never seen her this aggressive
it came off as quite a shock
After an hour and hundreds of welts later
it Appeared she was done with me
that's when she layed next to me and whispered
"Happy Anniversary"!
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
on the green
hole 8, and five over par
southern california sunshine numb
leaning on a putting iron
leaning on a fistful of xanax
i had given up on the game a long time ago
just didn't know it yet
my friend was strung out on speed and coke
"breakfast of champions", he said
he had been aimlessly whacking the ball for the last hour
"fifty bucks to whoever hits Brian Wilson" he suddenly yelled!
sure enough, there was Brian Wilson,
standing by the mexican food-truck,
waiting for a taco or burrito or God knows what
i felt xanax confident
so i walked over and shook his hand
i told him thank you,
and that his music probably saved my life
"probably" he asked?
"yes" i said, and walked away
i told my friend to take some xanax and chill out
"xanax is just xanax spelled backwards" he said
and i could not argue with that
we never finished that round of golf,
but somehow i still feel like i won
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 11:34 PM UTC
I am a decrepit old man
On the brink of sacred flesh
Don’t know what I’m searching for
Just pounding it out
I dreamed of perfection
I’m hoping this is my resurrection
The pound of young flesh on my screen
Just whacking it out
Give me wings to flee from this hell
Give me the time wasted before I get old
One thing that I learnt in this long endless life
Is deceit and lies and to cover it all up
When I was a young fella I was a walking hard on
Now in my late years, it seems nothin has changed
It was great for a while there and it was all going great
The siren call from my laptop just too much to take
Give me wings to flee from this hell
Give me the time wasted before I get old
One thing that I learnt in this long endless life
Is deceit and lies and to cover it all up
Car tyres are flat and rego run out
Sittin like a pig in mud with no shower in sight
I had it all… daughters…. And a faithful wife
How did we live our best years and have nothin’ to share?
Give me wings to flee from this hell
Give me the time wasted before I get old
One thing that I learnt in this long endless life
Is deceit and lies and to cover it all up
Alone with screen and my hand
Thrashing the cold sheets in my unmade bed
Surfing the net is just a band aid I can’t tear off
Pounding the surf trying to stay afloat
Give me wings to flee from this hell
Give me time wasted before I get old
If I could rise from this wave that I am on
No more deceit or lies when I am alone
Oct 11, 2022
Oct 11, 2022 at 8:19 AM UTC
The Harvest Bow
As you plaited the harvest bow
You implicated the mellowed silence in you
In wheat that does not rust
But brightens as it tightens twist by twist
Into a knowable corona,
A throwaway love-knot of straw.
Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks
And lapped the spurs on a lifetime of game *****
Harked to their gift and worked with fine intent
Until your fingers moved somnambulant:
I tell and finger it like braille,
Gleaning the unsaid off the palpable,
And if I spy into its golden loops
I see us walk between the railway slopes
Into an evening of long grass and midges,
Blue smoke straight up, old beds and ploughs in hedges,
An auction notice on an outhouse wall—
You with a harvest bow in your lapel,
Me with the fishing rod, already homesick
For the big lift of these evenings, as your stick
Whacking the tips off weeds and bushes
Beats out of time, and beats, but flushes
Nothing: that original townland
Still tongue-tied in the straw tied by your hand.
The end of art is peace
Could be the motto of this frail device
That I have pinned up on our deal dresser—
Like a drawn snare
Slipped lately by the spirit of the corn
Yet burnished by its passage, and still warm.
by Seamus Heaney
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
Let Christ give his final sacrament to us through the holy Eucharist of his jizzum.
He shall raise the skirts of all boys and decimate the trousers of all who fear him.
I was a kid once and i know this.
Don't worry he ***** me too.
Feels good if you know him in the flesh in fruity underwear tighty see throughs.
Death plague.
He brings to us.
Through the work of his *****
Whacking off each head to ***
Come one come all,
to the shitshow circus called religion,
**** morals owned by slavery and god,
All fallacy is see through like his ******* nightgown
God is the **** of ********
Get a hard on from your violence absolvance.
**** one another destroy.
Empathy is for *******
God is dead.
Shot with led, fed to the Nazis, in their death holes for the unclean,
God is a ***
The **** of earth isn’t me or you
It's the constructs of dogma,
That they abused us with as children.
Come on now we all aren’t bad guys.
It's the ***** in power.
**** ****
Follow, follow,
into a pit like the communist.
I had *** with Stalin and created democracy.
Chairmen Mao is necrophagist.
****** was was the savior of the Semites.
The Popes are the largest mass murderers in history.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
I find that chromium-vanadium steel,
while holding glimmer and shine
through much abuse,
is harder to hone
to that razor-like edge
that truly makes chopping a breeze
(watch the fingers, please),
merely mangling fine fruits
and tomatoes, instead.
(just tilt your head, thus)
It's a tool best left
for whacking at meat,
as its heft and its strength
make short work of bone;
more cleaver than scalpel,
if truth will be said.
I've always preferred
the high-carbon alloys,
though now out of fashion
in today's haute cuisine.
While rusting and blackening with age -
not the type you'd put on display -
the blades stay as keen
as the day they were minted,
and wipe down nicely on sleeves.
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 6:48 PM UTC
My name is Mr. Skullcracker and I'm in the business of cracking skulls,
I whack skulls, I smack skulls, I've got a knack for cracking skulls,
I follow my endeavors for attacking, cracking skulls,
And although it isn't clever cracking skulls is never dull,
There are stupid skulls for hacking that are lacking any brain,
But there are intelligent skulls I'm whacking that are cracking open just the same,
When I'm blacking out from cracking it's the glamour that I lack,
No one's enamored with my hammer or the skulls that I do crack,
And though cracking skulls is colorful there are lulls where I lay back,
And when I'm laying backing instead of whacking there are skulls that could be cracked!
What I need to aid attacking is a girl to watch my back,
She could be tall with auburn hair, or short and fat with black,
Have back acne, be a banshee, I couldn't care less about that,
But if her hacking skills are lacking then my emotions do fall flat
All she needs is a thick enough forehead so that her skull I do not crack,
She could fill stadiums with her voice or be tracking with the bulls,
But she needs a cranium of titanium cause I'm in the business of cracking skulls
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
I've harkened dark trails, nonexistent of earth. If we went across the spring or across the Snake we'd be bush whacking for sure. I had been on packed earth, trails of dirt on the daytime, not the late midnight snack of predators as I slowly moved past their game trails. Moose and black bears hovered in the willows, while my footsteps fell out beneath me, up to my knees, up to my calves, couldn't somebody have stopped this. Our spotlight blew out, but later I found out the batteries hadn't died. It was just the hold button was locked my fearless spotlight alive, like three small pots of honey, we slowly moved through the thicket, not a creature moved its digits, not even a cricket stridulated. Oddly peculiar we crept around each bush, only to find horse, bear, and cat **** the bear's so fresh I could squish it. Heavenly fodder, please lead me astray, from everything that's bigger than I, living on these back-trails. Because all I've got is my OKC should a grizzly be hot on my tail. If I bleed I know evil should find me dead or eat me for certain.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 12:26 AM UTC
split my head open
it already feels like it is
take out the the little
hammer that is whacking
my thoughts
it's hot
so
hot
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Why do we want to be read?
Is it just to feed our egotistic
fame obsessed mind?
To engorge and devour
positive criticism
like lustful hormonal
teenage boys
************ and whacking off
to every semi naked female?
Or is it to share?
To hope that somewhere
out there,
that there is someone that feels
the same way you feel.
That there is someone that sees
the same way you see.
and there is someone out there
that knows what your going through.
Because in the time that I've been alive,
I've noticed
For a planet with 7 billion people on it
it's really easy to feel alone.
I've learned
That if someone can hear you
it doesn't really mean he's listening
that if someone can see you
it doesn't really mean he knows you're there
that if someone can touch you
it doesn't really mean he feels you.
I've learned that whether
it be inches or miles
distance is distance.
It's all the same without effort.
And it'd be the same with.
I've learned that even if it's summer
even scorching hot
and the heat is making you sweat buckets.
It's all too easy to feel cold.
so for whatever reason
you're reading this
or writing this
or listening to this.
Keeping reading
keep writing
keep listening
keep looking.
Cause you'll find someone
Someone that can see with you
be with you
feel with you
and exist with you.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 7:44 AM UTC
My teeth were never pearly. But slowly, but surely
they've been fading, yellowing. In my mind I've been
mellowing. But on the outside I'm cracking, as if I've
had a whacking. But maybe I have in my head, 'cause
now I'm wishing that I'm dead. With my teeth all
rotten, as if I've forgotten to stand up, walk to the
sink. It's just too hard to think. To with my hand,
grab the brush. But there's no need to rush. Except
now there is reason 'cause the pain's done more than
ease in. It's taking control and it seems to be on a roll.
My teeth start to chatter, crash together and shatter,
'til they're all on the floor. But the pain's begging for
more. It's not enough to deface me. It needs to erase
me. Pressure runs down my spine. No more can I
weather. Hurting me's fine, but killing me's better.
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 11:26 AM UTC
Unlike the slow and groaning gloaming,
A creeping darling
Moaning morning
Heavy lashed and lulling
With a shushing fingered longing,
Puts her eyes on, limp and limpid,
And steals through fields of lamb-licked grass.
In the city, roofs are cracking
And the light is soundly whacking
At the windows of the sisters
Sharing bedrooms with their brothers
And sunlight settles on the curtains
Of a girl who is uncertain
Of the boy she’s waking up with
Who is feeling up her ****
Politeness stops her yawning
On this creeping darling moaning morning.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
When I go insane
It will be that creeping
brand of madness,
sneaking over my brain
like a cloudy veil.
A whick-whacking creature,
trudging with sticky feet,
forward, forward, into my mind,
a pesky itch just behind
my right
eye socket.
La la la la!
I’ll pace around
grinning and singing.
I’m going to get lost in my head,
and you can too.
didn’t they tell you?
The infinite universe
is inside your head
too—
Dec 14, 2011
Dec 14, 2011 at 10:16 PM UTC
Greate is thy Sin, since Sin is never Small:
And Monstrous Moles of Sin Call home thy Soule.
About their Mountainous Molehills they do Crawle.
Play thou (and win) a Game of Whacke-a-Mole.
Unto the Moles be Deadly as an asp.
Beware, take Care, nor Swat the pettish wasp.
The Harebrain'd Sinners Sins to him are toyes;
Theyre Entertainments, Gambols, Games with Dice.
The Madbrain'd Sinners Sins to him are joyes
Untill he's made to paye in full their price.
The Crackbrain'd Sin-addicted Scarab bug
That liveth but for Sin to Hell is Drug.
May 6, 2024
May 6, 2024 at 9:13 PM UTC
I’ve discovered my strange passion for whack a mole
And mind you, I’m the mole
Whacked away
To the point that I’m buried deep deep under
And the saddest part is?
I’m also the one doing the whacking
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 5:04 PM UTC
You wanna **** what the ****
You're starting to sound like Blanca
The mother of my son
You really think that's what I'm looking for
You got things twisted, sloppy unlike before
I'm original not subliminal, can you copy?
It's amazing yet disappointing
How the world thinks, feels, and evaluates
It's not about incriminating
It's about reincarnating dead souls
Giving life not taking it & destroying it
If you're out to mislead I'll make you bleed
Scream your lungs out with deadly shouts
Until your voiceless, ******* with my beloved
You crossed the line and done it all
You devour my precious lady &
You'll witness a vicious killer cold & shady
She's strong and potentially vital
Spiral wordly elements, into my spiritual twin
Take her down too, and you're best be a fool
Worst mistake you ever do, cuz I'm clever
You stopped me but stop her punk player &
Your dead meat, in the ******* street
I'm serious not delirious evil ***** I'd switch
Like a sudden twitch don't flinch ***** wimp
I'd love by far too long to see this happen
Don't make me come out raw start clapping
Whacking smacking busters on the ground
This the devil's playground war battlegrounds
To my love **** all you want, not interested
I thought you'd be my one of a kind
I guess was stupid *** **** blind
Waiting for something that's been hit hard
Pounded cat, with nasty baseball bats
You let rats, come in and attack your temple
Keep them, **** them, love them,
I don't care about them, I'll ****** them
But it's okay that's you now I must settle
Into sorrows reality and despair
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
Wake up! You're dreaming!
Let incense fill the air
and infiltrate your nostrils, flowing to a composed set of lungs retreating from the scene
The anchor's overweight-
You stand no chance
In a ship with no sails, and a current so strong
The pirates on your tail overwhelm the anxiety brewing inside your soul
Stop the madness! A world with no thought-
Insanity pursues and seduces an open opportunity,
Setting chains around your wrists and ankles, locking you down
The bare white walls-
Immaculately maintained
A room filled with emptiness
And your ears consuming silence,
Which echos the panic to your slow-paced heart
Run away! You're dying-
Feel it's cold breath beating against the frail hairs on your neck
Invisible hands grasping for your throat, but your lips won't allow any words to espcape it
Paralytical agents readying your imminent fate
Whacking willows- an unfair fight
Feet that fail you and wings that disappear
No weapons of retalliation or even the speed of a jaguar for assistance
You're helpless, and alone
Abandonment strikes you in the heart as Death catches up
Scream! Call for help!
A lifeless corpse hovering above like a satanic ritual is ensuing
But a thin film of haze separates you from the rotting corpse
The knife, an inch away from your ski-slope nose,
And the pre-pain sets in before the action
Repetitive cycles of death and rebirth-
Exhausting the energy out of your once lively heart
Sinking to the depths of the sea
And buried in the ground of a vast and perplexing woodland-
You learn of your extremeist fear
Wake up!- You're dreaming!
An alarm set for 5 a.m beeps while your breath is caught in your lungs and your sweat forms like beads on your forehead
Anxiety, Insanity, Abandonment, and Fear are the leading actors in every dream you have
If only you weren't such a manic insomniac.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
Fragments
I am zip-lined in fragments
Hallucinatory
Un-full
Quixotic
Unredeemed
I bite
My
Tongue
And my
Thoughts
E
X
P
L
O
D
E
Like fire crackers
Whacking and zipping
In that dense blue sky
Heavy with my thoughts,
Your feelings,
Heavy with the world’s conscience
But projecting out that
Blue light
Like some kind of
Innocent
Inner
Inside it
I drive a nail into my heart
Slipping
Dropping
My brains all over the place.
Soul shattering in shards across
The quiet grass.
I make noise
I’ve made noise
We’ve all made
Too much
******* noise.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 2:04 AM UTC
A pile of mud
moving, re-animated:
you watch a trail of stink
—striking everyone's senses—
I'm leaving behind.
A man of mud walks toward you,
sliding smooth
on the façade of a greasy pavement
coming at you
longing, to solicit
your pity
—my body crumbles
at each step I ****** towards you
while watching myself being torn apart.
I stretch my arm, and then my stiff fingers,
each soaked in tears,
to grab whatever I can out of you.
I disintegrate into emptiness
at every attempt I make
—all futile, meaningless.
My muddied lips
set apart to plead,
but only a screeching noise
comes out,
squeaking,
like that of a mouse.
You,
the one with a shovel
—sharp is the blade—
scream at me,
whacking my clay-man body
with your murderous tool
you hold so tight
—this sight of Mudman
must be hideous indeed
to those pupils of innocence,
burning brightly
with consuming hatred.
Lying on the floor
flattened, unaccepted,
the muddied lips
that survived the shattering blow
are squirming still.
You grind them under your heel
merciless.
Aug 28, 2021
Aug 28, 2021 at 8:19 PM UTC
I see the cracks,
Residing in the mirror.
But my skills, for repair,
Are lacking.
I've learned of the trades,
To mend the flaws.
But this tasks difficulty,
Leaves me just whacking.
Banging on,
The reflective filmed glass.
I often,
Just scatter the pane.
But I'm so **** afraid,
Of what this mirror does to others.
I don't think I can ever,
Share it again.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 8:51 AM UTC
I've got a real honker,
Of a vocabulary.
Many ****** words,
Hairy statements,
Merry installations.
Whacking through words,
Like it's chopping wood.
Feb 26, 2025
Feb 26, 2025 at 10:45 AM UTC