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zebra Jul 2018
flex and perspire my darling
would you mind a small suffering for craven kisses
to have your dark fig **** and drenching *****
stroked with a tickling finger lingering
and strong hands around your sweetly curved throat
that shunt the breath
to yield willingly for sharp-toothed nibbles with surprise tongue whipping?

will you present your soft belly and cupping *******
for dark cruelties that excite beyond tabulation
will you present yourself with smiles
and goddess leg show
sobbing for feral pink spires gleaming
while quivering thighs
turn hot red from the slap of the leather strap splitting stings?

will tears of love
mix in wild berry utterance
and flashing spitfire’s tongue?

are you made for this?
your every whimper an invitation
like an open pink gate
do you need the saint of dark desires to rescue you
from banal dim-witted all american in and out?

do you need to drown in oceanic wave tsunamis
of hot butter **** glitter, blood flooding gasms
and tender aftercare?

my wish
that you shimmer like silver
possessed
by the saint of sadism
popes of eros
who fill you with the milk of the moon
all stars that melt you into the depths of paradise

and that this dark ecstasy
is the only suffering you will ever know.
your pain is my pleasure
mmmmm
Tradition! The Pope's Grand Inquisitor
And Champion of Tories and White-Hats alike
Long have we burned by Gomorrah's Sponsor
With ***** salt our Nails to crucify
That you by nature have never been wrong
Since from my origin I took Respect
But that Pink Exercise training that strong
Was too much for your Pride to interpret
So you sent your Armies to **** our Cause,
Those Innocent Seeds we died to preserve
Quoting the *****'s Functions as our fault
Then getting the Whipping we all deserve.
My Message, kind Sir, is that Object
Which you must Observe; Which you must Reflect.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
King Panda Jan 2016
I walk through campus wearing
black leggings and those faded, leather
boots. I’m even wearing an
infinity scarf I bought full price at
Anthropologie and a pair of tiger-striped
cat eye sunglasses. ****, I look good.

On top of it, I’m smoking a Parliament
menthol, my red-lined lips whipping
smoke into the dead air, creating
a grey cloud that some would call cancerous and
others, ****.

But no one notices me, and, candidly, I
am okay with that because I notice me, and
I am a big red dance button that demands to
be pushed. So, I push myself and
groove down the brown brick road all the way
to classroom 114 in the science building.
925 Apr 2015
Cutting across the ice,
Sunlight hair whipping across my face.
With glacial silver blades,
The concern fades.

Feelings erupt as I glide,
Worries set aside.
One foot to the next,
But its much more complex.

Becoming a different character,
But only in the winter.
All good things come to an end,
And I have to say good bye to my best friend.

The feelings come back when I’m on solid ground,
The anger and sadness unwound.
A human who prefers frozen water over earth,
Something obviously went wrong during birth.
King Panda Nov 2015
I have a 6th sense for
broken people
when I look at them and say
thank you
I can feel what they
feel and it *******
hurts
maybe I’m just projecting
my own pain
but you were always
there to be my
whipping post and
I’m not putting you
through that ****
again
I’m sorry
these words
don’t mean
anything
CK Baker Jan 2017
leg on the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric

join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omegas
and crocodile shoes

get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines

did you give it your all?
the door tags
and candies
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all the impressionable basics
put to the test?

you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade

old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the **** storm
with hostile ******
and a slew
of insatiable
cures

there’s laughter from the back room:
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)

soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)

might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!

headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final

shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line...
this banter
is killing me
Shannon May 5
I no longer know how to feel. Not
in the sense of confusion or of
the misplaced grief of some
long dead god, half-remembered on the high
shelves of a dusty bar, but in the sense of
emptiness and
ache, of a ****** hollow carved into a
****** chest for river water during a
drought.
I no longer have
the words to express my sorrow,
the lyricality to pour myself,
empty and wet,
into digital lines, lead lines, lines smeared with longing for
a mother’s forgiveness.
I can no longer mold
myself / into the form that sells,
into the girl with fire for hair and birds
in her heart.
I lay fallow. I look into the mirror and see
nothing:
no eyes, no hair, no face recognizable.
Personhood is reserved for the victors.
I have compartmentalized too
well too long
in the struggle
against complacency,
against the rope dangling my feet a
foot above dirt, against the hands holding
my head
                   down.
Mother,
behold thy daughter.
                                            These arms, your arms,                                                            ­          
                                      have been empty too long.
Grace Apr 2017
A red sea of bright leaves swirl around my feet
whipping my hair to and fro across my face,
I shiver in the cold but can hardy take note of it.
In the eye of the storm,
in the midst of a hurricane,
All is quiet
patty m May 2014
Two Moons
through an onion skin,
gulls ride out approaching storm;
I embrace the corner of my bedroom.
A brief inward look tumbles from the bed,
my heart rises.
                Ice and sun, reversible stars, the driving pistons

behind this bleeding vision

My thoughts a scarf tail whipping wind
descend into darkness

I search for landmarks in unfamiliar territory
clinging to the floor until a cold draft finds me.

Voiceless, hunched, in the corner,
I'm shaken by seismic tremors.
'
Dark as a crow, I wait in despair for something to enter,
a pattern of deeply etched lines, stars that won't burn out,
a shadowy presence of something fearful.

Flames crack like small bones,
springs fly from clockwork mechanisms,
all the disparate forces spin in ghostly dance.

Eerie symmetry conspires to do me in,

Hope and Reason stretch out  their hands

                                                  too late.

Darkness swallows me.
LexiSully Jan 2018
My vagabond heart skipped with every step taken,
As if the wind whipping around the trees whispered, “Go find your ‘Great Perhaps.’”
Lucas K Jan 2014
I am a ship.
There's nothing special about who I am,
for there are many like me.
Tall and proud,
small and brisk,
each with its unique direction.
Some to be admired,
others to take the risk,
all carved in false perfection.
Yet there is one simple wish
to which we all aspire.
From the day our journey starts,
through the rough tests of the sea
to reach the safety of our haven
is all that we desire.

I am a wanderer.
Send me on a voyage to which I see no end.
I will take it gladly.
When I gaze into infinity
I see far beyond.
So mourn for me not when I set my sails.
I shall return.
Send me through the darkest storm
guide me past the reason’s plea!
I fear no rock nor waves or tide
I fear no whipping of the sea!

Yet, each wave I break
Leaves a crack in my haughty hull.

I am a wreck.
A shattered pile of glorified wood.
A cracked bucket
leaking out treacherous dreams
it could not hold
even when it should.
There are parts of me
sunken
lying numb in deepest chambers of the blue.
There are bits to see
floating
scourged tirelessly by everything
I ever knew.

I lie naked under face of the sky.
I am afraid.

I am driftwood.
Carried around by the will of the waves,
their salty lips against my wounds.
All that is left of me
rocks
in a steady
steady flow
ridiculed by currents
and wind.
Me…
Who am I?
That I do not know.
Perhaps
I do not care.
Today
I traded my spirit for hope
and despair...

Until one day
I am washed ashore.

I am a raft.
Piece after piece put in an awkward place
empty spaces sealed with fiery salt,
scars healed by its sweet embrace.
I am complete.
There’s a soul
clinging on to me with nothing else
but the warmth of her skin.
I am her guide
and she is mine.
I am taking her home
across eternal oceans
in search of haven upon a familiar shore
and I
am not afraid anymore.
Specs Sep 2018
People communicate too much.
Their arms, their feet, their eyes, their hands.
Each one tells a story.
Each one differs, interfering and weighing the air down.
Then the mouth opens and words fly out,
A whirlwind of ideas, opinions, tumbling, spinning, whipping out.
So much noise.
A message here, a message there.
The noise is blinding.

Outside the garden is buzzing.
Not the droning buzz of conversation,
But the peaceful hum and sigh of nature.
The leaves wave as you walk.
Flower petals whisper to you, succinct words that don't rattle.
Ladybirds, bumblebees, humming birds hurtle and whisk around,
And best of all, the garden listens.
n0r May 2018
Struggling inhaling
A swelling, current
Mix of malaise and
Iridescent rays
Whipping within my 6th
To 2nd -

Is this normal
It’s not
Meditation shouldn’t be
This ***** filling
Royalling current of **** -

God, what happened to the bliss?
The breathing in until peace
Amidst a storm
External;
What did I do to deserve this
Everything -

It’s all spread in;
Sins, loves, memories
The currents of the past
Slamming against my dammed
For too long
Now spring 4th

Only by being
Here;
May I come to

Know these pieces
Long repressed
In armors rusted shut;

This is spiritual lubricant
                       It’s ******* me hard
MUNCHY Sep 2018
A wise guy once said nothing ,
but when he reminisced,his eyes went for a swim ; drowning in the current of your own plotted disaster .....


If the current is supposed to be a disaster but the light that leads the path way out of darkness helps , how come God managed to remove  an obstacle he did place  but not within in the current you stirred up & yet he found a way to split the sea & shine a light that's brighter  & purer than your cold soul will ever be ?

God spoke to him saying,
"The waves aren't welcoming when it comes to the whip of the wind sometimes.
Depending on the direction, it could be misleading & hazardous
The path of which road you could take can be confusing ; dangerous but I am with you ."


A title read
But a trophy never held
A bold soul spoke & stood his ground
& because of that, friends come & go
yet he's still moving up levels  that's beyond the reach of disrespectful human beings

He remembered that a leader can lead themselves  
Because following the leader
that didn’t lead can be misleading

So to him resilience is key to things that he  shouldn't hold onto.
He knew in the end it wouldn't  matter .
So he never gave up .
Never assumed those that are quiet were considered weak & those that are loud were strong  because  he - himself, is unpredictable & full of surprises




In the end, you lost him
You mistook kindness as weakness,
so you played him
like a fiddle.

You changed
into a different Individual
& yet he figured out your game as if it was a riddle.

He helped you get comfortable to this place .
Made you feel welcome when others barely knew who you were.
Gave you advice  
that was worth needing
yet did the reciprocal  treating me & others worthless when you needed to feel worthy.





So, he came to his senses,
grew even stronger in his faith ;
trusting in God
like the song
“Amazing Grace“.

Lost himself
Found his father again
Was blinded by your falsity,
but then saw the heavy truth....



You were the destruction of your own masterpiece......
Trying to escape the drowning current  of your own stirred waves while he's whipping through life like the direction of the wind onto better days of enjoyment .

Knowing the next time he meets a new face, in the back of his mind
it will not be yours
because the memories ,
the pain you
“didn't mean to cause”,
the agony he went through all those days
will all be erased
in silence .

Thank you ,
because of you his spirit within
was never crushed
it still lives on .

~Jordan Munchenburg~
amber Jul 2018
the first thing i see is headlights.
the beam is so intense,
it startles me.
i hear the rush of wind,
circling around me,
whipping against my warm skin.
the light is approaching rapidly,
piercing my eyesight,
blinding my vision.
the blare of a horn,
sends my ears ringing.
the last thing i see is darkness.
Iska Feb 2018
'Why is it so painful to grow?'

A seed.
Just a seed buried under the ground.
Under the pressure of the soil,
It fights to grow.

The seed cracks,
such a sturdy little seed,
opens with a painful snap.

A sprout coils out.
Out of the cracked little seed.
A sprout now crushed under,
Under the pressure of the unforgiving ground.

Yet still... It grows.

A little sprout,
Now reaches up.
Up and away from the little seed,
and up to the light of the sun.

Pushing and groaning it bursts out.
Out from the unforgiving ground.
Yet now new dangers are to be found.

Will it be trampled
Or eaten alive?
The possibilities are endless,
The ways it could die.

And still.. it grows.

The sprout toils endlessly,
always stretching and growing
Reaching for the crimson sun.

The rain falls down
beating upon the sprout.
Pelting it's skin and whipping it about.
It skin hardens painfully,
and sprout becomes stem.

And still It grows.
The stem keeps reaching,
Stretching to the sky.

The stem then splits
It rips in two a bud appears
A little bud,
With so much to do.

Then the bud breaks
A crack appears
a petal unfurls from within.

Then it's a bloom.
Such a sweet little thing.
Until the crack stretches
So the bloom can grow
In to the beautiful rose
We've all come to know.

And still.. it grows.

Thorns burst free
Breaking out of the stem
And petals billow and grow in the breeze.

Then you see me,
And my beauty delights you,
So you wish to see me every day.
And your scissors encircle me
To give you your way.

They cut me in half.
They slice me in two.
being a rose,
There was naught I could do.

You carry me with you,
Your hands coated in my blood,
I'm dying slowly,
All for your love.

And now... I can't grow.

So as I bleed and wither in pain,
You place me in a vase
Or press me in a book,
All to save the bloom for another day.

And as I gasp for air,
Among your dry pages,
You leech me of all life,
Perfectly preserved
just so I could last the ages.

Or else I am drowning
In glass and water
My beauty wasted
hour by hour
Day by day
All to satisfy your whimsical ways.

And now all I wish to know,
'Why is it so painful to grow?'
Travis Green Dec 2018
Above the grassland the sun
shines upon the landscape,
a colorful wonderment of
creations, a twinkling beam,
a shimmering brushstroke of
infinite heartbeats.  

I watch the body of trees sway
in seamless motions, an arm
of astonishing bridges, incandescent
leaves, the brilliant face of the sky
an illumination of escape taking me
towards towering flights.  

I can breathe in the wings of love
hovering in the air, the hands of the
whipping breeze beating my chests, as
I stare at the sparkling red birds soaring
across the horizon.  

There was an iridescence of tranquility
in this place, a beautiful sound of
pure melodies touching my cheeks,
brightening my brown eyes, while
I simply smile and hold my head
up to the sky.
She's this insatiable urge
gaining on me,
like a herd of horses
galloping in the treachery of the wild,
their muscles brushed to a shine
rippling down their calves
to embrace the ground
beneath their ironed hooves
shaking it up, tormenting its calm,
whipping up tremors
that know no chains and travel far.

When she's around
dust and sweat break free
with muscles aching in symphony
the heart is all worked up
like a boiler room in heat
pummeling all of its adrenaline
in one fleeting indulgence
which the universe with all its hatcheries
is itching to contain
before the raging tides in
and floods my world.

She's the elusive horizon
used to passionate chases
and the sly azure lunging at it
for one sweet glimpse of the cleavage where it conjoins with the earth
looking for Elysium that never is.
Ah! But that is what it is
for the tamed to think of love
is an impossibility
for it grows in the wild
separated by a hundred chasms
and a million mazes
waiting for a fool to cross over.

When she isn't around
the rumpled sheets tell our story
for it has seen the storms
that raged in the cavernous nights
and filled up balmy noons
with the savagery of love
still crackling like embers of fire
which have seen better days,
and, light up still, with a death wish
to tell of our smouldering lives
that thrived in spasms of our last breath.
I close my eyes in prayer
I hear the wind whipping about
It is a winter day  in the South
I imagine snowy wastes about
I would meet if I went out but
They are real because there is
No one here or there I know
Is is cold aloneness that I am
The Season's Spirit seems to
Say: Ha thought you could get
Away.  See its not so easy even
In the deep South I will have my.
Say.  Was it Twain or Frost who
Said: My coldest Winter was one
Summer I spent in San Francisco
It is an appointment in Samara ;
 the
Spring of hope-the winter of despair



It was Twain
Title of John O'Hara's Book and Preface fable
**Dickens opening paragraph Tale of Two Cities
:
Rizna M Rameez Aug 2018
Torrents of water slamming
Emotions
Whipping me away

And I
Am swimming against it
Because I decide

But try as I might
I cannot turn the current
13.08.2018
But I can keep going.
Kush Feb 13
Alas, here ends thy monotone passion
and as fiery tongues lash, so you ignite
trembling hands, eyes of crimson fashion
whipping across the land with monstrous might

Let them all clutch silence, gather around
marry their nightmares with its horrid call
for it gleefully saunters, the howling sound
and pounces perfervidly upon their thrall

Pain is as air, light and fleeting
a placid kiss to the farmer's yield
much unlike that whirlwind in one's bones-
that immutable suffering of journeys sealed
leila Dec 2018
When I'm looking at the sky
the stars can't be seen
Slowly I walk on the big balcony, look like a silent yard
Only this time the music is not played
I'm watching the lights
and I feel the cold wind whipping on my hands
only this time I'm not drowned in thoughts..
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