"whored" poems
Forlorn sheets fluttering in the winds
splattered in smoke and ruination,
empty the streets where she'd played lost:
Haunting her now among
shadows in the cell she's chained
to slavery
of the religious kind.
Beast more than beast these men that
stare in hubris awaiting their turn
to partake of infidel flesh.
Behold! The holy empire of God is here.
That morning she'd grown up -
blood between her thighs had
stopped her play,
and her chastity was proclaimed.
Selima must learn to respect men
and the ways of God and His
rules of modesty.
Now, as he grunts and groans
in holy pleasure as he mounts
her by turns, tied up at the altar
to be an example of how ******
the lot of the pagan and faithless be.
Mother, is this the modesty that
God commands of infidel women?
How merciful indeed is He that
He creates in faithful men a beastly craving
and provides too for them
uncircumcised ***** in pillage.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
Dear Addiction, could you please stop knocking on my door?
I already have your ***** syringes scattered about my floor.
You keep on telling me that I want more
But I’m not very sure.
When you pierce my skin everything stills
Even though I hate it it feels so much better than the pills
I don’t want to do anything you have taken my will
Not only that, you’ve taken everything, including all of my dollar bills
I know that feeling of dry mouth too well.
They tell me that I can stop but honestly, I can’t tell
Right now it seems like the only way out of this is a bullet shell
I don’t know why I crave you when you bring me so much hell
When you crawl your way back into my veins
Those first hits of pleasure make me go insane
I start to remember why I got on this crazy train
But then I remember just how badly you’ve ****** up my brain
I wish I could get your illness out of my head.
They tell me that I am one twentieth of a gram from ending up dead
Yet no matter how many warnings are said
You seem to be the only reason to get out of bed.
I have lied for you.
I have ****** for you.
I have done for many awful things for you.
And I will most likely die because of you.
Dear Addiction, why do you make this so tough?
They say that abusive relationships aren’t made out of love
And I know the way you treat me is rough
But I cannot help what I love.
They say that all you do is harm.
Yet when my happiness comes into me through a needle in my arm
And my brain tells me that I should be alarmed
All I can do is crave your harm.
Your harm makes me feel like I am whole.
But it also seems to drag me further into the hole.
It seems that you have taken my soul
Getting you out of my life is a faraway goal.
Dear Addiction, you’ve hit me with a huge smack.
You’ve shown me how easy it is for life to get out of whack
I probably should have stopped before your first attack
But you had seen to put my life back on track.
Dear Addiction, you fill up my hunger.
But at the same time I’m starting to feel more and more like a jumper
I hate you more than I’ve hated any other
You are my most hated lover.
Dear Addiction,
I’m giving you an eviction.
I never even gave you any permission
To take away my ambitions.
Dear Addiction, I want to send you away.
But you are still knocking at the door where I stay
You always do know how to get your way.
Time to go back to my decay.
Dear Addiction
Stop ******* knocking. I’m coming!
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
**** men
predatory *** hounds
chasing skirts and tights
aching **** idiots
disciples of Eros
Christs of fetish
reconciling nothing
veiling that principled demeanor
of feminist culture
"of don't objectify me".....translation
sensual form is not natures ruse
machine Eve must
override override override
well the id does not negotiate
the superstructure
of affected political tele-reality
starring
the liberal chattering class
who speculate male motives
to be some vainglorious power trip
while corporatized media personalities
feign out of control lust
as a mental disorder
and
sit up like shuddering Pekingese
yessing the lascivious
as a fiction
no ladies
its not just power
theories are not testosterone
it is pure unadulterated
relentless
irreducible
urge to merge
like the beluga **** channel
sea world as you've never seen it before
where male dolphins
batter and gang bang
the weaker ***
in search of feral harmony
in an overbuilt society
yet to become a civilization
are we
scissored between a wild ****** id
of the damed
and the Victorian sacred
of the damed
oh you silky damsels
makin men moody and humid
pure **** heroine
a poison ivy of ***
like a rash
givin men folk the itch
cant stop the twitch
rubber *******
in a rubbing frenzy
from your soaking heat and odor
we are a rumbling of muttering torments
for the forbidden taste
of you
oooow
oooow
we are pan in a mad dance
for glistening shanks
and buttery kisses
we are the early bird looking for the worm
hunters decreed by the liturgy of heaven and hell
a constellation of infatuation and lechery
mad with adoration
love slaves in a raging furnace of desire
*** addicts
that just say yes
turgid dogs
hole sniffers
voluptuous monsters
all johnny apple seed
and sometimes your salvation
as you are ours
knowing that sometimes
real eroticism eclipses morality
and yes my darlings*
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
I don't wear makeup.
I don't want to.
I don't want a pretty face,
Smiling and nodding,
Lulling you into a false sense of security.
Children are being ****** out by their own parents!
People are being murdered by the officials meant to protect them!
There are people so scared of their emotions they would rather die than confront them!
And you're ****** because I don't meet the beauty standards you adopted from our society?
Everyone is being forced to say sorry
And smile
And giggle
To make themselves and others believe that the superficial problems they face are dire
And that when they solve that they've accomplished something
And that everyone is just swell.
Not me.
I'm more blessed than I'll ever know
More fortunate than I'll ever appreciate and I'll do my best to save everyone,
To fix what is wrong.
So if I become over zealous
And ***** up my face
And disturb you
And force you to reconstruct your worldview
I'm not apologizing
And if you hope to take solace on beauty afterwards
To seek comfort on the familiar
My face still won't be made up
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
one thousand shards, my crown was built.
not of thorns.
but bubblegum legos, saturday morning stuck
to the carpet
& days gone by.
crept out of fold and gut/ kid living
& watched by trees.
autumn watches us fall like leaves,
born of the belly and the mother.
mom quiet/
dad loud/
men hid behind blisters and god.
men hid behind tall towers and the bomb.
men bled for immortality,
warred and ****** resource for more, the door
to an endless life.
dad taught me how the heart and brain behold blood,
& how the body manifests it/
moves it/
follows the sun.
son follows father follows god follows ghoul.
dad taught me about the machete.
about how “our fates will dominate us blind.
so man dominates the jungle.”
he told me a story of love and more glory.
of poor men and dead men.
machete theories.
he carved wooden chairs.
built a lodge.
fished the river,
& reeled to forget the war.
harpoon the river gods.
the heart and brain behold blood,
& the body manifests it.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
Jacques and Emile's veins
pounded in their skulls
as they scrambled down the ladder
and through the labyrinth of sewers
to rejoin their fellow assassins
beneath the Parisian thoroughfares.
They'd tracked the **** Captain's moves
for past a week and knew precisely
what he drank and where he ******
They were ready when he
Stumbled down the brothel stairs.
When Jacques stepped left for a clearer shot
he found a bucket with his foot.
The German wheeled and spotted them -
raising his whistle to his mouth,
but before he had a chance to blow,
A silent report from Emile's rifle
crashed into his trachea
And he crumpled like a rag.
Back in the tunnels
Jacques bragged like a circus barker,
"You should have seen the look on
Gerry's face before we brought him down."
Emile had seen his face alright,
but thought only of the whistle
that would have doomed them all.
What do you when the world goes mad
and **** tanks roll into the Champs Élysées?
Who do you **** and why and how?
Jacques was sound asleep
and deaf to his comrades' whispers -
pondering what to do and when.
The decision came quickly and a
different sort of mission was planned
and Emile selected to execute it.
What do you do when the world goes mad?
August, 2013
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
Strung up on adderall
****** out to normality
led on by conformity
Their path filled in with chaff
Rigged to persuade
Monotony fills their days
Pushed down in worthless ways
fed on a lethal dose of caustic fluorescent
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 1:28 AM UTC
We load the road of our success
With boulders of forgetfulness,
Stumbling each time again
As if we were but mindless men.
Shrunken, looking drunken,
Mumbling, some grumbling,
We were people, but barely,
Rarely standing up to stress.
Preferring to dress in the rags
Like hags and hobos, up to elbows
In the trash we bought with cash
Instead of buying our birthrights
Back from those who ****** us
Then ignored us, we were needing,
Some bleeding, and dying
And nobody but us was crying.
We’d carry all those speed bumps
We carefully crafted with our hands
And let them stand before us
To deter us and divert us every day
But not in a diverting way like TV.
It was a travesty, a mummer’s play
In which we each played our part
But, not like art come to life, oh no
It was a horror show for fools
And it was our own tools and effort
That pulled together to create a ride
In a non-amusing park of suicide.
Many of us don’t notice the slide
Until everybody and everything
Is on the upside and we are not.
It’s a kind of mental, moral rot.
Then the travesty became a tragedy
For you and for me, endlessly.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 2:46 AM UTC
*I trekked across the icy shores of Alaska and survived with Gary Paulsen and his dogs
I went on many cross-country road trips, hitchhiking, train riding, and drinking with Jack Kerouac
I shot up ****** and did some time in Interzone with William S Burroughs
I dropped acid and read poetry with Jim Morrison
I murdered a girl and committed suicide with J.R. Hayes
I insulted everyone I knew with Jay Randall and laughed about it afterwards
I meditated high up in the mountaintops with Gary Snyder
I suffered New Orleans police brutality and withdrawal with Mike Williams
I drank, worked, gambled, ****** myself with Charles Bukowski
I admired the beauty of nature and God as self with Walt Whitman
I admired the beauty and balance of nature and city life with Henry David Thoreau
I wandered the desert landscape and sabotaged those that would harm the Earth with Edward Abbey
I painted a world of pictures out of words with e.e. cummings
I loved like no one has ever been loved in this wretched world with Pablo Neruda
I outlived macabre and twisted tales from the mind of Edgar Allan Poe
I spent a few months in France with the cryptic mind of Charles Baudelaire
I drank and wrote nature literature from animal perspectives with Jack London
I lived the songs that Tom Waits wrote
I went insane with Sparrow in New York
I found myself traveling on a Tour Of Homes, reciting ‘Talk Music’ with Dan Smith
“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness” with Allen Ginsberg*
When all was said and done and every word wrote three times or more
I disappeared into the oncoming onslaught of midnight's dreary dreams
Like so many forgotten poets, writers, and orators
Who’s words have faded with the oblivion of time
Only to be remembered by a select few from here and there
That have chosen to remember, to write, to read, to never forget
Which are you and where do you come from?
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 9:26 AM UTC
People see me as a whiteboard,
to be written on,
and passed to the masses,
To whom i am ******
My flaws they try to erase,
as well as the imperfections on my face,
cause i'm a mold-able youth,
or an untouched canvas,
that can be painted,
and displayed,
i'm going to grab that marker,
and make my future less darker,
avoid your drama,
when this picture comes out wrong,
like this picture is not the right shade of black, brown, or white,
if you stare hard enough,
you can see the design in just the right light.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
Words are weapons of mass distraction
to take our eyes off the criminal action
of democracy ****** over for global destruction
as media serves to create obstruction
as votes get sold for campaign contributions
and we the people search for solutions
the rich get richer and the poor get *******
and the planet dies screaming in the interlude
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 9:33 AM UTC
Have you ever seen brains pouring down the sidewalk?
Been so scared your next move could cost you your life?
Never dreamed about having no kids, no wife
When the only thing you know is fight or flight.
Do so many drugs that you can't think no more
Children ignored, women all ******
The only escape is the next time I'm high
get out of myself and finally fly
I dream of a world where the humor comes easy
things aren't so serious and me becomes we
But sometime ago the line had been drawn
whites fearing blacks and the neighborhood, gone
Suburban white girl, you've got a thing to learn
I don't get sad because the sadness burns
I incinerate enough with the trouble I'm in
either school or jail, I just can't win
It's all obligation, a survival technique
I intimidate them, their money makes them weak
I can't say that I would want to get along
I know what love is though, correct me if I be wrong
Yea I'm in a gang, but I ain't never killed a dude
I still feel **** I still need food
So maybe my thoughts and actions don't align
I don't care for the segregation but I ain't tryin
For now, my words are to inform and make you think
Put yourself in my shoes, only then will our worlds sync
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC
****** the moon
in the vast edgy drink,
ravaging warm tides
where frothy oceans clash
on the brink of expectation's rush,
channeling sea's surrender
to the depths of harbors's asylum
whirling faster to catch up with dawn,
blistered under betrayal of the sun**
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
I can see, in your sea
what I threw, went right through
your lack of class, so get to class
you flea, you flee
fear will show, fear the show
for busted acts, four battle ax
an eerie moan, an eerily mown
level plane, yet too plain
so start the rite, so start to write
your words to savor, you worried saver
and this I saw, and with this saw
cut to sear, seek the seer
a spirit pryed, an unleashed pride
giant gorilla, stealthy guerrilla
so send the pros, we speak in prose
you leave your prince, you leave your prints
simple minds racked, simply mind wracked
so slow your roll, know your role
kneel and pray, kneel you prey
you maid from Rome, you'remade to roam
with worn sole, with warn soul
spirit's cold, under coaled
start the fire, weapons fire
send the horde, send the ******
forget the gaffe, remember the gaff
speed for the gate, speed is the gait
if death feign, or if death fain
let you pass, or may you pass
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 5:56 PM UTC
Ordinary she said, the plain Jane of feminine.
I'll gladly take up with her.
There should not be a shimmer around my
crown. Nor lashes that drive men to wild.
There is not but one side for a woman of
my caliber to parade. Look at me over here.
Like you did yesterday, before I traded in
heels for flats, short skirts for long ankle dresses.
You will dream of a different woman.
She is the new era. Where the girls love
themselves willing as silverware.
I am passion in a bottle. The mistress naught ******
As mirrors are satiated in secret praise.
My wishes are smoked out by the steam.
They fade deep into you.
Your sparkling compromise in mediocre view.
Apr 17, 2011
Apr 17, 2011 at 9:51 AM UTC
Why does it take long to write a poem?
are months consumed into few fleeting feelings?
a poem is severed.
Of feelings that need to be let go of,
a delusion of a listen,
poem doesn’t listen,
what does it do?
An appearance for
no purpose,
but to be outside
is like braving the wind
to tell the wind you have braved it,
is this a poem?
None of us know yet.
Mounting feelings in an abandon,
a poem deceives,
and leaves them for dead,
for forgetfulness is eternal,
and the rest rot in several lifetimes,
but the burden?
Unburden, eventually?
The poem is ******
Can we let go of it at all?
It persists.
We let them know we were there,
to come face to face with selves of us,
that we have avoided,
does the poem really look out for you?
And asks, pretending you know?
Do we need no end?
We are here to while away time
and tell them
we whiled the time away.
Oct 26, 2020
Oct 26, 2020 at 3:18 PM UTC
I was never an adulterer,
I did **** myself over,
And ****** alone;
But the "A" that keeps sticking
Is as prominent as Hester's.
I was never an abuser,
But I can do a real fine job on myself;
And then the guilt sets in,
Like a hard-packed snowbank,
And I need to get the shovel.
That amber-coloured "A"
Always leads to the stairs of shame
I climb like my cross;
Then lie in state
Until the resurrection.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
*with me it's all ***** free, she laughed me teasing ***** and not her **** and then i said: i was bitterer free than a caged slave freed; so tell me... when did rhyme rhyme with untrue and dry prose with truth?*
none of the free women could uncouple ******* from the *****
none of these free women
could love me like a ***** the "master,"
but they did - common free ****** themselves
while the saints arose to challenge the antichrist
deciding it was better to salvage driftwood than the whole ship,
and give common fee to ******* than salvage
common freedom from common ******* fees with ******* the commons
of sedating parliament of freedom feeing freedom:
but the ****** became saintly snakes
asking for less and the common woman for more!
what mattered more was slapping the cheek,
none of these free women could compete,
none of these free women could salvage the ****** slaves,
instead they asked for opinions through actresses,
and while i broke chime of dirges with sirens
for the chandelier flutes dropped - i heard of demonic
song being poetry, and angelic songs continued without poeticism;
oh lark and sorrow i heard that no free woman ever bore
the freed love from sexing it asked for yoga exercise
to thrill a lost packaged youth,
but the free women sexed up, and the ****** were
skeletally libra minded to tangle the heaviest with the lightest
and the freest with the most leathered up to tangle in whip lost
sparking less gallop and more thought:
as once in town a randomised woman to my writing said:
now that's the devil, said, and i walked on.
none of the free women who spoke of feminism ever
gave third introduction up, with limping the second artillery was
salvo dis-loved, for the third introduction was sold
to ***** and man managed all, but not this;
none of the free women could ever pair man with her involvement
satisfactory: first ***** second **** third lips and child goodnight:
for the free women were more than ****** could be,
found the woman, entering a brothel and hearing of whores' graces
to do not what free women did: no **** no harsh movement,
the ****** dictated that freedom felt what it wasn't with me bought,
****** a ***** and kept **** to myself
while i argued the digestion in reverse and liberated them
from a child engaged to be tucked in, and sweetly dreaming of mothers
of tomorrow with hanky and bacon and scrambled eggs for schooling,
marching into marsh and sweet mud, in order that some general
might satiate the feel of ordering a fee of orderly salutes into hades'
6ft gape of a yawn of cracking marble into moulding earthenware to
suit root and worm.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
Oh, what are we, anyway?
we are but only men, my love,
we are so simple it hurts
we are broken
we are what we aren’t.
it’s okay,
we’re in love.
behind doors slammed shut
these walls never see sun.
we are naked, separated,
we chew quietly on meat grown cold.
we sip softly milk gone sour.
because in a world so bruising
so tainted of blood,
so full of this lust,
we are clubbed, barred, ******
and hung up to dry.
the hate our hearts see
sews them shut.
and still,
we’re
in love
pushed in stenched corners
pointed in wrong directions
laid face down,
nose turned up.
we are sleeping
when we most deserve to be awake.
we’re touching hands
when hands are just shadows and fragments
of imagination.
we’re disgusting
when we’re in the presence of other men.
it’s okay,
we’re in love.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 6:43 AM UTC
Langston was a late bloomer
She kissed me with a devotion
Lovely
8 The angle shoud be 99 per cent
Not snoop ****** round
Blink think nonstop sexed Up
'tea at five' Hi
Tectonics
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 2:57 PM UTC
i hate the word cliche
for every letter and consonant
and vowel and sound as it's
spun around, thicker now
than it was when it first touched
my tongue and leapt to its death
the wet crescent diving board
it ****** upon despising the very breath
with that being said, i shove
aside the notion that i am above being in love
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
I serviced them,
the men who came,
soldiers of battle,
politicians with bored wives,
husbands whose wives
(they said) never
understood their needs
or wants or desires,
young men starting on
an unfamiliar journey
on the road to ***
I entertained
as their women
would never have done,
played the games
their women
would put
their fingers
to mouth in shock to
and never do,
I allowed them to touch
where they'd never
touched before,
to kiss where
their dames
would deplore,
I listened to
their brief tales
or sorrow,
know for me
there was never today,
and always tomorrow.
I was she,
and they knocked
at my door,
I was the paid up,
always on the ball and bed,
***** who ******
whom the women hated,
but their men
(I was sure)
adored.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 2:03 AM UTC
haunted girls
with whiskey smiles
and miles
of hate behind them
they don’t care
what they’ll come to
for you
will never mind them
haunted girls
with whiskey smiles
you ******
them out and kissed them
but they’ll be
gone before you
even know
you’re gonna miss them
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
Fill the hole with nothing
Not the concepts that you hold dear
They could betray you
Into traps of torn parchments and holy relics
Binding. Entrancing fascinations
Keep you gounded on parables. Freezing real hope
And when you crack the mirror
Egotistical graven image
You will begin to see the truth beyond
Sights you're shown by the elders
Who've invested so much
Monopolized love and ****** it
For power's sake alone, they grasp at straws
For God's sake, they created him
To frighten and ******* all thought
Contrary to the maleable mold
On the bottom of progress' feet
Atlas scrawled his secret to releif
Don't give up. The whole world rests on the shoulders of honest men
Work diligently. Work nobley. Look out for others
It's the calling of the strong to protect the weak
Without this system of brothers, the weasels will feast
But the world pushes back and it doesn't seem worth it
After all, what's the point?
If not for anything else, then for the joy of being
Able to discover and learn
It may feel tedious and painful
Just to exist for the purpose of spreading
Life needs persist its unstable reaction
You can put it off 'til tomorrow
And live in yesterday's safety
Gaze at the horizon unblinking
Focused
Feral
Integral gear
Turning perpetually into itself.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC