Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
1970 Odysseus visits cousin Patsy in New York City she introduces him to her best friend Lauren’s older less attractive more reclusive sister Tanya Mulhaney extremely wealthy family father founded corporation manufactures pinball machines which years later develop to video games then casino empire he favors and spoils Tanya but dies suddenly her envious sisters and mother gang up on Tanya is pale skinny flat-chested copious brown bush Odysseus sits in bathtub with Tanya and he probes in a way they hits it off maybe no boy has ever touched her in that way her complexion is so fragile slightest fluster prompts pink blotches on her cheeks neck chest back he admires her book smarts he’s attracted to her refined strangeness he thinks her bush and flat-chest are **** she laughs shyly offers to take him around the world he accepts Odysseus tells his parents Mom goes crazy yells into telephone what are you a ******? you father and i work like fools to send you to the best schools so you can make something of yourself you’re going to throw everything away to be a ***? i tell you we’ll disown you you won’t have a home to come back to do you hear me? we’ll disown you! she sobs how can you just walk out after all we have done for you? you ******* kid! Odysseus takes leave of absence from art school he and Tanya take Iberia jet 12 hour flight with stopover in Iceland to Belgium Tanya sinks into one of her moods swallows several pills to help her rest sitting on other side of Odysseus is curly haired skinny talkative musician claims he has jammed with Miles Davis and other jazz greats Odysseus says yeah right and i’ve shown with Johns and Twombly where exactly are you heading in Europe? musician answers he is a scientologist on his way to visit L. Ron Hubbard in England Odysseus does not know what Dianetics are and wants explanation he asks many questions and musician talks for hours they enjoy each other’s rapport as jet descends in Brussels they exchange home addresses in the States 9 months later when Odysseus returns to America a friend notices scribbled address while skimming through his travel journals Odys! how did you get Chick Corea’s address? do you know him? do you realize how brilliant he is? he’s a keyboard virtuoso! Odysseus questions Chick Corea? who’s Chick Corea? he looks at journal page then says oh that guy i sat next to him on the jet to Europe so he really is a famous musician huh? wow!

in October 1970 Brussels is damp chilly Tanya wears hip-hugger jeans black turtle-neck top North Face shell she huddles her arms around her chest smokes cigarettes looks through hotel room window out into gray overcast sky speaks in defeatist voice i didn’t bring clothes for this weather she picks at her plate in hotel restaurant glumly vacillates later in bed after refusing *** decides they leave tomorrow fly to Canary Islands for several weeks to get tan before traveling through Morocco during winter months Canary Islands are laden with Swedish tourists including bikini clad young girls many not wearing tops Odysseus is thinking about how to swing some of that Swedish free love once Tanya gets drunk succumbs to Odysseus’s ****** overtures it is good  one day while returning to hotel from beach 2 Spanish police stop and question Tanya and Odysseus police order to see their passports then command them into squad car police bark in Spanish rifle through their daypacks point a finger Odysseus can smell alcohol on their breaths Tanya and Odysseus are terrified police drive off main road to remote location abandoned ruins no one is around police order them to step out police drive off laughing Tanya’s complexion is crimson she sobs they could have murdered us no one would know who we are or where to find us we’re lost where are we? Odysseus looks around replies don’t worry we’ll be all right i watched where the driver was going we’ll retrace their trail

they fly to Tangier travel south by train Tanya is irritable insisting Odysseus carry her backpack Casablanca is ***** 3 men peer from sunglasses act suspicious wear tattered trench coats Tanya and Odysseus snack at cafe which provides hookahs for smoking hashish Odysseus scores several grams Tanya laughs suggests they rent car drive south travel to sandy beaches of Diabet for 6 weeks in the morning she paces around French hotel room with cigarette in one hand ashtray in other like she is sultry 1940’s Hollywood actress she stays in room and devours Penguin Classics Tolstoy Stendhal Proust Huysmans Zola turns out Tanya is sexually frigid she buys Odysseus anything he wants but does not put out they take train Marrakech it is sun drenched with blue skies mountains in distance Odysseus wants to go out explore get ***** with the natives he visits Medina daily witnessing many bizarre scenes he does not understand a woman squatting over an egg a man with no legs dragging himself through marketplace holding up cigarette butts in his hand he meets a professor who is out of work because king of Morocco has closed the universities due to teachers’ strike professor explains woman squatting over egg is fortuneteller and man dragging himself has been offered crutches many times yet makes more money playing off pity of tourists cigarette butts are for sale the professor invites Odysseus to visit Berbers in mountains Odysseus persuades Tanya she reluctantly agrees the 3 travel by bus in first-class front row seats vehicle filled with lively families chickens pig bus driver has assistant who lugs people onto bus or shoves them out door at a midpoint bus stops in little town everyone exits bus then men women children urinate in street local venders sell trinkets snacks Odysseus buys nibbles shish-kabob that later professor informs is roasted cat and dog they reenter bus wait suddenly butchered lamb flank is flung onto Odysseus’s lap a man climbs aboard bus stairs then grabs large carcass and heedlessly walks to back seat Odysseus wipes blood and slime off his jeans Tanya demurely giggles bus climbs mountains arrives at small Berber village professor leads them along narrow winding street of shanty huts sheltering merchants open kitchens professor tastes from various steaming iron kettles finally decides on one they are directed to rickety roof where they sit wait a boy comes up with plastic bowl filled with water and small box of Tide following professor they wash their hands then minutes later proprietor brings up simmering *** of couscous serves it with scratched raw plastic bowls no eating utensils they eat with their fingers Tanya seems bothered declines to partake she withdraws into silence after meal she becomes irritable complains of headache says she needs to return to Marrakech she remains standoffish on bus all the way to French hotel

after Marrakech they take boat trip to Italy while onboard Odysseus meets Italian Count who has an eye for him Odysseus wears Jim Morrison beat-up leather jeans Bruce Lee t-shirt scraggly whiskers Count wears thin manicured beard tiny red Speedo swim trunks Tanya grins amused Count offers Odysseus and Tanya to be guests at his villa in Milan city flourishes with stylish clothes loud lively restaurants classical sculptures covered in car pollution following several weeks of aristocratic wining and dining amazing 11 course elegant soiree Odysseus botches compliance with Count’s desires they are asked to leave Tanya laughs hysterically they board train to Germany based on Tanya’s tour book they find historic hotel with wind rattling windows coin operated hot water bath in Munich Tanya stays in room Odysseus goes to dance club meets brown-hared pale skinned German girl neither speak the other’s language he pays for hourly rated room they play German girl in animated gesturing warns him as he is going down on her but he does not understand until several days later scratching beard finds ***** seeks A-200 lice treatment German version leather pants disposed Tanya knows but says nothing she buys Volkswagen they drive through Black Forest Tanya wants to visit King Ludwig’s castles Odysseus does the driving mostly they listen to the Who’s “Who’s Next” and Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” he follows Tanya’s instructions not knowing who King Ludwig was eventually he learns Ludwig was colorful character built extravagant Disney like castles and friends Richard Wagner Bavaria is cold gray brown deep forest green scenic Swiss Alps visible in southern view they drive from Neuschwanstein to Linderhof to Herrenchiemsee then Freiburg lodge in bed and breakfasts Tanya grows restless by all the driving decides to ditch car along road in northern France as Odysseus unscrews car license by road side several cars stop French people concerned they need help Tanya is anxious hoping for clean get away from abandoning vehicle they board train to Paris Tanya speaks a little French in spring of 1971 they are backpacking in search of hotel on Left Bank it rains all morning sky is overcast Tanya reads “Pride and Prejudice” Odysseus draws in sketchbook at sidewalk café sitting next to them are older Parisian couple man detects they are Americans he turns to them expresses in English his contempt why can’t you Americans learn from France’s lessons in Vietnam? Tanya and Odysseus don’t look up they feel like dumb ugly Americans within days they leave Paris

cross English Channel by boat they find temporary apartment in Earl’s Court in London it is overcast almost every day within a month they move to larger place in Chelsea with backyard with run down English garden Odysseus weeds garden plants tomatoes lettuce carrots radishes flowers Tanya stays in her room smokes reads at night they go out to ethnic restaurants one night they visit Indian restaurant a very proper English woman sitting at next table orders exotic fruit for dessert Odysseus asks waiter what kind of fruit waiter answers mango Odysseus has never seen or tasted mango English woman delicately eats the fruit with fork and knife Odysseus orders mango for dessert he attempts to imitate how English lady proceeded fruit slips around on plate finally out of frustration he picks it up in his hands bites into it he is aroused by how luscious mango is sniffing with nose scraping fruit’s skin with front teeth then ******* the seed Tanya makes a face suddenly the seed slides from his grasp shoots across table Tanya’s cheeks neck turn scarlet voice raises stop it Odys! you’re disgusting! are you intentionally trying to embarrass me? why are you doing this? he replies i’m not doing anything to you i’m enjoying the most delicious fruit i’ve ever tasted who cares what it looks like? later she laughs about incident offers to buy more mangos promises to take him shopping at Harrods tomorrow he goes along with their arrangement until it all seems like pretty background scenery to an empty intimacy missing all his friends back at art school he writes about his loneliness he feels trapped in Tanya’s web several times he sneaks English girls into his room when Tanya jealously confronts him he admits he has had enough and wants to go back to Hartford she suggests at the least they fly to Bermuda for several weeks to get tan before returning he declines on June 30 1971 Odysseus returns to Hartford and Tanya moves to San Francisco on July 3 Jim Morrison overdoses in Paris
thinklef Jul 2013
Vanity has created insanity in humanity,
the worldly hope men set their hearts upon,
possessed by Money, power, fame &respect;
empty pride inspired by an overweening
fruitless human desire,
wining and dining as the clouds darken in the
middle of the night,
as they settle for a life of deceiving enjoyment,
eyes are faded while he rest his body for a new
day,
he turns & roll in discomfort while he sleeps,
dreams are clashing, the fear of been poor
strikes his mind,
meanwhile the poor sleep in comfort ,
he won't wake up unless you wake him,
men of exotic fast cars,
Sell their soul to feed their vain pursuit,
and their happiness to feed their ego,
a life of unsubstantial enjoyment, reality awaits
its faith,
as it will be too late to plea of insanity in
eternity,
no hospitality for mental spirituality,
the vanity of human wishes reflect upon
superficial vision of human unfulfillment,
In essence that leads to eternal death.
the poor can't control his pain,
as tears drop from his eyes uncontrollably,
watching man with his fruitless ambitions,
as he settles for worldly materialistic goodies,
living beyond his means,
So many years on earth yet unsure of the
hereafter,
living a life of insecurity & fear of the unknown,
mention the word death ,he will ponder &
begin to wonder,
what his fate will be,
Vanity upon vanity,
When his time elapses,
he won't be left with anything but his good
deeds,
No mansions, no cars, no fame, no sweet voices,
what a life of vanity!!
Step by step,
With a gorgeous plié,
Kick some pep
Into a battement jeté.

A toy brought to life
During a winter dream,
Wining a mice fight,
Becoming king and queen.

Graceful and white,
Perfection is seized,
A swan's flight,
Applause from the pleased.

All these to treasure,
To hope for, but first
Have the right measures
And break the weight curse.

Do not eat much
And practice all day,
Have the right touch,
Get that perfect cambré.

Pointe for pain
And chukkers for luck,
Just hide those blood stains
And redefine pluck

When all the joints hurt
And toes can't be touched,
When all one has heard
Is Tchaikovsky's crutch...

So proceed and endure,
Feel pain and relief,
Prokofiev's pitch contour
To be ones only belief.

Let all this be forgotten
When the curtains rise
And show all this works gotten
Perfection for a prize.
On every single night, the heavens rise,
and the ages descend  when your eyes dance.
You ingratiate the barren night skies,  
Like a void star, befallen, left to chance.

Plight yet graceful on the adorned stage
the limitless expectation, recant.
A gift the blessing of the exquisite  
soft golden glazed inquest aspiration,

And in them I witness, the perfection.
The spike that pierces, a sinister sole
a driver of unhinged unworthy worlds.
To grace it with an unhinged perfection.

The heavens have come to set, to see you.
and I arise with the night to seek you.
Its a fair attempt at a Shakespearean love sonet
Kevin Aug 2018
All the young raison wanted,
             was a drink of water
His mother sternly told him
            " You get back to bed! ''
He shrank away from her discipline
David Sollis Oct 2014
Rugged and handsome with perennial tan
Distinctive and stylish, a real ladies man
Wining and dining all goes on the tab
Along with “entertainment” in the back of a cab

An invite for coffee at his hotel
This Romeo won’t kiss and tell
An exquisite encounter, but where will it end
That all depends on how much you spend

Contract sealed and ready for action
Destination set for satisfaction
Even though he may be fit to burst
He makes sure his customers always…
…come first
TR3F1LD Oct 2019
****, bruh! call a bomb squad (bo[ɑ]mb squa[ɑ]d)
for there's a bomb—
—shell here, whose rear evokes a somewha[ʌ]t
unholy, wrong thought (wro[ɑ]ng thou[ɑ]ght)
reminds him of a jihadi-done job (jihadi-done jo[ɑ]b)
'cause this ***'s (boom) banging; this honey's dancing
boldly & lewdly, got his jaw dropped (ja[ɑ]w dro[ɑ]pped)
his sight's fixed on her hips, she's beyond hot (bey[ɑ]ond **[ɑ]t)
this gal's freaking blazing
his hand's in offensive motion for her hind part
a haptic invasion
she moves on from wining to fondling, she's eager
such a luscious body, killer figure (body)
disguised with a tank
top with a low neckline & tight-fit cropped pants
she's like: "make me high like a rooftO̲p nearly reaching
the sky; give me a tI̲me so exquisite
that I̲'ll be left speechless
when this ro[ɑ]mp's over"
she's none short o'... a mind-blower, like a gun-toter
blowing a brain of a **** hound wrongdoing
('bout time to strike a hunting seas-on up on these ****)
she digs vicious, dark-sounding music
but also doesn't mind to bounce her tushie
to 90-100 bpm party-sound tunes
I'm a bit ashamed of my imagination, but I couldn't help it.
Sally A Bayan Mar 2015
(the hours in between)

It is the morning after reuniting, wining and talking...the stirring of the curtains transparent, become slow moving hands and calming whispers of a hypnotist, blending perfectly with the gentle whiff of a breeze...and the soft sounds of one who has just woken...a hint of a breath of life...there is much gratitude.....these early morning whispers could still be heard...quietude is a swaying hammock, but sleepy eyes peep through the window, gazing far, enthralled by the horizon...red, orange, purple.....merging.....against green and brown of the mountains...and from all these mix of colors, finally emerges a sky so blue...a new day is born, the Almighty is most kind...but something else unsettles the mind of one who has gone through many arduous journeys...asking:
 "How did I fare"?   Can I still...?  Will I...?" 

Now shining bright is a list of
Things yet to happen...intentions---
Disguised as questions.
Though this has long been conceptualized,
There's this pressing feeling, they must now be prioritized
Pray they soon be realized
Before exit from this world has materialized.

Can I still -
Be brave enough to swim? drive a car? ride a bike?
Meet with distant friends? learn new languages?
Write with more depth, even when I turn 80... and older?
Fly in a plane with my son as the pilot in command?
See my granddaughters finish college?

Will I still be able -
To satisfy this wanderlust endlessly stirring within me?
To ride a camel in the deserts of Morocco?
To feel the sun, the air, even the rain, while walking the cobbled streets in Tuscany?
To spend an evening in Florence?
To visit Greece, Spain, Ireland, Wales, and relive stories read?
To feel and breathe the air there, brimming with adventure?

We walk through various labyrinths in life, so absorbed in our own worlds...hours, days, become prosy, they move oh,  so slowly.......still, when the dark is upon us, we sit and reflect...wondering:
 
Will we see another day unfold before us?
Do we get to witness
The Blue Hours of another sunrise and sunset,
And further be enchanted by the day's breath-taking
A L P E N G L O W ?

How many more
A L P E N G L O W S ?


Sally

Copyright August 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Simpleton Jul 2014
Believers vs believers
A sign of judgement day
Spilling the blood of mankind
That is what the Lord forbade

The one being slaughtered
Is clueless as to why
A brother is taking his life
And the murderer also does not know the reason for picking up a knife

The state of mankind
Is beyond ******* up to be repaired
Long gone are the times when strangers cared
Every night is in competition with another to becomes the darkest and wildest

Next of kin worried about inheritance
And spouses taking out life insurance claims
The soul is bruised
But on a shell is placed a band aid

Fine wining and dining
Abundance leftovers in the bin
Whilst the neighbour starves
As people frolic in sin

Slaves giving birth to masters
Power in the hands of wrong
And those buried six foot under
Are suddenly the lucky one's

Knowledge decreasing
And ignorance on the rise
We compete in the construction of the tallest building
And mothers abandon their children

Beauty pageants
And *** selling cars
The ship of the world sinks
In broad daylight

Yet we un-fasten our seatbelts
And live by ride or die
Yolo people
Get an intoxicated high on a traitorous life

A year passes like a month
And a month like a week
Nothing remains but a name
Humans who massacred humanity
David W Clare Dec 2014
Harley Davidson motorcycle song
By David John Clare

My elektra glide had to find her
Shes got the key to turn it on
Street wheels are spinning
Now were are wining...
When she sez go let's get it on...

Harley love will get you racing the street bike you'll be a chasing

So ride the wind with Harley Davidson
the machine for you...

Now my baby said to me boy now don't be slow let's get over to the Sunday cycle show

our fat boy was still looking the best
Want my advice? Here's what I suggest.

Chorus

Well we don't talk much so to hell with a car
Romping in the country under Texas stars
She rolled out the blanket on the grassy dew
We started drinking Jim beem right out of her shoe...

Chorus

Harley Davidson motorcycle
Milwaukee Wisconsin

David John Clare
Poems are for riding motorcycles are for writing... Written in Bangkok
Steven Fried Jun 2013
A party in the jungle heat,
he is sober,
Like always.
Just one drink...
Come on try it...

No.
One, please, do it with me
No
Don't be left out
No
Just one...?
...no...
One.
Capitulation First Sip.
Fruit juices of the jungle- strawberry sweet with that telling aftertaste
no regret.
Sip.
Gulp.
First cup finished
He is Tipsy.
Secnd cup finshed
He is Buzzed.
Pride, He has lost his inicense, He is growin' up.
The only limit is dere are none...
Three cups in and the sweet nektar is gane,
One half a Loko next – grawss.
The world tips.
One half a wutr botle goes very fastly - no flavor at all
The world blurs,
Cut to couch 3 am
He tiiirrrred, He fulll, He is full-on drunk.
For the first time in sixteen years, he is a wining-confused-inarticulate baby.
Pillow on his face to hide from the lights- not the shame- just the party that needs to be over
He wants sleep, but the spins keep him awake.
The rumors abound: "He assed out on the couch."- not true.
Alcohol fueled lie.
Alcohol distorts perception far worse than a few rumors can hope to encompass.
Alcohol turns your average teen into a
Thrill-seeking
Death-defying
Lady-killing
Frisky-living
Idiot.
True or false...? You weigh in.
They gate crashed to our home in the late morning,
Dressed in the red-shirts, wielding clubs and machetes,
Howling loudly that they are national party officers
Protecting peace and development, that is never seen,
Our country already is crushed to forlorn state
Under the heavy lord of anti-human leadership,
They shamelessly extorted money from my poor father
Which they called compulsory party fees, for what?
A political party whose name is as horrifying as leprosy,
My father hadn’t enough money, they took away in addition
Our only one red cockerel which was learning to crow,
It worked as our family clock on its crowing in the morning,
We had too earmarked it for the next **** fight fete.
Our family hopes for money hinged on its wining the prize
The Proceeds with which hopped to succor ourselves
By funding our mother’s cancer treatment bills.
Jamesb Apr 2021
It's funny how hospitals,
Whence one goes to heal
Or die,
Focus ones mind upon
Profound things,

Life and death for sure
But also the life that's been lived
The life being lived,
Being dead and also
The process of dying,

I do not wish to die
In a hospital ward,
I have seen this and
I have heard it
And it is horrid,

No,
Let me pass good Lord
In the arms of a beautiful woman,
Or the embrace of a wooden boat,
With sails full and ocean spray
All about me,

Let me die astride a galloping horse,
Or in the metal clashing of swords,
The crack and ping of an airsoft war
Or the twang and thud of archery,

Let me pass on a zip wire Lord,
With the scream of a block
In my ears,
Or wining and dining
With my loved ones,

Any of these things Lord will do,
Or anything else the same,
But let me die while living Lord,
Not on a hospital ward
In shame
Some musings while waiting on test results...
Karijinbba Jul 2019
few people
who tell me to forget
about the past
just fail to understand
that sometimes past
doesn't forget me

They fail to realize that
one is still in the battlefield
dodging bullets surviving attempted ******
my war is still ungoing
but as always chances are
I survive like I often do
by unseen forces
its a cruel ancestral
karmic war
that must be paid
no one is immune to it

no matter how prosperous waiges of sin generating good and bad Karma are unstapable
ask me I've lived it in the flesh

wining or losing
doesn't matter too much
it doesn't depend
on the self alone

One has to experience
cause and effect
of all actions and inactions
perhaps generational
values apply here
must perform my deed
suffer their bad karma

what can I as a recipient
do but endure

please don't say to soldier me
in this battlefield hell of mine
"forget the past! look forward!"
"Don't look back,
you'll crash and die!"

my forward might be more
of the same battlefield
****** neverending
generational type war
unprovoqued covert enemies
 ever popping up
like agents in my Matrix did

unexpectedly
using different names
covert culprit Terminator One others wearing masks
hungry wolves
some in sheeps clothings
others smiling snakes
in my fallen paradise
many have fallen though
by my side and something
out there from beyond spares me
the people of God shall taste poison and it won't harm
the Lord upholds me and I wait patiently safe
heaven is within me.
so much emvy jealousy
misunderstanding
malice greed

all around where i reside
Erik Behrans Feb 2013
The seeker the loner the lover the keeper
The thrower the catcher the leaper
The believer the stoner the beater
The busser the cleaner the waiter
The water the sinker the caster the bleeder
The runner the stunner the teacher the preacher
The heater the steeper the meeker the feature the
Sliding the slipping and sloshing and
Crawling and creeping and cutting and kissing
Dishing and wining and dining and hissing
Looking and seeing believing and breeding
Heaving mashing heaping seeding
Feeding flooding fretting keeping
Shining a lining flowing and flipping
Tripping sipping showing shipping
Beating the beat of the poem of the people
Dougie Simps Jul 2016
Okay, so you just...
Go around breaking hearts just to see what's inside?
Your mother left you so you can't read a woman's eyes?
Listen to your other side, put down your pride
Did you ever think that - I'd need that?
To stay alive...

Promises are lies...
You listen with a hopeful mind
"Maybe it'll be different this time..."
That silence inside
The rips in your soul
The bad habits of a "good thing" that never seem to get old,
Use your feet - go ahead and be so bold
Walk away, your story still remains untold...
But It is so cold...
...

I - loved you with purity and sensual affection,
Too much to ask the man of my dreams to free me from my nightmares of never being selected...
First, in the eyes of the one who carried my heart...Second to the woman to who he paid more attention that...Third time could of been a charm but...the Fourth coming didn't seem to send love to the right spots, honesty in the right message.

What does this darkness bring?
Lost intuition, burnt pictures.
Filled up bottles of wining, that collected all of the tears that I sing.
Wading in the emotions
Drowning in this moment
Staring back at my lying King.
A broken bond that reflects on the floor of a fallen ring...
Because if you don't learn - you will never know...
You'll never know a good thing.
Woman's perspective
John B Apr 2015
Nice to see a wining play

The past suggests its just mirage

Ill keep my options open

But if you ask me its self sabotage
Stephen Moore Jul 2019
Greyhounds bolt,
Elastic dogs,
Trapped till the rabbit runs.

A gun fires and punters wave papers,
Smudged smutted hankies,
To wish poor puppies on.

Rabid run,
Rabbit run,
Dogs ‘fun’ done,
Punters wins to spend on ***.

Dogs retire to a night behind wire,
Howling,
Cold,
Whining.

Punters swagger to a night of vice,
Yelling
Warm,
Wining.
Chuck Sep 2013
Pigs fly
Pirate's wining season
After 20 long years
Fly!!!
AAR KHAN Jul 2014
Life is like a game,
when you think you are wining, everything goes to drain,

you think you have lost,
and you have done your most.

tears in your eyes ,
and no hope lies in skies

suddenly , things turn
and YOU WON that was all you have learn................
Caroline Kearney Mar 2010
I can’t stand you’re wining,
You’re brating,
You’re *******,
You’re scratching,
You’re hitting,
You’re hissing,

I can’t stand you butting in.
I can’t stand you not listening.
I can’t stand you being mean,
You thinking your all that but your just obscene.

I can’t stand it!
To the point it makes me snap,
When all I want to do is take a nap.

I can’t stand you shouting without reason,
Crying, when it’s just not the season.

Ooo, I can’t stand you,
I wish I could,
But, I can’t stand you,
I know I should.
Caroline Kearney ©2004
Miss Clofullia Apr 2017
I just felt like writing
and the world suddenly had
no boundaries for me
and no one was looking
and the beach was the only one
that could support my feet;
and all those beautiful women
were starring in the big fat blue,
not saying a thing,
not knowing what to do,
not wanting to cry, nor to laugh..

but I guess this is what good music
does to you -
it sends signals down your spine
and, in a second,
you forget where you are
and what you're trying to accomplish -
you get to the point where you think
you are a mother ******* rock star!
You have no worries
and you know that you can play the hell out of a guitar,
on the day before the big show!
But.. when the crowd goes wild
and all of those eyes are having an ear on you,
your cave -
you become one with the guitar case -
full of sounds and, yet, so silent,
dark like an empty egg shell,
cursed to know what life is
but unable to show it to others.

There is
no wine,
no wining,
no glass eye,
no groupies,
no ice in your bucket list!

You are all alone and suddenly the world feels part of you.

There was a time when
I felt bad for people that didn't need that from me -
simple, single, solitary people, that couldn't feel a thing
and that couldn't care less if some arrogant *****,
some.. some cocky presumptuous stranger
was thinking unhappy thoughts about them.

I just wanted to write
but all I did was get farther
away from what I needed.

Now it's time to save the word world!
Yes!
It's time to synchronize our watches
and go naked out there,
with our ***** and ******* free,
uncovered by our own self consciousness
and big little lies!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNapQD7tcXo
Sitting in a coffee shop in yupstown hipsville Brooklyn
scrawling in a notebook with a headband on
I become a caricature of myself
why these things even matter to me I cannot explain
but I feel like scumbag anyway

Constantly criticizing
revising
rewriting my words and theirs
my thoughts
"oh thats pretentious"
"what is that? your talking out your ***"
"why do I/you even bother?"
Why can't I just go?
Be
write write scribble doodle
think
at least I'm not the ******* sitting across from me
(there it goes again)

But i am part of a growing number
of diligent dilettantes
with notebooks and  novels
leather bound and worn
"vintage"
and "obscure" instruments
and tastes
because I am all leisure
I have that kind of time
but aren't I just another ****?
Cunting out my cunty cuntness
like it's something new
like i'm not just playing games
playing roles
half committed and pandering
to an audience of privilege
looking for clarity, or authenticity?
or am I just another salesman?

Ugh I cannot escape
my sense of inadequacy
I m a sham, a ******* artist
When is it going to ******* end....
is there any escape
that comes without labels
self imposed or otherwise?
(stop wining you ****!)
doesn't anyone else feel like this?
I'm talking to you hipsters.

oh, you're not hipsters my bad
Mabel Dakota Nov 2014
But us as females we can get on your nerves, as I watch you observe, it's like Instagram is an ocean as I watch it emerge, you the center of my attention boy anything that occurs, you're in it, I'm wining, blatantly I'm coming nostalgic over past relationships i became evicted in, there's no telling if love lasts for ever or is it just a boat meeting its ladder.
Fish The Pig Jun 2016
on nights like this
I don't care if she's here
I stumble through the door
smashing my bag to the ground
I bury my face in a tough pillow
and flood my ears with
tortured screams
that quickly turn
into wining sobs,
I am once again,
but a child,
desperate for love.
Kill me slowly Nov 2015
i feel nothing
yet desire everything
i've ****** up all the rivers
and filled my stomach full of oceans.
always thirsting for more.
im addicted to this black tar
hate that i inject into
my veins
and
i can't stop.
i have become addiction itself
manifested into its purest form
flesh
and blood.


and
all the people in this place they got me in shackles
for fear that i'll destroy everything they've worked for
and
i want nothing more then
to break free
to
run with the horses
wind in my hair
sing song chuckle in my throat
birds
laughter swaying along with these drunk city streets.

i want to cut myself a little slice of this cake we call the world
and pick the continents out of my teeth
splurge on myself for once
without showing all of this ******* restraint.
let the world eat out of the palm of my hand for a change
and kick the people that live in it where it hurts when they're down on their knees
laping up the remnants of their homes
and children
to get some sustenance in their stomachs
like starving kittens licking milk off
your dirt  coated kitchen floor
.


we've all turned into a disease
occupied with the temporary
to distract ourselves
from the bigger picture
and
im not strung out on the petty
anymore.

**** racism
**** sexism
and all of our other differences
i hate you all equally.


this hate has set me free
and killed me at the same time
no more shackles on my arms
no more moths full of ****
in my mouth

i will continue to say whatever the **** i want to
even
if my teeth fall out
because
that's the way
it should be.

that's the way it use to be.
that's the right ******* way
not all this politically correct *******.

i need to run.

the fog horns
are fogging up my ears
and
im hung over
from that **** i smoked last night

one foot in front of the other i tell myself
and suddenly i have become a blazing inferno
propelled with momentum
into the arms of the trees
my legs are tired but i can't stop now
friction burning my thighs like a single ember sparking a fire in their eyes..
they want me
back
in that place
with the voices in my head
but
that place will destroy me
but so will
this
constant running
away from everything

and
i'll end up killing myself one way or another
but i'd rather die a free woman
then
a
woman so numbed on medication
and lies that i can't
remember my own grandkids names

(sorry grandma)

so now
i've run myself to the end of the road
and the flesh is scraped off these bones
and littered across the cities sidewalk like snake skin.

there's no more water left
and people are dying
from the lack of love in the air

we are a disease.
parasitic in nature.

there is no wining
there is no losing
the
well
has run
dry of emotion
and
there is nothing left for us here.
i'm a very angry person okay
A bird with wings outstretched
seen partly from the side
white against the blue
wining westwards into the setting sun
its fan of feathering
its definite head and a beak
it flew there for some minutes
gradually disintegrating
becoming anonymous

perhaps we too become anonymous
we have our hour in the sun
look whole and beautiful
until the eve of our descent
fly over the land with outstretched hands
glide past the villages of life
until we lose our presence in the now
dissipate into the sky like dust
golden in the light of the setting sun

Margaret Ann Waddicor 7th June 2016
Because the theme is so like one of the last sent poems, I send this. last evening I noticed the shape in the sky, it was so like a bird flying across over the view, beautiful.
It's hard to forget things that keep haunting. Because, there are always things that do not want to slip out of memory. Because, their stubbornness makes them stay in the head, pinching the soul making me feel guilty of every breath I take in. They make me feel strangled because even their thought freeze me, restrict me from speaking out my mind, it prevents me from interacting, it makes me run away from my self, far, far away where no one sees me, No one finds me. They make me feel weak. They make me feel DEAD. They cause my downfall.
BUT. I, I'm equally stubborn, though I do not speak out what I think, I fight them, and rise from ruins turning every weakness of mine into the strengths. I **** them off, leaving no traces of them after the ******.
I want to be known as a fighter, a warrior, a combatant, not a loser, not someone who shut themselves up from people and withered away day by day. I want to live, not let my life go waste. I want to be happy and NOTHING, absolutely nothing, can stop me from living the way I want to. Like a free bird I want to be free living. I want to sing freely not caged. No matter how many times I fall or how many people put me down, I'll always be a person who soars shooting high up in the sky tearing away the dark clouds. I will never be bullied by what others think about me. I will never do injustice to my wishes. I will die, but will not suppress my feelings. I will not be a puppet of society. I will pave my own way, my own path. I will strive to be a better person every new day. That is me. That is my soul and there lies my happiness.
And, I oath to continue doing all this, so that the day I'm on my death bed, I smile, I feel complete and content for trying, for fighting, for wining myself and for not crying.
Taÿpen Dec 7
She don’t have to say a word
Her body gives me all the signals
It’s more than a stop and go
When my hands are cruising down her skin
She knows how to speed up my heart rate
When she’s wining pon me
Our bodies sing the sweetest melody
We go to the point of no return
Where our passions burn.
TR3F1LD Sep 24
****, bruh! call a bo[ɑ]mb squa[ɑ]d
'cause she's a bomb—
—shell, whose rear evokes a somewha[ʌ]t
unholy, wro[ɑ]ng thou[ɑ]ght
reminds him of a jihadi-done job
'cause this ***'s (boom) banging; this honey's dancing
boldly & lewdly, got his ja[ɑ]w dro[ɑ]pped
she's beyo[ɑ]nd "**[ɑ]t"
this gA̲l's freaking blazing
his hand's in offensive motion for her hind part
a haptic invasion
she moves on from wining to fondling, she's eager
like someone punished by dI̲nt of
a guillotine, his head's lost as she seductively strI̲ps her—
—self naked; she says: "make me
high as a rooftO̲[ɑ]p nearly reaching
the sky; give me a tI̲me so exquisite
that I̲'ll be left speechless
when this ro[ɑ]mp's over"
she's none short o'... a mind-blower, like a gun-toter
blowing a brain of a nazissistic hound wrongdoing
————————————————————————————————
she goes O̲U̲t like jU̲I̲ce in
["juice" in the sense of "electricity"; the "out like a light [electricity]" expression]
the wake of their energetic bout of nookie
as against l'heroi d'aquesta nI̲t that ca[ɛ]n't catch
["l'heroi d'aquesta nit" (Catalan) - "the hero of tonight"]
sleep, like a ham-****** skate cast
a pillowcase at; he's still awake af—
["catch slip"]
—ter more than ane half
of a twenty-fourth of day passed
his mind's got diverse thou[ɑ]ghts
going one after another, like a race track
occupied by sport cars
he's a nobo[ɑ]dy who's ended
up having a great tI̲me with a splendid
woman, which he's now lying in bed with
with his existence being nO̲ne but pathetic
he's been, like a person with whom O̲ne isn't ca[ɛ]ndid
in the dark &, processing the world as highly offensive
from a sociopolitical point, wa[ɑ]nting a vengeance
just li̲ke vigila[ɛ]ntes
he's up in arms, due to pieces of vI̲ce-ridden dreck with
their eyes blinded with pelf &
power; a hE̲A̲rt-damaged a[ɛ]nti—
—hero with little avE̲nues to spout the
anger, who seems to have found a
source of light he doesn't wish to be outta
he hopes she won't slyly desert him
the subsequent morning
if she arises before him
"a night out rhyme tale, part II" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)

"a night out rhyme tale, part I":
hellopoetry.com/poem/4708772

"a night out rhyme tale, part III":
hellopoetry.com/poem/4883684
Jeremy Mar 2015
Y
I free fall threw life, with no sense of direction, not knowing if the bottom is  really water or just a reflection, hiding  the jagged rocks that are ready for  dissection, or maybe it's all a deception, maybe this dive has no end, maybe there are no rocks to break me and no water to save me and it's all just pretend, an illusion which was lend to see which way and how far I could bend, maybe this dissension is as infinite as space, deceiving  me into believing I am wining the race, when all along I have been jogging in place, But no mater I will still surf this wave, because it's the rush of not knowing that has me bound like a slave, to keep interacting with the undiscovered and unexplained, the thrill of the mystery is too sweet on the brain, and that's why I can't stop falling, because the sensation gives me life like the blue in my veins.
ikram ben Dec 2013
far from you
my life is hell
and there's only tears
and your love is wining
every time you go away
away from you
don't let me go
I'm awake
I forget the sleep and his dreams
don't let me go
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
don't know, never used them,
for me the experience was
akin to:
walking to a supermarket
for a 6-pack of beer,
passing a thai bi-******
on a bench, frantic in conversation
on the phone,
buying the beer
in a supermarket,
walking back, stopping
to ask for something,
or she was asking for a cigarette
lighter... sitting down with her...
talking... blah blah...
asking: you want to come
home with me?
consent.
     cool cool,
a few beers later,
a jazz record...
          ******* in the garden
when night came...
then walking her home,
giving her my coat,
as she explained:
i'm drowning in it...
         a necklace with
a ring attached,
to be paid my compliments...
   i keep gagging at this memory
for, all the reasons,
that suggest,
and the times i went to
a nightclub in essex?
   and didn't get so much
as a kiss, or get laid?
and this sort of **** pops up?
beer, supermarket round,
a random girl,
a public park bench,
******* in the garden?
          sometimes i drift into
central london...
brick lane...
  the clubs there,
and i'm like...
           what the **** happened here?
dating apps...
ah... so...
not the classical circumstance
of clarified transaction,
no man, no *******,
"something,  "in between?"
i guess i never married because:
(a) chernobyll birthmark
that kept people wanting to **** me,
from a state of infancy
(b) high blood pressure in
my early 30s
(c) acne...
           (d) 6ft1 and a full crop of hair...
(e) i forget what that is...
  (f) not circumcised...
(g) the "existential" concerns
for global warming
   and limiting the population
of the world...
  which, in new dehli sounds
a bit like: blah ah ha ha ha ha!
winners all round.

my god, i tried, i tried,
but what became more important,
was regards to how:
i could perfect the most spectacular
failure of myself...

           prostitutes helped...
i tried speed dating once,
let the whole scene with
a room-mate of mine
doing a big-*** L index-thumb
hand signal against his forehead...

     and then i never dated,
i don't actually know what a date
is...
   dating... compared to...
arranged marriage?
      what's that?
   someone revealing themselves
to another person online,
but when there's a need
for conversation,
all the facts are known?
  is, that it?
            
             i thought that profiling
was a repository for intelligence
agencies...
   so... i'd write an internet dating
profile,
    but then revel in any private
information, that would
reveal my personality,
before...
       the wining and dining?
so... what would be the point
of disclosing all the sort of information,
that might be required,
on a date, for the sake of conversation?!

i must be a + + autistic or something,
i skipped the dating apps,
went straight for the company
of prostitutes, passed the priest
and the psychiatrist...
            
  that really was a thai surprise back
in the park...
   how is that "scored"?
   he.... she was somehow a 5...
i figured...
    the lesser the "quality",
the higher the chances for a hard-on's
worth of a madonna-***** complex
antithesis of limp ****...
    implying an *******...

if social media was a "thing"
back in 2007...
and dating apps were a, "thing"
in 2017...
   i've just spent 10 years living
under a rock...
        as rare as it is...
i did the organic scout routine...
never "buy" a *******
for credit, keep everything debit...
and... on the odd occassion
that you chance a ****-buddy
while picking her up from
a public park bench...
                    well...
        
       chances are... you'll come across
a thai surprise.

games have become to represent
coping mechanisms
of... the "old age angst of not getting laid"...
i cared for a while,
then i realised:
surely this must apply to circumcised men,
no?
              why would you feel
****** frustration,
    social anxiety, angst...
    e nomine type of soundtrack?
i can sort of imagine
how paedohpilia arises:
   men, being intimidated by women
their own age...
   i can give you a theory of how
it starts...
       but the end: it always the tender
obvious...
   i once walked behind one...
knowing on outer-suburbian doors...
with one being opened...
a kick to the head...
   the shattered kiddy-****** walked on...
didn't even dial 999
and reported the assault...
       it's funny... how the concept
of law intra-man works,
when the scientific findings
of the medium, the inter-man works...
leave us, at best...
just that... inter-****,
  while the intra-****...
         eh... side note...
            
                       i'm surprised that...
muhammad...
     was a paedo...
      but not an alcoholic...
           i too found it weird that
i automated jerking off aged 8...
      my sister was an alsatian shepherd...
and my brother was a dobermann...

            my dream job,
when, working in a music shop was
disavowed...
   is still working into a slaughterhouse;
and what would possibly be so
"weird" about that?

             dating is such a bad idea
once you've invested an interest
in going to a brothel...
         dating... such an alien concept...
the complete lack
of a transaction clarification
of a date, compared to an hour's
worth spent with a *******?
             it is a "short-cut"...
but i'd also hate to play the "game"
of life...
   dating, i'd much prefer going
to a tailor,
     as i learned from doing
the brothel round...
   first comes the *******,
later the realisation of a turkish barber...

     i skipped that part...
this whole...
   date... etiquette play-thing theatre...
social norms...
   social norms:
i either ****, or i get ******.

— The End —