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"woozy" poems
‘To bed! To bed!’ Said Sleepy-head; ‘Tarry awhile,’ said Slow; ‘Put on the pan,’ Said Greedy Nan; ‘We'll sup before we go.’ (from Mother Goose) They sat at the kitchen table as The candle flickered low, And Greedy Nan put on the pan To indulge her sister, Slow, While Sleepy Weepy Annabelle Blotted her book with tears, And thought of her Beau from long ago Who she hadn’t seen for years. ‘Why doesn’t Roger notice me, Why doesn’t Alan Dell? I’m wearing the dress cut low for me And I’ve hitched my skirt as well. I’ve a pretty turn to my ankle, so You’d think it would drive them wild.’ ‘But men are a mystery,’ said Slow, ‘And Alan Dell’s a child.’ While over the pan stood Greedy Nan, Was cracking a turkey’s egg, A lump of yeast and a slice of beast And a single spider’s leg. With a wing of bat and an ounce of fat And a toe of frog for the spell, She needed to turn her sister off From her crush on Alan Dell. For Greedy Nan was the eldest girl And would have to marry first, The other two would wait in the queue Or their fortunes be reversed, The omelette sizzled, and in the pan She added before they saw, A piece of some Devil’s Trumpet plant For the mating game meant war. She sliced the omelette into half And she served them up a piece, ‘Didn’t you want?’ said Annabelle But Slow enjoyed the feast. ‘I’m not that terribly hungry now I’ve cooked it up in the pan, I think I’ll just have a slice of bread,’ Said the scheming Greedy Nan. They finished up and they sat awhile, And they mused about their fate, ‘If Greedy Nan isn’t married soon, For us it will be too late.’ ‘I’ve set my sights on a country squire,’ Said Nan, without a blink, Lured them away from her secret fire To confuse what they might think. ‘The room is woozy, spinning around, I’d better get me to bed,’ Said Annabelle, while Slow with a frown Saw Dwarves dancing in her head. But Greedy Nan was cleaning the pan To clear all signs of the spell, Her back was turned to her sisters, spurned For the sake of Alan Dell. And when he came in the morning Greedy Nan was sat by the door, While Annabelle and her sister Slow Were lying dead on the floor, ‘I didn’t mean it to **** them, Al, It was only a simple spell,’ But as he cuffed and led her away He frowned, did Alan Dell. David Lewis Paget
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Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC
To Bed! To Bed!
‘To bed! To bed!’ Said Sleepy-head; ‘Tarry awhile,’ said Slow; ‘Put on the pan,’ Said Greedy Nan; ‘We'll sup before we go.’ (from Mother Goose) They sat at the kitchen table as The candle flickered low, And Greedy Nan put on the pan To indulge her sister, Slow, While Sleepy Weepy Annabelle Blotted her book with tears, And thought of her Beau from long ago Who she hadn’t seen for years. ‘Why doesn’t Roger notice me, Why doesn’t Alan Dell? I’m wearing the dress cut low for me And I’ve hitched my skirt as well. I’ve a pretty turn to my ankle, so You’d think it would drive them wild.’ ‘But men are a mystery,’ said Slow, ‘And Alan Dell’s a child.’ While over the pan stood Greedy Nan, Was cracking a turkey’s egg, A lump of yeast and a slice of beast And a single spider’s leg. With a wing of bat and an ounce of fat And a toe of frog for the spell, She needed to turn her sister off From her crush on Alan Dell. For Greedy Nan was the eldest girl And would have to marry first, The other two would wait in the queue Or their fortunes be reversed, The omelette sizzled, and in the pan She added before they saw, A piece of some Devil’s Trumpet plant For the mating game meant war. She sliced the omelette into half And she served them up a piece, ‘Didn’t you want?’ said Annabelle But Slow enjoyed the feast. ‘I’m not that terribly hungry now I’ve cooked it up in the pan, I think I’ll just have a slice of bread,’ Said the scheming Greedy Nan. They finished up and they sat awhile, And they mused about their fate, ‘If Greedy Nan isn’t married soon, For us it will be too late.’ ‘I’ve set my sights on a country squire,’ Said Nan, without a blink, Lured them away from her secret fire To confuse what they might think. ‘The room is woozy, spinning around, I’d better get me to bed,’ Said Annabelle, while Slow with a frown Saw Dwarves dancing in her head. But Greedy Nan was cleaning the pan To clear all signs of the spell, Her back was turned to her sisters, spurned For the sake of Alan Dell. And when he came in the morning Greedy Nan was sat by the door, While Annabelle and her sister Slow Were lying dead on the floor, ‘I didn’t mean it to **** them, Al, It was only a simple spell,’ But as he cuffed and led her away He frowned, did Alan Dell. David Lewis Paget
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72
at long last he sings a song for me sweet    gentle      caressing i watch and i am enraptured    by the melody each strum of the guitar strings    quicken my heart a beat every note he sings feels like soft breath against my neck    making me woozy he glances up, catches my eye    and winks i am doomed.
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Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
musical **********
Can you tell me please which way now is home I used to know, my dear The way was clear There was no fear Tying my walking shoes I knew I needed to get clear of here thought I'd find all that was dear The road though, it is narrow The cliff it is shear My balance is woozy Can you tell me my dear which way is home which way do I go from here, I think I oughta know But the hills they are wavering The ocean is in turmoil The mountains are slick far too dangerous The desert has no mercy I know something and with this knowledge I think I must be cursed I think I have it Peace & Home goes and comes and comes and goes.
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May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 11:07 AM UTC
Can you tell me please
She was probably the most beautiful, of any woman he had ever seen. She turned every head and stopped time from moving and movement everywhere she went- His mind went woozy as he thought of her. From what he already knew she was not only beautiful, she was smart and an accomplished professional. Was this a sweet dream? If yes, he wasn't prepared to wake up from it, no not yet! Maybe she was just a product of his imagination, which was impossible considering that she was standing before him. She was a woman of exceptional beauty, probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen! Helping her to her seat, he was overpowered by something. Wait,it was the scent of her perfume; It was the mixture of something he wanted to think he recognized, which he didn't and something he had never before smelled.It was nice! She seemed so flawless, He thought her bath was prepared in the constellations by beautiful goddesses, and her bathroom was the milky way galaxy. Yes her skin was undeniably radiant, accentuated by the presence of large almond eyes. "Wake up!" came the weak old voice. Bewildered by the old barn keeper's presence, and momentarily unaware of his location, he panicked and squinted his eyes. Oh **** he was asleep, this was a dream! IB-Poetry©️ 3/2/2018
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Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 3:24 AM UTC
The Beautiful Woman In The Peasant's Dream
Every now and then I go deep inside my mind Just to have a little rest And see what I can find I don't go in there often It dark and I must say That sometimes I'm afraid That I may lose my way There's a little corner café Where Groucho sits alone Stan Laurel sits there writing gags And Greta Garbo sits and moans Sinatra sings for all of them John Lennon talks to God Brian Jones gives swimming lessons There's Liz Taylor and Mike Todd Over in the distance At a table in the corner Hemmingway sells movie scripts To mogul man Jack Warner Elvis does a hip shake Ruth and Gherig playing catch Bud and Lou do Who's on First Humphrey Bogart lights a  match Charles Dickens playing darts A red balloon comes floating by Andy Warhol sits with Nico Where German pop songs go to die Marilyn and James Dean Sit quietly talking on the stairs John Kennedy and his brother Bob Just pretend that they are both not there Chico plays piano and Harpo with his harp Bad jokes float around the room being told by silent stars Phil Everly and Phil Ramone They're new here so they're woozy Sit talking of the songs they'll miss Rick Nelson sings of Susie You see it is a mad mad place in my head when I may wander I don't go in too deep And I've met Henry Fonda There's images, and icons Family, and friends on a little street inside my head That's a circle with no ends
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Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Deep Inside My Mind
Your kiss left me breathless left me woozy, left me weak. I can honestly say, it was only tongue and cheek.
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Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 3:42 PM UTC
Your Kiss
I'm told its best to eat low on the food chain so if its okay i'll start at your feet and work my way up tenderly excited like a child climbing a great tree for the first time aspiring to your kind mouth but forgive me my love, alas my manners have left me and   i fear i'm stuck between your thighs your shimmering slit has me woozy oooh candy red lolly so very cherry jolly my favorite color since i was six years old you know and so wet like babies drool can we open this butter cup it all loving alizarin silk a gift for my tongue splashing pink little fluttering bull frog ready to turn into your prince the taste of epiphany my attention deficient disorder vanquished my learning disabilities evaporated why didn't they teach me to read like this i can taste the entire alphabet inside of you numbers come with colors now making sense suddenly i feel the alchemy of poetry and art high mathematics and astrophysics i hear the music of the spheres and every molecule of the earth giving birth to the spice of creation next you say, would i like to know the constellations of heaven yes please my lady i'm definitely going to kiss your ***
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May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
Spice of Creation
Cold. I was waiting but I’ve changed my mind. The whole world fell away, left just me/us and it felt OK. All the stuff I thought mattered; age-gap, gossip, housing, education- when it was just me/us- it didn’t. (she’s awake) For a moment we were everything. It was beautiful. I love me/us- even with complications pushing into my mind, cramming themselves around me/us euphoria- I’m not making an Angel today. Going home. (what’s she doing?) Jelly legs aren’t working, feel hot and slippery. She’s holding me down. (Sshh- you’re fine, just a bit woozy) I don’t believe in Angels. Crap. (it’s the anaesthetic, makes them cry)
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Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 3:44 PM UTC
re-entry
The warm ache of ***** Touches my stomach with soft Hands and all i can think Is why and the tickle in my throat From nicotine's playful kiss Makes me sicker than before Woozy and exhausted I cry to myself And wonder why you're far Gone from me Loneliness caresses my face With hot tears While I panic And want to die In the place that doesn't feel like home
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Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
Party Foul
I have been told that a love left untouched will never disappear; that because the corrosive oils from our fingertips have not dissolved its coloring, it will, theoretically, endure perpetually. This love, left in its shrink-wrap casing, looming over the heads of the meek and the caustic feels like a scarlet letter hidden behind the robe, a feeling so foul none are to know but, Oh, what if it begins to fester, there in the moist dark? This worry had been sitting in my stomach, churning with the bile and swallowed blood, coming up acid in my throat; I could feel it radiating out. Thought: it must be nuclear, must be radioactive and glowing, eating through me one layer at a time, but love –this uranium longing– has a half-life. When first the reaction began it boiled and popped like lye on skin, singed off my eyelids so I could not help but see it there. I found myself woozy from the fumes, a high I had never experienced before so I inhaled, let it torch my lungs and leave me gagging. My hair began to fall out. I was soggy from the chemotherapy, tried pumping this bitterness into my bloodstream to remove the evil that already existed there, unaware that they were the same entity. It could not survive on a diet of itself and obsession, and so it began waning. An exponential decay, the intensity of this passion varying directly with the frequency of contact and inversely with time, yet it will never be gone, entirely. It will decrease incrementally every time I say good bye, every time I see scarred knuckles, every time I want and he does not. I have counted the days since the day I counted on him and he was accountable and the number is growing larger and getting more difficult to remember. I have scribbled it onto scraps of paper and it has only browned the edges, no longer burns all the way through, and this love –this radium affair– has been losing its toxicity.
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Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
Isotopes
I have been told that a love left untouched will never disappear; that because the corrosive oils from our fingertips have not dissolved its coloring, it will, theoretically, endure perpetually. This love, left in its shrink-wrap casing, looming over the heads of the meek and the caustic feels like a scarlet letter hidden behind the robe, a feeling so foul none are to know but, Oh, what if it begins to fester, there in the moist dark? This worry had been sitting in my stomach, churning with the bile and swallowed blood, coming up acid in my throat; I could feel it radiating out. Thought: it must be nuclear, must be radioactive and glowing, eating through me one layer at a time, but love –this uranium longing– has a half-life. When first the reaction began it boiled and popped like lye on skin, singed off my eyelids so I could not help but see it there. I found myself woozy from the fumes, a high I had never experienced before so I inhaled, let it torch my lungs and leave me gagging. My hair began to fall out. I was soggy from the chemotherapy, tried pumping this bitterness into my bloodstream to remove the evil that already existed there, unaware that they were the same entity. It could not survive on a diet of itself and obsession, and so it began waning. An exponential decay, the intensity of this passion varying directly with the frequency of contact and inversely with time, yet it will never be gone, entirely. It will decrease incrementally every time I say good bye, every time I see scarred knuckles, every time I want and he does not. I have counted the days since the day I counted on him and he was accountable and the number is growing larger and getting more difficult to remember. I have scribbled it onto scraps of paper and it has only browned the edges, no longer burns all the way through, and this love –this radium affair– has been losing its toxicity.
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4
Have I left you all dry, With a throat I’ve supplied With the words of a poet Who slips a poem inside. Receiving your mail, You handsome, dark male, You sat in a chair With woozy head as you stare. Painting her body, prepared, For you to meet her and share. The words of her letter, Forms the pierce of her stare, Her full body in view, She arches her back up for you. Pulls up her long, cascading hair. Moves to her rhythm, You watch her, ensnared. With her own ink she’s shared, Dancing for you with words placed with care. Your body feels weak, your head feels so light, The pumping of blood supplies you with Your want for the night. You stare at her words, in the shape of her curves, Her lips parting in pleasure, her eyes shooting arrows, You study every seductive trace of a dot, Coming to life in every detail she’s got, She’s sent herself to you, you can smell her perfume, Sprawled out on your page, she beckons to you.
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Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 1:10 AM UTC
A Love Letter
I dreamt about you last night tripping in eyelid flutters, drifting in bizarre slumbers entranced by illusions of you. If only our dreams were true. Wishes, dreams, at night with you. Dreaming wishes to come true. Just so that I can see you. I dreamt about you last night in my woozy sleeping arms held you tight. In reverie we left heartache behind to live. If only our dreams were true. Wishes, dreams, at night with you. Dreaming wishes to come true. Just so that I can see you. I dreamt about you last night. Imaginary laughter, chimerical and hazy fantasies enchanting us. If only our dreams were true. Wishes, dreams, at night with you. Dreaming wishes to come true. Just so that I can see you. I dreamt about you last night, told you everything will be alright. Moments together we will treasure forever. If only our dreams were true. Wishes, dreams, at night with you. Dreaming wishes to come true. Just so that I can see you. I dreamt about you last night, and awoke in a gloomy dawn. Wonder if you dreamt of me knowing you do you love me. If only our dreams were true. Wishes, dreams, at night with you. Dreaming wishes to come true. Just so that I can see you. I dreamt about you last night eternally keeping you in my sight. Our eyes will meet one day, embracing our faces love. If only our dreams were true. Wishes, dreams, at night with you. Dreaming wishes to come true. Just so that I can see you. Wishing to see you, dreaming of you. Loving you forever. . ©Jacqui Slade
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Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
Dreams And Wishes
I dreamt about you last night tripping in eyelid flutters, drifting in bizarre slumbers entranced by illusions of you. If only our dreams were true. Wishes, dreams, at night with you. Dreaming wishes to come true. Just so that I can see you. I dreamt about you last night in my woozy sleeping arms held you tight. In reverie we left heartache behind to live. If only our dreams were true. Wishes, dreams, at night with you. Dreaming wishes to come true. Just so that I can see you. I dreamt about you last night. Imaginary laughter, chimerical and hazy fantasies enchanting us. If only our dreams were true. Wishes, dreams, at night with you. Dreaming wishes to come true. Just so that I can see you. I dreamt about you last night, told you everything will be alright. Moments together we will treasure forever. If only our dreams were true. Wishes, dreams, at night with you. Dreaming wishes to come true. Just so that I can see you. I dreamt about you last night, and awoke in a gloomy dawn. Wonder if you dreamt of me knowing you do you love me. If only our dreams were true. Wishes, dreams, at night with you. Dreaming wishes to come true. Just so that I can see you. I dreamt about you last night eternally keeping you in my sight. Our eyes will meet one day, embracing our faces love. If only our dreams were true. Wishes, dreams, at night with you. Dreaming wishes to come true. Just so that I can see you. Wishing to see you, dreaming of you. Loving you forever. . ©Jacqui Slade
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53
the surprisingly sweetest clementine 2016 amidst the marble and stone pillars of the museum's fifth avenue grand hall, a woman grows faint and woozy, and the Egyptian artifacts five thousand years old, re-proved as reusable, sustainable, as leaning-against-posts for the dizzy the boyfriend well familiar with dehydration side effects, from pocket pulls a natural pill of a sweet clementine, restoring the well to the good she marvels at how came I to place a survival kit in my coat pocket? smiling, he confesses his fondness for providing for all her needs, known and unknown even carries an inventory, with back ups to back ups, assorted sundries, he calls it, proving his point too well, reaching into the other pocket and offering yet another, a second helping for his, oh my darling, sweetest clementine she, undecided, laugh or cry, both equally attractive amazement solutions, says only: I love you for reasons, known and unknown, now, take me home for reasons now known, and others, as of yet, most happily, unknown
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Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
Revival: the surprisingly sweetest clementine
Forbidden Fruit, Oh yes, an acquired taste, One I have sampled, hmm, So long, this was denied me, And now, the taste is good: So, so very good; ah. I indulged myself further, Using hands to explore, Becoming explored myself, And how I enjoyed. Oh yes, truly fulfilled, Until I became quite dizzy, Lost in abundant sweetness, Things turned around, Until up was down, Until it was I, being consumed. The world tilted, slipped away. My mind woozy, cossetted, My senses swimming, whirling, With slowly falling blossom. Reason floated away, danced, With soft petals in the breeze, Twirling among scented flowers, And I discovered the truth. Whomever claimed, stated, That forbidden fruit, so juicy, Is bad and to be avoided, Can never have tasted, Forbidden fruit.
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Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
Forbidden Fruit
stuck between pride and ****** mood lurid lights, laughter, ladies, lively lips we are 96 souls away from the magic and we nevah wake up or get up, nope i swear on my momma's grave and pray may she rest in peace with good ghosts wise man told me to wear a black suit me, tho', forgot if i did so, can't help it was i trippin from dawn to dusk again probably but ya gotta triple that time and consider the weirdness of my speech dem words stumble other words upon meanwhile me and milly made luv to luv luv laid back like rasta villages, jah songs she's spreading her legs and licking 13.8, worship the fountain, that's basic gangsta poetess & burglar, membah 108 while meetin milly, i imagine her naked 64 minutes later, lolling on silver satin the lips such big perfect matches by the end of the day we float over glaciers our months vanish within a few days hihaho, tickling trip, totally toony, truly milly and tizzy equals eccentric & woozy steering dreams, mysterious mixtures golden goblets, served on light tables we falling into the floor, a voltgreen maze wondaland's gardens, we reach 'em frozen loops of yummy yearning, yeeeah all dem blankets and pillows, hundreds in a bed spacious like a football field a quarter of milly's back is my tattoo parking lot at 4:16 am, 24 k bracelet gotta look at it under the light of the sun reminds one of eazy legs & adorable greg we come, observe, read, blast and leave stuck with mental blankness, in limbo block party of creation 96, 2056 souls oh my, sweaty forehead, i'm so cold burning bloodshed, beasting bloodbath marriage of mystery and skyline tales sparkling are the eyes of yayo vampires 8 days awake, bangin in sky dunes schmock, dinosaur, sole talker
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Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 6:25 AM UTC
Trippin
stuck between pride and ****** mood lurid lights, laughter, ladies, lively lips we are 96 souls away from the magic and we nevah wake up or get up, nope i swear on my momma's grave and pray may she rest in peace with good ghosts wise man told me to wear a black suit me, tho', forgot if i did so, can't help it was i trippin from dawn to dusk again probably but ya gotta triple that time and consider the weirdness of my speech dem words stumble other words upon meanwhile me and milly made luv to luv luv laid back like rasta villages, jah songs she's spreading her legs and licking 13.8, worship the fountain, that's basic gangsta poetess & burglar, membah 108 while meetin milly, i imagine her naked 64 minutes later, lolling on silver satin the lips such big perfect matches by the end of the day we float over glaciers our months vanish within a few days hihaho, tickling trip, totally toony, truly milly and tizzy equals eccentric & woozy steering dreams, mysterious mixtures golden goblets, served on light tables we falling into the floor, a voltgreen maze wondaland's gardens, we reach 'em frozen loops of yummy yearning, yeeeah all dem blankets and pillows, hundreds in a bed spacious like a football field a quarter of milly's back is my tattoo parking lot at 4:16 am, 24 k bracelet gotta look at it under the light of the sun reminds one of eazy legs & adorable greg we come, observe, read, blast and leave stuck with mental blankness, in limbo block party of creation 96, 2056 souls oh my, sweaty forehead, i'm so cold burning bloodshed, beasting bloodbath marriage of mystery and skyline tales sparkling are the eyes of yayo vampires 8 days awake, bangin in sky dunes schmock, dinosaur, sole talker
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44
72 hours in I'm giving serious thought to drinking the Listerine. The ***** is it's citrus flavored. I can't even rinse with that toxic concoction, let alone swallow it, but I'm running out of options. I finished my other MacGyvers-- the Nyquil was first to go, followed by a Dimetapp chaser   (the cherry,      not a refreshing grape-flavored one) and a shot of Wal-fed that induced indigestion. My kingdom for a belt of whiskey-- maybe a snifter of *** You know you're bottoming out when you wax nostalgic for drunken days when soiling yourself was justifiable due to your general state of disarray. I'm the **** that adheres to the bottom of the barrel— ******* in the shower with my shoes on, pants removed as a cautionary measure. Not that life can get worse; nothing trumps waking up miserable, sore,    jobless,      alone,        queasy,          woozy and            drooling uncontrollably and lacking ***** to blame it on.
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Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
Falling Off the Wagon
*come with me to the ****** motel it could be so tender as **** as hell we can kiss awhile i'd lick you sweet and then bend you over and cut your feet *** honey you can't walk anymore no matter darling i'm a blood **** ***** **** me daddy soon i'll be dead i want it in the mouth crush my head not so soon my sweet little ****** first lose some blood to get you all woozy stand on the toilet a rope around you neck on tippy toes you'll soon be a wreck i'd love to shoot you want it in the *** in the intestine the bullet will pass ooow honey yes let me spread wide then shoot me through is that how i died no baby that was just for fun i cumed in your *** my **** was the gun oh **** me soon you begged and you cried i need it my love so your hands i tied i ****** you and ****** you ready to *** i yanked your head back and you licked up my **** are you ready sweet girl you lifted your head my **** in your *** a dagger of dread i slit your throat ever so slow you ****** and you shimmied and the blood did flow you got on top your **** in my face i drank from your throat you bled out with grace i loved you so and called your name you fell over dead but who's to blame oh my darling you wanted to go black emerald death an ******** show pretty dead girl im still kissing you but i have to leave boo hoo hoo*
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Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
The ****** Motel...Ero ****
There's a funny sort of emptiness that passes over me as I walk past the paperback erotica that tuck themselves away in the shelves of the local grocery store in places that are simultaneously completely out in the open yet completely ignored looking, as I do, with mock casual interest and unfeigned disdain. Who are these intended for, really? Are they for the snuggly-wuggly, ***** cozy-woozy, wishy-washy and warm family of four comparing chicken nugget prices and weighing the health benefits of vegetable medley versus succotash? Or are they for the uni flatmates walking huddled together for warmth or protection or both, seeing as they're wearing only sandals and denim shorts and this is the first time they've been grocery shopping without mum, that giggle loudly together to mask how homesick they really are while they compare the calories in Campbell's versus Progresso. They went with Progresso if you were wondering. Or are they meant for those who are cooking for one? For those who have no need to compare prices or calories out loud. For those who are well acquainted with the old, familiar tiled aisles as they have no one to take out to dinner. Is this where they are to find company? Betwixt the pages of a badly penned, lighter than marshmallows, more shallow than the kiddie pool, more transparent than Casper, not-good-enough-to-be-bloody-compost "literary" garbage? Is this -assumed- female supposed to curl up with one of these slabs of drivel and feel **** and aroused in her baggy sweats and ill-fitting hoodie after she ate a microwaveable chicken *** pie all by her lonesome? As a single girl who often cooks for one, I am offended by this. Personally, I think Lestat is ten times sexier than Edward, Salai is way cuter than Fabio, and Christian Grey couldn't S Mr. Rochester's D. What I'm saying is- Grocery Stores. YOU are the primary reason for this pathetic f-ckery. Everything else in the store can be compared for quality. So why not apply that same knowledge to the book arena. Signed, A Concerned Shopper p.s. Please extend the validity date on the chicken *** pie coupon. Thank you!
0
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Grocery Store Erotica
There's a funny sort of emptiness that passes over me as I walk past the paperback erotica that tuck themselves away in the shelves of the local grocery store in places that are simultaneously completely out in the open yet completely ignored looking, as I do, with mock casual interest and unfeigned disdain. Who are these intended for, really? Are they for the snuggly-wuggly, ***** cozy-woozy, wishy-washy and warm family of four comparing chicken nugget prices and weighing the health benefits of vegetable medley versus succotash? Or are they for the uni flatmates walking huddled together for warmth or protection or both, seeing as they're wearing only sandals and denim shorts and this is the first time they've been grocery shopping without mum, that giggle loudly together to mask how homesick they really are while they compare the calories in Campbell's versus Progresso. They went with Progresso if you were wondering. Or are they meant for those who are cooking for one? For those who have no need to compare prices or calories out loud. For those who are well acquainted with the old, familiar tiled aisles as they have no one to take out to dinner. Is this where they are to find company? Betwixt the pages of a badly penned, lighter than marshmallows, more shallow than the kiddie pool, more transparent than Casper, not-good-enough-to-be-bloody-compost "literary" garbage? Is this -assumed- female supposed to curl up with one of these slabs of drivel and feel **** and aroused in her baggy sweats and ill-fitting hoodie after she ate a microwaveable chicken *** pie all by her lonesome? As a single girl who often cooks for one, I am offended by this. Personally, I think Lestat is ten times sexier than Edward, Salai is way cuter than Fabio, and Christian Grey couldn't S Mr. Rochester's D. What I'm saying is- Grocery Stores. YOU are the primary reason for this pathetic f-ckery. Everything else in the store can be compared for quality. So why not apply that same knowledge to the book arena. Signed, A Concerned Shopper p.s. Please extend the validity date on the chicken *** pie coupon. Thank you!
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55
(papa) lead my music towards marshmallow dreams and woozy hearts he lay me down in a soft nest of clouds and propped my head up on a mushroom tucked me in with quilted blankets and goodnight kisses he stroked my nose until I succumbed to the whims of foreign lands and he turned the lanterns off he played me piano riffs and stroked the strings of my guitar warmed me and cloaked me in oceans of drowsy bliss and he'll read me dreams tonight
0
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 6:57 AM UTC
jet lag
Rancor, Swashbuckling with a sawtooth grin and sacrilegious shouts, selcouth with an unsound mind, the commonness of uniqueness, the commonness of opinionated onions cutting their teeth on life and crying, again, and ready to saw off the limbs of the opposition out of revenge! Rancor, relax, you're not a Twitter matador, I wish you were because I’d love to watch the show. We cuddle with exotic nylon fibers and squeal about our weight and status and how someone insulted us and how terrible it is to be alive while sipping on easily accessibly high fructose corn syrup! Life has never been this sweet, but I guess we’re getting sick of honey. I complain about the complaints, I am the anti-complaining complaint club president. I am a writer, an iPhone thumb tapper. Hear me These mental gymnastics will somersault and summerset you right, child, Don’t listen to Rancor, That man’ll grab your gaze and stir your attention into a cocktail while winking at you from behind the bar he’ll leave your brain a little woozy from a life that used to be sweet until you left it out in the sun a few years too long, I wonder if some of the dead watch us from the corners of our bedroom or the trees along the freeway, waiting for greatness to unfurl. I’ll bet they do and I’ll bet you’re a glitch, I’ll bet a little piece of another galaxy hit you in the head and made your finger twitch. How many hot car hours have been spent in a parking lot, the skin dries, the phone dies, the spirit once lifted towards the outlines of the mountain peak now seeks memes, transcendent in their own right.
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May 12, 2022
May 12, 2022 at 1:54 AM UTC
Rancor!
Rancor, Swashbuckling with a sawtooth grin and sacrilegious shouts, selcouth with an unsound mind, the commonness of uniqueness, the commonness of opinionated onions cutting their teeth on life and crying, again, and ready to saw off the limbs of the opposition out of revenge! Rancor, relax, you're not a Twitter matador, I wish you were because I’d love to watch the show. We cuddle with exotic nylon fibers and squeal about our weight and status and how someone insulted us and how terrible it is to be alive while sipping on easily accessibly high fructose corn syrup! Life has never been this sweet, but I guess we’re getting sick of honey. I complain about the complaints, I am the anti-complaining complaint club president. I am a writer, an iPhone thumb tapper. Hear me These mental gymnastics will somersault and summerset you right, child, Don’t listen to Rancor, That man’ll grab your gaze and stir your attention into a cocktail while winking at you from behind the bar he’ll leave your brain a little woozy from a life that used to be sweet until you left it out in the sun a few years too long, I wonder if some of the dead watch us from the corners of our bedroom or the trees along the freeway, waiting for greatness to unfurl. I’ll bet they do and I’ll bet you’re a glitch, I’ll bet a little piece of another galaxy hit you in the head and made your finger twitch. How many hot car hours have been spent in a parking lot, the skin dries, the phone dies, the spirit once lifted towards the outlines of the mountain peak now seeks memes, transcendent in their own right.
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16
Wondaland, a.k.a. The Magic Metropolis June 13th, 2021 Esteemed Readers and Writers, Gangstapoets and Hangarounds, Gangstapoetry proudly declares that CREATION 96 is now the second unit of our Global Movement. We are welcoming our new members. You are now a part of us. Much Love. Tizzop GANGSTAPOETS **** 13.8  *  MIKEY DA STREETWISE  *  EAZY LEGS *  ADORABLE GREGGIE  *  MONICA MATADORA  *  SLY BOOTYGIRL  *  COLLAPSIN CHAOT  *  THE LADY REVENANT  *  BEEN  *  WOOZY WIZARD  *  TELLY  *  CRATERSKATER  *  CHEYENNE IS STARVIN  *  CASPER THE PSYCHOTIC GHOST  GANGSTAPOETS DESERT SAMURAI  *  PRESTON  *  ALBOW  *  SNOWBLADE  MUTANT  *  SAMBA  *  UNKLE OF DOOM  *  PLAY  *  ANTWONE  *  BOBBY BUTCHAH  *  TINA  *  JOEY  *  DREAM SEEKER  *  TRANCE DISCIPLE  * *  MOTH  *  DR. ****  *  KOBA COBRATONGUE  GANGSTAPOETS SVETLANA  *  GUNJAHTOOL  *  LOUIS ORTGIES  *  MISHU BRAVE BEAR  *  GÖKHAN TATCHOUOP  *  DESOCIALIZED KID  *  WIND DIGGER  *  SABIÇ  * JUAN  * DEAL  *  LUCY TARANTULA  *  TEXAS HOLD ME  *  SOUTHSIDE DRILL ASSASIN  *  SHAWN  *  JAMMED JAY  GANGSTAPOETS THCO  *  TIMMY ROTTEN  *  PLATIN ZIPPO  *  WORLDWIDE WAGGING  *  ZOMBIE NEIGHBOR *  BUTCH  *  KWAME'S LOST SON  *  TRANCE24/7  * JIMMY  *  JOSE, FELIPE & CATHERINE  * LAST OPTION PHIL  *  KIAN  *  MAX NEWMAN  *  MAGIC GOON
0
Jul 28, 2021
Jul 28, 2021 at 8:12 AM UTC
Creation 96
Those hot peppers you feed me tsssss all the way down smoke is in the intestines and esophagus have you punched me? i am sore. and caffine i am woozy from you a wooden ship on rough seas rocky swallowed enough air for zeppelins under your shirt hides a fleshy balloon have I wronged you? i am sensetive and vengeful
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Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
stomach.
Court of owls New ink, new shoes Clocks on, I'm about to run it Fast as my pain's Timeframe, bout to gun it I hope you feel something better my man, ***I'm feeling something I'm feeling something better than planned*** Tuck in the winter, dam i fall into action springing past Morty and summer While I'm watching TV slumber shaking off chains of reactions is it a new start call it innov8ing or maybe to our past Definistrating memories,  atoms alternating like the world sputters aspirating Spit split straight portals compensating I'm drunk on Dark matter ever oscillating the wind turned to me just so it could turn on me Judgment for eternity Experience is the same it howled with certainty MY Experience denied 3x so now you hear me? from this judgment I'm always ripping free I don't generate art so you can whip at me I might penetrate stars The universe is an artist so Why does it  ****** us Aint the universe ever even heard of us? I'm the passenger and still woozy the sickness feeling the pressure but I gotta be a witness compassionate, no judgment we all have our reasons ~Got a spot that I  keep w33d in Hidden with the green stem bleedin we may have different heavens but we come from the same soil When others decide our emotions Got so many reasons for defense, reach out and tipped it for the deflect emotions reflect the deficit of me breathe I just shake my head so heavy, I need rest Court of owls Port of vowels I am Born of miles So I adult when you consult the Occult knowings the lotion but still decomposin all this is music I just need to recompose it Saved another life Now the reaper owes it I think I've got amnesia, Waking up to Sir you had a seizure Eyes always look like Man...I wouldn't wanna be ya Empathy is another form of slavery we sign up for We live and we learn Boomerang on the mic I go and return But its not just about living well its about knowing the root of life its Taking the threads in your hands to rack the rains and crack the chains Caught in the dream, my ego forgets Sleep is such a shy death ***Court of owls Port of vowels I am Born of miles in the Korn of howls***
0
May 4, 2022
May 4, 2022 at 12:33 AM UTC
~Quicq Hooqs~
Court of owls New ink, new shoes Clocks on, I'm about to run it Fast as my pain's Timeframe, bout to gun it I hope you feel something better my man, ***I'm feeling something I'm feeling something better than planned*** Tuck in the winter, dam i fall into action springing past Morty and summer While I'm watching TV slumber shaking off chains of reactions is it a new start call it innov8ing or maybe to our past Definistrating memories,  atoms alternating like the world sputters aspirating Spit split straight portals compensating I'm drunk on Dark matter ever oscillating the wind turned to me just so it could turn on me Judgment for eternity Experience is the same it howled with certainty MY Experience denied 3x so now you hear me? from this judgment I'm always ripping free I don't generate art so you can whip at me I might penetrate stars The universe is an artist so Why does it  ****** us Aint the universe ever even heard of us? I'm the passenger and still woozy the sickness feeling the pressure but I gotta be a witness compassionate, no judgment we all have our reasons ~Got a spot that I  keep w33d in Hidden with the green stem bleedin we may have different heavens but we come from the same soil When others decide our emotions Got so many reasons for defense, reach out and tipped it for the deflect emotions reflect the deficit of me breathe I just shake my head so heavy, I need rest Court of owls Port of vowels I am Born of miles So I adult when you consult the Occult knowings the lotion but still decomposin all this is music I just need to recompose it Saved another life Now the reaper owes it I think I've got amnesia, Waking up to Sir you had a seizure Eyes always look like Man...I wouldn't wanna be ya Empathy is another form of slavery we sign up for We live and we learn Boomerang on the mic I go and return But its not just about living well its about knowing the root of life its Taking the threads in your hands to rack the rains and crack the chains Caught in the dream, my ego forgets Sleep is such a shy death ***Court of owls Port of vowels I am Born of miles in the Korn of howls***
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75
spin like a never-ending pinwheel go forth whatever, wherever direction don't stop even when you feel woozy • that's the point
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May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 5:14 AM UTC
pinwheel
APEIROPHOBIA: [n.] the fear of infinity or infinite things. — you are love at the end of the world, something spelled without a glottal plea the stars on my crown hang heavy tonight and i’ve barely slept for an hour but my mind drifts off to weary constellations and i sometimes wonder if we were aligned at all you, vague hurt, you, toothache in the middle of a birthday party you, a love like no other and running without wolves to guide our journey, the forest scratches every inch of bare skin and i would cry out if you hadn’t done the same to me in your restless tossing and turning, there is love in your eyes but no love in the blood you make me bleed there is still something left to be said. but my mouth is dry and full of sand, kiss it and catch a fly on the wall, smear ointment on its wings and maybe i’ll tell you about how i feel and it isn’t a good one, it isn’t a love i towed beyond fathoms of seawater and across miles of irradiated coastlines, it isn’t me, count the distance and end up with infinity in one sitting, infinity with end, infinity to beg you of love beg me of a message unclear, home sweet home it’s better than nothing. the woozy way i walk into the ocean with a pocket full of rocks and a mind full of bitter sloshing around, is better than nothing, love it’s better than everything love because it’s something i still wish to keep, wish on a nebulae cluster that doesn’t exist the second you force yourself to breathe out, screams no comforting the choir, i’ll drape mine around your bruised shoulders and shake both of them softly until i’ve killed half the universe with my hubris, until we’ve killed off every erstwhile incandescence just to look a little off-kilter, early morning, i’ve never felt better despite never finding out what repose meant the sky is red at sunrise and then what and then we, and then we feel fine you are love at the end of the world, and i am ready to struggle for survival. invite me into your rose-tinted apocalypse and allow me to decide a fate which was never mine to rewrite it’s nothing it’s better than nothing love
0
Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 2:07 PM UTC
a toast to apeirophobia
APEIROPHOBIA: [n.] the fear of infinity or infinite things. — you are love at the end of the world, something spelled without a glottal plea the stars on my crown hang heavy tonight and i’ve barely slept for an hour but my mind drifts off to weary constellations and i sometimes wonder if we were aligned at all you, vague hurt, you, toothache in the middle of a birthday party you, a love like no other and running without wolves to guide our journey, the forest scratches every inch of bare skin and i would cry out if you hadn’t done the same to me in your restless tossing and turning, there is love in your eyes but no love in the blood you make me bleed there is still something left to be said. but my mouth is dry and full of sand, kiss it and catch a fly on the wall, smear ointment on its wings and maybe i’ll tell you about how i feel and it isn’t a good one, it isn’t a love i towed beyond fathoms of seawater and across miles of irradiated coastlines, it isn’t me, count the distance and end up with infinity in one sitting, infinity with end, infinity to beg you of love beg me of a message unclear, home sweet home it’s better than nothing. the woozy way i walk into the ocean with a pocket full of rocks and a mind full of bitter sloshing around, is better than nothing, love it’s better than everything love because it’s something i still wish to keep, wish on a nebulae cluster that doesn’t exist the second you force yourself to breathe out, screams no comforting the choir, i’ll drape mine around your bruised shoulders and shake both of them softly until i’ve killed half the universe with my hubris, until we’ve killed off every erstwhile incandescence just to look a little off-kilter, early morning, i’ve never felt better despite never finding out what repose meant the sky is red at sunrise and then what and then we, and then we feel fine you are love at the end of the world, and i am ready to struggle for survival. invite me into your rose-tinted apocalypse and allow me to decide a fate which was never mine to rewrite it’s nothing it’s better than nothing love
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