"yen" poems
Did you ever hear about ******* Lil?
She lived in ******* town on ******* hill,
She had a ******* dog and a ******* cat,
They fought all night with a ******* rat.
She had ******* hair on her ******* head.
She had a ******* dress that was poppy red:
She wore a snowbird hat and sleigh-riding clothes,
On her coat she wore a crimson, ******* rose.
Big gold chariots on the Milky Way,
Snakes and elephants silver and gray.
Oh the ******* blues they make me sad,
Oh the ******* blues make me feel bad.
Lil went to a snow party one cold night,
And the way she sniffed was sure a fright.
There was Hophead Mag with ***** Slim,
Kankakee Liz and Yen Shee Jim.
There was Morphine Sue and the Poppy Face Kid,
Climbed up snow ladders and down they skid;
There was the Stepladder Kit, a good six feet,
And the Sleigh-riding Sister who were hard to beat.
Along in the morning about half past three
They were all lit up like a Christmas tree;
Lil got home and started for bed,
Took another sniff and it knocked her dead.
They laid her out in her ******* clothes:
She wore a snowbird hat with a crimson rose;
On her headstone you’ll find this refrain:
She died as she lived, sniffing *******
29.1k
A white porcelain coffee cup
she gently raises up to her lips
with a satiated look on her face;
this gift, a much awaited moment
attained by satisfying her yen
not for choicest, gourmet food alone.
Those dark droopy eyes, suggest
a luxurious languor, she does cherish,
as long as the after tremors would last.
Slyly she looks at his swollen red lips
with a crafted guilt, it gives her yet
another high, sending ripples over
her ******* his eyes do a recce on this
then go up to her lips,finds his ardor
last hour had made them crimson all over,
throwing his head backwards he smiles at her.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
Yo soy *****
**** immigration and the racist white tèjanõs, please tell me how the hell would they ever know what I know, shout out to my Mexicans Hondurans and black Cubanos shut the border down call it the no fly zone. Adios Americanos me and my amigos are stealing ya women and playin em like pianos, vocal terrorist this lyrical revolt should be your primary interest. Public enemy number one the domestic hectic terrorist I'm influencing your white son, right to bear these nuts I'm taking the tea parties guns stealing your freedom from right up under you, all your jobs, and way of life, your point of view. I'm the original black power ranger hide your right winged minds if not I swear they'll be in danger. I am the broken brick the stone left unturned the rhythm of the wind the willingness to learn and the desire to fight and get what you earn. I am the individual placed on the no fly list with my hand balled into a fist cause my turbin is too tight and my beards to thick. I am the man choked to death by nypd for selling cigarettes now I'm rioting with my words doing lyrical pirouettes. Yo soy ***** spitting jive like lingo I want a Pam Grier keep your Marilyn Monroe, from the 6th borough buckin like bronco they said finish em I'm educated and black had to hit em with the combo. I'm non fictions Huey Freeman battling congress and their demons catch me flexing on the law lookin like the black He-Man Standing up for what I believe in writing in my notepad I stay steady schemin with my head up in the clouds I stay steady dreamin. Yo soy ***** freeze em like sub zero not concerned with dolores or the dinero yen or bills yo, I'm still waiting for marvel to make a Mexican superhero.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
In the wondrous story book of night,
I fully absorb and contemplate,
You were the one omnipresent,
in light years far and flames near.
As orbs of light, in many intensities and hues
the ray of infinite grace that envelops,
That feels like the caressing of lotus petals,
was you my eternal beloved.
Soft, frothing moon light has been
at times of pain my true consolation,
The moving comet my source of wonder,
that takes me to you in imagination.
A reader, I was keenly searching.
for meanings of things in light and dark
Being another character formed
of dust sedimented from many stars.
You are enshrined in the diamond
temple of my mind's still center
making you my lover was
in honor of my yen for sublime.
The story book of night has pages
on spirited mornings, noons and dusk
your benign presence in each step,
moves galaxies and milky ways.
I see your moving eye brows
in the tumult of dark rain clouds,
Your intense eyes flash love to me
when in pain,if I feel some doubt,
In waves one after another of ocean,
your hands embrace me to assure,
mountain wind from far distance
brings your songs nightingales sing.
I am a living monument that's breathed
from the elements , to keep on loving you
not ever a jealous lover,I am like a millioner
ready to sacrifice all just for your presence.
Is there any other lover with such care
who brings boundless grace, like you?
you've the very same eyes of my mother
that reach me the moment I fall.
In days I am moving within a dream
for which, you are the creator, moving spirit,
I turn the pages of storybook of night
whenever I want to be closer to your warmth.
A mirror you are reflecting my candor,
, more than anything I ever yearned for,
You are the river that flows along me,
to the ocean, eternally seething in wait.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
Saying “Women of the Night”
Might be alright
As a description for some girls,
They stream eastward
Along the bank,
Checking for marauders and adjusting curls.
Yet courtesans are different;
They came as swiftly as they went,
Called on by important men.
From house and hotel they are borne,
In carriages, and in finery worn,
For those who have a yen.
Yet others still elude one name,
Of condemnation or fame.
They do not wander at men’s whims.
They deliver terms to him or him.
And live in dwellings finer still,
Until the payer has had his fill.
But with the latter does he ever
Tire of the source of pleasure?
For some the need outlasts his want,
And he becomes the supplicant!
Then woman’s wit becomes the master,
While her body wields a whip.
The sinner’s desire speeds still faster,
As she the body’s scale does tip.
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
hello hello hello
what have we got here
a few ships assembling
with highly explosive
gear
hello hello hello
who shall fire the first shot
into the Syrian
plot
hello hello hello
America and Russia
are on opposing sides
the gulf in their opinions
very wide
hello hello hello
the world
shall see a drama
most potent
others in
the Middle Eastern
corridor
may get
involved too
that will be a show
which may mean
a powder keg
that can't be
subdued
hello hello hello
why have men
in power
always had a yen
to be war faring
and not think
of their fellow
men women and children
hello hello hello
this time the lesson
may come at an extremely high cost
for it may well
bring end
to all existence
on the planet
as we know it....
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 9:03 PM UTC
When I have a yen to sin , I do it with my unbounded pen.
Thick black ink turns blood, spills in a mysterious patterns,
And it simultaneously writes my own redemption.
My spirit undergoes a transformation,sings freedom song.
In this unreal plane of my action, I become superhuman.
Every word that swims in the deluge of emotions quickly,
Sends SOSs, incessant, demanding sublimation.It's done.
I pay heed and then find, I am in the word's possession.
That decides, what would be my next course of action.
I stay firmly put between agitating emotions and imagination.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
If cows go moo chickens cluck, therefore if the farmer has eaten chicken eggs, he will cluck,
and if he had a steak dinner, he will clmook...
and yield eggs filled with milk from his ****
This is why eggs are solely a breakfast food,
while steak is a dinner because mixing the two in one meal only makes the effects worse,
turning a Farmer over time into a milk filled egg.
Note only farmers are affected like this,
since it takes very high levels of exposure to beef and eggs in their raw un-processed forms,
which we don't buy at grocery stores for the above reasons...
First the mutagen's proprieties of the two mixed together must be neutralized.
By filling any crates in which beef are shipped with powdered eggs
and crates of eggs with beef made from a special breed of cow that has been genetically bred to lay eggs,
the hooves and horns go to make that strange astronaut ice cream that you see in gift shops.
Each "netrie-cow cost over 10,000,000 yen each (and you can only pay in yen)
but without them entire crops of beef eggs can be lost.
Oh i forgot... these were pure bred eggs and beef that need to be treated...
Beef eggs are a new advancement of science,
they are normal eggs in every sense but that they moo when you shake them if they have gone bad,
and taste slightly like beef and need no special treatment.
The chicks which hatch from beef eggs grow to be feathered cows which mate with everything in sight,
and usually are killed before they have the chance to grow,
but many a farmer has decided the risk of raising chowkins worth their original flavor and taste,
but many employ steel pant plates to prevent accidents
(since for some reason chowkins Can produce offspring in humen males as well as their own kind...)
The process killing the farmer,
and producing a creature which speaks in only an impenetrable deep southern accent and Farmer slang,
loves milk and grass,
and unable to perform any function in society,
but crops grown by such creatures are noticeably better in taste.
Clmook!
Clmook!
Clmook!
Go get your lifetime supply of cheese?
Please?
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:49 AM UTC
On late nights like these, days when I don’t have dates, I rest on my balcony and smoke my life away, reliving the memories of my childhood. Feeling myself drift away into the cloud from my cigarette. I watched the thin wisp of smoke trailing away, up into the polluted 21st century air before reaching the tiny patch of the clear night sky amongst all the buildings and dissolving.
Molding myself into the body of a child, and trying to retrieve, to reach out and grasp, my pure innocence from seventeen years ago. I close my eyes and imagine that all my childhood memories will wash up right here in my mind as I stood on my balcony.
I used to have a life. I had parents, I had a name, I had friends; I was a someone. But as you grow older in Tokyo, you become a noone. My father was a no one, as well as my mom. My father had always been a businessman, and every morning he would change into his business suit. He was impossible to distinguish amongst thousands of other buisnessmen that made up the sea of Tokyo. He wore the same suit, like thousands, day after day, life becoming more dull as each day passed. Hour after hour, he sat in front of the soft glow of the computer screen, mersemized; brainwashed. In the world where everything were made of pixels, nothing was real anymore. It would become dark, and he would go to a bar alone, drinking his life away. He sometimes arrived home from a taxi, being sent by someone for being so drunk.
One day, he jumped in front of a train and killed himself- didn't even leave a note. I don't even remember what day it was when he commited suicide. In a place where you have no position, you stop keeping track of days.
And I remember my mother crying and saying, "Kaori, don't ever do what your father did."
My mother was in the same position as my father, not much better than him. She was an office lady, leading the same life as my father had. She left 1000 yen on the table for me to buy dinner at the convenience store. She came home late.
School was not much different, and I asked myself, "Why am I getting an education only to end up like my mother and father, the people of Tokyo?" I could see myself in the future, a figure exactly as my mother.
I stopped going to school and decided, why not get an early start? I got into hostessing, where I received a new name: Akiko.
I don't have a name anymore.
I am not recognized by anybody.
I do not know who I am,
nor do others know that I am.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
Abbie hailed a yellow top cabbie
Brenda had a sister in-law named Glenda
Cate ran late on her first date
Delly ate seven bowls of lemon jelly
Edwina drove to the town of Catalina
Fran burnt her finger on the very hot frying pan
Gwen had a strong yen to go and see her aunty Jen
Hope bought her husband a towing rope
Isobel fell under the magician's spell
Joann took her mother on a holiday in a caravan
Kylie went to the dentist with her brother Wylie
Lesley liked listening to Elvis Presley
Marcia enjoyed eating a freshly baked focaccia
Nell saw a turtle coming out of his shell
Olga lived at the top end of the river Volga
Primrose had a Pinocchio nose
Queenie knitted a multicolored beanie
Ruth could never tell the whole truth
Stacey loved playing dress ups with her friend Tracey
Tilly behavior was always rather silly
Una bought a house in the suburb of Yagonna
Verity wanted to be a well known celebrity
Winifred never stopped taking about Alfred
Xena was presented with a court subpoena
Yale told her teacher a tall tale
Zealand ventured out into the bushland
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC
Aeolian dour fire meridians
Unfettering enlightenments will
Together Scylla with authority
Howling, Charybdis in oblivians wake
Shenting spindel meandering;
The schism termagating sirens
Repasts (diabolic manna)
Refracting ambrosial in the
Lap of Gods eye sophically conjecturing
Ephinany- times charioteering,
The nocturnal triunes discordance
Contemplating consequence thistling
Opothecaric sigels permeating lots
Obstruse lathed cerebral skies
Ruthfully roil whittling indelible
Epitaphs of serpentine repositories
Woefully dawning eternity castening
Harmoniously asunder truths
Deifying yen die.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 11:14 AM UTC
.
*The sensual caress
twilight mist impearled flesh
alighting a feral desire
within blossoming spring petals
The newness of uncovered skin
a sweetness on unsated lips ,
the taste of passion and salty *******
with hastened breath
sighs do brush with warm ****** breeze
across my naked chest
wild feathers sweeten
tender touch
... emanating
sensual awakenings
Arousing buried desires
unable to hold back
constant cravings
the inevitable currents
pummeling shameless floodgates
with arising untamed springtides swell
Fleshly enslaved yen --
energy sprouts tingling sensations
nascent buds blossoming deeply
flourishing exploding flames
bursting flush
... deliciously white hot
In an unstoppable carnal moment
passion betides
like the surging sea ;
Rising and falling crescendos
unleashed waves crashing ,
drowning in the rhythmic undertow
interlaced bodies heaving adrift in the moment
like entangled seaweeds
in a riptide
as the rolling thunder storm
dances across invigorated tides
with a surging cadence of cresting waves bloom
caught in the Rhythm and the Sea*
✩ ✩ ☼ ✩ ✩
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 8:23 PM UTC
Our boat starts at night
from the beach of Yen Kuang.
Great ships sail only for profit
Only small boats come here because of your fame.
The passers-by are embarrassed by your virtue.
So in the night we steal by the place where you used to fish.
2.2k
He stealthily usurped his favourite poet's celebrated pen
Strove hard to write with a footing on the poet's ken.
In what resulted, others could only see an overriding yen
recognized patently as his; in this shady game he didn't win!
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 12:48 PM UTC
Mike Hauser had a brilliant idea to “Pass the pen” and see where it got us. This, Friends, is the result.
**I write of the stars
I write of the moon
I write of the things
That I love to do
I write of the lies
While telling the truth
And when I am through
I pass the pen to you**
*I read the things
that went before
and add my thoughts
for you to write more
of things we love
and things we hate
so here's the pen,
now contemplate!*
*I wait like a kid
the anticipation
breaks my quiet
like a train in station
with thoughts
pouring out
like the traveling weary
so here's the pen
"now what's my hurry?"*
**While looking at this
And studying that
As our poetic peruse
Comes up to bat
With much more in store
From the writer's’ knack
I jot down my last line
Then pass the pen back**
*and now it get's fun
with my lines and yours
at least it keeps me
from doing my chores!
fingers be nimble
brain be quick
I finished this part
now here's the Bic.*
**With words tattered and torn
I have you here to mend
Don’t know where I’m going
Brain lights on dim
With little or no warning
Here it comes again
All on a whim
I hand you the pen**
*so who will care
if we make no sense
“these poets here
must have the bends!”
but all the same
we’ve had our yen
it was a good run
let's retire the pen*
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 2:29 PM UTC
Death wears sneakers
Fastened tight
Leaving wounds
Wronging rights
It sneaks around
And doesn’t care
About what’s left
And what’s to share
It doesn’t knock
It barges in
To take it’s claim
To sate it’s yen
Not bound by locks
Or siren’s blare
It leaves a mess
It doesn’t care
Don’t forget
To right your soul
Keep in mind
Who’ll pay the toll
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
Alabaster Archipelagos
Benevolent Beauty Beaming
Constructive Contradictive Creative Contemplations
Dante's Darling Dances Deliberating Denominatives
Effervescent Escapisms Endearingly Emerge Elusive Edens
Fantastic Flamboyant ******** Flamed Fabulous Fiery Flickerings
Gorgeous Garden Gim'memores Gaudied Garnishing Gasps
Heavenly Hues Humming Heart's Harmonies
Immortaly Impregnated Inspired Ideals
Jessamin Jargon Jacuzzi Jams
Know-how Knacking Knurls
Light-spirited Lovers
Merge Magnificent
Naked Nocturno Nights
Omnipresent Ousia Over Odeons
Palpitations Perfect Peaks Pi Paws
Quintessential Quality Quarrels Question Quarks Quietness
Rododendron's Richameters Rescued Raw Reeling Ruby Realms
Sentient Syllabic Sapfo's Splendidly Spirited Semantics
Turning Turner's Timeless Timeless Twinklings
Unified Undulatory Unsolved Unicorns
Velvety Venice Voyages
Wanton Wantings
Xsylophone Xsantiphas
Yearnin' Yuki's Yen
Zed's Zealous Zen-it-hall Zeppelins
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
To the tune of "Rinsing Silk Stream"
Thousands of light flakes of crushed gold
for its blossoms,
Trimmed jade for its layers of leaves.
This flower has the air of scholar Yen Fu.
How brilliant!
Plum flowers are too common;
Lilacs too coarse when compared.
Yet, its penetrating fragrance
drives away my fond dreams
of far away places.
How merciless!
2k
Some men want to be women,
And some women want to be men.
(Though some have no choice).
Brown girls want to be white,
But pale girls yen for a tan.
Short folk want to be tall,
Yet tall people wish they were short.
Atheists would love to believe,
But Believers yearn for freedom from guilt.
Introverts try to be outgoing,
While Extroverts try to calm down (and be quiet).
So why can’t each one of us
Esteem him or herself
For whatever s\he IS?
Be Proud of Yourself, as you are.
Grasp that Happy Attitude with a smile.
Amen.
Paul Butters
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:53 AM UTC
(Tr)aveling w(i)th the younger I
With her on your back
She gazed at intricate diamonds of the dark.
Never facing an ounce of (um)brage.
With age, her knowledge flourished
Growing from the water of your trunk
Her brain was nourished with ex(p)erience
Following in your trail
Strengthening over time
She (ha)d no i(nt)erest on your back
Nor the night sky
Rather clouds and the outside
Away sh(E) wa(l)ked from your shadow
With your trunk raised high
Lions and crocodiles swarmed her on s(e)a and land
With no trunk or tusk
Adrenaline rushed
She shook in nerves til dusk
Continuing days with no shade
Skin cells accepting harsh sun rays
With the storm of your stom(p)s
She awaited your presence
(h)yen(a)s laughed as you came
Splattering blood on your name
You laid with your wheel
As she wailed with no trunk
She wept
For you sculpted her i(nt)o who (s)he was
Long, Long down the road.
Buying from an old bookstore
Finding a binder filled with the Royal Animals
Turning the first sheet
She noticed a stamp
Reminding her of her stuffed friends
Triumphant Elephants
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 12:37 PM UTC
This astonishingly smart work
by an enterprising bunch
of greedy caterpillars on this tree,
symbolizes sweet success itself
(only to them, not for others
I'll have to grudgingly accept)
Look how they devour with a vengeance,
every bit of the gentle greatness, one felt
in presence of the exhilarating fine green crown,
of the lovely tree that stood head held high,
smiling in scorching sun, storm and rain,
and made me stand awe struck,
for a while the first time I passed
through the path under her thick canopy.
Success has avariciously eaten up glory
a fine creation of many seasons,
without any concern for those
who die for greatness, nothing else!
All that remains to see is this:
whether fragile winged butterflies,
charm personified in vivid colors,
would come out,of this greed?
Though they being a creatures of transience
makes it a bad bad bargain.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 12:05 PM UTC
Love settles in the back of my head and chest, but if love was a thought it was a feeling in the time of sadness which is all the time of course, sadness does not exist without reality and reality be nothing without despair. The balance of life is not black in white, yin or yen, or happiness and sadness it is sadness and less sadness because sadness with always cover everyones head with the veil of death because death, is inevitable and death brings sadness therefor sadness is inevitable.
Death lines the corners of my mouth waiting to be inhaled as i smoke my first and maybe last cigarette maybe last because I can die at any moment.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
What foes or friends do we perceive when we connect by chance conceived?
Would you care to explain how this is my fault?
Pray tell tis Joseph come to his census.
Come nigh so late to what truth evinces.
Four heed own Lay won knot thin kit sis...
Prays got a buff!
Fine uh Lee…
Coarse sit duhs pour ten dove baa doe mens.
Naughty ville purse say! Oar eve in dud ark Om end...
Shell Ira Bjorn ease? Orb headers till yore effete?
Ike ant aft tub Abe eave oar yew yen owe...
Wall oh win knit.
Gore Ida head.
Yuck use amoeba *** is hint umm eye fall tis zit?
Yuck cues amoeba ditz nada tall mite urn toot ache tub lame.
Bub I...
Hope Joe Ill step pup two wit all
Irie lay trill lee dew
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
*A dew drenched wild flower
awaiting sun's warmth,
you are naked Venus;
I clothe you with
transparent cumulus
spun by sparkling-
caresses with my eyes.
As we explore gently first
and then in urgent moves
the ****** alchemy of lips,
you transform in to a nimbus,
heavy with a yen to rain-
your sultry lust over mine.
Wet and swollen we stand
exhilarated to the inner core,
lit with sensual pleasure
on the threshold of losing control.
Then, like in a dream,
a nimbus sweetness envelops me,
lying supine, on a bed of goosebumps.
I receive you and the storm
that lasts till we fall asleep.*
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
I am ready
I disobey the god's revival
And trash the odds of my survival
Unlike my mother, and her mother before her,
I refuse to dabble in caution craft forevermore
Second sight seductive suasion
My vaulting vision sans precision
Harlot harbinger I am of endless happenstance
Sterilized with indecision
C'mon, baby-bomb, take a chance
I am ready, now,
To throw everything here away
It's all just trash and trials treacherous
Earlier today
I had a fever dream--
Of waking in another place
The sun fracturing the skin on my face
(But still I laugh to dance blind
And kiss the cyan sky)
I dream
Of the tandem-lipped tides that vie to taste me
Wet finger fringes ******* at my toes displace me
Rising up to bring me down
(Almost makes me want to drown)
...but here my bubble won't burst
Here it freezes first and dies of thirst
And so I am ready
To dance dollars out of rich Japanese businessmen
For paradise I can translate all their yen
It doesn't matter
If I slither for our supper
Or whether we sleep indoors tonight
Islands wild with abandon
We could be living radical and random
We could be living freezer-burn free
An outbound invite to jaded shade
This golden opportunity
(Hourglass sands swallowed by the sea)
The spiders of the rainforest are calling creepy
And queer, sustain and dim to disappear
Echoes of whispers from the ancient banyan tree
Calling me....
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 9:25 PM UTC