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Mar 2018 · 2.6k
Born
zebra Mar 2018
i am a fallen star
bornless, motherless
gripped in a wet black screaming tunnel
hiding in pulsing
slippery walls
all red uterine tears
afraid to come out of her
hiding under mothers dark dress
i am a soaking wound in her
descended soul
born of blood and seed
a skull under pressure
****** by gravity
swallowing mud
beaten with sticks

cold grips cotton swabs and cloth
held upside down
and spanked

now i eat the world
and it digests me
always praying from whence i came
to a lord on some far off parametric edge
a glittering kingdom

i am no thing
stunned thoughtless
to discover
that in ******
we are closest to God

more then flesh cries
when lost in its swoon
we are
all halos
as
fire flares up the spine

and lost in paradise
we are found
in beauties eclipse
all burning moons
Mar 2018 · 1.0k
Free Will
zebra Mar 2018
i live in a shell of bones
voodoo in a beer can
my mind a twisting smudge
that mar's the night
and that thing cries
in screaming syllables

withering and being born
bornless

a pyromaniac in flames
running from its cold charred center

all faces and bodies
an endless geometry
of cast shape shifting shadows
open doors closing
every lid a coffin

dropping dead
from my own evil eye
false alarms
and deep ruts

i am meat and spirit from the abyss
a blood shot eye ball floating in mud
in search of shelter
while fighting off
The stings of
red earth worms
by furious blinking

a destiny
with out a future

free will
Mar 2018 · 213
Naked Kiss
zebra Mar 2018
your arms pinned back
pushing your body into mine
dark thing that i am
cobalt black mouth hollow
a tongue of rust
drunk on your shuttering sonorous howls

i am to wrong to be forgiven

driven by fires rod
i am cracked glass
a switchblade
under dark cast *******
a black light
trapped in your warmth

my fangs gleam
cleavers bright
blades of light
and shake silver
ready to pry blood throat
your raw mouth open
a naked kiss

and then you fall
flying
Mar 2018 · 606
When We Where In love
zebra Mar 2018
when we where in love
i had the wings of an angel

now my wings
shredded
flapping
fast and hard
yet
unable to fly
barely
off the ground

from angel to shroud
with
moth-eaten wings

all that is left
but
to fly
to flames
Mar 2018 · 1.8k
I See Her
zebra Mar 2018
i see her
and my shadow grows
gold like Harlows hair

then to
black
like a digested sun
and the music of a gnawing universe
with whelping teeth
and melting white candles
gets me dancing
like a dragging needle
through grieving flesh

she droops
like a thick cloud
bending towards me
a sky in flames
in a torn dress

and her kisses whip through me
like wind through mists
Mar 2018 · 5.2k
Stepmother
zebra Mar 2018
my step mom comes over to my office intermittently
turns on the computer and opens the emails
in the dark of night
making all cheery bright and lighted for my mourning arrival

so kind of her
making sure things are ready to go
she always the epitome of efficiency

did i mention
she's been dead now for over 20 years

did i mention we are lovers
sadly never in the flesh
always an unspoken ache during the living years
when we where near
a relentless unrequited love still burning
like fire licks and scorching lips
trussed thighs spread wide
twisting swarms of wet tongues lapping
in each others bellies
and lungs
her feet in my mouth

so now free from others
the dead do what they **** well please
and on the slippery side of life
so do i
its about time!

did i mention her soft kisses
her dancimg *******
and soft round belly

didn't mean to get carried away again
or
the scent of her **** that veiled wet jewel
as she walked passed me
demon smiling innocence
sending me into a swoon
as she floated across a foot worn floor
with her beautiful pink angular toe
**** ticklers

am i repeating myself?

how sad i am that i never got on my knees
to brush my lips against her drool
to see her widen her haunches
inviting me; glaring madness
out the sides of her eyes

to work my way up
to her lurid dark fruit
hot ****  butter

your dead mom
but your here now
turning on the computer
and watching **** with me
dressed up for a hot blood
star spangled glitter ****
staring into my soul like only the dead can
taking positions the living could never imagine
oh my pretzel girl

we kiss reckless raw naked
all furious *** toys smushing raw mouths
and eat each other like hot apple bend over

yes mom so dark the things we do
that the living dare not ever think
blood suckers
yes my beloved
even die for each other sweetly
over and over again
lat minute kisses for the thin air road

dead and dead
in love in bed

that's how the breathless ****
all tender kisses
till hell breaks lose
till bloods **** pulse eschews
till all is lucid comatose ****
we enter heaven
stooping to hell for pleasures sake
letting go to
******'s purge
like waves from the cities of our guts
the sacred sin of the flesh

no taboos for ******* ghouls

and you once again turn hollow
a transparency
falling through my embrace like dust

will you come back tomorrow
turn on the computer
or better yet
maybe visit in a night dream of tangled caresses?

or
a day haunt
dancing leg show
in a smooth white pearl bath tub
stained with spider webs of coos
wild naked mouth
brooding slippery dark *******
and feral tongued kisses
red as wild cherry  blood
mouth to **** to **** to *** to *****
to cries and silver whispers
to be possessed?

sometimes love
never dies.
Feb 2018 · 427
Bread To The Bone
zebra Feb 2018
Ill eat you like a *******
and her dark little mad sister too

will you share my face?
just a little foreplay during corpse moon
all weeping kisses
as I lick your mouths last breath...
crimson smile's
for milky sheath

you lift your chin high
cheshire grin
a begging shell
devil girl in waiting
with every pulse of blood
drowning kisses
a torn shawl
and midnights sleeps caress
in shrunken gauze
my body your mausoleum

your
pomegranate ****
disappears while cooking dinner
for broods clamor

waiting drenched
for your ghastly desert
eaten raw
like bread to the bone
while others sleep
in flickering dreams
adult ....dark ******
Feb 2018 · 204
Menstruum
zebra Feb 2018
when you bleed
i love it so
haunches wide
red on snow
menstruum love explicit adult
collaboration
Feb 2018 · 508
Killer Poem...Ero Guro
zebra Feb 2018
come to me
I am death
lotsa kisses
take your breath

tiger ****
the darkest hiss
will you dance
and sway your hips

your made for this
on your knees
a pretty knife
what a tease

wait not
for *****'s embrace
your legs spread
scores razors trace

will you smile
and say ooooow
another please
take me true

while we lick
you bend and writhe
across the mouth
a slow bleeds stride

serpents cry
let death grow
take me hard
a sweet cold glow

more you weep
one last blink
strangled sweet
a vortex sink

switch blades tongue
licks you deep
darkness comes
death is steep

pretty you
now its done
heels over head
sugar blood spun
death *** explicit adult
Feb 2018 · 5.6k
Forbidden Dance
zebra Feb 2018
she likes to dance in cemeteries naked
warring little but jeweled ***** bells,
ankle bracelets
toe rings
bingles, bangles, piercings,
through ******* and nose

her tongue split
each side wiggling independently

she gives head on a head stone
her blow jobs
like two undulating mouths
her skin inked with
black and blood tattoos that say
Satan's little ***** *****
double penetrations preferred porfavor
the more buttery big ***** and pastry puffy ******* the better


she
all purple hair tinged red
and antler horned hat
with silver toe and finger nails
a crazy saint sane
adored by the popes of the lascivious
eyes wide open over a crimson mouth sneer
cherry pout lips
gods gift to ***** and vaginas
a temple of relief exalting
Eros
a **** it bucket list of lust
her heart
cotton candy in flames
****** like a river of smashed potatoes
in cream

she like
phases of a corpse moon
begs to be used after death
like pigment on canvas
smeared red globes and chiaroscuro
she playing dead
living it up

do you know her
she keeps her secret hidden
on her sleeve
while you keep yours
from yourself

bless me father for I have sinned
and loved every minute of it
yet dare not be happy
for fear of Gods rage


my soul saved
turned fertile earth to sand
and shrouding vistas of light
till the bed is the bed
of the living dead
so there's nothin left but work and sleep
and dreams of drunken **** madness are buried
under the weight
marked forbidden

black sun curse
hips sway in ashes
a forbidden dance
Feb 2018 · 502
WHY I LOVE YOU
zebra Feb 2018
you never tell me to go **** myself
unless you want to help me do it
like when you get on your knees
after doing the knife stamp dance
loving my sickness as your own
Your *** a weaving curl

if I asked you to eat worms
you'd run to the tackle store
and buy a box of them
put on blood red lipstick
and tarnish your gleaming pearly whites
you all leg spread
**** on a plate
doing the shimmy
and gobble them down
making your tongue brown
like **** from hell
flashing your eyes like lightning
and laugh making me eat the rest
before ordering me to lick your ***
like Mr. Clean
all **** and span

obedience is our lubricant
each other's darkest secret dreams
baked in the fires of a red-hot furnace
mixing our ashes
and boiling blood

what's next ?
bare feet on hot coals
rope burns
little strangles and tender kisses
cherry blood **** to devour
ballet toe licking
my **** wrapped by you in a square  knot
whos the queen
whos the king
whos the *****
princess of ***** deeds
whos groveling in the mud
begging for a spanking
******* like red raspberries

we are

tears of passion
saliva kisses
each other's kabuki **** doll

hurt me, hurt you
we cry and die
loving like coiled monsters in heaven

when we walk down the street
arm in arm we know
no one could ever have us
like we have each other
sick twisted lovebirds
gargling bloodstones
bending over for each other
at every turn
**** and ****** rings
to pull us along
**** forced open
fingers lickin good
preamble
spicy screaming kisses like nettles
on drunken nights
our *** like dripping buds
black cat perfume
our bed an ancient red alter
spikes for sacrifice
all golden glow

Queen Snakes
voluptuously ******
cuddle in Carpathian mists
Feb 2018 · 800
Catechism of Tantra
zebra Feb 2018
off with the mask of religion
an atavistic projection
in a sleeping catacomb

Gods
desire lives in the human heart
we are as he and she
unholy until fused in ecstasy

God and Goddess
in a state of perpetual expanding ******

his mouth upon her sumptuous *****
she upon his pedestal of rainbows
her loving slave
her feet sweeten the earth

her ******* mouth and haunches
consumed
oh she a writhing moon
her throat and womb engorged with his pulsing shaft
giving praise
aqueous diamonds spilling
glitter and cream
manna from heaven
she undulates and coos
a glistened drool
pleading take all

her vaginal cauldron eternal darkness
red tulips blazing
a burning bush
the place of creation
he,
a point of light
everywhere with in her
inseparable
a fire of adoration burning them alive
their love a fever so hot
that even hell cant stand the heat

exit door
no way out
life a glaring dream work
without the abolition of time
having no more victims to devour
we must devour ourselves
towards an original form of lived existence
beyond this tragic universe

ill love you like a god
and ******* like the devil
so bend down low sweet girl
your beautiful ***
my altar of devotion
I give thanks to your curving form
you are my lord's prayer
my catechism

like father
like son
Dec 2017 · 485
PC POEM
zebra Dec 2017
im trying to write a PC poem
perhaps something like
im nice looking for a whiteish Jew man
with blue eyes
instead of just a nice looking man
if you don't mind the occasional flatulence
or
air fresheners
as i like to call them
or
write maybe something about broken hearts
and the weather when its raining
as in a stormy life and a rocky relationship
or
how i love the unique symmetry of each and every snow flake
or
i was also thinkin azure skies and verdant fields kinda poetry
or
maybe how i always wanted a bigger ****
so i didn't have to try so hard to impress the ladies
with my personality
which never really works anyway
at least not as much
as a big baloney roll snurkeling down my leg in tight jeans

Its not lost on me that that last idea isn't PC enough to become a published poet
like ive always dreamed
i mean can you name me a laureate who writes about that stuff

see what kinda road blocks i run into
when i write something
i really care about
Dec 2017 · 4.0k
THE TERROR OF WOMEN
zebra Dec 2017
**** men
predatory *** hounds
chasing skirts and tights
aching **** idiots
disciples of Eros
Christs of fetish
reconciling nothing
veiling that principled demeanor
of feminist culture
"of don't objectify me".....translation
sensual form is not natures ruse
machine Eve must
override override override

well the id does not negotiate
the superstructure
of affected political tele-reality
starring
the liberal chattering class
who speculate male motives
to be some vainglorious power trip
while corporatized media personalities
feign out of control lust
as a mental disorder
and
sit up like shuddering Pekingese
yessing the lascivious
as a fiction

no ladies
its not just power
theories are not testosterone
it is pure unadulterated
relentless
irreducible
urge to merge
like the beluga **** channel
sea world as you've never seen it before
where male dolphins
batter and *******
the weaker ***
in search of feral harmony

in an overbuilt society
yet to become a civilization
are we
scissored between a wild ****** id
of the damed
and the Victorian sacred
of the damed

oh you silky damsels
makin men moody and humid
pure **** heroine
a poison ivy of ***
like a rash
givin men folk the itch
cant stop the twitch
rubber *******
in a rubbing frenzy
from your soaking heat and odor

we are  a rumbling of muttering torments
for the forbidden taste
of you
oooow
oooow
we are pan in a mad dance
for glistening shanks
and buttery kisses
we are the early bird looking for the worm
hunters decreed by the liturgy of heaven and hell
a constellation of infatuation and lechery
mad with adoration
love slaves in a raging furnace of desire
*** addicts
that just say yes
turgid dogs
hole sniffers
voluptuous monsters
all johnny apple seed
and sometimes your salvation
as you are ours
knowing that sometimes
real eroticism eclipses morality

and yes my darlings*

NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
zebra Nov 2017
going to the horror films
at ten years old
i wanted to be bitten by the vampire ladies
you know the ones
red brides from the netherworlds
with heaving *******
divinities of evil
with that dah look
in silky white gowns
a little messy from sleeping in the dirt
culture vulture goth girls
with upside down crosses
slags all gauzy bats in the belfry
deranged

but after all they where
dead
and dreadfully appealing
and I'm pretty fussy
so what the hell
they walked like floats
in marshy air
never touching the ground
above frozen dark crypt terrains
with twinkly bare feet
and black high glossed toenails
staring out of blood spilled eyes
drooling cloudy mouth hollows
and a yearning hungry countenance
encouraging me
to get closer
to bite me all over
pierce me
with needly fangs
puncturing little holes in tender me
making me leak like bad plumbing
until i sloped into the bog below
of course, i was panicked
all trembly
but i had a big one
for these evil shadowy ******* too
so i thought
yes
no
yes
no
yes
no
are you gonna **** me?
i asked
they drooled
ooow okay, i thought is it gonna hurt?
they shook there heads yes!
and drooled
real bad?
i inquired further
ah ha
they lingered glaring
drooling
i guess, waiting for me to make up my mind
oh okay anything for you
you dark dreamy girls
dilapidated queens of hell
with ballet derrières

"down and down I go
round and round I go
in a spin, lovin' the spin I'm in
under the old black magic called love"

after all at ten years old,
i already knew i was
a horror *****
and just a little turned on
*** vampires adult explicit
Nov 2017 · 11.4k
CAFE FIGARO
zebra Nov 2017
i felt like talking that night
reciting poetry to your big blue eyes
and raw pink mouth smiling
high as a wind whipped kite
discussing
art, ontology, and existentialism
sitting like lotus
at the
Cafe Figaro on McDougall st
in the west village
belly of a ghost
lost in a vagrant memory

afterwards
we went to a
little one bedroom flat in the east village
haunted by the vapors of its history
a slight stench of ****
and dingo tongue
dripping toilet
all peeling walls
intimating births, cheer and squalor

after a hot bath
of lathered torsos
we followrd each other naked
winding around a table
into a swaying bed
that beckoned
**** here my darlings

and i licked and drank out of your drenched
rose red blossom for hours
it licking back
I salvaged the loneliness
of my soul between your thighs
like a desolate dog whimpering
thanking God with every graze and ******
of your all supple shifting limbs

your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company
in moon rise
summer balm

we looked in the mirror
reflecting on my glistening face
all red raspberry
my lips like blood hydras
laughing our ***** off at how artsy we looked
smeared
with your rouge painted thighs

appearing as if half eaten
you growled swallowed and
licked big butter piggy
till your nose ran like the Ganges
gagging
eyes bloodshot pools of fire
cooing and oowing
driving me maniacal
with every ****** of your wild flicking tongue

we poured our selves into each other
viscous creels gushing
coursing like slime silver
radiating

and finally used to the marrow
we found ourselves drooping sails
our eyelids  leaden
the night mist fell upon us  
muttering shadows

and our *** shriveled
like cast-off umbilici
and we fell to sleep
steep steep
buoyant
like two buttermilk clouds
adrift

your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company
in moon rise
summer balm
*** *** ***  love memory fiction nostalgia
Nov 2017 · 1.9k
The Pussy Whisperer
zebra Nov 2017
in a low silky voice
he whispers ***** ***** *****

he's at the gym
not to far
in the tub
at the spa

come ***** dear
let's have lots a fun
and kiss a while
he licks you some

he loves you so
would you like a big mouse
he has one honey
and it's not your spouse

a crazy boy
all over you
drinks you like wine
and eats you like stew

he's not about kids
and going to work
but he washes your dishes
and hes not a ****

***** perfume
the natural smell
don't hide it sweet girl
watch him swell

oh comb it pretty
loves hairy too
spread it like butter
hoochi cooo

don't be shy
and open wide
coax out your ****
and feel the glide

hes the ***** whisperer
calling your soul
loving every fold
melting every hole

summer sweet fruit
hidden away
come on honey
let's dance and play

candy ****
and ***** pie
sweet juicy lush
down velvety thigh

he's got a nice one
it's really cool
a big pink stick
that makes you drool

he's the ***** whisperer
calling in time
come hither my love
it's not a crime

meowwwww
*** adult explicit
*****
a collaboration on the phone laughing our ***** off
:)
Nov 2017 · 954
CHRIST MOUSE
zebra Nov 2017
after a week of dried paint chips
and plastic shoe laces
the starved little mouse
ate the dainty aqua blue food pellets
near the big red door
through spider webs
behind the refrigerator

finally full
his guts in a knot
he keeled over hemorrhaging
but at least he wasn't driven mad
with hunger anymore
although he was tormented
with writhing and choking up ****** tidbits
towards his final destination
a knotting rigor mortis

he could be seen
laying flat on his back
withered
frozen in a suspended flutter frenzy
his little limbs clawing frenetically
to the heavens

having dared the sin of gluttony
he paid his penitence
and last absolution
for living large
as a house mouse
in the cruel wilds
of a treacherous world
on the crucifix of the human kingdom
land of the roaming
Godzilla's
where solace and kindness has no quarter
for a starved hard lived little mouse
who died
as providence would have it
by Gods infinite wisdom and glory
like a rat
when we make a mistake its called a sin
when God makes a mistake its called nature
Nov 2017 · 309
SILENT NIGHT
zebra Nov 2017
silent night
come **** me right
round young ******
***** and ripe

*** crazed
oh so tight
belligerent girl
high as a kite

she licks the hose
strikes a pose
butter and ****
twinkle toes

xmas is here
gooey galore
what i want for xmas
is a sweet little *****

if i don't have it
ill get all black
what the hell
no nook in the sack

holiday cheer
i love to be kissed
would you like some more beer
and a holiday tryst
*** ADULT EXPLICIT
Nov 2017 · 6.1k
THE FUTILITY OF ROCKS
zebra Nov 2017
rocks don't care
all stubble and stones
a difficult geometry
so if they don't fit
they are hammered
and
crushed to rubble
jammed together to make virile walls
and if stabbed with swords
care not about
torn bellies and broken necks
soaking them crimson rust
or drowned nautilus
beneath the sea

humans
have futility in common with rocks
except that everything
girds and gnaws
at their belligerent sensitivity

all clouded soft towers
bi-pedal mortal spires
with tender flesh
beaten into place
lacerated
truncated amputees
to fit the outer life
of status and statues
a scandal to the inner coves of self

I'm envious of rocks
except for moments of
shifting watery kisses
clamorous for love

we remain
disfigured terrains
hunters of souls balmy unguents
while
fluctious immolating moons
unravel
in a hidden grieving

oh countenance of apathy
only to be more like you
a wilderness of stumps
and
dead rock gods

and our aspiration
indifference
our exit
the path of the renunciate
a penitence
feasting only on futility
and the vagaries of spirit
Nov 2017 · 825
NO POEMS
zebra Nov 2017
1) : No Animal poems
2) : No Extreme poems
3) : No Old whatsoever poems
4) : No *** poems
5) : No ****** poems
6) : No Casandra complex poems
7) : No Celebs poems No wait thats OK!
8) : No ******* poems
9) : No Disambiguation poems.
10) :No go **** yourself poems
11): No **** me poems
12): No *** poems
13): No love poems
14): No hate poems
15): No nature poems
16): No political poems
17) No happy poems
18) No ****** poems
19) No poems about body functions
20) No funny poems
21) No honey poems
22) No poems about, AI malfunctions
23) No poems about no poems ;)
..................
*just refine
yourself
out of
*******
existence
poems
A COLLABORATION WITH Temporal Fugue and Rose
Nov 2017 · 206
THE ONE
zebra Nov 2017
its not nice to be slutty
so she looks for the one
cause mommy told her
its not right to have fun

and now she is married
for many long years
they fight like porcupines
and weep blood and tears

virgins are good
***** are bad
as long as your dupes
you'll always be sad

the world needs to change
lets wake up
love is a range
and get unstuck

we can love each other
polyamour
long nights in heaven
kisses galore

its a new aeon
the aquarian age
enough stagnation
lets turn the page
social commentary
Nov 2017 · 1.2k
I HATE YOU !....A LOVE POEM
zebra Nov 2017
ooow
i hate you
you twisted little *****
show me your ***
mmmmmmmmmmm
thats disgusting

come here
your gona get it hard
until your cross eyed
and brain dead

shut up
on your knees
open your mouth
don't say a word
i hate you 'to pieces
your my little
nasty ***** thing
come here

kisses kisses kisses
ill never let you go
NEVER EVER !!!

tears and mushy
kisses
i die for your touch!
<3
*** adult explicit
Nov 2017 · 260
WHAT ?
zebra Nov 2017
what ?
i couldn't believe you would do that
do you really think thats a good idea?
despicable behavior
so dam low down
you have to learn about limIts
you have a lot a nerve!
are you an animal?
never mind
alright your forgivin
but watch your self
no
i don't hate you
but it was a filthy thing you did
okay
lets forget it

hmmmmmmm
come to think of it
i really didn't mind that much
alright i have to admit
i kinda liked it

dam
that was so *****
lets do it again
Nov 2017 · 219
POOBLISHED
zebra Nov 2017
i
dream
of one day
being
pooblished
:0
Nov 2017 · 727
TWO LADIES
zebra Nov 2017
two ladies
dressed to ****
give me a shiver
give me a thrill

they kiss each other
their mouths pink and bright
tender and cruel
a kiss then a bite

******* brush soft
*****'s get wet
hands ***** *******
drools like a pet

******* explode
spasms and creams
hands touching thighs
sizzling dreams

oh they love
all candy and ***
shadowed eyes
lips like ***

ones a slave
the other her queen
then they switch
kiss and scream

its hotter then hot
a burning **** sun
melting butter slits
a tempest of fun

doing the rumba
pretty dance feet
swaying hips
gawd its sweet

lovely behinds
moving in place
what i want always
is ***** mouth face
ADULT  ***  EXPLICIT
zebra Nov 2017
she had a tattoo
of a duck
on her ***

I ****** the duck*
:)
adult explicit ***
for duck lovers only
Nov 2017 · 1.6k
EENIE-MEENIE-MINEE-MOE
zebra Nov 2017
back in the day
rocks could talk
often
they where
casual, petty and small-minded
just like us
divinities platitudes
every word a drop of manna
its magic
wow magic

so out of conceit
we made them gods
deferred to their credibility
and like idiot children
paid attention to their great allegories
a provident sea of wisdom
from the skeletons of time

we carved their faces from stones
put them on pedestals
and gave them names
the great know it alls
urns of heaven
those oracles of old

and so ensued
the epic cycle of talking statues
and thats how decisions where made
back in the day

the statues are strangely mute now
sunken shadows into earths bowels
and the age of reason
has been transplanted
by the age of
what the ****
a new
hobbled world soul
of darkened consciousness
to cope with tentacles of complexity
and a forest of trials
where depth of thought has been replaced
and decisions are made by
the exalted
ennie meenie minee moe
method
an abstruse form of ritual magic

so from now on
all arguments will be settled
by me
sticking my tongue out
Nov 2017 · 199
Bilingual
zebra Nov 2017
I'm bilingual
i speak
English
and
Baby talk
from the bilingual genius academy
Nov 2017 · 280
SHAME
zebra Nov 2017
a poet of the id
i am shame
dishonoring myself gladly
a disgrace to clean thinking people
deconstructing the ramparts of a fake me
an obsessed child
desire without conscience
an ignominious plague
a broken bower
humiliated by holding back
the knot of obedience
and the abstinence of true will

this vile canker wants a kiss
i am mortified by nobility
why aren't people ******* in the streets
piling on like dogs
squalor in heat
evoking tender squeals and howls
like ear bleeding sirens on fire

oh genitals on a dais
a new spirituality
Aeon to come
myriad of divine liberations
and a new class of powers

wrend and weary afraid
while desolation pulverizes spirit to ash
my ******* tank is full
instead of taking my life
taking back my life
from the soul herders
ghouls of liturgy

i am
high minded
about being low minded

my scurrilous badge of courage
the ******* salute
spells freedom to flourish

have you seen death?

in the end
are we not all equal ?
Nov 2017 · 295
Birth of a Poet
zebra Nov 2017
her name Hysteria
she cried a gutter of tears
in search of a rhythm
that meant something
a moral enigma
her soul a run on rant
her nights
tears and terrors
days nocturnal
stirring dreams
of dark shimmering
and charmed ruins
lumined
in her rose cove heart

her soul
a sun drenched cathedral
a great baroque opera

her mouth a plugged shadow
a dammed dark pool

so she talked with her chattering fingers
pecking away

the birth of a poet
Nov 2017 · 589
DESIRE
zebra Nov 2017
we are
built from the inside out
like a peach
saturated with yearning

at the core
a pit
gods curse

a gnawing insistent mouth
a hollow writhing
veiled by shames
insult of desire

must i beg you
to love me
or better yet
let death give me rest
to forget
Nov 2017 · 882
BITTEN.
zebra Nov 2017
she didn't know it
but she had been bitten
not really by any body
more like a vision
of a vacant stare
and girating open mouth lips
like a strange idea
for a face
that caused a gnawing hunger
evoking a devils form
maybe a virus
that consumed her
while groaning as if almost human

she would wake up in the dead of night
imagining vividly
a veiled man
muscular
wet with sweat
a blood spilled mouth
raw and naked
sloping between her legs
biting her inner thighs
his teeth like syringes
with a lapping black sapphire tongue
it hurt so
but she let him
strangely she loved every second
and stroked his thick black hair
as he consumed her
and called her mommy
in a thick accent
that reminded her of summer heat
and wild groves

it happened every night
after she woke
she looked forward to it
she would wait
beguiled
her **** an oozing wound
and recite

*come sweet demon
come and eat
drink your fill
my blood is sweet

my flesh is willing
my soul is yours
do what thou wilt
on all fours

come to me
this very night
crack my bones
do it right

will i die
a long slow death
keep drinking love
take my breath

my ******* hard
bite me deep
my legs spread wide
you are my creep

i need you so
your blood **** berry
don't stop now
my **** is cherry

finish this thing
you started cruel
i need you so
watch me drool

now i slip
take it all
kisses tender
watch me fall

a dark abyss
veins run dry
hold me close
let me die

mmmm

she wept
she loved the pain
almost finished
dissolved like rain
Nov 2017 · 5.8k
HORIZON OF DISSOLUTION
zebra Nov 2017
i was looking at an old and tattered black and white photo of my grandfather
a man i never knew and wondered about

his existence
like a horizon of dissolution
his soul enshrined in my own
and like him and all creatures
ultimately i remain defenseless
against realities magnitude

while my father loved me as a child
he grew unkind over the years
and we where set bitterly against one another other
his tyranny and my disobedience

as i gathered strategies craft
by machinery of thought
and festering gall
he, the bully
got bullied back
by me and old age
as we in tandem set fire
to his sadistic golden age of disillusionment

and here we are now the living and the dead
still locked in a grudge
a recurring spirit of revenge
in a valley of tears
before i myself join the ephemeral legions
in a pile of stones and ashed corpses

are we not
a procession of long struggles and short pleasures
a history of terrors and creatureness
stooges bound by the wheel creation
crucified by desire
and the apathy of obliterations aftermath
an archeology of death
ruin upon ruins

has God
sinned against man
or bestowed his grace
mystified
perfect and beautiful
beyond measure
yet to be discovered
in an alternate reality?
Nov 2017 · 199
Souls Crux....Erotic Horror
zebra Nov 2017
the flesh around her surveying eyes
crinkled like pitch black crape paper
and glaring alabaster pupils

her ****
knuckle white and drooping
over her falling bloated belly
with darkish brooding *******
obsidian as Turkish coffee
blood drizzled down her pale face
and countenanced her features
like a frame around a painting
of a grotesque from hell

she stood before me
staring
her mouth an undulating invitation
imprinted in souls crux
my heart pounded
my **** swelled
i ached for her
black rose throne
weeping as if lost
and disembodied
haunting me

she spread her legs like great bat wings
her ****
a purple mouth howling
convulsing waves orgiastic
an unimaginable ecstasy
****** horror
Oct 2017 · 634
PARTS OF ME
zebra Oct 2017
i'm choosing different parts of me
i suffer from an excess of reality
a war between ideal and real
id's demons unloosed
trampling super ego
but not without Gods retribution

a self divided by fragments
of loving and loathing
*** and mouth
and the speed of things
accelerating cause and effect

memory
an anorexic history
that feeds on ephemeral visions, metaphors, signs and symbols
and wares it self out counting time
days worked
money made and paid

a ****** possessed
of a fictional self in a run on dream
of passed and future
absent of a present
Oct 2017 · 1.6k
RAG SHAG PARADISE
zebra Oct 2017
there we were
me and my girl
Vavavavoom
speeding on a curving dark road

she
silky luscious
falling all over me
like a chinchilla fur

it was a menacing and stormy night
we pulled up
to the dimly neon lighted
Rag **** Paradise Motel
and adjacent diner
the Creepy Pasta Restaurant
that looked like a blinking furnace
where reality doesn't care what happens
and hemorrhages chaos
like a flushing toilet
at the end of the line

a location
that only exists for a few minutes
planted to create an illusion
to nourish self deception
a crime without a criminal
a continuity of the nothing
yet in it
an inevitable unfolding of consequences
like a scream scattered throughout the cosmos

a good place to curl up for the night
a point of departure on a lumpy rolling bed
as we vanished beneath the sheets
Inspired Jean Baudrillard
Oct 2017 · 401
ASS MAN
zebra Oct 2017
according
to some people we are all going to hell
because god made us all ****** up sinners
and we don't hate ourselves enough
to be worthy of redemption

well I'm ****** up for sure
and as far as i can tell your ****** up
but the good part is you have an ***
and I'm an *** man

you know
"the position of power"
don't you?
thats right, when you bend down low
and rhapsodically sway your hips
as an enticement
not that i need much encouragement

so all is not lost
that is if you don't get all ****** on me
and act like we have to be in love first
although,
I'm pretty sure i do love you
no
I'm not just saying that to use you
i really do love you
how could i not
with an *** as lovely as yours
:D
*** adult explicit
Oct 2017 · 301
Money Talks
zebra Oct 2017
when money talks
it says
good bye
Oct 2017 · 175
SHUT UP
zebra Oct 2017
she:
I am not feeling very talkative tonight
he:
*Oh okay
then shut up.
A COLLABORATION BETWEEN
LORA LEE and ZEBRA BLACK
Oct 2017 · 1.9k
NEUTERED
zebra Oct 2017
oh better not say that
mind of hell
tongue of heaven
better not think depraved
veiled demon, licking ******* for car payments
God watches

what will people think

am i good person
birthday face
shut eyed stiff
not dangerous, like a gun in the face

did i say the right thing,
cypher of morality
the knot of good, a slow strangle
a frightened worm
wont risk tears

eeek
here come the scissors

technology brains wired like weaponized monkeys
eater of crumbs
heatless heart ransomed for the ******* rent

can i evaporate
like a dead cat in a black box
better then tripping all over my self

strings attached with hooks
on shunted limbs
a relic of modernism,
office life

talking scapegoats hissing
always haunted by what's missing

guts spilling through clutched fingers
apologizing to a faceless crowd of sea shells
and bagged heads

minds like the small screens
sitting all day

frenetic fingers and burning eyes
exhaling only

there's a part of me thats been crying since birth

be careful
what you do
in the land of the free and the brave
Oct 2017 · 342
Blood Moons
zebra Oct 2017
i just wana be
your sweet dreamy demon lover boy
nocturnal emissions crimson puddle
a storm brewing over your body
blood moons kissing
your eyes in my mouth
your *** a sanctum
spired kicks
and hot spit licks

Satan and the Saints weeping
like naked torrents
i play her like a cello
a languid dirge
licking deep deep
with utterances  
wild caress
like black tea
steep steep

mouths gaping like
cherry blood raw
and dark jam
a vampires moistened lips

till **** drooled and pooled thick  
muscles flex taught
we are voodoo dolls in flames
all falling red ribbons
i am a pole of lightning
you all *** smog spread
your tongue a flogging lolly
spilling sparks

the body of this woman
a crying wound
red sun streaming
freaky kisses
flesh eater drinking
beaten bones and skin
marrow melting

*** crime
sublime
who did what to who
is it bad
are we sad
where we've been
is it a sin?
adult sadomasochism *** explicit spicy
Oct 2017 · 447
Necromancer
zebra Oct 2017
she
the dead shameless
a tender corpse
zig zag strewn
with matinée looks
and vacant eyes
staring yonder
a surrendered paladin
healing from life's endless clatter

i kiss her
adorations tender
on motionless cold lips,
so warm
she smiles without a smile
caresses with out a caress
loving phantom
a shadow glowing
her arms like scented lilacs
my tears like red wine

valentine
a silent concerto
wrapped in soft muslin
a gift to the gods
graves tremulous breath
all flames and burial

i read her deaths horoscope
an auspicious day
you will be bigger then a galaxy
my love,
i say

come to me
like nocturnes creeping
and wake me with sweet kisses
like a tongue of sapphire ash
and sharp teeth to drink
from hollowed throat willing
and we will love, and love, and love
like melting candles blessed

let the days bind me with gloom
that i may be consumed by you
behind castellated gates
in star studded shrouds
and cobalt black suns

come hither my love
to be consumed
i am necromancer waiting
devour
devour
devour
loss love ***
zebra Oct 2017
love
is on a heart shaped pedestal
sometimes the first casualty of desire
at the mercy of a thousand transgressions
from ticks and triggers
of dark labyrinths primal
and subtle torments of the soul  

body language comes sprightly  
from chaotic corridors
a reckless black sea
all crossed arms
eye roles of refusal
strategies of power
proclamations of will
and pretty please poisons
while
front stabbers anguish over back stabbers anguished
and
the strong cherish the weak
impelled to rescue
as if delicate mewing kittens
from desolations cold blade
and
abandonments slow violence

then to reconcile
hearts sooty overcast moon
love is a two way street
and i move on to hold precious you
in pain stricken arms

she
my shelter
in a cruel world
of fire and ice
oh to feel her kisses
after blood and thunder
to adore heart breaks mend
to dispel tenderly, dark clouds
as sun sets a new
and no matter the pain
to forgive everything
yet limping still

gall
a slow melting snow
that we may caress each other
the only
kindness and soft place to fall
we may ever know
seeking deliverance
in each other's
dark musty warmth

to make up
in a tangle of tears,
wet kisses
unctuous heated breath
and
tender mercies
because
love is
on a heart shaped pedestal
love and pain
Oct 2017 · 266
ODALISQUE
zebra Oct 2017
she is LuNa
she called him
Mr hypnotic
maybe because
he practiced the subtle art of conversational hypnosis
or perhaps he was a night dragon
blink-less staring into her soul
as if she where naked
and her thighs were cradled in his amorous arms

she ached to be his love slave
on her knees, she wept
a mosaic of desires
her toes adorned with inlaid rings
her tongue in flames
wanting him thick in her mouth

her ******* heaving
like a black sea
******* sticky hot
her *****
a cracked ***
leaking buttery ooze
a mindless baby doll
in a chaotic embrace

he
all mad mans grasp
she would be his butter cup and blood buffet
to be buried
feet over her head
and spread wide

seized fingers entwined
a rose of ruin
fuckarella
a dark hazel with a wandering ******

her soul
on a ferris-wheel
from heaven to hell
a ****** odyssey
endearments and bites
a blood soaked mouth
lapping up his wet crotch fruit
raving red rage burning

she
eaten and licked like blood cherries impaled
used abused
and forever
gratefully amused
beaten
sweeter than a *** at a ***** movie
waiting desolate for her demonic lover
odalisque in love
ODALISQUE
*** SLAVE
Oct 2017 · 505
THE TRUTH
zebra Oct 2017
the truth
a petrified sphinx
idol of the natural mind
plagues of fear
and riddles of the world
determined by stark and anguished introspections
passions and beliefs
apocalyptic visions
shadows and voices
by philosophers that sleep
without her tender curves
and clinging kisses

let's lounge around
in fire red *******
my face a tempest
melting between spread thighs
my tongue a rampaging monster
contemplating the meaning
of  butter cups and honey pots
that drool tears of gratitude
on a boulevard of arched feet
and dimpled buttocks
cream and cuddles
my holy sacrament

she is
alter to the gods
and besides breath it self
all the truth i will ever know
Oct 2017 · 271
THE POET
zebra Oct 2017
oh, the poet
antagonist to the good and evil alike
a sobbing child
let lose in the world
with words and appetites piqued and sensual
transgressors of the middle class
and dull speak

their literary magnitude
sometimes perfume and sometimes stench
dripping on wet pages
written by electric brains
nimble figures and wet crotches
to relieve themselves of stupidities accumulations
wrought by their culture
mired in stink think
of either or

from the head up
high minded saints
from the hips down
undulating demons
each in denial of the other
a buffet of lies

the poet
purging private pleasures and torments
for the bemusement of the world
laid-out on the page
like public masturbations
for all to see in the theater of the ear
genuflecting
with mellifluent grace
and silver tongued appreciations
zebra Oct 2017
Here is a primer on the history of poetry

Features of Modernism

To varying extents, writing of the Modernist period exhibits these features:

1. experimentation

belief that previous writing was stereotyped and inadequate
ceaseless technical innovation, sometimes for its own sake
originality: deviation from the norm, or from usual reader expectations
ruthless rejection of the past, even iconoclasm

2. anti-realism

sacralisation of art, which must represent itself, not something beyond preference for allusion (often private) rather than description
world seen through the artist's inner feelings and mental states
themes and vantage points chosen to question the conventional view
use of myth and unconscious forces rather than motivations of conventional plot

3. individualism

promotion of the artist's viewpoint, at the expense of the communal
cultivation of an individual consciousness, which alone is the final arbiter
estrangement from religion, nature, science, economy or social mechanisms
maintenance of a wary intellectual independence
artists and not society should judge the arts: extreme self-consciousness
search for the primary image, devoid of comment: stream of consciousness
exclusiveness, an aristocracy of the avant-garde

4. intellectualism

writing more cerebral than emotional
work is tentative, analytical and fragmentary, more posing questions more than answering them
cool observation: viewpoints and characters detached and depersonalized
open-ended work, not finished, nor aiming at formal perfection
involuted: the subject is often act of writing itself and not the ostensible referent

............
Expressionism

Expressionism was a phase of twentieth-century writing that rejected naturalism and romanticism to express important inner truths. The style was generally declamatory or even apocalyptic, endeavoring to awaken the fears and aspirations that belong to all men, and which European civilization had rendered effete or inauthentic. The movement drew on Rimbaud and Nietzsche, and was best represented by German poetry of the 1910-20 period. Benn, Becher, Heym, Lasker-Schüler, Stadler, Stramm, Schnack and Werfel are its characteristic proponents, {1} though Trakl is the best known to English readers. {2} {3}

Like most movements, there was little of a manifesto, or consensus of beliefs and programmes. Many German poets were distrustful of contemporary society — particularly its commercial and capitalist attitudes — though others again saw technology as the escape from a perceived "crisis in the old order". Expressionism was very heterogeneous, touching base with Imagism, Vorticism, Futurism, Dadaism and early Surrealism, many of which crop up in English, French, Russian and Italian poetry of the period. Political attitudes tended to the revolutionary, and technique was overtly experimental. Nonetheless, for all the images of death and destruction, sometimes mixed with messianic utopianism, there was also a tone of resignation, a sadness of "the evening lands" as Spengler called them.

Expressionism also applies to painting, and here the characteristics are more illuminating. The label refers to painting that uses visual gestures to transmit emotions and emotionally charged messages. In the expressive work of Michelangelo and El Greco, for example, the content remains of first importance, but content is overshadowed by technique in such later artists as van Gogh, Ensor and Munch. By the mid twentieth-century even this attenuated content had been replaced by abstract painterly qualities — by the sheer scale and dimensions of the work, by colour and shape, by the verve of the brushwork and other effects.

Expressionism often coincided with rapid social change. Germany, after suffering the horrors of the First World War, and ineffectual governments afterwards, fragmented into violently opposed political movements, each with their antagonistic coteries and milieu. The painting of these groups was very variable, but often showed a mixture of aggression and naivety. Understandably unpopular with the establishment  — denounced as degenerate by the Nazis — the style also met with mixed reactions from the picture-buying public. It seemed to question what the middle classes stood for: convention, decency, professional expertise. A great sobbing child had been let loose in the artist's studio, and the results seemed elementally challenging. Perhaps German painting was returning to its Nordic roots, to small communities, apocalyptic visions, monotone starkness and anguished introspection.

What could poetry achieve in its turn? Could it use some equivalent to visual gestures, i.e. concentrate on aspects of the craft of poetry, and to the exclusion of content? Poetry can never be wholly abstract, a pure poetry bereft of content. But clearly there would be a rejection of naturalism. To represent anything faithfully requires considerable skill, and such skill was what the Expressionists were determined to avoid. That would call on traditions that were not Nordic, and that were not sufficiently opposed to bourgeois values for the writer's individuality to escape subversion. Raw power had to tap something deeper and more universal.

Hence the turn inward to private torments. Poets became the judges of poetry, since only they knew the value of originating emotions. Intensity was essential.  Artists had to believe passionately in their responses, and find ways of purifying and deepening those responses — through working practices, lifestyles, and philosophies. Freud was becoming popular, and his investigations into dreams, hallucinations and paranoia offered a rich field of exploration. Artists would have to glory in their isolation, moreover, and turn their anger and frustration at being overlooked into a belief in their own genius. Finally, there would be a need to pull down and start afresh, even though that contributed to a gradual breakdown in the social fabric and the apocalypse of the Second World War.

Expressionism is still with us. Commerce has invaded bohemia, and created an elaborate body of theory to justify, support and overtake what might otherwise appear infantile and irrational. And if traditional art cannot be pure emotional expression, then a new art would have to be forged. Such poetry would not be an intoxication of life (Nietzsche's phrase) and still less its sanctification.  Great strains on the creative process were inevitable, moreover, as they were in Georg Trakl's case, who committed suicide shortly after writing the haunting and beautiful piece given below

................
SYMBOLIST POETS
symbolism in poetry

Symbolism in literature was a complex movement that deliberately extended the evocative power of words to express the feelings, sensations and states of mind that lie beyond everyday awareness. The open-ended symbols created by Charles Baudelaire (1821-67) brought the invisible into being through the visible, and linked the invisible through other sensory perceptions, notably smell and sound. Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-98), the high priest of the French movement, theorized that symbols were of two types. One was created by the projection of inner feelings onto the world outside. The other existed as nascent words that slowly permeated the consciousness and expressed a state of mind initially unknown to their originator.

None of this came about without cultivation, and indeed dedication. Poets focused on the inner life. They explored strange cults and countries. They wrote in allusive, enigmatic, musical and ambiguous styles. Rimbaud deranged his senses and declared "Je est un autre". Von Hofmannstahl created his own language. Valéry retired from the world as a private secretary, before returning to a mastery of traditional French verse. Rilke renounced wife and human society to be attentive to the message when it came.

Not all were great theoreticians or technicians, but the two interests tended to go together, in Mallarmé most of all. He painstakingly developed his art of suggestion, what he called his "fictions". Rare words were introduced, syntactical intricacies, private associations and baffling images. Metonymy replaced metaphor as symbol, and was in turn replaced by single words which opened in imagination to multiple levels of signification. Time was suspended, and the usual supports of plot and narrative removed. Even the implied poet faded away, and there were then only objects, enigmatically introduced but somehow made right and necessary by verse skill. Music indeed was the condition to which poetry aspired, and Verlaine, Jimenez and Valéry were among many who concentrated efforts to that end.

So appeared a dichotomy between the inner and outer lives. In actuality, poets led humdrum existences, but what they described was rich and often illicit: the festering beauties of courtesans and dance-hall entertainers; far away countries and their native peoples; a world-weariness that came with drugs, isolation, alcohol and bought ***. Much was mixed up in this movement — decadence, aestheticism, romanticism, and the occult — but its isms had a rational purpose, which is still pertinent. In what way are these poets different from our own sixties generation? Or from the young today: clubbing, experimenting with relationships and drugs, backpacking to distant parts? And was the mixing of sensory perceptions so very novel or irrational? Synaesthesia was used by the Greek poets, and indeed has a properly documented basis in brain physiology.

What of the intellectual bases, which are not commonly presented as matters that should engage the contemporary mind, still less the writing poet? Symbolism was built on nebulous and somewhat dubious notions: it inspired beautiful and historically important work: it is now dead: that might be the blunt summary. But Symbolist poetry was not empty of content, indeed expressed matters of great interest to continental philosophers, then and now. The contents of consciousness were the concern of Edmund Husserl (1859-1938), and he developed a terminology later employed by Heidegger (1889-1976), the Existentialists and hermeneutics. Current theories on metaphor and brain functioning extend these concepts, and offer a rapprochement between impersonal science and irrational literary theory.

So why has the Symbolism legacy dwindled into its current narrow concepts? Denied influence in the everyday world, poets turned inward, to private thoughts, associations and the unconscious. Like good Marxist intellectuals they policed the area they arrogated to themselves, and sought to correct and purify the language that would evoke its powers. Syntax was rearranged by Mallarmé. Rhythm, rhyme and stanza patterning were loosened or rejected. Words were purged of past associations (Modernism), of non-visual associations (Imagism), of histories of usage (Futurism), of social restraint (Dadaism) and of practical purpose (Surrealism). By a sort of belated Romanticism, poetry was returned to the exploration of the inner lands of the irrational. Even Postmodernism, with its bric-a-brac of received media images and current vulgarisms, ensures that gaps are left for the emerging unconscious to engage our interest

......................

.
IMAGIST POETRY
imagist poetry

Even by twentieth-century standards, Imagism was soon over. In 1912 Ezra Pound published the Complete Poetical Works of its founder, T.E. Hulme (five short poems) and by 1917 the movement, then overseen by Amy Lowell, had run its course. {1} {2} {3} {4} {5} The output in all amounted to a few score poems, and none of these captured the public's heart. Why the importance?

First there are the personalities involved — notably Ezra Pound, James Joyce, William Carlos Williams {6} {7} {8} {9} — who became famous later. If ever the (continuing) importance to poets of networking, of being involved in movements from their inception, is attested, it is in these early days of post-Victorian revolt.

Then there are the manifestos of the movement, which became the cornerstones of Modernism, responsible for a much taught in universities until recently, and for the difficulties poets still find themselves in. The Imagists stressed clarity, exactness and concreteness of detail. Their aims, briefly set out, were that:

1. Content should be presented directly, through specific images where possible.
2. Every word should be functional, with nothing included that was not essential to the effect intended.
3. Rhythm should be composed by the musical phrase rather than the metronome.

Also understood — if not spelled out, or perhaps fully recognized at the time — was the hope that poems could intensify a sense of objective reality through the immediacy of images.

Imagism itself gave rise to fairly negligible lines like:

You crash over the trees,
You crack the live branch…  (Storm by H.D.)

Nonetheless, the reliance on images provided poets with these types of freedom:

1. Poems could dispense with classical rhetoric, emotion being generated much more directly through what Eliot called an objective correlate: "The only way of expressing emotion in the form of art is by finding an 'objective correlative'; in other words, a set of objects, a situation, a chain of events which shall be the formula of that particular emotion; such that when the external facts, which must terminate in sensory experience, are given, the emotion is immediately evoked." {10}

2. By being shorn of context or supporting argument, images could appear with fresh interest and power.

3. Thoughts could be treated as images, i.e. as non-discursive elements that added emotional colouring without issues of truth or relevance intruding too mu
...............
PROSE BASED POETRY
prose based poetry

When free verse lacks rhythmic patterning, appearing as a lineated prose stripped of unnecessary ornament and rhetoric, it becomes the staple of much contemporary work. The focus is on what the words are being used to say, and their authenticity. The language is not heightened, and the poem differs from prose only by being more self-aware, innovative and/or cogent in its exposition.

Nonetheless, what looks normal at first becomes challenging on closer reading — thwarting expectations, and turning back on itself to make us think more deeply about the seemingly innocuous words used. And from there we are compelled to look at the world with sharper eyes, unprotected by commonplace phrases or easy assumptions. Often an awkward and fighting poetry, therefore, not indulging in ceremony or outmoded traditions.
What is Prose?

If we say that contemporary free verse is often built from what was once regarded as mere prose, then we shall have to distinguish prose from poetry, which is not so easy now. Prose was once the lesser vehicle, the medium of everyday thought and conversation, what we used to express facts, opinions, humour, arguments, feelings and the like. And while the better writers developed individual styles, and styles varied according to their purpose and social occasion, prose of some sort could be written by anyone. Beauty was not a requirement, and prose articles could be rephrased without great loss in meaning or effectiveness.

Poetry, though, had grander aims. William Lyon Phelps on Thomas Hardy's work: {1}

"The greatest poetry always transports us, and although I read and reread the Wessex poet with never-lagging attention — I find even the drawings in "Wessex Poems" so fascinating that I wish he had illustrated all his books — I am always conscious of the time and the place. I never get the unmistakable spinal chill. He has too thorough a command of his thoughts; they never possess him, and they never soar away with him. Prose may be controlled, but poetry is a possession. Mr. Hardy is too keenly aware of what he is about. In spite of the fact that he has written verse all his life, he seldom writes unwrinkled song. He is, in the last analysis, a master of prose who has learned the technique of verse, and who now chooses to express his thoughts and his observations in rime and rhythm."

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OPEN FORMS IN POETRY
open forms in poetry

Poets who write in open forms usually insist on the form growing out of the writing process, i.e. the poems follow what the words and phrase suggest during the composition
Sep 2017 · 349
HELLOOOOOOO SATAN AND GOD
zebra Sep 2017
Lets get over the stupid **** about God and the Devil
Satan is the serpent power
originating at the base of the spine, this is primal power corresponding to the id
With out Satan you would be dead
This power regulates primal autonomic excretory and ****** functions, ie. survival and supports the higher activities of the body mind and soul
corresponding to the ego and super ego, your God
The ego is and integrative mechanism that stands between Id and the super ego ie Devil or Id and God or the super ego
The id is the original primal survival mechanism and true will not to be ignored or denied
The light is born of the darkness and is born-less
The darkness is eternal  and the light is everywhere within her

The super ego is discernment ...principal ....reason...ethics and ideation's of mythic heroes , not to be ignored or denied  
In religion  aspects of the higher self are personified as a Christ, Buddha, Krishna etc when God takes human form
and the Devil is personified as Satan, Asuras Beelzebub Demons or various miscreants in human form  

If Christians adhered strictly to total purity they would have to  insist on castrations and analectomies to purge their so called evil elements   and die because surviving with out the lower is undoable
conversely the Satanists would require lobotomies or being guillotined because living without essential principals is indoable 
God and the Devil are not mutually exclusive except when they're  viewed through the maw of religion...God and the Devil are different sides of the very same coin

In the royal yoga of the the east  when the serpent power ascends up the spinal column  the id, ego and super ego are instantaneously integrated and transcended into an all together different order and the fractured nature of self is over come by unity

This unity transcends all myth and concepts of god ie. religion ethics morality
It is a totally transcendent order..
In western terms as a human you stand between the the higher and the lower
Spiritual evolution is not about taking sides its about the integration towards a whole self
You are potentially the magician who mobilizes the lower to serve the higher
This may be an over simplification but
you use your demons to create a base ...they are work slaves to get money so you can go to your temple, your home...the higher self in effect and reflect on the beauty of life

.hellloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo­ooooooooooooooooooooooooo
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox­oxoxoxo
CAN WE **** NOW :)
Sep 2017 · 2.7k
I'M SORRY
zebra Sep 2017
i'm sorry
but im going to devour you
like toast with butter and jam
let go to me
lose your self in the exaltation of suffering
albeit a difficult pleasure
feel me ruin you with every strike and stroke
blister tear and pierce
a quandary of liberation bleeding
take more then whats dished
ill turn you into a gushing river of squeals
and filthy verse

i'm in love with your ****
colored almost purple
like a wild mouthed poem
make it kiss me
let it eat my face
its more beautiful then an Hawaiian sunset
more tender then a baby lamb
your sweet lipped *****
a buttery sticky bun
its drools liquid diamonds

i'm sorry
i hit your **** so hard
but they bounced and bounced
and it drove me near mad
so gorgeous bruised and bleeding
casaba torrents
all hot stings and sweet

you stand glorious
between beauty and annihilation

your mouth swollen from being slapped so hard
nose bleed and mucous
your eyes enormous wombs
like fingers touching me

oh baby
im sorry
your tears imploring
pleading and drunk
on hair pulling frenzies

curse my brutish rampage
of *** gone mad
turning your body
into clouds and red splash ribbons

don't be sorry
she said
with pursed lips
your rabid hunger my own
i am an abyss of dark desires
a savage wraith
i want to kiss you like a lecher
all ******* and cherries
with legs squandered wide
a Halloween grotesque
with a ponytail

are you going to eat me
like a communion wafer
okay
if it will save you
am i not a saint of lust

"There is no greater love
than to lay down one's life for one's friends"
john15:13

so have your fun at my expense
make me your house of horrors
greased
for the scalding of your whip

ill be good
please do your worst
and ill show you my best
promise me
pretty please
kisses and cries
rainbows and ash
blistering ecstatic
sadomasochism
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