My adored is here, Oh Vincent!
Charming with your perfume's scent
not minding if it costs just 50 cent.
Wishing to lean on you
and form a crescent
on your well endowed body
which is like an expensive present.
Stealing a kiss from me is decent
but pulling me back
and forcefully keeping my legs bent;
even with my resistance,
you would not relent
makes you a pathetic Dog 100 percent.
And I am regretful of my time badly spent.
I escaped, when you were a little complacent
as you rudely smiled
like a badly trained Adolescent.
And all these while,
I thought you were innocent.
How dare you try to penetrate
without passing through my consent?
Now that the beast in you, you represent,
the only thing I have to say to you
Copyright © Funom Makama
Poem by: Mr. Ronald Watson
Sep. 13, 2012
My Poetry on PoetrySoup
Stinking thinking/ it leads to drinking./
What moisten the soul without an inkling?/
Unto making a wild left turn /while the right signal light were blinking./
Within a mild mix of rice, hops, and barley,
Since/ it is too much laugher at a karaoke party./
How Elvis sounds like,/ a broken Bob Marley?/
Now it’s as if,/ inhibitions are lowed/
Frozen in time/ and slipping far out of control./
As intuitions of minds does loathe,/ as such weariness echoes for tomorrow./
Yet,/ a stinking breath that smells just as death/ and it's where all funky asses dwells./
Though/ all hung over /and unjustified to flinging heavy heads into that porcelain king,/
Even this is a sight for red sore eyed Kings!/
It is an aftermath of ravishing through them royal purple cloth bags./
So/ afraid to admit that shallowness slowly drags!/
When,a sense of clarity which will just admit it.
That stinking thinking is difficult to kick, but
One day at a time, it is the only way to shine, or get fixed.
Thank youMy Poetry on PoetrySoup
Copyright © TMP The mad poet
-honestly...I have no clue why...-
As I began to rest in my fickle dream
Suddenly I was stirred from my sleep
I was greeted by many a whisker
And petulant snores from my sister
The cat mewed ferociously and purred
For there on the other side of the window—was a bird!
It chirped like a wobbly siren—the ass!
And I swear by my bosom it was pecking the glass
Suddenly, I sprang up in alarm
I swear my bosom was gone!
The cat then motioned at the feathered brat
For her bright breasts seemed extra fat
Of course it wouldn’t have been that
But I couldn’t just blame the cat!
I opened the window only a crack
And asked very kindly, “May I have my breasts back?”
Such pride she attained from my bosom
Yet why? –how would she use ‘em!?
The mockingbird merely turned a goodbye
But the stolen twins were too heavy to fly!
She plopped to the ground and squawked
I would have laughed, but I was shocked!
The cat scratched at the window and with her eyes
Said, “Prithee, take your breasts—she’s mine!”
Before I could think I had fallen to the ground
To a booming, most terrible sound!
My eyes then opened to a cat on my head
As the booming sound continued from my sister’s bed
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
My nightmare is so tangible...so vividly I dream,
The dream, it feels so true to me...reality it seems.
Exhaust and smoke are all I breathe...the air is full of smog...
The job I do is thankless toil, but I work it like a dog.
There's mercury in the fish I eat...there're toxins in my food...
And drugs, they are a constant scourge...myriads for every mood.
Bipolar is my government...a house divided 'tis...
And corporations drive both sides...in the pockets of "Big Biz".
The icecaps, they are melting...the sea is rising, too.
Pandas, condors, polar bears -- empty cages at the zoo.
My money ne'er seems quite enough...I'm always out of cash...
My freedom fled when I wed my bride...(live I under the lash).
"Entertainment"? Reality TV...maybe some vampire shows...
Or idjits becoming household names for being beachfront "ho's".
People clamor "climate change" from the seats of S.U.V.'s,
And bitter news on the honey front...what's killing all the bees?
Politicians spending more...we go deeper in the red.
Opinions dressed as "news" abound...is journalism dead?
Cell phones are ubiquitous...conversation's endangered now...
And "Kardashians" are famous girls..but who knows why or how?
How strange my twisted psyche is t'make real what must be fake...
Now'f only I could find some way to get myself to wake.
Written on November 27th, 2012
By Daniel Beus (Rebel Sun)
Copyright © Daniel Beus
To Hurt to say,But I'm sorry.
Do you know how much it hurt.To see you disappear from a memories I have yet recalled.Your heart so ice cold there's nothing I can do for it.
Let me touch your chest and feel the breeze that escapes from if.
Did you know that with ever king there are rebels who dares chain him down.
Everyone person can life is determined by they way the express themselves.
And anyone can forge a fake life to get away and hide from their reality.
I'm going to be you reality has my hand reaches your face let me show you what it means to be hit by reality and take it seriously.Hopeless,Agony,Fear,Terrified, Corrupted.
I haven't had enough of your ego,of your smile,the lies that surround you.
Ha! let me see you fall and crawl don't beg it unsightly but crawl for you are the man the shadow man.
Cling to me as i show you the grief and fear and anger I have of losing you,the only thing connecting me to you is the blood I waste on the ground in the night time wake.
Watch it fall as I cut deeper.How many times did I cry for you and you never even cared enough to answer me?
Your faceless,heartless,cold eyes let me thank you.
Your turning my to stone your helping me write these disgusting feeling down every night.
You gave me something so powerful not even you could destroy them now these hands of course.
As I drink this to ease my pain and free my self of this relapsing phase.Let me be happy let me be sad let me mad let me become depressed for I'm so bipolar it hurts.
How dare you trampled my pride and toss me around like a lifeless doll...Was I really your luggage you tried to throw away?
Be honest lies don't work no more for I've see everything everyone as danger has liar beggar and theive coming after me.Thank you for being my venom.
I'm sorry if I hurt you I never meant to.
Would you forgive me if I laid down to rest and not wake up again?
Please tell me.I can't help but feel like something useless in this wild game of tag and empty felt.It hurts you should know,So don't take to much time and tell me how you feel.
At least then I can dance with you.
Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes
Oh the horror!
it's just fun!
Copyright © Theresa a.k.a. Reecie
Like sick allergies,
Boredom can be passed around
I call it: THE BOREDOM DISEASE
Like a horrid storm,
Boredom can catch you off guard
Hold on for DEAR LIFE!
Like the whooping cough,
Boredom can be serious
If I were you, I’d
Get a vaccination !
Copyright © J. W. Earnings
Confessed to creator Geppetto
"Got a fetish, I think you should know
Often I fiddle
‘Round with my middle
Take a look-see how THAT baby grows!"
Sumitted for: Roy Jerden's contest
Copyright © Tim Ryerson
I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide
I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight
My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign
I twirl my hair and make it bend
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends
As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin
The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions
I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane
Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed
The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose
I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key
It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast
Yet he lets bad things happen
How can he exist?
Copyright © Dan Keir
Spiders and I have a deal,
They don't come near me and I won't squeal.
But sometimes they forget,
Then I get upset,
And I squeal cause they broke our deal!
Copyright © Kim Merryman
"Joe Willie Namath"
Joe Willie Namath
Super Bowl famous
shaved his football legs to sell pantyhose
wore white mink coat on sidelines for camera pose.
Broadway Joe Willie
drinking booze made him silly
on ESPN ..Suzie refused to be kissed
captured on sports video fans booed and hissed.
*For P.D.'S Clerihew Contest.
Copyright © Linda-Marie SweetHeart
It’s midnight and your sleeping
When someone knocks upon your door
Who could be there at this hour?
No one’s come this late before
You grab your robe and slippers
And shuffle across the floor
All the while you are thinking
Who’s that knocking at my door?
As you reach the door you hesitate
You don’t know who’s outside
It could be a thief or mugger
Should I run or should I hide?
Then the knock comes even louder
Your heart is pounding in your chest
Sweat is dripping off your forehead
And you can’t catch your breath
So you peek out through a curtain
And can’t believe your eyes
There’s a monster starring at you
With red and glowing eyes
And then you see him smile
As he motions toward your door
He wants to come inside
But what on earth for
Maybe he’s just hungry
He might want a late night snack
If I feed him and I’m nice
Will he keep coming back
So you open the door a little
Not much but just a crack
And your heart jumps from your chest
When you see what’s looking back
He’s ten foot tall and hairy
From his head down to his toes
His eyes are red and glowing
And he says his name is, “ROSE!”
My big hairy monster
That came knocking at my door
Isn’t all that scary
Not to me not anymore
He’s not a he at all
He’s a girl you see
And all she wants is cookies
Cookies and hot tea
So we sat at the table
And talked till after four
Then Rose said, “thank you oh so much”
And I said, “come back again for more”
So when a monster comes to visit
Make some cookies and hot tea
I know she’s big a scary
But Rose is sweet to me
Copyright © Paul Harris
I had some extra green paint
Oh what can I do to make her faint
So a dabbed a bit down below
When in the room she came for a blow
Green-eyed monster is waiting to show
ok ok I saw so many poems with this topic, I said what the hell, why not!
Copyright © arthur vaso
Lookin' after pests
Keepin' a CLOSE eye on 'em
"Those wild animals!"
Roamin' around zoo
Searchin' for sneaky monkey
Hidin' in a tree
Zookeeper gets mad
"Where's Marty, the smartypants!?"
"He TOOK my cage keys!"
Copyright © J. W. Earnings
Force through a casket,
A body appears,
Or should I say,what's left,
Groans and moans,
Earth bursting all around,
Covering my ears,
Shutting out this horrible sound,
Raising from the ground,
In your chest,
Twice as fast your heart pound,
Searching for the living,
This Halloween night,
Better not be caught,
It won't be a wonderful sight....
Copyright © Richard Palmer
With soap in hand placed in my mouth
Head hangs over toliet tongue heads south
Dirty words no more
Copyright © Mark Goodson
Grew him a beard which was
Coming in fine.
Then he found out he had
He can shave his, but he'd
Best not touch mine.
Copyright © Jason Talbott
Let me chase that naughty witch
on the flying, wooden broom...
causing havoc and gloom,
that's why she's super rich
robbing any unlit house watched by a raccoon
and laughing she bypasses the orange moon.
Ugly and treacherous witch, you won't admit
that you steal candies from children's bags without a rip,
but proof is on your rotten teeth yellowed by sweets...
doesn't their cry move you enough to return their treats?
Why would a witch on a flying, wooden broom
steal and hide goodies in the darkest castle room,
where the empty caskets of vampires lay?
Have you seen the blood stains earlier in the day?
Fly over pumpkin-lit graveyards while Death looks for skeletons
to hang on trees to celebrate the eerie Halloween night...
keep away from such an horrifying place infested with bats;
fly faster, fly higher before darkness becomes light!
Copyright ( c ) 2012 by Andrew Crisci
Copyright © Andrew Crisci
NO REFILLS---Dr. P. Soupenstein
Rx *7563287 BEC 11/11/11
Seems to me,
what you need
for healing this condition...
is something real
you can feel
to ease this mean affliction
accept from me
this poetry prescription:
( <_____PUSH & TURN_____> )
Take ONE positive poem
Read ORALLY 2 times BY MOUTH -----
Every 4-6 HOURS AS NEEDED for the pain
Blues and belly aches will dissipate
resulting in healthy energy gains
-Alcohol may intensify the effect of being drowsy
attempting to read while operating machines...
will cause you to drive lousy.
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO
had no breakfast today
but somehow i'll make it
in the usual way
when it comes to hunger
i can take it
at work everything is wonderful
everything is fine
the weather is cool
and bright is the sun shine
no worries what ever
my face has a smile
driving along my mind
drifts for a while
and then it hits me
like a thunderbolt
lighting on the inside
from somewhere in my stomach
straight to my backside
you know that feeling
you know what it is
something is yearning
and needs to go fast
before i know it
i'm full of hot air
i want to let it go
but i do not dare
look for the box
they call johnny on the spot
but when i get there
the door was locked
standing out side and holding it tight
no matter what their doing
i'm gonna lose this fight
and then it happens
what nature fought to get through
now tell me honestly
has this ever happened to you
Copyright © John Loving III
On some English grass
On a piece of land forever England
Warriors of the realm
Take holy orders, on their Fathers grave
To defend the honour of their local pub
For this is the noble art of Sunday league Football
The crowds bay for blood
Shouts of foul and blind as a bat
The decision absurd
The referee a drunkard
Shouts of bar steward,
And your mothers questionable character
Cleaned up for posterity
The game goes on
Frank, the winger another yellow card
Another fine, I fear he will be barred
Groans for Bill a night watchman by trade
I think he’s a blade (Sheffield United supporter)
But not a very good keeper I’m afraid
Then there’s the striker
Super king Jack, 40 a day and a cough to match
Will need a penalty to score in this match
What about ken, a beer belly full back,
Rarely runs for fear of a heart attack
And slugger the centre half
Likes to break legs,
And still the only guy to sup a half a keg
Smooth talking tommy pulls birds on the six yard line
Greased black hair, and knobbly knees to match
Still Skill is not this team’s forte, for we are Britain’s
Taking part is our religion
Lost another game two nil
But won three two at fighting, brill
Bottom of the league
First Aid in the pub
A good drink after
Enemies in the field, but forever friends in laughter.
That’s Sunday football league
Home to the wife
And Sunday dinner, roast beef and Yorkshire pud
Another bottle of bud
Feet up, settee calls
Dreams of Wembley, and Sheffield Wednesday
Not a bad life for this Yorkshire clan
Here in Sheffield where football began.
Copyright © steven cooke
I am in deep despair
I fear my name he will smear
I don’t know who he is
But I hope he uses a little sense.
I understand My Cowboys
Heard about OUR LOVE STORY
And this one guy
Says he’ll tell ALL
I don’t know what he can tell
Billy wasn’t a gossip
And neither am I
So whatever you do hear
Will surely be lies
I didn’t know how to title this poem
Head Hung is used and also Boo Hoo
And I didn’t know what to do
So I though I should at least warn you.
Please, Please I beg of you
Take it all with a grain of salt
And if you should choose
A little bit of lime is good too.
So I hear
Copyright © Marycile Beer
I feel as though time is slipping away,
And more is gone each passing day…
Copyright © Tirzah Conway
The flying wheel spins,
screams of kids terrify me...
I hope they are fine.
I hope they are fine,
with hair sticking out like wheat...
" Stop that flying wheel!" I scream.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci
Picnic was peaceful
A spider crawled down her neck
screech heard round the world
Copyright © Kimberly Shaw
Soy sauce drains
Into the white, clustered rice
spills . . .
Soy sauce taints
The whiteness of the grain
It slips out of my hands
No use...no point in crying out in rage
Though I was starving,
I'll just eat another thing and start on a new page
I'm hungry like a swine
I wish I can earn back my snack!
I'm as angry as a bull
I'm about ready to attack! Attack!
Soy sauce packages
Fall unto the dirty school ground
By bratty, conceited teens
They really need to eat their greens
Instead of junkfood and pizza
They should drink some water
Instead of drinking sugary drinks or
Sucking on popsicles obnoxiously
Why did the soy sauce spill? Seriously....
Copyright © J. W. Earnings
I had resolved one year,
To never again have a fear
But I feared sitting down,
So I walked all around
And that's how I ended up here.
Copyright © Tara Andre
Please kiss and run
Her body is on fire
The water is rising
Whisky on the table,
Golden in the glass
Burn to the taste,
A little happiness at last
No Money to burnt, yet time to pass
So turn away or duck and run
My only son
Take your misty mistletoe kiss
Disconnect the extinguisher: this girl is on fire!
..... A battle beyond despairs for the ghetto woman
A part of labor, and a part pain;
The ghetto woman lost all sense of pride
A breed of women with no shame!
A part of labor and a part of pain
1 Peter 5:8
Be sober-minded; be watchful.
Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion,
seeking someone to devour.
Copyright © Annie Lander
When I was young, I noticed
Many adults stopped aging at 39.
Had something to do with Jack Benny
And trying to hold back time.
Then I noticed something else.
They often spoke of retiring at 65,
And many of them seemed to hope
They might still be alive.
The difference came to 26,
A number I knew very well.
The number of letters in the alphabet
We use to print and write and spell.
Then it occurred to me,
For folks holding youth so dear,
Just add a letter to 39
Each and every year.
39A would be 40,
39Z would be 65.
After that, start letters over again
Or just be glad you’re still alive.
So, you see, it’s easy
To forever be 39.
You may fool yourself & others,
But you can’t fool Father Time.
Copyright © Robert Candler