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Bend Over Me by Gibson, Faye
bend over, america by delapruch, andrew
Bend Over Baby by Ryerson, Tim

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The Best Bend Over Poems

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My butt crack

My butt crack 
Is quite a split 
It supports the rest of me 
when I sit 
you thought I was gonna say something else didn't you ?

My butt crack 
Is a marvel to behold 
It was cute when I was young 
but now offensive since I'm old 

My butt crack 
Is pretty darn straight 
can you imagine if it was crooked 
pretty weird sight I would rate 

My butt crack 
Is funny to me 
when I bend over in my jeans 
It peeks out 
for you to see 

My butt crack 
wanted me to write this today 
for no other reason 
then just to say......................

I gotta split 


LOL 

Eric (and sometimes not)


Copyright © Eric Nolan | Year Posted 2010


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The Treasure Of Giving

The thing with giving is Expectation... The treasure of giving is the giving itself without expecting anything in return. A loan creates dependency, inequality. *** I bend over and kiss you while you are sleeping The fragrance of your helpless frailty Softness of your skin I cherish I rub this balm in the palms of my hands to warm it, to give you pause of sickness softness without pain And I lift you against me Gently I Smile in your ear You whisper soft tufts of warm air in my neck You give me the gift of tenderness You expect nothing in return I only ask to be here, with you, I give you my life to love you forever *** April 4, 2017 Copyright © Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017


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Time Stamps In The Sand - collab with Darren White

Aimless foot prints mark a wind torn shore 
deserted rifts splitting a secluded scene, 
(where romance rocked a heart between 
painted paradise and realness once adored) 
our heads inevitable drift even deeper inside 

And as blood red curtains paint a choppy sea 
where last sun rays die a temporary death, 
(so wondrous how they hold their breath 
to pat one later on the back with glee) 
even shallower time stamps left by our feet

Everything erased a minute after we passed by
incessant and unrelenting a water without feel,
(your hand in mine, I bend over and steal
evening breeze kisses, almost shy)
and find myself in you a place to hide

An uncertain future held without hope
washed away shores with unfulfilled dreams,
(but because nothing is as bad as it seems
with you by my side, I can certainly cope)
together our spirits and lives are complete


                    Darren White
                    Tim Smith


Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2017


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Chopped III-Suicidal Dick's

  The Playbill for the 9/8/01 show at Godspeed Opera House falls from my  palm to the floor. Here I sit, with a drugged hangover but alive. The last thing I remember is a suicide note in the Underwood typewriter on my desk, beside an ashtray of Blanche's lipstick smeared butts. Putting back on, the bifocals that had been dangling from one ear; I frown. I can't remember arriving? A phone's ringing; I stumble toward the tone. Odd looking thing, I think, as I bend over. The note taped to it says; it's a cell phone? "What the hell?" As I flip it open, I'm tackled. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I'm down. "What did you do? You bastard," he bawls, waving an airline ticket in my face. Looking toward him, I notice the stage still lit. He grabs the cell phone, "What the hell is this? You a commie spy?"- The 'phone? screen?' says 'Fred go to the opera house by midnight or you're both dead.' The curtain parts revealing a pool of blood: a chord is struck.
  It's midnight accordin' to the ticker. I have a moment's relief before my arm's wrenched behind me. I'm cuffed. There's a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall; locks me to the door pull. The theater hall appears empty except for us. Through a door, he charges. "Back here guys." The SWAT team arrives. "Smells like the dead in here Marco's, where's the body?"
  "Ask him. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya." Two of the gorillas toss me on the porch under the moth laden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head; a woman screams. The coppers run inside. I hear a crash and a half dozen clod hoppers trompin', then through the door rolls a single gold earring. I scream "Blanche!!!!!!" 
  The crew hollers CUT-PRINT-It's a WRAP. I smile as Blanche saunters out.
 


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2014


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Clue II

The Play Bill for the Godspeed Opera House fell from my sweaty palm to the floor. 9/08/01. I’m still alive; it’s a miracle. Pushing my bifocals back, I frown. I can’t remember anything after arriving at 11pm.? A cell phone rings. I stumble toward the buzz; bend over to look for it, when I’m tackled from the wing. My heel slips on a broken pencil; I’m down.What did you do? You bastard,he bawls; looking toward the old theater house’s stage. He grabs the phone, retrieving the last message— Fred get to the opera house by midnight or you’re both dead.

the curtains part
revealing a pool of blood:
a chord is struck

Seems I’m alive and after midnight too. I had a moment’s relief. My arm’s wrenched to my back. The pain’s hard to ignore. I feel cold metal; he shackles me. There’s a shout from the lobby and the sound of sirens. Lifting me, he shoves me to the wall fixing the cuffs to the door pull. The theater hall is empty except for the two of us. Through an open door, he charges.We’re back here guys. It’s clear.That moment alone was all I had. The SWAT team arrived. Smells like the dead in here Marco’s where the body?“Ask him why don’t yah. Take him out and open some damned windows will ya. Two of the gorillas toss me out on the porch for a closer look under the moth ladden lights. Just when the cop was about to kick me in the head—a woman screams.
 


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2014


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Dance With Me

Sway, sway so soft
Back and forth swaying
near motionless
holding on so tight
blending, merging
melting together
rocking your baby doll
to sweet silver blue...

Now gliding, waltzing
Cajun waltzing
Jolie Blon waltzing
so smooth, so elegant
so easy and tuned in like
skating on ice...

Slow-shag shuffle
Beach sounds on the juke box
barefoot on a sandy floor
Platters, Drifters, Temptations
Intricate, delicate movement
Shuffle to the seagull's call
to the warm gulf breeze
to the pounding rhythm of the sea...

Now shake it, shake a tail-feather
bend over let me see you
shake a tail feather
sweaty, salty, sexy shaking
C'mon baby shake it on down
shake it on down with me...

Last verse based on the song: 'Shake a Tail-Feather' by James & Bobby Purify


Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2013


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Twice The Man

I once was one twenty, now I’m two fifty three
I’m twice the man that I used to be
I gave up smoking because they said it lacked taste
Now I can’t see my feet because of my waist
The doctor said my lifestyle might kill me
I said I’d live longer if he didn’t bill me
He said try to bend over and touch your toes
How about I stand straight up and scratch my nose
My wife says I don’t understand why you are so hard to reach
My parents were the ocean and shoreline, I’m a son of a beach
You need a colonoscopy is what the doctor said
If I were a politician they’d have to remove my head 
We may be equal as we walk hand in hand
But you’re still in my shadow when we lie in the sand
Here’s a flower not bloomed so what’s new
I guess I should say this bud’s for you
Don’t tell me you’ve heard my excuses before
I just made it up as I came in the door
Yes I’m much more heavier than I used to be
I’m twice the man when you look at me.


Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2009


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Best Comfort from the Sick Bay

Every sight of this angel takes his thoughts back the nurse’s suit to half way her legs sweeps his lustful track. In his fantasy, she plays the role of a wife surrounded by gadgets yet cares not about his life. On duty, she gives instructions, his attention ignores to her waist on every bend over, her stadiums cause thick sweats like paste. Routine touches from her puts him in a heavenly zone a goddess, a princess, a hottie and an incredible Amazon. Such smiles showcasing her white teeth is heart borne germinates in the inside to produce more like corn. She’s single, her ring-less finger surely cannot deceive stealing a kiss during a check-up he wants to achieve. His sweet words, she perceives as a soft test responses from her laughter like a soft baby cry is his best. He’s next in line cos she’s with another who’s nearby stealing a quick peck causes her first irritated sigh. Gently smiles at him in hilarious pity but meanwhile his advances for a while are well recorded in a file. She appreciates his manliness and ability to be bold ‘but my husband is your surgeon, this you’ve been told’.


Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016


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A Reason to Hang Around

Well you haven't given me much of a reason these past
few seasons to put my whole heart into this so-called
relationship...well I need to know if you still love
me or not...I Need A Reason To Hang Around I don't 
know what you expect from me anymore and it's been a
long, long time since Heaven could be found...I really
don't want to leave you but you haven't given me much
to stick around for...well I Need A Reason, I Need A
Reason To Hang Around...I used to think you cared and
maybe you still do but we're like strangers livin'
together and for years that's not been anything new...
I used to bend over backwards for you but when it comes
to me it's like an inconvenient when I need you...well
I'm getting tired of you treating me like you do and I
don't know how many tears I can cry...it seems as tho
you think you got me where you want me well baby I’m
this close to saying goodbye...Heavens no more to be
found and I Need A Reason, I Need A Reason To Hang
around!


Copyright © Bo Lanier | Year Posted 2016


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Bad Bosses

Bad bosses wear the same clothes every day
Some of them are called Bob or Bill or Kathy
They smell funny and cry for mommy
Never shake hands with them
You don’t know where their thumbs have been
Bad bosses hate employees who want wages
They kick their dogs and friends
Legends in their minds; they beat their wives
My boss is six feet tall
All of it is *****
Bosses look me up and down
Waiting for me to turn around
They want me to bend over and crack a smile
There must be a factory somewhere out there
That manufactures these freaks of nature
Vaseline does not come with the pay check
When they are done with me
I don’t even get a kiss or cigarette 



Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2015


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Taste like Chicken



In the wee hours of the morning
When the owls and imps were upon the marsh
We would take our old pirogue and paddle into the darkness
Our intent was to catch bullfrogs but anything was game 
We were two young boys armed with BB guns and fishing poles
Headlights strapped hard and tight around our skulls
We searched the shore and stumps for eyes glowing in the night
Cypress trees towered overhead and occasionally the canopy would break
And we would see the clouds drifting quickly past and catch a glimpse of the moon
The paddles would never break the waters surface, as silence was our friend
Once we spotted our prey we would move in slowly and my brother would creep 
Slowly to the bow.  He would bend over the bow reaching out many feet in front of the boat and grab the frog behind the front legs and quickly stash it away into a burlap sack
Every catch brought us great pleasure, as this was no easy feat.  We could have shot them with the BB guns but that was illegal and not nearly as fun.  On occasion we would have to steal them from a water moccasin that was ready to strike.  Those moments were like lighting and only steeled our intentions to catch more. 

Once we had caught a dozen or so we would begin to look for other prey to catch or harass (we were teenagers and couldn’t help ourselves).  The occasional raccoon caught out in the open was always fun to chase but never pleasurable to have in the pirogue with us.  We learned that lesson the hard way one night when I pushed the boat into the fork of a cypress tree with an old mother **** eating a turtle.   My brother and I fought like hardened sailors to keep her at bay but both ended up in the water and nearly sank the pirogue.

Other occasions found us pulling loggerhead turtles from the depths and trying to dispatch them before they bit off a finger.

We both have all our appendages to this day, but I swear Lord we tried, we really tried to lose them. 

I never saw a frog leg jump from the pan, but the old man did make us slice them at the knees just to be sure we didn’t loose a piece of that meat that tasted better than any chicken I ever ate.


Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2014


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Get Home

Broke down
On the side of the road
Got no where to go 
Just a flat tire
Slept in the car till day light
Thumbed a ride to a Texaco
Man says, “Girl you look wiped out, 
You could stay at my place for the night.”
Ain’t got no control ain’t got no money

So what do you say honey?

Wiped out left alone
On this American road
Yeah, I’m wiped out left alone
Got no place left to go

Rain running down the window shield
Tears in my ears got everything to lose
Make up don’t do me no good
Can’t afford change, got no lipstick to wear
Put your hands down my dress
Ugly man what a mess
Bend over it’s all over

So what do you say honey?

Wiped out left alone
On this American road
Yeah, I’m wiped out left alone
Got no place left to go.

Wiped out left  alone
Wiped out I can’t get home.

Wiped out left alone
Wiped out I can’t get home


Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2014


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Really

Don't get a bug in your butt because I like to eat
So it's none of your business if I can't see my feet
My tee shirt on the line looks like a sheet
While driving, my right hip's in the passenger seat
One serving of ice cream just won't do
So I buy a half gallon, it contains two
I'd tie my laces but I can't reach my shoe
I bought a diet book and I ate that too
Really, I think I should take some weight off soon
When I bend over the neighbor sings Allegheny Moon
When I start breakfast at eight, I finish by noon
When I wear corduroy pants, they play their own tune
I'm sick of TV shows saying I gotta be thin
I'm very well rounded for the shape that I'm in
When I touch my knees I display a horizontal grin
If there's a pie eating contest in town, you know I'd win
Really, I ordered a pizza because pizza is great
I told him to slice it in six because I couldn't eat eight
Really, don't call me names, that's something I hate
But if you call me for dinner, I'll never be late


Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2012


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It Takes Two to Tango

I admit what I did was wrong
And for six months I tried to hold out and be strong
But your sister’s advances were persistent
She just didn’t want to leave me alone

She would grope me in the basement
And kiss me in the corridor
She’d feel me in the kitchen
And whisper she can do me better as long as I didn’t tell a soul

She would touch me in the basement just behind the storage wall
Then she would stroke me in the boiler room and have herself a ball
Your sister was promiscuous and didn’t care to stop
All she wanted was to steel me from you so she climbed up on top

In her mind she was older
And tried to justify her lustful actions as being right
And even though she too had a boy friend
Her jealousy ran deep because it was me she wanted to keep

Her imagination had convinced me too 
That you were sleeping between the sheets
She planted this view in the back of my mind of John and you
I didn’t know and couldn’t discern what was right

She didn’t want a condom
She made that very clear
All she wanted was my seed
So she rode me like a bull to breed

From the stroking and petting
To the hugging and tonguing
She would bend over easy 
But wouldn’t swallow a drop

A thought comes to mind 
Why do I post this on line
Because this is only part of the story
To simply hurt you the way you did me

They say karma has a kick
That is fine with me 
I have a temper with an onion to peel
I hold back no more as the truth shall set me free

From our actions to our deeds
My desires as a writer run deep
In Buddhism they say to reflect and let go and be saved 
or give your pain to Jesus and everything will be ok

I have triggered a beast of suppressed anger by remembering
I have danced through fire the door way of lust
I sacrificed my heart and created a hole in my soul
But I could not save a love that meant the most to me




Copyright © Ron Flatow | Year Posted 2010


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Poet War

                          Dear Poetic War

I'm here to inform you to change your name to (War Shoe.)
Warlock doesn't even fit you!
I have many ways to insult you.
I have to play nice, can't you see all them evil eyes!
Poetic Warshoe the only talent you poses is the word LOCK!

No need to try and crush what you can not see
All you are is another loser who can't let me be.
You silly jail bird, you sound more like a game of Monopoly
Its my turn and I hold your ticket to get out of jail for free.
Don't worry Warlock, Board Walk is owned by me.
Washing your couplets down with a cup of tea.
I laughed so hard your words almost made me pee.
Warshoe, why are you  jumping on me like a little flea?
The only stinger you have belongs to a bumble bee.
Poetic thug you are messing with the wrong killer bee

Sorry I told you I share my fate with Nate!
Go grab some more help from your psychotic mate.
Raid I will spray on your strategies you poetic bug.
You have no class to be a Warlock.
The only thing you master is being a  poetic thug.

Go back to playing dominoes, cards, and chess.
Your poetry smells like potpourri.
My demons will hit you with an epic battle of success.
Hunting me is the way you want to waste commissary.
I will enslave you to worship the grounds my feet caress
Challenging me will be the best thing you've had in 5 years.
First I will send you this letter with a small request.
Look down first before you think you pushed me over the cliff.
I own the crown causing massive damage to your quest. 
You will never dominate my battlegrounds, I will end you in a swiff.
Your sword will be conquered in my arena, bringing you down to a rest.
I will make you suffer begging for mercy and forgiveness.
For trying to step up to the best.
Warshoe you already failed my test.
In this game you will never beat me at my own contest.
Your heart I won't eat I will feed that to my guest.

Warshoe its time to rip you out of the shadows where you hide.
I will LOCK you in my WAR of hell.
Shackling you in a fetal position as we collide.
Your fear will spread for everyone to smell.
I will end your poetry with no pride.
I will post venom in your abyss through out your cell.
A poison so rough now bend over and open wide.
Warshoe by the time this is over you will bail.
And I P.D. will still have you under my spell......

by;P.D.


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010


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Six Hundred Boys

            Six Hundred Boys

Six hundred boys were singing in the hall
Six hundred boys were singing in the hall
Six hundred boys were singing there
Singing out a secret prayer
Six hundred boys were singing in the hall

Angelic voices bouncing off the walls
Angelic voices bouncing off the walls
Praying, there would be no pain
The masters, they would show restrain
Angelic voices bouncing off the walls

Bend over boy, it’s time you got the rod
Bend over boy, it’s time you got the rod
For sliding down the banister
Failing to call the master SIR
Bend over boy, it’s time you got the rod

Bend over boy, and get six of the best
Bend over boy, and get six of the best
You shouldn’t be a fighting
Substandard is your writing
Bend over boy, and get six of the best

Touch your toes, hear the swish of cane
Think of England as the blows a reign
Stiff upper lip, as you’re hit
Must remember all that ****
Touch your toes, hear the swish of cane

Six hundred boys were singing in the hall
Six hundred boys standing, proud and tall
Six hundred boys were singing there
Singing out their secret prayer
Angelic voices bouncing off the walls













Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2013


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Who is killing our nation

 Our country is full of hypocrites 
who stand up against nothing and bend over for everything 
the peoples amendments pushing European agendas upon us for change 
towards liberal law in our downfall
 
Unto our sovereignty 
against our wills those who care 
as a section of good standing people
the biggest joke selling of our forestry 
Then robbing fish and destroying peoples lively hood 
quotas on catches 
now they talk of penalty points more tax revenue
is all you hear 
now they are taxing dogs though a chip 
next it will be cats and pet hamsters

Our oil and gas just given away freely 
even our ores owned by the state 
is robbed from under our noses 
dirty beggars do they think we are blind 

Who is to answer the normal Irish persons call.
forcing our country into years of recession
all you hear all the time cuts cuts cuts 
now they intend to make slaves of the unemployed 
those with highly qualified professions 
schemes that are a laugh working for peanuts 
jobs available have now vanished into these sectors 

The homeless has risen 
People thrown out of their homes even families
in order to pay of gambling debts they cut everyones wages 
bailing out banks the biggest joke of all times
the new world order is taking shape 
next they will demand us to take the chip
mark of the beast 
 
Crooked minsters getting handshakes
some role models they are to follow 
judges have the power over them roll
meaning roaring out loud laughing 
yet nothing has been done 

Crossing palms thirty pieces of silver
behind your mask is faceless  
removing our religious beliefs
Judas sells us out 

We all stand for what is morally right 
our children's future 
water now an issue even most of it is poison 
they are forcing people into a corner 
grants in art among'st many others cut e,t,c 
the list has no end

What the brave men of 1916 died for 
they fought against corruption and thief's 
to believe in honesty as brothers and sisters 
Stood against tyrants 
who tried to rob us of our dignity,lands and rights 
as humans to be equal as men  
considered in our past as dogs 
shame on your branding irons 
as world powers turned their backs on us 

 
Sold as slaves of little worth 
Removing the Vatican embassy it hurt me deeply 
from our green land our church of divine mercy 
seal of our faith I am a Catholic 
ludicrous what has been done unto us 
foundations of our Father's sons 
destroyed selling of all our rights

Worse still 
one's euro is not equal 
must be run upside down 
as I see a class system in place 
we are branded part of the pigs 
by foreign bodies operating in control 
who actually think they are better than us  

As our ancestors blood lies upon this ground 
they would turn in their graves in disgust 
ashes of burning flames 
spirit always sees hope comfort of suffering injustices 
Our government in power is a standing joke

People need to awaken and smell the roses
for their children's sake if no one else
see what is sacred to us  
sick lying on trolleys for days 

In Donegal we travel to Dublin 
where the majority of cancer wards are housed
strangely none are up north isolated we are 
hundreds of miles the sick have to travel to get treated
we should have an air lift

 
Even our roads have no cats eyes 
in a wet stormy night rain bouncing of the road
times two cars meet unable to see a white line 
safety wise dangerous so where does the car revenue go 

Not even a railway service to link us 
for trade purposes 
we truly are forgotten as a county 
why is that I wonder
being an Irish national I seek answers 
to the circus running our country into the ground


Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016


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Damascus is on Fire

Damascus Is On Fire!

Damascus is on fire!
The wooden men and the plastic men.
They roam the avenues in search of corpses.
Young deathless corpses with frozen grins.
They break into the mansions and into the buildings of hypocrisy.
They strangle the truth and eat hate for breakfast.
I scream from the hill top.
I cup my hands to amplify the sounds.
I bend over and tell the wooden men, the plastic men,
To sniff there as Mercutio sniffed the Nurse.
To smell there as Hamlet smelled something rotten..
Evidently, it has all been said already.
Apparently it has all been told many times before.
There is absolutely nothing new under the sun.
Nothing. Nada.
So what business do I have
Sitting here in Death’s paradise
In bloody Damascus as it burns
Writing this and screaming this and bellowing this missive of nonsense?
And who am I to think that anything I have to say
Or plead, or wail
Has any profound significance at all?
Where is this going?
I really don’t know.
Should I?
Should anyone?
Damascus is on fire!
The wooden men and the plastic men
Have their swords lifted and prepared.
They roam the ancient avenues in search of corpses
They strangle the truth.
Waiter! Waiter! I’ll have my martini now; 
Make it dry and toxic.


Copyright © stark hunter | Year Posted 2013


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Beat Your Wife, Cause is Right

Yes modernization is here
Islamic rules have made it clear
Pick up a small stick
And beat her to the wick

Make her understand
Obey your command
Pakistan is the modern land
Live like a man and beat at command

Only though because you care
To make her subservient and thus obey
She must follow your Islamic commands
And bend over for perverted desires in your satanic land

Now death to Israel
For they have committed the crime
Of being modern in un-modern times
As they saved the wounded of Syrians blood

They embrace humanity
Pakistan grabs a small stick
And strikes fear in the sexes
My god is there no common senses?

Notes: This is not to condone or condemn any Country. Merely to show how at times biases take things way out of context. At times the world decries one death, as in humane as next door hundreds of thousands take place under the silent ones of oppression. 

Secondly this is specifically about The Council of Islamic Ideology a powerful constitutional body that advises the Pakistani legislature whether laws are in line with the teachings of Islam. There interpretation is of course ludicrous and I am well aware true Muslim worshipers would never follow such violent and antiquated teachings.

This came about from the CNN article http://www.cnn.com/2016/05/28/asia/pakistan-women-light-beating/index.html on the topic. On weekends I often partake in discussions at a Middle Eastern coffee shop, people from all over the middle east, where we have lively discussions. So it’s of note that this poem was the summary and views of the Muslim mates are I was sharing tea with. 

Of note, many of them in their own countries could never voice any dissenting views without being tortured or killed.


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016


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Sixty-Six Years Ago Today - 7 July 1948

Sixty-Six years ago today a very naïve farm-boy left the Hoosier farm,
To seek adventure beyond the horizon since farming had lost its charm.
He enlisted in the Air Force, a knight in blue to keep the nation free.
My gosh! Come to think about it, that unsophisticated lad was me!

Since I was only seventeen, I had to get my reluctant Ma to sign for me.
She came from a Quaker background and abhorred all strife, you see.
Pa was ambivalent about the matter - just one less mouth to feed, said he.
I marched off to face the future, another warrior for our family tree!

Harassment began once I arrived at the inhospitable induction station.
Docs had me bend over, then stand, turn my head and cough for observation.
They probed and prodded and stuck needles in my arms for inoculation.
Oh! The abject misery and humiliation of it all just to serve my nation!

Next came the swearing-in where I vowed to uphold the Constitution.
A fiendish sarge then assumed command and began his nasty persecution.
"Fergit yer Mom, Dad and Maggie Mae" said he, "Yer butt belongs to me!"
Just hours on duty and I was homesick for the farm, pining to be free!

They put me on a choo-choo to Lackland AFB, Texas, for my basic training.
I was shorn of all hair - by now my enthusiasm and patriotism was waning.
Ah! But when I donned that Air Force suit of blue, I stood proud and tall!
If my pals behind a plow and mule could see me now! I was having a ball!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved

That naïve farm boy went on to serve 30 years in the Air Force, retiring 
1 August 1978.



Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2014


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Bend Over Baby

Got referred to a female Urologist
After which I needed a Psychologist
"I'm a licensed physician
Now resume your position!"
Next appointment? Her sister Proctologist


Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2012


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Ireland the Land of Ire

As a boy I walked the town, near knowing everyone
The Sun it shone all Summer long I revelled in the fun
With relatives and friends we'd play, 'til darkness sought us out
Then caring aunts would hunt us home as cousins turn and pout
 
Up again at ****-crow, break fast then out the door
And running, never walking, the games to play once more
Hide and seek, then rounders, allies, maybe skipping
On a very rare occasion we'd get to go day tripping
 
We'd fight and cry and laugh and sigh, depending on the mood
Occasionally stopping for the odd morsel of food
Bread and jam, most times homemade, we'd sit out in the sun
At tea time chips in paper bags enjoyed by everyone
 
Seldom sick, though sometimes cuts and bruises, proudly, showing
Worn with pride a bandage or a cast, all signed and glowing
A fight sometimes would damp the mood, 'til hands would then be shook
An hour later Truce would break, by either ones, left hook
 
An interest in pressing things, that adults talk about
A European Union? What's all the fuss about?
With placards made, downtown we made, to EU we'll vote "NO"
A pound a pound would soon be paid for steak, or so we're told
 
The years rolled on the Eighties came the work it all dried up
So overseas we had to go, to fill our working cup
Though work was hard and times were tough your name it soon was known
The toughest times for me at least was working for your own
 
The Naughties came and chaos reigned, the inmates at the ZOO
Were running 'round, en masse, unbound to see who's screwing who
A Sea of Shame let no-one claim, not least our politicians
We've done no wrong, we're just in charge, no need for our contrition
 
We've heard the rally 'round before "We've got to tighten our belts"
But silken shirts are worth much more than a simple peasants pelt
So Glorious Leaders, Blameless Ones it seems a little funny
We're in the ****, what will we do, we'll go and borrow money
 
Spend millions on Tribunals, with nothing there to gain
No point in trying to implicate, an *** that knows no shame
As folk are screwed at every turn and even shopping prices
We'll form a new committee, "Shop Around", their sound advice is
 
And even now "Sir Biffo", it isn't sinking in
As "Lady Harney" stands besides you, as tall as you are thin
The country's in the toilet and the Brands are in the Fire
And we bend over graciously to be stamped in the Land of Ire


Copyright © peter walsh | Year Posted 2014


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I would never join a club that would have me as a member

Oh I'm sorry I didn't get it, 
not to worry I won't forget it.
In order to win, it's not the contest, 
but rather the spin. The more stupid
the parameters, the more ignoresponses
from amateurs. The more moronic the 
directions, the more sophomoric
the reactions. Could u b more 
histrionic in your language
glucolic, never ending of cliché
pre ponderunceses of innane 
uninteresting plainjane, U r a poet because u 
have PAID the big $$$ dues and have special 
powers of words/phrase lifeology. All will be yours
in member recognition, regardless of yr ignonill offerings
according to this site NOTALENTU. 
True is the phrase you
really do get what u pay for. (Please don't end a sentence
with a preposition?) 
Real words, dimensions come from a place within;
deep, dank, dark non existant and incoporeal of anything reality based. 
U can't pull emo tensions off the top like adding cream
to yr coffee. Poetry is a gutterial personification of the fecal life 
that inhabited u as an earthling offspring not chosen
to a family of illgotten gain origin. Given the noncapacity to provide the common 
requirements for sociosill survival. 
All of u can smooch my **** premise, bend over to shake my
gonadal good interntions as u pissprose praise one another
each other as OMG, yr choice of emotional integrity resonates with my 
soulful intent to do better in the world. Throw up here. Vomit
victims filled remorse and no coital containment 
u must be kidding when u set up these contests and yr stupid
rules that only u r to privy. To make yrself look literate above all others. 
U stink like a skunk that is dead in a trunk. Oh the stinch
is so much that my nose I must pinch. Get off yr high 
horse and get with the crowd, as yr present purpose I must protest 
to LOUD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Write what u feel and For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge
forget the rest. Bend over.


Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2014


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A Stitch In Time



A stitch in time saves nine But a stitch in your side ain't fine Hurts like hell Bad words you expell Bend over in pain while guzzling wine © Jack Ellison 2015


Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015


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It's In the Jeans

squeeze in here baby girl
I’ll mold that tummy fat
[I’m a churning urn] I'll grab that behind, hold it tight
sculpt those stretch marks, just right 

come here lad, I'll turn those marbles blue  
turn those knuckles white [no that’s not a rocket]

they'll chew a strategic hole 
through that shredded cotton cord
bend over,   your fertile galley
and climb on board

yeah, I'll show off your rear entry
let them see [the crack of dawn]
what we can see	unseemly, yet

even the poor are marked by my geas
let me squeeze you lads and ladies
naw, it's not disgusting
please


* jeans which are too tight are annoying ;)
to those in them and those looking at them!




Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011