Best Fetishes Poems
For years the witches have gathered
Practicing their satanic rites of insanity
How many people have they butchered
Secluded, in this forested den of iniquity
Open fields surrounding the plateau
Making it hard to approach undetected
The going will be arduous, and slow
Foolishly believing they are protected
The moon always seems to be full
A shadow my only friend this night
I step over the warning ring of skulls
Easing toward the campfires light
I see four hags have selected a child
They begin branding his pale white skin
Odor of burning flesh, senses defiled
As the boy screams, my legs weaken
Pulling my broadsword free of its sheath
Slipping quietly behind the four witches
Barely feeling the sharp bite of its teeth
A just reward for practicing their fetishes
Standing beside the child I view the brands
The number 666, adorns his petite frame
Could this be the boy spoken of in legends
Born of Jackal's, heir to Satan’s domain
Gazing into his eyes, lost in the darkness
Aware I’ve saved the stealer of souls
I will not be a part of this evil madness
Raising my sword, one more head must roll
It’s not rare ; it’s a common plight..
Best way to start a good fight.
There are a lot of studies about diseases,
Symptoms include coughs and sneezes.
Aches, pains, fever and depression,
Even fetishes and obsession.
These symptoms may include sundry conditions.
Including vomiting, diarrhea and other emissions,
But by far none can cause more pain suffering and miserablearianism,
Than an attitudinalistic condition called Bichyinthemorningtarianism.
Be on guard and keep way clear of that patient please.
It is, after all, a highly communicable disease!
My Sister Lover
Only the dead are smiling.
To Console a broken heart takes strength
Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.
It took thirty long years
To unraveled the mystery of a lopsided affairs
She had love with conditions,
Only a few could ever endure
Finally, it came to an end with a confrontation
She said, is she the other woman?
Lost in the moment of truth
His jaws drops while he mumbles the words
And said…….I has no idea what you’re talking about Ruth
The music will go on forever,
While the night is still young
But a liar will always carry a twitchy eye
And the breathe of a skunk
My sister lover
We all knew him,
But she never knew his a quiet, somber demeanor".
It’s the timing of the beats in the song that matter
Gag long old friend, go long!
Spread your seeds amongst the thorn of hell
While your sexual fetishes moves to an unexpected object
“Let called her his night rider”
Avina Netu, my scarlet queen
Setting the lecherous minds of many ablaze
I'm hypnotized by her mystic spell
Burning Russian fondness, Queen of passionate hearts
An electrifying feeling coursing through my body
Dopamine rushing through my body, intensifying my lewd thoughts
Now under the impression I'm witnessing someone angelic
Now wanting a taste of a vermillion paragon of a Gemini
From dusk till night her minx like nature binds me
Her presence is heart rending, beating uncontrollable
She possesses the gift to unleash the most elaborate sexual desires
Jaded Fetishes
Delighting my eyes every time she leers
I humbly bow my mead
The vastness of erotic beauties is boundless
But only you may have my sweet surrender, my scarlet queen
Into the darkness with adventurous fantasies at stake
Wondering how much this creative experience
Will actually make
It was only a few months ago
One’s mind played out the moving picture show
A funny friendly rollercoaster ride the characters did take
Following an author’s imaginary directions filled with dips and turns for heaven’s sake
Why do you put them through this?
When the protagonist only wanted was a mutual embracing credit crawling kiss
Conflicts were in sight
When they could feel a big fright
While enjoying being high and ready to touch the sky
In love encountering the beautiful vibe
Until seconds later there is a drop that had so many feet
Making a setting not so sweet
Things started moving fast
Sailing along like an angry gust hitting an enchanting mast
Eventually the writer slows it down
Penning an apology not requesting a frown
Once again the action starts to rise
When one of the characters mistakenly speaks dialogue
Filled with lies
Chains start to pull than release
All the characters are still at peace
Before the natural force
Runs its course of sorts
Totally safe this scripted affair
Having all the amusements one fetishes if they dare
Does the talent know?
There is a happy ending for the dame and the beau
While letting the passengers go
Having an upset feeling
From all the reeling
The rider asks, “Do you want to do it again?”
Contacting the agent to decide when
Knowing a story never actually has an end
As new characters embark
For another trip in the dark
They get comfortable in the seat
Waiting for the tantalizing treat
Received in the car
Designed to show the feelings that is dealt to the romantic comedy star
Nymphomania Is all she can grant you along with a well spent night
This femme fatale isn't something A man can't handle
A sex-fiend straight from the chamber of Satan
A desire so strong
It won't ever feel wrong
A mistress of melancholy
She took over my soul
The amphetamine addiction
Of her deadly embrace
Her sweet poisonous grace
Her heroin laced lips
Oh how her venom drips
All beware of a sensual destruction
The comely fatal femme
This sexual gem
Stay away from miss mayhem
Disaster is what she is
A taste of her could make you leave
All other vices and loves
Would you ever think of the price
For an eternity you'll be condemne
dEven just for one night with miss mayhem
This vamp of pain all life she will drain, this is addicting whore
Is all you will adore
Exciting and erotic
Using all fetishes against your soul
Your wife will surely lament
From this dreadful strife
A mistress of melancholy
She took over my soul
The amphetamine addiction
Of her deadly embrace
Her sweet poisonous grace
Her heroin laced lips
Oh how her venom drips
All beware of a sensual destruction
The comely fatal femme
This sexual gem
Stay away from miss mayhem
A plague of pleasure
The flead rats couldn't even measure
Against the scourge of men
A mistress of melancholy
She took over my soul
The amphetamine addiction
Of her deadly embrace
Her sweet poisonous grace
Her heroin laced lips
Oh how her venom drips
All beware of a sensual destruction
The comely fatal femme
This sexual gem
Stay away from miss mayhem
A sniper was around.
I did not want to rush
and kiss the jessamine.
Last night, it was a
retributory offer
to put off the candle.
I am here to stay
for prudence, speaking
the dialect of the nameless.
I survive the fetishes
of light. O unknown, I
live in darkness.
Moon was my solemn-
pledge. I had always stayed
in the house of truth.
Satish Verma
A false perspective from the drug
adversity confirm the slug
to cover my lost space, a plug
the prior years seem lost to tug!
Some remnant, some impersonal shrug
has cast me down to this exchange
my livelihood must rearrange
to manifest this new derange!
A blob of entity enhanced
to fill the cabinet of chance,
prescriptions meriting advance
now solemn to emotions stance!
Racked up by fetishes, now dance
to fool's charade, this modern lure
the note, addiction is the slur
while I the victim hide the stir!
Oh courage, grant me not impure
conditioning that I lose concur,
as time becomes enslavement's bear
free gracefully my lost fight's share.
To modify this pagan scare
inducement is the rub, beware
concern my choices ~ my up there
INHERITOR, claim your own self-care!
Eproctophile
As fetishes go
This one you must know
Eproctophile – doctors will tell you
With the passing of gas
Arousal at last
Eproctophiles just want to smell you
Uncle Mike
Staggered by the virus burning through the city veins,
Stop motion, speeded up, the slam of distant trains,
Rattled through the concrete as forgotten people die,
Howling jets of power chords go crashing through the sky.
The cardboard jungle stretches out along the seamy streets,
Where grimy flesh of down and outs use newspapers for sheets
And sleep with crazy fetishes that slice and dice the skull,
Narcosis bred by pills and soup make all the senses dull.
The rail-yard cauldron simmering with cabbages and rats,
Skin and fur of vermin bleeding protein in the vats,
It tastes of pulped up sewer waste distilled by Mr Hyde,
The methylated spirits put some flavour back inside.
Leaned up against the siding now corroded through with rust,
The corrugated blackened bones of asbestos and dust,
Insanity, reality, all sympathy gone up in flames,
Lunacy screams at the moon and calls the symptoms names.
Down here it doesn’t matter what the poets choose to write,
The road to hell is paved with good intentions every night,
The only thing that means a damn is death will set us free
Of all the madman chronicles of sociology.
A while ago someone accused my work of being nothing short of soft ****. Here is my reply.
Hypocrisy is a wonderful thing.
With words said in praise that ultimately sting
the victims of jealously's unfocused bile,
passed on by those with no sense of style.
Stealing men's words, and other men's prose,
like some new skill,
but I can only suppose,
that acceptance of violence,
and the shunning of lust,
shows me a world that ultimately must,
take pride in putting another soul down,
for being this woman instead of a clown,
with feelings and statements,
and nothing to say,
avoiding pains payment,
and choosing to pray,
to someone who hates me for all that I am,
well keep your poor judgement,
I don't give a damn.
Wonten lust and feelings suppressed
are rampant among us and should be expressed.
Not hidden away,
subjected to scorn.
Not put in a box and labelled as ****.
So if my harsh words hit home to you now,
imagine how I feel you miserable cow.
When told that my art is nothing but slime,
brings me no comfort, but at least it is mine,
and not some knock off of a dead poets work,
try finding your own voice you sad little jerk.
Then maybe I will respect your views,
but until that time comes, here is the news.
I have talent.
I have worth.
My voice will be heard to the ends of the earth.
For until someone stops me,
or my muse runs dry,
my pen will speak for all those who cry,
alone in the dark,
with no one hold,
loosing youth's spark,
afraid to grow old.
Being told they're too fat or they need bigger ****,
shopping for clothing to find nothing fits.
Where 'one size fits all' does not include you,
but sexual fetishes probably do.
So keep your opinions,
your judgmental sighs.
I don't need you near me.
I don't need your lies.
I tell you
it is rough being the poet
of petty bourgeois
middle class complaint.
Sensibilities based in
the ordinary.
Fetishes and obsessions
clinging to the prosaic
with no great success nor
abject failure.
Some practical good sense
always seemed to save me
and render life and poetry
to a solid B grade.
I need to drink and carouse,
do drugs and gamble my last dime,
and hang out meantime with the
wildest of wild women, but
I can't, so
I sit here waiting for
Gauguin
how long
is a foot locker
and what
do they keep in it?
foot lockers
foot solders
foot long hotdogs
footballs
what is the obsession
are they politically correct
or are they just a foot fetishes
at the foot of my bed
inescapably booby trapped in the region of self
anticipating illumination with a dopey grin
and a grimy determination masked by ungodly brio
gimme your best shot you goose stepping goons
you Ragnarok brothers of Odin and his Twinkie dancers
If I weren't one of you you wouldn't exist
right here where my pencil fornicates the vellum
the confederation of misfits get what they deserve
what do we deserve what devolved practice
continues to move our arms and mouths
in the direction of justice and of merit
in the company of demiurges and beatitudes
endlessly considering the direction of Fate
in the manner of men cheetah headed and scarred
yet survival requires data and survival is future
so add future to your shopping list at checkout time
all reality is calculable there are enough numbers
and furthermore there is still enough curiosity
left over from the great War of Cognitive Suppression
Galactic rule number one nothing forced
volitional free will sacred and deadly precious
his consciousness far from its source of thought
he continued without the slightest reason why
of course it is all but a mental reproduction
we all worship the Grand Master of Disguise
a meme-written forehead in uncharted waters
he slid his pawn forward to end the muddle
love is not all you need you need smarts
if the world is to be a correctable world
fabled dons of economics playing dumb on cue
corruption ran in deep ocean trenches
the life spark mystery rarely discussed
free from the tradition of taboos and fetishes
fixation and more fixation the gaze never shifts
soon swept away by their uninformed zeal
and a sense of inviolate justification
with which to welcome the new plantation
We meet strangers in open
or closed spaces,
and somehow our hearts
familiarize with each other,
right before we know each other's
hobbies, names, parents, fetishes....
Our hearts conspire against us;
they hide a secret - a fact that they
know after much kissing under the moonlight;
cuddling in movie theatres;
playing peek-a-boo under the sheets....
we'll be hurt sooner or later
with suspicious night calls, phone passwords,
unfamiliar scents, lipstick on a shirt.....all
tell-signs of affairs.