Best Premature Poems
pReMaTuRe AgInG
an older woman and a younger man
are a trix in between
because as his love blooms
he sees himself aging.
_________________________|
penned on august 31, 2014!
freaky
free week to be kinky
touch me
feel me
fervently
frequently
finger suck my pinkie
super freaky
superbly kinky
slowly
seductively
touch me
feel me
fervently
frequently
finger suck my pinkie
creamy substance
oozing
from my twinkie
An old Ethiopian veteran of the love wars
once told a newlywed Kenyan kid:
If you want the infant marriage to survive,
make it to the golden years Mt. Kilimanjaro side
You gotta keep the giraffe standing up,
when the ecstasy mountain air gets thin at night
When you’re starting the climb,
don’t early reach
for the apex of a lovemaking climax
You gotta stay rock hard,
climbing the pleasure wall for the long haul —
Or don’t even shorty night come at all
Keep the flagpole reared tall;
because the minute your
testosterone stone levels fall,
you might as well go geld yourself
Premature burial ...
put the family jewels in a coffin box
Don’t bother to take off your pants,
might as well keep on your socks
Prepare to have plenty eunuch days
of abstinent nights
Too many failed erections
gonna get you shovels loads
of opposite sex dissatisfaction
Expect a bedroom eviction notice,
telling you to
get your droopy drawers packing
Frequent impotent performances,
gonna get her eyebrow curtains raised
So many flaccid phallic early encore excuses made
gonna get you tossed out of the bed,
and kicked downstairs onto the couch
Premature ejection is coming,
your woman’s been too long frustrated ...
doubts gon start creeping in:
Where you been,
who you seeing ...
Why you keep coming home
with your love sacs empty?
Those suspicions gon start stiffening:
She’s gonna wanna know
whose arms been keeping your bottom mind bent
You’re gonna wanna know
where in the world did your lost manhood get sent
If you don’t wanna lose access
to her intimate-starved heart,
you better start trying harder on keeping it hard
Learn to get a second wind of stamina,
too much soft effort gon get your love privilege barred
Premature pleasure aborted love
will have your armadillo snout soul dragging
Premature love not long enough
will have your elephant nose spirit sagging
Don’t depend on bottled passion,
pharmaceutical extended sex
Too many early evening elongated failures
gonna get you a premature ex
I was sleeping and right in the middle of a good dream
Like all at once I wake up from something that keeps knocking at my brain
Before I go insane I hold my pillow to my head
And spring up in my bed screaming out the words I dread
I think I love you (I think I love you)
Lyrics from I Think I Love You (The Partridge Family)
over and over again
with premature penmanship
i write your name, right next to mine
they share a pillow before i do
my first and maiden name
your first and our last name
my first, your last
Mr. And Mrs.
O the cursive kisses
before we met, there was a psychedelic bus
adventures of a long-haired voice
though not my idol choice
still the romance with his superb notes
he passed them to me
i ate up the heartbeats, ooh Bandala—
he’s coming for me, and i hold
that pillow to my brain
i think he loves me
i think he loves me
i wear his wedding band
their bands of gold
with leaves
i leave behind a fantasy
to fantasize my life
with thee
2/13/2022
"It's a cuckold I am!", Mick sadly said
"I'm after finding black hairs in me bed!"
"An' there's a relief!"
Sighed Ginger O'Keefe
"I was shure ye were aboot ta say red!"
Electric shock.
And so were those
Winter days.
Hysterical, practical
And our supplements
To fight daily
Loneliness.
Mustard in her
Nails made shooting
in the Street far worse.
A cylindrical whirlwind
of your suitcase
as you're weight lifting
And I'm drinking and
So you are you and
We're passing out now.
I spilled my wine on
the bar. On purpose.
And I wished my father
Was there.
A sliver of bright light
seeps into the darkness
Echo of voices reverberate inside my head
I'm in limbo,
I can't move
Am I alive, am I dead?
I don't feel any pain,
I don't feel much of anything
But there's a sense of dread foreshadowing me,
an unease that I can't seem to shake free
I want to scream,
but I'm disoriented thoroughly
My eyes move, that's all, nothing else
So I glance around,
I see white lab coats, and black body bags on metal slabs
An antiseptic smell permeates the air,
masking the scent that death lives here
The voices are slowly becoming clear,
and what I'm hearing brings horror to my ear
They're talking very dispassionately about dispatching me,
how there's no need to contact next of kin, given I'm government property
I give a silent scream: somebody help me please!
My lips can't move though,
I'm paralyzed completely
What happened to me, how did I get in this predicament?
Memory is foggy, with only one mental flash coming in and out
A battlefield with sounds of gunfire and bombs,
I must be a soldier no doubt
But those cold, rational voices intrude on me again,
and I get more terrified by what they're saying
They say they want to remove my cybernetic limbs,
download the memory in my positronic brain
Place it in a new prototype version, then scrap the remains
Burn all the evidence,
incinerate any signs of their illegal activity
I want to scream I'm alive
Listen, listen to me!
I sense movement, wheels rolling swiftly
Now I'm descending into a dark place,
towards a room aglow, with a sign above it that says:
Ye who enter, abandon all hope
I let out one last silent scream
My eyes widen as I approach the flames, but I can feel no heat
I hear my inner voice intone a final notation ...
RCN unit #0247895
has been summarily sentenced to a premature cremation
it hailed today fall
has just begun winter is
giving me cold feet
I had gone to this spot to pray
on a mid-afternoon street in the city
so busy the cars rarely make time to drive
as they sit for hours and hours on end
where I got the vague sense of familiarity
commonly experienced cloud-watching
when you see a single cloud, all alone,
way way up in the endless sky you just know
is about to change forms from a beach-ball
to an elephant then into an elephant balancing
a beach-ball at the tip of its trunk
before the sun swallows the whole dang circus whole
right before a thunderstorm rolls in
to remind you that without a dang umbrella
- of potential spots you could have come to -
this particular spot is good a pick as any;
so I sat down on the spot and crossed my legs
like a proud Native American
(or disgusting American hippie, depending)
pulling a squished ham sandwich bleeding
mayo and mustard into its proper plastic body bag
from my back-hip pocket and in one bite
swallowed the whole dang thing whole just in time
for the 2:30pm metro bus to repay the favor
to my forehead, which does feel better, thanks, God,
but you’re an a-hole for even asking.
5/28
Grass cut, mulched beds,
Spring is here
Awfully early this year.
Anyone else feeling dread
About what changes are ahead?
One afternoon,
I was sitting alone in the balcony.
The colorful flowers were bloomed in our garden,
The bees were accumulating honey from flowers to flowers.
The magpie was sitting on a tree branch and singing a song from its heart,
The butterflies were making sound from the piano.
A small bird was searching for food in the bush,
It was raising its faint eyes again and again.
The ants were walking on the green grass,
They were pulling a dead grasshopper.
Suddenly a crow was dropped at our yard,
The family of the dead crow started crying.
The dead crow was stirred one by one,
The other birds were showing their sympathy.
After losing our loved ones as we do cry,
On that day, I would realise their breasts were breaking into pieces.
Dedicated to the suicides of lost dreams…
What is this dream that leaves me with bated breath?
Waiting, always waiting for hope unfulfilled,
the dark tortuous tunnel just gets longer and longer
running and running to catch the light;
an elusive firefly always out of grasp.
How does the soul spill out its pain
to those who don’t understand
and minimize, always minimize hope unrealized.
It is said “hope deferred makes the heart grow sick”
and cold, and tired, with sleepless nights
and sorrow filling up all the empty spaces,
look deep into my eyes, the well of others uncaring
filled to the brim with stormy waters,
and drifting, cast out on life’s endless seas
with no shore in sight, and the lighthouse
has gone dark in the night.
A Book says, “hope deferred makes the heart grow sick”
and hardened from hurt unable to trust again;
with arrows shot from judgement’s bow
as if you know what it takes to be human again;
when being human is knowing when to love and care
when reaching out a hand to pull someone up
is not a trick to let a victim fall again,
but the real illusion is the careless heart
thinking it resides in the light
when there is no understanding that “hope deferred makes the heart grow sick”
because the calloused heart never suffers, so turns away
from hope suspended into some identified time
endless train tracks through life’s wilderness
with valleys of darkness and edges of grief,
tottering on the cliff’s fine mortal line
unable to fly, soaring and aloft into love’s light.
Understand! “Hope deferred makes the heart grow sick.”
The trouble with aging
Is people believe it requires
A “growing up”
A period of maturation
(did I spell that right).
I’ve been around for
Three quarters of a century
With a foot in two millennia
And I still think Pharts are Phunny.
All my secrets are safe
Because I only told them to the dog.
I still make carrot and green bean fangs
At the supper table.
If I “grew up” I wouldn’t
Climb trees to “get that apple, Papa”
Get on the trampoline with a 2 year old
Stop for Slushies with my Granddaughter
on the way home from her gymnastics class.
When asked “How are you doing?”
I reply: “I’m sitting up, taking nourishment,
Tying my own shoes and going out to play”.
I’m decaying prematurely,
with a marked efficiency I never utilized in life.
Bits of ash float from my mouth each time it opens
and my hands mark all I touch
with a temporary smudge.
I’m going out like a burning star.
I can feel it.
My friends receive text after text of inane thoughts
impossible for anyone to appreciate.
They have no value;
I’m simply yelling into a void.
I want you to know me before I go.
Take what you can from this ash I leave.
Through the rubble lies sunsets and love for you.
Maybe it’s ruined, but I’ll heave it towards you anyway.
I hope there’s any value in it
to make my passing slightly bittersweet.
I’ll love you from below.
I swear on it.
“We are almost there but not quite ~
Not yet graced with spherical sight”
~ quote by poet
Intermediate truths whence known,
in as seen because we have been
to subtler realms denied to most,
but it’s not yet wisdom full blown,
since karmic slate is not wiped clean,
last mile to heaven, yet to coast.
Wisdom downloads and divine light
are offerings of grace imbibed
and perhaps we have pierced the void
but we have not garnered clear sight,
though cravings of ego have died,
soul’s not yet pure and unalloyed.
Allow bliss mists to make ingress,
without self-appraising progress.