Best Servicing Poems
When I gaze into this realm, I see more than the dazzling array
of golden starbursts floating in a cosmic sea of blue-green-gray,
photoreceptors painting post-Impressionistic explosions of colors,
fibers and dilator muscles servicing your ocular aperture.
I see distinctive melanin patterns of a truly original individual -
a retinal scan of exceptional singularity,
each nebula unique, every supernova peculiar,
no quasar like any other.
I passionately absorb with one brief glance
an infinity of nuance,
an eternity of historical archives,
a heaven and earth of emotional journeys.
I am reading your autobiography, the encyclopedia of you.
I remain a student of your sclera,
a pupil of your pupils,
a Vincent of your irises,
going half-mad with the dizzying vastness
of the starry night within your eyes.
Categories:
servicing, stars,
Form:
Free verse
All afternoon I waited in at my house for you
But you didn’t show up and the air turned blue!
Called the servicing and maintenance department …
‘Didn’t turn up’ today was my loud lament!
Eric the engineer will be here, but it wont’ be until tomorrow
Four on the dot I’ve been promised or I’ll give him sorrow!
Getting agitated, as I’ve had to take more time off work
He better arrive today … I’m ready to strangle the jerk!
I waited and waited and he still didn’t show
Just phoned again they said sorry Eric’s very slow!
Keeping my temper was a VERY hard thing for me
Let’s make a firm appointment for tomorrow at three
My nerves were frayed I was getting annoyed
Now the doorbell rings, I am really overjoyed!
Opening the door and I see Eric is standing there
Pecs like a bodybuilder… all I could do was stare!
Quickly I invite him inside to try and fix my cooker
Really glad he’s arrived, as Eric’s a real good looker
‘Sorry’ Eric says but I must call back later with a spare part
Then you can cook me dinner - I think I’ve captured Eric’s heart!
Alphabet Soup Contest Sponsored by Kim Merryman
09~02~16
Categories:
servicing, house, humorous, lust,
Form:
Rhyme
I stared into the mirror today.
I saw you -
a needled zealot
hovering around my left shoulder;
Adolph Hitler dressed in
opium-perfumed swatches.
You smelled like her.
You acted like him.
You looked like me.
Swastika tall and evenly abhorrent.
Syringe-insured yet,
never sharp enough to
successfully stab
outside the 50-point cork.
You slithered like a quadroplegic,
into my stratum.
Pointing and probing
a crooked finger -
never healing
the martyr's wound.
A broken grimace leaves me
ugly flesh to ponder.
Your tentacles:
toothless cleavers eclipse
black-dilated pupils,
servicing our
boomeranged arms
with dingoed malice -
peppermint leaves and peroxide boil
as the living corpse cackles.
Mussolini removed
thirteen quieted quills
from his heart
shortly before the noose was tied.
Into square knots.
Into napkin pleats.
Into a poet's silence - where
our self-induced stupor
was dragged upon
spiked cobblestones -
and for that,
my dear Stalin beauty;
I sew my spit into
vile words -
dribbling purposely
upon this diseased
cotton-swabbed
canvas
for you
and I
to clean.
Categories:
servicing, on writing and words
Form:
Free verse
Why do you use sex as a control weapon?
You pretend to not know that we need it.
The monster must be alleviated, released.
We get sex when we get a promotion,
or our birthday or when we buy you a gift.
What greed is that?
Can you even have a real ******? Or faking it?
We know you have one when you do our best friend!
You ignore that in all of history we have owned you!
And now you are free, free to use it to control us.
And when we cheat, you feel so betrayed.
Anger that we were stupid enough
To commit to you for life,
When we didn’t know that you were so ungiving,
To care about our sexual needs.
You expect us to control it, are you stupid? Naïve?
Men are molesting children: their own children, because of women like you!
I know, because most of the women I have dated were abused by their own fathers.
The best we could hope for is that they only cheat with another adult.
Why are these women staying with men that abused their own daughters?
This has got to STOP.
These lies must STOP.
Cutting our foreskin does not stop us from masturbating, or needing!
Grahame Crackers are useless. Other men, Craigslist, Bathrooms, YMCA!
Men are becoming gay, roleplaying the fantasies of their oppressed mothers.
Spank me daddy! Whose your daddy? Make me do it!
We men are having a hard time transitioning into the freedoms you have!
Look at history or the rural Muslims killing their wives or the Africans cutting off the ********.
This issue is tearing humanity apart!
All the divorces, are because of you not servicing your man.
He would never hurt you or leave you if he was satisfied sexually!
This means you have to exercise and stay fit for him to be proud of his mate!
So if you gain weight and not care for his pride: You are the abuser!
Milk your husbands, or they will find someone else too.
All because you are so self-centered, lazy, and greedy for power.
So whose your daddy? I AM,
Categories:
servicing, lifecare, women, care, history,
Form:
I have a view 'maybe its wrong.? That some older guys have come on 'strong'
These 'figureheads' of project fear, represented the young we were told so clear
1 Richard Branson 'vintage' 65..' Has almost half a decade on younger guys
Or girls; yet over to the 'youth' let's let them decide..'
2 Tony Blair at age 59, would you chill with him.? the morgue of war aside.'
I guess he counts you would indeed, You young are his peers, Or was he on speed.?
Alister Campbell, no doubt he's known; at the skate arena or free runners zone
A truthful statement, I've forgotton his age ( over 25? ) lets put that on a page
The facts are out there.' As far out as it seems' the stuff of nightmares was
Woven into dreams, not dreams of them owning their own U K home
That's for young British homeless with no vote of their own.' for them no KlostersOr Aspen snows, they can 'chill'on pavement blood and mind going slow'
These must be the young 'old remain represent?' no credit rateing no chance
even to rent, parents can't help they were repossesed, & for servicing loans.'
Gov.com UK sold them to debt; that was pre millenium 'go generate' wealth
Then a few years on their wage was seen by gov.com as too high; obscene
Adverts were placed in eastern block news, come to Britain cut the wage
Smash it down & the job prospects for UK youth; to me that's how it seems.'
So to the young, one of which I'm ( not ) I salute you & your right to vote
Now the guys named above I consider bad jokes, they insult my intelligence
And maybe that of the youth.? So here's to a true British method known
As facing the truth, lets smooth out the 'wrinkles' let the bettter choice be
The best for the country; may the young, those 'who can' make the choice
To vote their counterparts free..'
Categories:
servicing, change,
Form:
Verse
My youngest son is forty-six years old
A chip off the old block as they say
I take full responsibility for this young fellow
Scott is his name, silliness is his game
Proud as punch of that boy
'Why grow up' has always been my motto
He has certainly accepted it as his as well
Like two peas in a pod we are
Poor dear wife Cathie
She is tested daily by us two extreme characters
She deserved some kind of an award, a medal
For endurance under extreme comedic conditions
The word 'serious' does not exist in our vocabulary
Life is one big hoot
And why not... the alternative sucks
Did I say I'm proud as punch of this fellow
A successful computer guru
Heading up the Creative Services Department
For a large company servicing the pharmaceutical industry
Did I say I'm proud as punch of this fellow
I'm repeating myself aren't I
He's the apple of my eye
Ironically, we are both Apple Computer geeks!
We're both bytes out of the old Apple
© Jack Ellison 2014
Categories:
servicing, pride, endurance,
Form:
Narrative
one seventh heaven fantasy of this middle aged hetero
sexual mwm would be to take the playbook of the late
(recently deceased) Hugh Hefner. Said reverie constitutes
servicing a gamut of women, whose plethora in numbers
constitutes insatiable sexual propensity sans propinquity
perp hussy.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
despite mine middle aged (baby boomer) mwm base line
balled (though non bald) sans truth, isle be quite Ernest
and frank to state boldly, how thine bass concupiscence
trumps ambience, dalliance, essence, fragrance, generates
hefty indulgence (je nais se quois) juice kissing libidinal
makeup nursing omnipresent phallic quintessential reverent
seduction triggers unflaggingly (leaving me starry eyed for
stripes sakes) vision watering x2c (to the x power of infinity)
yielding zesty adulterous blessed coital consummation,
delicious expeditious fulfillment, generous gentle hormonal
insouciance, judiciously kneading lusciously marvelous
natural occurring pleasance, quiescent radiance, rousing
somnambulant threnody ushers victorious waltzing X-rated
yearning zeal to take a page from the playbook of the very
recently deceased Hugh Hefner housed within the PlayBoy
mansion. Game gamines gestalt gifted gonads, gopher
Categories:
servicing, butterfly, desire, devotion, freedom,
Form:
Free verse
SHOPPING WITH HUBBY
It was our son’s Wedding, I had to look good,
My car in for servicing, sick under its hood,
So willingly and heartily hubby volunteered,
To take me to the mall, he came geared,
Two magazines, it didn’t matter how long I took!
Such a kind soul, I could never dream
My darling husband could still wear a beam,
After I’d dragged him, from shop to shop
And exhausted him till he wanted to drop,
What a saint, I had tested him to the extreme!
Of course we went to the best mall around,
Cost or price didn’t matter, eventually I found,
Exactly what I wanted, a little expensive I said,
Never mind love, walked to the cashier and paid,
I’m so pleased, now let’s be homeward bound!
I took his hand and we began to walk out,
Somehow he knew I was on a shopping bout,
We arrived at a shop which I knew rather well,
I was up to something, he could tell,
Darling I said, this outfit will suit you no doubt!
Categories:
servicing, wedding,
Form:
Rhyme
Of what use is time
If it’s consumed by passion
Servicing others
Servitude that drowns your dream
While you toil and save and pay
©david byrne March 2012
Categories:
servicing, life, philosophy, political,
Form:
Tanka
Lydia:
I don’t recognize myself anymore
Greasy hair, grimy nails; I’ve become their whore
Servicing eight or nine men a night
I’ve learned it's better not to try and fight
Too many black eyes and broken ribs
So many punches that I’ll never have kids
All because I answered a newspaper ad
To get a new job, to help my gambling dad
I was kidnapped and sold into slavery
I’ve survived on false hope and bravery
It’ll be a miracle if I ever get free
For they have files on my family
They’ll kill them if I run away
So here I lie on Christmas Day
Getting ass-slapped with a leather belt
And praying in vain, because no one can help
Me:
The above lines are Lydia’s story
It would be a miracle to end her whoring
If I had the power I’d set her free
And free every girl in captivity
11/29/11
Categories:
servicing, angst, depression, holiday, miracle,
Form:
Couplet
We were three in a group,
When we came back after preaching,
Father blessed to each other individually,
What is your bless God may bless you?
My friend was a funeral director,
He had a prayer for his success,
He was quiet happy this time,
His funeral service was very busy.
My other friend was a doctor,
He also had a prayer for his success,
His season was little quiet this year,
He was willing more patients than last year.
I was a lawyer and have prayer for success.
I was also willing more criminal cases,
If people will attempt more murder and rape,
I shall get more; it is a matter of my income.
Do you like to serve in that way as you doing?
Everyone has needs, who doesn’t like luxury?
God has power to fulfil prayers, a religious belief,
If people are servicing for self who can get relief?
Categories:
servicing, caregiving, education, happiness, imagination,
Form:
Name
Pt 1
Far out, they cried
when I stood on cinders,
feet combusting,
like it was clever;
even though water
sprinkled the joint,
coals sizzled,
flesh melted, spat;
chunks of sinew,
popped like corn.
Timbers smoked,
glowed like hell;
arms blackened, curled
crossed over chests.
I’m burning, I told
the voices,
need a little help;
far out, far out, they said,
the ghosts of those
burned on the bed,
those who were dead
surely could not
have spoken.
Of course, it was control,
a newsflash in the earpiece,
I reasoned.
Fire out, they meant,
fire out.
Well, not from where
I’m standing.
What fire are you at?
Pt 2
I never saved a soul,
bodies black as coal,
skin all burned to soot
as in a furnace put.
Someone lit the fuse,
ran off in running shoes,
never looking back,
some pyromaniac.
Called out the brigade,
as part of their charade,
how were they to guess
he gave the wrong address.
I happened here by chance,
by sheer happenstance,
only here by luck
from servicing the truck.
Now in the searing blaze
my eyes begin to glaze,
burning here alone,
I’m dying on my own.
Pt 3
Far out, far out, copy?
Far not out.
Floor’s gone, roof ablaze,
oxygen going,
perspex melting,
eyes liquefying.
nasal hair charring.
The call, that firebug made,
I remember,
all faked concern,
dramatic fear, I picked up
on the way here.
Thought this was it,
realised too late
wrong side of town;
the cavalry ain't coming.
My last thoughts,
before the ceiling rains
napalm death,
is what makes a thing
like him?
What sick, twisted, madness?
In the name of God, what?
Far out? Far out?
Yeah, far out alright…
Categories:
servicing, death, social,
Form:
Narrative
Steady
This
Ladder
Like you
Steadied
Your Pace.
Hold it tightly
In your
Troubled
Manner.
Slow it down.
But keep it moving.
Moving
Towards
The Walls.
Up to the
Place
Where
Discrete
Men Shame
When you
Called
My name
Without a
Sound.
Where a blank
Expression
Carries
Craving
Like a parasite
Strapped
To the back of a
Poison.
Where you know you'll ascend.
When your
Steps
Break from
The
Concrete
In a double
Stepping
Speed,
Much like the
Tonic of a
Servicing Seed.
Don't intoxicate me.
Slip your hands
Up
The
Entertainers
Exotic Bars
And
Come
Rising and Climbing
Up
To
The
Hole in the wall.
Categories:
servicing, allegory, imagination, introspection, life,
Form:
Free verse
Dark shadows in the Gothic hall
The Gothic Queen has us in her thrall
I somehow am not fearful at all
But dank wet atmosphere makes everything unclear.
Humid as it is the water runs down the walls
Like tiny rivulet waterfalls
Sparking in the candle lights that surround
I can hear a heavy pounding sound
There is remnants of blood spilt on the floor
Then behind the great iron wrought doors
The queen appears in subdued phosphorescent light
And she was a dangerous but beautiful sight
She was a sight for sore eyes
Yet I dared not stared in fear she would strike me blind.
She said I had a choice
Choose death or succumb to her
I barely found my voice
But when I did I said I'd choose to serve her
Not because I fear death but because I was in awe of her
And she seemed to like this
I saw her eyes as they lit
Nobody she said had been that audacious before
And I vow to do anything she needed
I would be her servant believe me
But instead she made me her male form of concubine
From that day we both lived wild
From that day I knew
That life would never be the same
But with this I had issue
I was serving the Gothic Queen
This dark and dangerous dream
I was servicing the Gothic Queen
And she devoured me.
Categories:
servicing, dark, fear, gothic, sensual,
Form:
Free verse
My youngest son is 53 years old
A chip off the old block as they say
I take full responsibility for this young fellow
Scott is his name, silliness is his game
Proud as punch of that boy
'Why grow up' has always been my motto
He has certainly accepted it as his as well
Like two peas in a pod we are
Poor dear wife Cathie
She is tested daily by us two extreme characters
She deserved some kind of an award, a medal
For endurance under extreme comedic conditions
The word 'serious' does not exist in our vocabulary
Life is one big hoot
And why not... the alternative sucks
Did I say I'm proud as punch of my Scottie
A successful computer guru
Heading up the Creative Services Department
Of a large company servicing the pharmaceutical industry
Did I say I'm proud as punch of this fellow
I'm repeating myself aren't I
He's the 'apple' of my eye
Ironically, we are both Apple Computer geeks!
We're both bytes out of the old Apple
Categories:
servicing, blessing,
Form:
Rhyme