Best Sexed Poems
There once was a fellow named Ted
Who recently in church got wed
His wife was in the mood
Laying there in the nude…
He was texting his friends instead!
He was sending text after text
His new wife was feeling quite vexed
'I'm after your bone -
now get off your phone ....
Or I'll leave if I'm under sexed!
A collaboration with Jospeh May
Both Poems inspired by 'And Nothing Else Matters' By Andrea Dietrich
1st May 2016
There once was a fellow named Ted
Who recently in church got wed
His wife was in the mood
Laying there in the nude
But he was texting friends instead!
He was sending text after text
His new wife was feeling quite vexed
'I'm after your bone -
now get off your phone ....
Or I'll leave if I'm under sexed!
----
A collaboration with Jan Allison.
Both Poems inspired by 'And Nothing Else Matters' By Andrea Dietrich
1st May 2016
Those yanks in their tanks never got many thanks
The locals moaned, ‘they’re over here’ *
We Brits had the ration, those yanks sought out passion
With cigarettes, chocolate and beer
Girls couldn't rely on a whiff of a nylon
So legs got the tea or the gravy **
Eye liner pencil sufficed for the seam
The trick was to not make it wavy
But Typhoo and Bisto for fellas from ’Cisco
Was something quite hard to explain
Those girls would do lock ins with painted on stockings
All thankful that it didn't rain
Then with the war over and husbands at Dover
And Uncle Sam’s troops on their toes
Wives by the dozen had buns in the oven
And those baby’s dads were John Does
——
* Over paid, over sexed and over here - a reference to American GIs
who came, seemingly, laden with otherwise rationed goodies.
** In the absence of nylons/stockings, women would ‘stain’ their legs
with tea and draw on the seam. According to Mr Google, some even
used gravy. Neither were waterproof and rain (in Britain?) was to be
avoided at all costs.
Sexy
wanting
playfully pert
experienced
sexed
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love2.php
Movie seen
Driving home
Newly found couple
To be alone
River bank parked
Dead of night
His golden blond
Beautiful sight
Their lips meet
Hands wander
Imagination flow
Hearts ponder
To be comfortable
Seats are changed
Buttons loose
Clothes rearranged
Passion starts
Hands walk free
Skin explored
Of he and she
Naked souls
Join as one
Heavens merge
Joys begun
With her thrusting hips
In vice like grip
Her loving want
In her he slips
In passion applause
His lava flows
Her warm insides
Outer body glows
Sweet sweetened mix
Perfumed skin
Warm with-drawl
Potions swim
Kisses in clench
Tenderness
This loving two
Soft caress
Sexed and fed
They head of home
Wondering about
Their next love roam
She calls me up
Come over now
Let's experiment
Meow
On arrival
Dressed in black
Body purring
Like a pussy cat
Her leather-ed wear
Two thin strips
Flesh so open
Lips to hips
Stocking delight
Two pillars of black
Opening of joy
No turning back
Tying of leather
Lashed to her bed
Purring to perfection
Her wantings read
Stroked and petted
Writhing in pout
Touching of her
In sensuous shout
Deliverance of love
Our bodies grow
Releasing our spores
Explosive throw
On her command i release
Her ties so slack
The rise of her body
Arch of her back
I'm captured within
In clench of her grip
Total satisfaction
Sexed equip
Passion's continue
Well into the night
Leather-ed and bound
Her wanting delight
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love5.php
silenced canaries
sexed and banded and wings clipped~
cagey politics
to say that rumor has it
is to say that the World Trade Center
collapsed silently and cleanly like
oppositely sexed Siamese twins
who discovered they could mate
I had all channels going full bore
aiming at involuntary insemination
with the aid of a two-handled clam rake
now there's an archetype of malevolence
just how many categories are there anyhow
an infinity an eternity you decide
rumor has it
There may be more than one infinity
however eternity is but an extrapolation
of the next 10 minutes
who would want to spend it only there
a money robot trapped in labor
dead in a puddle of break time jism
insert your domain name here
a world gone heavily annotated
yearning for the dagger of love
whine your last you holy landlords
at a time when rent is the anomaly
where anomalies are just signals
this isn't a broken hearted paperback
or a lightning burn to the head
the big eye on the horizon says
he's trying to figure out
how far to take the next extinction
but is unsure whether to come to us again
as a mystic philosopher or a yodeling yokel
we've come out of the dark place
into the frozen lips dimness
looking for aids to navigation
having discovered the secret entrance
clues were left everywhere
let's hope it ends with clean sheets
because I just found out my guardian angel
is a rottweiler with a missing leg
and just as many teeth
one eye is a ball bearing
the other a shotgun barrel
loaded with pillow mints
he rides a mean skateboard
propelled across a landscape
of food and sex smells
no wonder I'm on the run
from my own mother
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Her Cheekbones, smooth as pebbles
Grasped tightly in his sexed up hand, sweating indelicately
Resembling that night the thoughts between the sheets were conceived
Weighing like soaked white carpets
Beneath flea market stands
She Is Beautiful, she is beautiful
Belladonna, noxious
Dusty eyes and wavy hair
Neruda book shoveled away somewhere deep
Inside her closet full of chewed up bones
Illumination, dying in Latin never seemed like
A juxtaposition before the closing of the soul
At least his eyes are a Cambridge blue
Jazz muted in Mortality sings on dangling participles leaking out
From the saxophone
What is that worth?
Thick waist, hourglass coke-a-cola
Mama-sita, mira mira
Lolita-like N.Y.M.P.H.O.ed up eyelashes
Coating tears with manufactured glob
Somebody put in a bottle
The higher your skirt the more your face value
Goes up, up, up pass the mystery between monogyny and the thighs
Right between the slit ice
Like Mmmm, and he slides past the first three bases
Oooh Girl you look so good in those Six Inch Heels
What is it worth,
to throw away your
Worth
For a toaster oven and a washed up guy sitting on your back porch
Scratching his head waiting to be given a pardon for his misdeeds
While American Media stole him away
And blamed it on the graffiti on the Church Walls when it was really
Hipshot for the Hip-Hop , This shameless act of cytotoxicity
when it was really
The Devil trying to slow dance with the pretty girl behind the stage
Eyes that lie time after time and are almond shaped but see no further
Then 6 feet deep and a saxe blue sky
Baby girl, on auction in the club
(Going once, going twice, it’s okay we’ll sell her half price!)
Like a slave, a sycophant child to some sick twisted game
Dancing in the Matrix style of killing the clock
Biting off the hands, to chew them up, spit them out
To pretend like the world isn’t ending over our heads
Seven kids, bloated waist, waitress fingers and lips
Smile, Misfortune dotes on you, Lucky One
What are you going to do when your looks run out?
Heyyy girl, what’s your face value?
EITHER
a searing indictment of
contemporary American society
OR
just a bit of fun!
**********
They seem to have forgotten common courtesy,
'Have A Nice Day!' rings so hollow, such a shame;
they're so mired in mediocrity
and no one ever, ever takes the blame.
Overweight and under-nourished,
over-sexed and under-intellectual,
they preen and pose their way
to self-importance, perpetually ineffectual.
They clutch desperately on to their perceptions,
their DVD's and plasma TV screens;
they're rushing blindly to the brink of self-destruction,
never caring for a moment what life means,
so I'll have a cup of tea and read Jane Austen,
self-righteous, showing smug English reserve,
and laugh at all their cheesy indiscretions
while I cheer their unimaginable nerve!
THE STORY IN MY HEAD (The Man Sitting In Your Front)
He’s not a human being – No, he is less of that
He might’ve been the one through whose sperm I permeated into my mother’s
But would you believe me if I told you that he deflowered his product?
And tags it a righteous conduct
To take a bite of the material to know it’s worth
And to be the first person to know what’s what and what’s not
That man sitting in front of you was the one who’s made me a shame
Since Mum caught him on me the second time, life’s never remained the same
I can’t even call my natal vehicle “Mom”
She’d say “I am not the mother of a whore”
I cannot give birth to a lady
Who’s only dream is to give birth as a baby
But what am I to do when that man sitting in front of you caused all these?
I can’t even tell you the pain I feel when someone calls me by his last name
I have to hold it in each time, in school I have to be called upon by the teacher with that name while being sane
But to whom am I to explain all these?
That the man you call my Father,
has committed murder
towards myself and my mother,
he’s sexed his first daughter
in an attempt to be the first buyer.
©Emmiasky Ojex
Lightning flashes across the chilly midnight sky.
A warrior rises from the ashes to be a Poetic Samurai.
Metaphorically his blazing Katanna blade is just a mere black pen.
His poetry is like an explosion from a grenade leaving poets in ruin!
He scribbles out names of poets he's slain, and ponders who is next.
The rain beats against the window pane, and he wonders of the last poetess he sexed.
He made passionate love to her mind, and did things no other man had done.
The pen was a sweet taste of sin when he ate her from behind just for fun!
After awhile with a smile he discarded her like a rag doll, and focused solely on her boyfriend.
The Samurai was determined to poetically kill this slime ball after he was done with his girl
for a weekend.
But the boyfriend was jealous and shaking with rage, and he challenged the Poetic Samurai.
Poetry Soup would be the main stage, for it was do-or-die, and this battle begin to intensify.
The Poetic Samurai dominated the poetesses boy toy by placing him in a casket and burying
him alive!
This demonic poetic warrior was determined to destroy, and he wanted no one to survive!
The Samurai battled the poetess and her whole click, spreading terror like the swine flu!
The boyfriend got poetically sick, and the samurai beat their cheerleaders black and blue!
The poetess, her boyfriend and their soup friends were furious, because of the Samurai's
poetic slams.
So the boyfriend got personal and serious, because the samurai ate the boyfriends green
eggs and ham!
The boyfriend could not stomach the samurai's poetic food, so he ran and pulled up the
Samurai's criminal background.
But the Samurai is a poetic warrior and he continued to smash the dude into the ground
leaving his girlfriend spellbound!
It is said the boyfriend is poetically dead, he eventually committed suicide!
The Samurai left a trail of bloodshed across the soup and worldwide.
It is said the poetess ran away, she could not take it anymore.
I guess being sliced and diced by poetic swordplay was hard to ignore!
So the Poetic Samurai begins to retire, but he keeps his pen ready for a challenger.
He patiently waits to wrap another poet in barbed wire and swing the Excaliber!!!
Sailing over the body,
dream to dream
I see, a seated Buddha,
at salt coast.
Everytime you were on wrong
side. It was only accidental ?
You start making a snap against
the thumb.
Levitating, you start to under-
stand life anew, cajoling
the pain of abandonment on
the roadside.
Dark lightning sexed the
clouds. Eons away a galaxy
had cried and signature came,
milky way.
Satish Verma
Sister Wm. Mary
I never learned a lesson when I was still a child.
My father didn’t have the time so I just ran wild.
Mama told me, “God would never leave my side”.
But I’ve been alone all my life with no one as a guide.
I was a young man on a journey through life.
Always wonder how I’d make out when I took a wife.
I wanted to be cool but I didn’t understand.
Why an under sexed nun would take me by the hand.
When she touched me unexpectedly in a private place.
I pushed her hand away and she slapped my face.
She told me to be still, it isn’t going to hurt.
I wondered what she’s thinking as she lifted up my shirt.
My teardrops fell my heart beat fast, it seemed to last so long.
And as I shook she stroked my hair, I knew that this was wrong.
I took the long way home that day hoping for relief.
But I knew I could tell no one it’s too hard to believe.
And so it went on for the next couple years.
I noticed a change when I cried without tears.
No one else noticed as I began to withdraw.
Not my mother or my father, no one at all.
So I fought back the tears and I tried to pretend.
I swore that I’d kill her if she touched me again.
I asked God to help me but he never came.
Then it suddenly dawned on me, I was to blame.
Now here I sit weary almost sixty one.
Depressed and exhausted with no place to run.
So when I was asked who took my cherry,
All I can say, “it was sister Wm. Mary”.
Rage! Rage! This angst, oozing from yawning deep,
Render to numbness, silent cornered weep,
Iniquitous decrees, when lulled to sleep,
Seduced by dybbuks, only vice to reap,
At impasse is reason in chaotic sneap,
Battle! Battle! Wrought courage to muster,
Nerves, sinews and pulse to not surrender,
Unto Death's embrace, believe, relive valour,
Cease the recreants who plunder honour,
Justitia unfold, raise sword, discard scales,
They excorcise a conjuring of wrongs -
Your wimp giants with their death-laden stales,
Who snatch, stuff, snuff, the hapless teeming throngs.
Bitter! Bitter! This death that lives in me,
Caged in dreaded mirrors, life dies in me,
‘Creep' - deep in my grey with seductive glee,
That heaven-flash, garden-lie, cursed harmony,
Sexed this soul, fervent red and sensory,
That ransom rush of crimson redemption,
Flesh sunk spirits misrender the Passion,
To quell the knell of that culmination,
Scrolls, religiosity and rendition,
For power, for heat, in false absolution,
And this death-row of bliss to deathless role,
Into eternal licking tongues since old,
All and I heedless to that Sword and scold,
Then brazen doors to pleas of curse served soul.