Best Stick On Poems
BUYING CONDOMS
I was desperate to buy me some condoms
On a Wednesday morning in June
My girlfriend had made me a promise
And we were meeting up that afternoon
For she'd noticed that in my frustration
My flat....which I kept fairly neat
Now had fingernail marks on the ceiling
And teethmarks on the toilet seat
So she promised an hour of pleasure
As pleasurable as it could be
She wanted fifty eight minutes
With the other two minutes for me
Now you folks are probably thinking
Splitting an hour like that was a crime
But in my mood of complete desperation
Two minutes seemed like a long time
So I stood in a queue in the chemist's
Hoping to be quite discrete
While the lady in front bought and paid for
Corn plasters to stick on her feet
And when my turn came I was gutted
I though 'this must be a joke'
For a gorgeous young girl came to serve me
I was wanting a grizzly old bloke
Embarrassed I picked up some aspirin
But her smile put me quickly at ease
She said as she took the box from me
'Would you like some condoms with these?'
'We have them in black, red or tartan
And ribbed ones to last a long time'
'Do you have a favourite flavour?
We have peppermint, strawberry or lime'
'Flavours?'........ I nervously stuttered
'Strawberry?.......'Is that what you said?'
'These things are to go on my winkie'
'Not between two slices of bread'
She chuckled away as she wrapped them
She'd decided on tartan and lime
And smiled as she gave me the packet
Then wished me a really good time
I dashed around home in a frenzy
The minutes were ticking away
My girlfriend was coming here shortly
For our sixty minutes of play
My clothes hit the floor in a heartbeat
I put on my condom with glee
And the first that she saw, as she opened the door
Was my tartan condom and me
She screamed as the door closed behind her
Her face like a deathly white mask
Then pointed and silently shuddered,
'What're you going to do with that flask?'
I chuckled 'It isn't a flask it's a condom'
Tartan and flavoured with lime'
With disgust she turned and departed
Walking out for the very last time
So my day of passion was stifled
I didn't make it as far as the bed
And as my condoms were lime flavour
I had them with corn flakes instead
I am no courageous,
Fearless, valorous, gallant,
Proud, adventurous,
Selfless patriot
I am a soul in exile
Expressing my thoughts in
All languages but mine
'' Hi…I am Palestinian''
'' Salut…Je suis palestinienne''
I cut my mother tongue
In half
Palestinian poet
Rafeef Ziadeh was right when
She said
''Allow me to speak my Arab tongue
Before they occupy my language as well''
Well… to that I must add
Allow me to be the Arab
That I am
Allow me my right
To learn, to travel, to pray
Allow me to walk through any
Foreign street without having
To feel this shame
Without having to think twice
About my clothes, my face, my name
Or the visa I had to work
Day and night for the claim
Because at the end of the day
I am not the one to blame
For Bin Laden, 9/11, and all your
Absurd schemes and games
I am but a soul in exile
I am in no hall of fame
I have to opt to be
Someone I am not
Just to fit in your fame
Despite the agony I went through
Despite the struggles I overcame
Despite the diplomas, the degrees,
The awards I acclaim
I am still no Palestinian
No matter how many
'' I love Palestine'' stickers
I stick on my car
No matter how many times
I cry over Gaza and
Argue over the Israeli settlements
No matter how many times
I curse the Zionists, blame the media,
And swear at the Arab leaders
I am still no Palestinian
Even if I memorize the
Names of all the Palestinian cities
Even if I recite Mahmood Darwiche's
Poetry and draw Handala on my walls
Even as I stand here tonight
In front of you all
I am no Palestinian
And I might never ever be
And that's exactly what
Makes the Palestinian
In me…
Read in the Twinge Dubai Event
The only thing she knows is fast money,Sharing the honey of her tarnished hive, she has to survive. Man after man, digs in her crying land and leaves money at the end of the bed, the man was a stranger,during intercourse nothing was said. He leaves fast like the rest. She showers and gets dressed, another stranger is next. Behind the curtain she is really hurting, but she still entertains. She give so much of her,little remains. She has one kid with cancer and another kid is lame the other four needs attention the same. She loves them the same,to provide for them all, she works with out shame. Her stage name is candy her real name is many and she has a boy friend, who secretly takes her money, to sniff cocaine, his name is randy. She struggles to feed her kids, so every night she feeds eighteen men. Bright red lip stick on face, desperate for attention, see through clothes, I will not describe or further mention,heels click to alert.Perfume pleading for men. She takes any hand she can get,sadly enough that's not true. I hope one day the lord she will pursue. I pray he will provide and show her another way, to provide a meal for the day. I see her every day, what am I to say? I hope she will be ok ,prostitution is not ok.
My Teammate
Lead by the devil's strength
Our opponents won't be playful
we should not underestimate them
They are spun and solid as cutting iron
Baby, we should work on our games
Destroy our affection is their goal
Our relationship should be a shield
Our passion should be powerful as God
Let's win the World cup of Deep love
We'll break the gate of true love's house
The day of the final on the field of caress
There, we'll live the sweet loving life ever
The Federation will throne us with proudness
As the MVP King and Queen of the true Love
My lovely teammate, you'll be the center of emotion
Our story will stick on the wall of immortality
Be it winter or summer more likely than not
my big nose can produce giant globs of green snot.
I use up the tissues a box at a time,
picking and blowing and wiping the slime
that dries in my nostrils like small crusty scabs
and I pull thwem out furry from the hairs that they grab.
But some are still gooey that Ill roll in a ball
and I flick'em real quick so they stick to the wall,
then I wonder how long beforer anyone sees
all the boogers I flicked on their wallpapred trees.
It may be disgusting but then that's what I do
I blow out big boogers and I flick one or two
where they stick on the windows or maybe the door,
while the nastiest ones I just blow on the floor.
And some of you know about this, yes you do,
because some of you have flicked a booger or two.
I'll never point fingers at any of those
who've had their own fingers way up in their nose.
Now I've told a story and some of its true
I've talked about mucus and boogers and you,
and stretching and rolling these green little balls
and picking and flicking and sticking to walls,
and I guess that I'll stop there, so I'll take a pass,
I won't talk about boogers, but let's talk about gas!
Your face over candles and crystals
Your scent I smell, stick on murals
Finger prints of you over metals
Turning hard to soft like petals
I saw you kneeling when you prayed
Behind you was I and stayed
I can hear your soft voice unafraid
Wishing for a cat unbraid
The candles you litted inside the church
Served as my lights when you left
Your shoe prints on the aisle I search
Vanished like air without a cleft
I sat down for a while
Wishing you would come back
Minutes later you came back
Walking like Immortal over the scratched aisle
Middle aisle of the church so old
With you turning anything like gold
Your prayers are like magic so bold
Reviving with warmth everything around so cold
My immortal is in you that calls
My body and soul that falls
Wished you can be mine someday
Dreaming you're all mine all day!
Love
I see it piled sky high on the supermarket shelves
Perfect pink packaging containing calorific chocolates and cute cuddly toys,
seductive scents or sexy silk underwear
Slushy Valentine’s cards with ridiculous romantic rhymes
Stick on a cardboard heart and it's not just the vendor who is smiling!
A sea of red roses that stretches as far as the eye can see
Notice how the prices inflate higher than a helium 'I Love You' balloon
Yet on 15th February everything will be half price
Is this the price of true love or am I just a cynic?
Valentine Shmalentine Contest
Sponsored by Nicola Byrne
01~20~17
The cob webbed city sticks to my dirty skin,
as I pass through its predator strings.
On the corners are hustlers, men with wigs and worn heels,
selling their wares, fighting with women,
over property rights.
Traffic moves slow, crawling along like a large slug,
melting into the blacktop.
Your eyes get accustom to waves of heat,
rising like dragons from the burning street.
The musky smell of filth singes the air,
while old men linger by drug stores and bars,
smoking old cigarettes they found, coughing.
Hey buddy, do you have a light, some change?
Still, I'm alone.
A wanderer, born from tainted soil,
surviving on wits and will.
Stopping at every liquor store and chili parlor,
searching for pennies.
Knowing each minute as a day,
as I stick on the soles of society's shoes.
A reminder they don't want to see.
That young is old when left to fend for themselves,
and evil is a weapon never born from a gentle touch.
Gray days are constant,
as life becomes motion with unintended reasons.
Stopping long enough to disappear in the city's web.
People passing by see only dirty shoulders and backs,
leaning against graffiti walls,
trying to stay out of the rain,
until the doors open and the soup line moves.
It's there I feel human, before wandering back,
to my rags and cardboard.
I'll try to sleep away despair as humanity passes by,
with their cold collective misunderstanding of misery and pain,
carried on the backs of the unfortunate homeless,
as we lay in the garbage of society's world,
crying without tears, holding on,
until we just let go and fall into the abyss,
where our bodies are then removed as Jane Doe.
contest A Poem Time Forgot
Piles upon piles of dust and mold
Gather in a large closet up in the attic,
Where junk of memorabilia resides
Untouched for years as I scan the heap
Of treasures accumulated: a prom's corsage
At 17, shelves of dresses, high-heels that
Tell me now I have grown four sizes larger!
Paperbacks circa 1980, eaten by bugs
from a Literature nerd in grade school...
Journals theater souvenirs looking like
Fossilized antiques from medieval ages,
Along with broken Parker pens and oil
Tubes defying a frustrated artist,
With drawers of lace, beads, threads
As glue guns ( in yellow) stick on interior- design
Folders: then to reach out for music records;
Dollars saved in a jar as a novice in advertising:
Oh the thongs , underwear kept in cedar boxes--
A vision of dates with sleek metro princes,
Discoing on till they turn into wimpy frogs...
How chlorine scent jams my nostrils as I clear
The unwanted pile-- mounds of pile that
Stain my dingy face my hair a rocker's mop.
Die as I flood you with ammonia !
Not the keepsakes...but those stinking fungi!
3/2/2017
Unwanted Guest Contest
Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
To bring a bit of happiness to my soul
I’ve got to sing along to a little rock n’ roll
Don’t try and tell me it’s all out of date
Elvis is still rocking, Eddie Cochran's' blues were great
When I need to bring rhythm to this body of mine
I listen to the soul of motown it sounds divine
Sweet soul music with a dash of R and B
It brings a smile to my face these classics of history
Just to sweeten up those memories of mine
I’ll play something soft that throws me back in time
Smooching to the music in pure harmony
Takes me to another place romantically
If I want to get funky and really get on down
I put on the Godfather yeah’ James brown
With lots of movements I start to swing
It’s a whole new dance a totally wild thing
Depending on my taste of musical tunes
I'll Play something to ease my musical moods
Because they bring life into my musical soul
I'll stick on that jazz by Nat King Cole
© Copyright KC.Leake
22nd November 2014
All Rights Reserved
Aquarium with green lush moss gives a fish a habitat
Ph is an important part not too low, neutral is a safe state
Overfeeding is a disaster such unpleasant smells and algea blooms
you'll want to move into another room
Across the tank the fish like to swim darting in between plant leaves.
Snails like to stick on the walls eating little algea pieces and water fleas.
Snails are tastey to the old clown loach He can crunch and munch.
Trapdoor, mystery purple and orange, olive nirite look like little Mr. Magoos
Mystery is the most beautiful if ever in the notion to adopt a snail pet.
Beware potassium permanganese can kill snails and shrimp.
Cherry red shrimp are the cutest little guys; only an inch long full grown.
No better swimmer has ever been known!
Marimo is a legend of the orient kept for good luck and serenity.
Koi are not coy so don't be decieved they get quite large and spit for attention.
Gold fish are such a simple little fish bright and personable
Gold fish have a lot of ammonia which causes the fin rot.
Aquariums are not for the easily discouraged....
Fish are a wonderful enjoyment but sadness overcomes when life is cut short.
Oh gosh, what memories pancakes brings back to me …
As a child I used to make them every week for my dad
He adored them but I never ate them! It’s been many years since I made them
Lets see if I can remember the recipe for the batter
Carefully weigh out 4 oz plain flour, add in ¼ teaspoon salt
Sieve this into a bowl. Make a well in the center
Then carefully add three medium sized eggs
Do make sure they are fresh and you scoop out any bits of shell
You don’t want to find anything crunchy in your pancakes!
Use a hand whisk or electric whisk to incorporate the eggs then
Gradually add ½ pint milk (or milk and water combined)
Whisk until you have a silky smooth batter with no lumpy bits
Now the important thing is to put the batter in the fridge
Leave it to rest as long as possible ideally at least ½ hour
Then you need a medium sized frying pan, drizzle in a little cooking oil
Heat the pan until it is fairly hot but not smoking
You don’t want to have clouds of acrid smoke and have to ring the fire brigade!
Pour in a little of the batter It will start to sizzle and splutter
Tip the pan to spread the batter and make a thin coating
Cook until the underside of the pancake is golden brown
And the top is covered with bubbles
Now comes the fun bit…
You can simply flip the pancake over to cook the other side
BUT if you are daring you can try tossing it in the air …
hoping it doesn’t stick on the ceiling!
Disaster can strike if the pancake misses the pan and ends up on the floor…
I was never brave and always flipped the pancake over
Once the pancake is golden brown on both sides slide it onto a warm plate
My dad always ate them sprinkled with sugar and zesty lemon juice
But you can use any topping you desire even savoury ones
Dad would roll his pancake and eat it in slices
Whilst he was eating the first pancake
I would continue cooking until the batter was used up
I’d make sure I added a little oil before cooking each one
You don’t want them to stick
If you are making a batch of pancakes you can cover them
Put them in a warm oven until you have finished making them all
Enjoy!
Contest:-Didactic Food
Sponsor: Tammy Reams
10~07~15
(none fiction)
This rainy day reminding me of a childhood memory
Me and my sister and cousins loved to play in the rain.
We would filled up our buckets 1 to 6.
In the backyard in our caribbean island back then.
We had our fun and play hide in seek and hide Every were.
Our home was old fashioned as well as modern.
I will never forget the outside toilet for it was one of the ancient
it was deep and scary and dark.if you fall in there is no way up.
I will never forget the light bulb that went through my knee
Around that time from playing , till this day I still carry the scar as well.
We would seat in yard eat as much mango and sugar cane and everything in site. For aunt had a store it became a place to hide and eat while we play.
I will never forget the old fashioned iron for our clothes.
For every morning for school tidiness was a must for it was Catholic School.
School was strict as can be you will be on your knees for more than hours
facing the wall and a whip to mark your soul by teacher for not memorizing every lesson by heart. And this was just after school.
Morning time lesson needed to be reviewed the teacher with a stick on hand ready to give you a knuckle blister if you did not memorized your lesson. I was one of the students, I couldn't even remember the lesson for my first communion.
Thank God that's the same time I came to America at age 9.without my communion done. (don't tell).
I miss everything I left behind our home was beautiful and blessed.i just wish the 2 Germandogs were okay and didn't die chain up in my godfather backyard for he was a simple married men I was he's fist child of being his goddaughter.
I miss my dog Benji as well, nice little puppy but he would eat everything in sight. It was also hide your shoes or it would be apart.
Childhood was fun and will never be forgotten. It will take more than a page. To start of with once upon a time.
I will never forget all the old fashioned games me and my sister use to play.
I will never forget the first time I saw my sister cried. A huge nail went through her foot from playing hide in seek in the backyard yard in the dark.
PTSD, this is nothing that's new,
it's just a new label to stick on you
They now blame it on the wars today,
unless for your trauma they have to pay.
Then all of a sudden, it changes it's name,
and you are accused of the malingering game.
So you lost an eye, arm or a leg or two,
that's happened for years, it's nothing new.
No one over the years ever tried to explain,
when you scream and shout they say your insane.
You could fight and yell until you were numb,
then they hid you away in the insane asylum.
Now in the 21st century, they start to see,
that your moaning and griping is reality.
Your suffering can't be swept under the mat,
too many now shouting, we deserve better than that.
We were beaten, spit on, blown up and abused,
why should we take this, we're not the accused.
We did our duty as we were ordered to on the day,
now all we ask for is a sense of fair play.
Years ago when into a corner we would flee,
from years of molestation and depravity.
Whether your a child or have already grown old,
you have a story that needs to be told,
If your in authority listen to me please.
This pain hidden inside is not a disease
© Dave Timperley 19 August 2016
Sometimes some lost and lonely housewife I know well and knew put glossy
lip stick on and subtle pastel shade mascara plucked his brows and shaved
the pits of desperation the dust and grime the secretive desire longing
He cleaned the oven layered peeled the onion emerged in mouth watering
cheese cakes mixed the sweet and sour chilly icing with fresh fromage
fermenting homage to a new beginning of transition from the desperation
Not my cup of tea the make up with tattoos the belly ring and
hairy monsters on his pectoral and deltoid muscles but the pastry
pasted shaken not so pious pies tasted passionate the scent of musky
mushroom vanilla cinnamon the whole cliché of home made cooking
steaks for power sweet desert aphrodisiac temptations for the palate
palace coup palladium palliating plights of unforeseen façade and masquerade
Defeating gender stereotypes and prejudice his wife left broom cuisine
and cruising hoovers steely wool to his resolve and elbow grease but the
good partner who she was helped with the dishes when the dishy romance
ceased to be when both of them were desperate shattered broken devastated
wives and house mates
Their Pandora’s box the can of wriggly worms once opened left his bosom swell
his skin and features soften the pheromones transform their scent aroma
tone and meter of their conversation pitched up once the vocal chords strung higher
and he cut the naval chord which boxed him for so long in a body of a stranger
My friend and desperate house wife Paul is Paula now and she lives with her girl
another gender convert and is not incarcerated not desperate any longer she is free
Her ex-wife Ruby lives with Rosa now transcending yet another artificial boundary in rapturous coming of time and liberation and I love them dearly just the same
19th June 2016
Written for contest: Desperate Housewife
Sponsor Poet Destroyer A