Best Suckles Poems
Her heartbeat echoes like a love moan in my mind,
summoning centuries of refined romanticism soulfully enshrined,
the contralto of her voice a fillatio upon the cock of my consciousness,
through her eyes I see that mystery is the Mistress of meaning beyond regress,
my manly mouth serenades & suckles the rosy pussy of her prophecy, homage cunnilingus,
revelations irresistible in their heretical invigorations excite our imaginations
as we fornicate a ferocious forsooth soothsaying love's reincarnations,
a vignette of virility forthcoming from fate's far side fortifications
presents a primal promise in paranormal inceptions,
Premonitions primitive in heart heat paint
streak the skin of our desire to design an indigenous heaven,
flesh tones warm fast and feral revealing a vitality of spirituality that tongues detonate,
the Universe blooms into a Multiverse as she spreads her spell of star spice scintillation
onto my ripened body rendering her rites fertile in rich freight,
within the brain's wildfire I feel her unction,
Becoming the shaman of our secret skin ceremony
I invoke the spirit of solar youth into veinage voracious for passion's patronage,
sanctifying the unifying lust between the bodily and ghostly unlicensed liberty,
shadow temple of temptation gives offering of blood and song from astral page,
death dream extremes fire hot ejaculation of divine vindication into cosmogony
as she and I have won our now with a win over age,
My Love Muse is more than a woman
she is a savage seduction and a sacred sweetness,
a Goddess of her own Cause...a lover known as Poetess,
her name changes from lifetime to lifetime, yet she is always beauty shown -
J.A.B.
I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,
I have heard the tales of horror, from my dark skinned foes.
I have heard the tales of terror, from others who became my friends.
And I have walked with a dark skinned woman of their tribe.
We walked in the beauty of her courage, together. Tearless.
Tearless we both were as she spoke, for tears, only gods could cry for her.
I am a Red Skin dog.
And yet we walked together and we talked – together, fearless,
I and this swaying ebony sapling, sprung from the roots of my foes tribe.
We talked of the pitiless reality of that life she left behind, of that time
That she has left, far, far behind, like a useless scar
That has toughened over. And made her stronger.
I learned from this daughter of my foes
That true courage is never fearless, but always stronger. Victorious,
Stronger she was by far, to this Red Skin dog
Than the thousand sons who died, in her honor. So they say. Ridiculous,
But I have heard the balance of their sins.
And for all the tales I have heard from those angry young men, and their vengeful fathers
Her horror was a thousand times more sinister. A thousand times more callous.
Horror took up residence in her home but never in her heart.
But for others, I cannot speak.
“…splinters and bursting fragments…in my mind
Ai! Tearing! Memory of tearing flesh, swallowing tears and mucus, blood and bile
…bruising and ripping garments…off my body
…filthy, familiar hands tearing at my dress…
…my legs split and broken like a wild pig slaughter, my screams smashed from my lips,
With the butt of a rifle, just used to kill a Red Skin dog…
Aieee! Clean this floor mama, mop up this spew!
It cannot be mine!
This child is not mine!
It is not mine! It is the devils own creation born in hell fire!
Born in my death!
Aieee! I am dead, I cannot be alive.
I am dead and the Red Skin dogs have eaten my corpse.
Those spirits in their wingless chariot flew over the land and sea, to rescue me?
Rescue me from that black devil who said he was like Jesus to me.
I thought you were my uncle-brother…
Who else could have found us here?
Hidden away from the Red Skins and their Wingless Angels.
Only you my uncle-brother
Only you could have found us
Only you could have killed us.
And now the progeny of your evil deed suckles at my breasts
As I lie dead in the home of those Red Skin dogs you fought.”
A banyan tree that shields from tropical summer sun
A symbol of selfless love and sacrifice
A preserver of values that modernism has shun
No praise is enough, no gratitude suffice
Her love for her children is like blossom of springs
An angel she appears, a fairy she seems
It’s a symphony for ears, the lullaby she sings
The lullaby that drifts you in the valley of dreams
A teacher, a guide, a philosopher, a friend
An architect, a builder of beauty and grace
A garden of roses that fragrance send
Serenity of a lake where ducklings race
She suckles her babies with white blood of breasts
The hearts yearn for her bosom’s paradise
She strains every nerve, sacrifices her rests
Burning midnight oil with sleepy eyes
The special mothers that God has blessed
Maryam, Khadija, Fatema and Asiya
Women par excellence, mothers at best
Whether in Africa, Asia or the West
Mothers are an oasis in the desert of life
Their love and passion isn’t for display
Chained to the oar in your perils and strife
A shower of rain on a hot summer day
***
(Dedicated to my mother Begum Najmunnesa, who left me alone in this world at the age of twelve and all the mothers whatever caste, creed, colour, religion and nationality they are. I salute them all)
•
Dare you look deep into this darkness
Persecution of Jews - Holocaust
In Hebrew, this has the genocide
been called Shoah,
which means disaster or destruction
The journey has just begun,
and it is far from over
The destination is Auschwitz
to a place without return
The smell of vomit, urine and excrement is overwhelming
Without food and water, trapped in an unbearable heat
Everything is better than nothing
witch's brew, eaten with Satan's fork
made of bats, rats, worm and mice
The vultures is the bird and the messenger
who hunt along the train tracks
Dark tracks ... Jews were sent in closed
freight wagon - before they ended their lives in gas chambers
Their souls destroyed by evil and hatred
Neither will, power, alliances
or the strongest alpha males
- cannot escape the dirty claws of the Nazis
A young mother was raped by the soldiers
White dress with sewn-on transparent arms
a newborn baby suckles the mother's naked breast
It is definitely not for the faint of heart
Shoah !
Through tears, sweat and blood,
from generation to generation
At home in the window frame a red Begonia blooms
- for the last time
The door is branded with a yellow star
13/04/2021
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Last Train To Auschwitz Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
1st place in the contest
Trust, like a pitiless whore-master, grins
as between the sheets and at my breasts, he suckles.
Though Cupid lauds' the joy, I feel only stings.
The manic moon shivers to shriek-like violins
as trusting seed is split and son-less my knees buckle
mother-less street urchin blanched, impatient, sin.
In sympathy the sun pales night's mood swings
seeking to caress and hold with a fractured chuckle
love's exhausted, and misspent, ripened lingerings
To the dying day and I, cry of might-have-beens
ivory white my ice hands, my bleeding knuckles
Trust like a pitiless whore-master grins
Though Cupid lauds' the joy, I feel only stings.
~
~
~
[ ||||| ]
[ ||||| ]
My Quaint Cottage
The quaintness of my cottage
Is idyllic in my sweet resting thoughts.
My miniature garden rarely noticed by one
Is garlanded with fenced shrubs and flowery visions.
My orange clustered tree
Showers } { its love
onto my } { cascade
of verses } { as I rest
against } { its sturdy
bark on } {a silent day
My green walled cottage is sewn intricately with ivy
Leaving an
Arched door
Open Fringed
With fresh roses
Attracting the
Honey suckles
Hanging in air
Fluttering
Their wings
For ## but # one ## sip
In ## my ##### garden
Of # b# l #o # o # m # s
FIRST
Balveen Cheema
October 24, 2015
Judged
Contest: Creative Layouts
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Do you feel an ache from your virgin breasts,
as you paint the Madonna whom God blessed?
Your eyes present an almost haunted glow,
hands delicate barely hold onto brush.
Insanity almost seems within your reach.
You barely smile as you look my way.
I'm left to wonder where I should gaze.
Mother leans forward baby speaks in ear.
Are you cultured woman able to hear?
Has the Christ child left you in darkness?
Will light ever shine beneath your cloak of black?
Perhaps downturned lips will rise in ecstacy!
A child to love who suckles at your breast.
Secret joyful sounds a heart caressed.
Attempt at an inverted Sonnet for the renaisance
woman-- 2nd in the series contest.
Sponsor Cyndi Macmillan
Self portrait with her painting a picture
of Christ child wispering in Mary's ear.
Recourse
The old man bends his
knees-
to the graveyard of
speech.
His barren stretched arms
raise up.
Orates the last
of his unpronounced
plea,
for a piece of sky,
for a grip of dust.
Unresolved.
Like that of a master
and his beast
unwilling
to pull the bondage
of labour and grin.
The latter's breath
of unspelled words
reveals a stealth
of cracked soil,
a labyrinth of deep
and shallow wounds-
of the earth. Touch-
me-not grows
and blooms and suckles
from these breasts of hardened
inaudible numbness.
The quiet morning dew,
splinters over the barrow
a thousand bits, a handful of stain.
Gone is the deafening
first flight
of light, salvages, salvages-
a gentle sigh, the slightest
of touch,
from an old and cunning
man, to the silhoutte of
scorched earth; an impasse
between the obvious
and the pale.
the consecrate rose
sits on the bureau
its petals ebonized
now delicate
like life
the tempo of night
strums through whispers
of gentle wind
beneath the tones
of a lullaby
as shadows rock
back and forth
on roseate walls
while obtuse thoughts
peek in and out of mind
like the indigent moon
shrouded by clouds
she suckles on thoughts
as she kisses the infant
the press of hard glass
kissing back through the edges
of her delirium
she tries to mediate
in her sleepless mind
between lifeless beats
faded in egregious moments
that fate pillaged from hope
and the pleas of unanswered prayers
as they fell like rituals
night after night
awakening to cockcrow
her tears bleed
against crimson flesh
as she rocks
hands empty
alone
August 16, 2019
Deaf can see symphony sounds with eager eyes
Imagining the noise as brown, flight of butterfly
Feeling the music from the car radio in time
Nodding with it in silver synch
To the rhythm deaf not blind
Walking on the beach as tan sand suckles feet
Toes making bowls of mud
while waves dance on repeat
And the cascading sun rays
All golden what is their sound
Perhaps they sound like a soft smile falling down
The drumming of an infants heart
As he jumps in arms and hands
Holding sweet child like holding a star
From a distant heaven or far land
The sound of tears of joy
Splashing in festive face
Happiness that fill a void
Gifts of God’s love and grace
Can you hear my satin soul
Rejoice on the deaf choir
Hands dance a ballet of gold
Sign language lifted higher
I am differently abled to hear
Sights hearing people may miss
Sounds of excitement I hold dear
As a deaf person I feel bliss
river implodes -
misty rain
suckles seedlings
Bee suckles nectar
Nature's decadent candy
God's circle of life
With the smiling Fajr to the East, I remember the clipping of toes from side to side with the solemn recitation of the Holy Quran. The imagination of Allah’s mercy boils in my heart, the fence of success glows the microphone loud our voices and increases our concentration.
The canopy of congregation, the sound of Al-Fatha and the rolling of Aameen, erects the hope of building fence of success. The devil vows it arrows to decapitate the souls of humanity to fickle night. The sign of success suckles it breast each morning, my alarming clock cannot be ignored to ignorance.
The flash of Fajr is a new beginning day; it builds gardens of gold to the circle of fallout. The Almighty defends me. From the hijacking of my soul to disavow the Fajr in the morning to epitomizes my forefather’s footsteps.
The glory of ablution thrills me to trillions of hope; I regret all the days I dashed responsible to the failure of my soul for the past uncountable time inept to put my forehead down on the ground before my creator. I lament for those times I setback from purifying my soul to solid hope, no amount of regret is justifiable to the fable mistakes and the rogue that rocks my life to florescent beep.
I citadel glowing candles to win the wind on my knees as a base to the realization God is with me. The Praising of Allah on the knees erects my hope to kiss the sky lamp to bubble gown. I lament all the gowns of prayers I never wear as official duty upon my life.
I regret the poor accent of reciting the Holy Quran, and aura night I regret the sleep I slept as they were empty of prayers. The Mosque is the only place I must fight to defend five times a day, seven days a week and the rest of my life.
Monday:
He sharpens his dream
By the hone of the illusion,
Under his arm
He put roses
And a bit of of life's basils
Then goes to his work.
--------
Tuesday:
He says to the beloved:
Tomorrow, when the dreams tree leaves
On our stature,
And the light leapt smiling
In Our eyeballs
Humbly will come the sea
And give us its waves.
--------
Wednesday:
From the breast of the clouds he suckles
Five songs,
And by the stone
He slaughters the weathercock.
--------
Thursday:
He irrigates his memoirs
With the water of trouble,
In the evening
He expectes to be kidnapped.
--------
Friday:
When he comes to the cafe
He drinks from his cup
A quantity of eulogies
About the members of his tribe,
And when he goes out
He buries his misgivings in his pockets.
--------
Saturday:
He goes to the city bar
And behind him he pulls
The chariot of the grief,
Instills in the field of his body
Seedlings of the wine
To make himself melted.
--------
Sunday:
His feet take him
Where the nightmares of the road are,
His eyes lurk among the passers-by.
Her lips are sweeter than candy
Im overwhelmed by their touch?
Something like honey suckles
With a fragrance of lust
Or like soft morning dew
Dripping off of a rose
Caressing flowers in bloom
As our passions explode
Silver moonlights reflecting
from her soothing moist skin
Dancing with my obsessions
Illuminating beauty within
Every part of her body
I wish to taste with one kiss
But just like fine wine
I take my time with each sip
Gently tracing her movements
Beneath a canvas of white
As she begins to whisper her desire
To be consumed by my fire
Our bodies entwined
Sewn together by love
A mixture of kissing and breathing in
The Heavens above
An Angel sent by the Gods
To deliver me to the end
By tempting me with this sensation
Of her Beautiful Sin