Best Venereal Poems
The distance between us means nothing~
l've f a l l e n in love with you, despite the moon sleeping in your eyes,
I d r i f t towards you like a galaxy of stars.
Craving your ivory fingers to unfurl my ebony crest,
flying me to thrilling northern lights,
as I grasp your fluttering wings onto my heaving chest,
enabling you to u n r a v e l and devour me,
beneath artistically crumpled sheets,
sprinkling sweetness across mystifying rivers~
of toffee lakes that are ready to burst,
as you sensationally dive
into these restricted fondant gates,
to passionately feed beyond the luscious linen,
finding your way around enraptured embodiment.
An enigmatic enchantress you've so effortlessly tamed,
conquering my walls whilst within a timid pupa,
confined inside the vulnerabilities
of a voiceless cocoon,
but waiting for your mystical vapors,
to unleash spring blooms in our souls,
engraving "forever" on rose tinted glasses,
for summer steam has commenced calm seas.
But these venereal spirits can r u n wild,
a vacant space that shall leave our eager ink
to create reckless nights,
feeling your claws ravishing their
way onto my poetic spheres deeper and faster,
letting your hands explore as my plesiosaurs guide,
while you set my canvas on fire
with your alluring quill,
and you grip onto my realms
like a momentous love ritual.
A scavenger hunting for hidden passages,
full of t r e a s u r e and p l e a s u r e
sinfully scribbling about how tomorrow shall be.
A surly old maid
had an urge to be laid
and bemoaned her virginal status
with life discontented
her plight she lamented:
"'tis not easy to live without coitus."
A scheme she invented
got polished and scented
tweaked her pointers to swing more voluptuous
with a rose-scented blanket
and aphrodisiac banquet
whisked her beau to the beach to be fructuous
Clad in scant mini
whence peeked her bikini
bent on bidding her cherry adieu
purred words mildly profane
wined him champagne
dined him fare with venereal value
To hone his libido
entrèed on baked avo
oysters, scallops and honey-glazed almond
lips enticingly luscious
sucked asparagus
sneaked a look if what matters had hardened
As was he, she became cocky:
ogled what was now stocky
with no inhibition she fussed and she flirted
our virgin opened her mouth
with one hand down south
loosened a knot and lay there unskirted
Decidedly heady
her lover was ready
to pick her rosebud unsoiled hitherto
her lush lips he fingered
where he lovingly lingered
to prepare for their kissing debut
With a bolt sat upright
said, his voice somewhat tight:
"Your mouth is a pit of infection.
I swear I was keen
but your mouth lacks hygiene
foul breath made me lose my ********."
Beaverish, feverish
hot Mrs. Cleaver wished
that her affair had not
given her clap.
Fast Eddie Haskell, her
boy-toy, that rascal, his
transmissibility
claims were all crap.
“Tickle me, pickle me,
say it’s not true, for if
you have the clap then I
must have it too!”
Doctors prescribed her some
anti-microbials,
Ward soon found out that she
had been untrue.
Beaver was curious,
Ward was so furious,
fake news of Eddie’s lewd
films made him snap.
“June, you’re so sensible,
incomprehensible,
that you could fall for that
con-artist’s crap!”
Friskiness, riskiness,
ratings were rising, but
not so surprising they
cancelled the show.
Frightened by content too
radiological,
sponsors said “Beaver” was
not apropos.
So beautiful and dangerous
The Cecilia lion of the firestorm
Setting sexualized minds ablaze
A lioness with a gentle touch
What would you do to engage with this minx
Would you kneel, pleasure her on your knees
Playing a free spirit's tune
Inhaling the scent of jasmine and sex
Laying down in her domain, her humble abode
Burning deep within, melting in ecstasy
A living flame, hot to the touch
An incarnate of luring pulchritude
Serving to ignite this burning inclination
Cecilia Lion has been glazed in torridness
She wears her erotic tendencies gracefully, sexually, and beautifully
More stunning the more I hanker for her
Her assets full and bright
Canting to hear her soughing
Lioness bears her claws
She becomes undone
Not wanting to be silent
To make love under the gold of a crimson hue, that would be wondrous
Mained and copulated by this carnivora
Beastia of the venereal tropic plains
Aggressive, to snuff out my libidinous
Succumbing to the Cecilia Lion's design
Schizo got my white man knowin’
What papa felt like bein’ black.
Mania got me actin’
like a strawberry
fiendin’ fo’ crack.
Got OCD and I cain’t get my hands clean
Passin’ out on my carpet
Because I’m high off my bleach
Spider crawlin’ past my head makin’ me
Panic
Anxiety attack ragin’ on and now I’m frantic
Nothin’ left but suicide to get rid of this pain
But, if I kill myself I’ll bring reproach on my God’s Name
Can’t even preach
What example do I show?
When people look at me
They have to ask
What could she possibly know?
Tired of the fight
But, I know if I let go…
I’ll never stop-
The curse of bipolar is that I’ll over-do everything
Wind up on skid row
Without a pen-ny
And some type of venereal disease
From having so many lovers
and Probably a bunch of kids
With none of them wanting sick crazy me for a mother
So I lock myself in my bedroom
And become a hermit
Write hate love poems on my laptop
And pretend I have wit
Dream of contact
But, have to refuse to be touched
Because even one look from a man is simply too much
And I’m out of control
I am only normal
I just want to make love
Sick of great sex
I just want to make love
I’m Crazy and Lonely for Love
CAN I DIE TONIGHT?
?
by Mark Miller © 06/15/2014
Signs stained white written by twilight's blacken Knight,
Raining silent sights depressants drown the conscience might-
Feeling venereal waves sullen air on standing skin shivers
Ridding stallions frailty of fear scorn folly appears,
Warning scent of scowl substance -
Seeking in cause and effect applies not in this lullaby,
For the mind belongs to it's own song and dance-
Willow trees weep beside the empty fractal houses,
An ethos fills body's soul with a depraved dreadful chorus-
In jostle of moments lined faster a hurried escape from felt hidden disaster,
An alter of one espousing blight of blithely blister-
Sympathetic one of other removes contents in empty pockets,
Seeking aloft allusions in solutions left lied ring-let-
Daemonic cutting deciphered experimentally-
Winding winded two halves distract obvious facts completely,
Attics into Usher's velvet windows asunder lightening's thunder,
Horror's glory retreats toward sisters end read story
Lightening revealing THE frighting fury hour-
Days of three seal homes sickened manner strayed lost honor,
Violins play chimes of melody clocks delay frayed fractured decay-
Answered doors store stealth terror of sores
Whispers in absent scenery closures presents history-
Sickle red sorrow drowned disease roams hallways demented path of jester become,
Pallor color companions eclipses my natures being to be-
Capacity particulars a ghastly gloom
Thus is our dissolution for reservations inside our Mansion of Doom-?
Sports, sports,
I love sports
About as much
As venereal warts.
To build a better human use a robot
Genetics are overrated and outdated
Androids make the perfect man
With nuts and bolts who needs a soul
Love your machines
They come with metallic hands
With instructions to construct
Transgender bathrooms built to last
Humans make great pets
When inoculated they are the best
Venereal diseases are a breeze
Hmm.... Are they really needed?
Bots speak bot languages
Abstract thoughts are optional
Don't need visas to get about
Robots work non stop for free
No clocks to punch or dirty thoughts
Void of affection and infections
They follow the instructions of God's plan
To build a better man
tens of thousands years ago
(a figurative out in left field ball park figure)
*****Sapiens (or the forebears of said species),
deliberately sought sensate satisfaction
with deliberate zeal
shucking clothes
(perhaps just an animal pelt hiding pubes)
answering (on a private line),
the call of the wild,
not yet verboten feral common weal
way before the identification of venereal
disease (though most likely
germinal forerunner), yet to rank
as demise forecasting deterministic,
fetishistic, hedonistic inviting
Gonorrhea, Herpes, Syphilis, et cetera to an unveil
ling, then (of course) average life span
of primate predecessors brief, nasty, and short,
thus demise from sexually transmitted disease
unlikely the cause of death,
nor spelled catastrophe that would seal
the fate of mankind unlike the here and now,
when the Apocalypse Israel
aside from conflagration
decimating Rohingya's, Uighur's, Yazidi's,
countless other minority populations
severe distress they feel
plus Middle Eastern countries got a raw deal
subjected to their own variety of slaughter,
which genocide ranks as Syria us injustice
calling for immediate appeals,
injunctions, sanctions humanitarian appeal
against inhumane abominations,
terrorization, violations
rather than passively witness
innocent lives being trumped.
Analyse this, anuva 8 bar phrase.
Tantalised this bruva, we date our days.
Record the inequality. I'm bored, in poverty..
But that has nothin to do with this mans quality.
In squalor see, in the sense of the material.
Little did i know, knowledge is imperial.
Ya can't learn it in college or catch it like a venereal disease.
Don't ya know I'm totally cereal? This puts my mind at ease!
Seriously, imperiously. I wish ya could see as clearly as me.
Delirious lee. Inferior be, all that you is! jeer at us, see?
Men fear what they don't understand.
My book holds more than 10 commands.
Got them shook, in the palm of my hand.
I can feel a hook, i stand as a man. possessed,
stressed with a lot of confessions.
Think i told ya i have little possessions.
Tryin to leave a lasting impression,
unfortunately has to be done with aggression.
Atleast be heard and teach ya a lesson.
But i'm still a student and its the point I'm stressing.
I been taught this life, is a blessing in disguise.
Am I guessing a surprise or messing wit you guys?
Testing for a prize, nah I'm pressing for demise.
Not of me, but of thee...
establishment, regal.
You already heard that the baddest went evil.
I'll show ya good turned saint cos I'ma do it legal.
Wonder sometimes if my attempts are feeble.
Well, these days that seems feasible.
Its coming to the point of being leavable.
Btw am i being unreasonable?
Since I was a child
An unspoken question
Has echoed in the hollow
Of my body
Carved by sorrow –
Where were you?
When your chubby baby boy
Climbed out of his crib and
Crawled into the cold bathroom
Where he ate Drano and
Burned himself with lye –
Where were you?
When your wily toddler
Pulled himself up onto the ledge
On the second floor and fell
Through the screened window
Down onto the bushes far below –
Where were you?
When your sensitive six year old
Sat crying on the seawall before
She slipped backwards and fell
Twenty feet to the rocky tidal beach
Landing in the lone sand patch –
Where were you?
When your eight year old son
Was hit in the head by a hammer
Thrown by his nine year old sister
Meant for a door, but catching him
Instead, blood flowing everywhere –
Where were you?
When your fourteen year old daughter
Confused by the subtle, yet loud
Familial messages on sex started
Sleeping with multiple men
And contracted a venereal disease –
Where were you?
When your oldest teenage daughter
Began riding off into the night
With guys on motor cycles
Coming home late and high on
Drugs and skipping school –
Where were you?
What I, your grown daughter, now know
Is that lost in the oblivion
Of your own pain and confusion
You left us in the care of a string
Of strangers because you loved us.
You were there for us
As much as you were able –
At the end of each crisis
Bringing us back
From the brink of destruction.
We, your children, survived,
And became strong
On the undercurrent
Of your love that I now know
Was always there.
For those of a military cast of mind
There are many poems they can find
Which do embellish battlefield glory
In the telling of their story.
But for me there is another field of play
Where merry pleasure is ne'er far away.
Not for me delight in weapons martial
Rather the joy of parts venereal.
Your soft hair framing your face
Your soft lips yielding with grace
And your soft darting tongue lambent
with the sweetness of heaven sent
That elegant and graceful neck I next address
Whereon a gentle peck and soft caress
Lead to the ruby roundels of your swelling areolae
Atop which stand your radiant and pert papillae.
How the gentle smooth curve of your skin
Gently and softly draws me in
Until, as brave as stout Cortes ,
I rest upon Mons Veneris
Nestling in the ***** is
The magic of the ********
Whose caressing works like a charm
To trigger a mighty ******
Then down through those wisps of hair
Until I joyously find where
Your ***** moist and moistening
Do invite my tongue to paddle in
That divine nectar of your welling spring
With legs spread wide signals me come in
To fulfil the passion of our play
And unite in loving ecstasy.
'Twas Ovid with his Ars Amatoria
Explored amoris ars gladiatoria
Wherein your scabbard could sheathe my sword
And that is the purpose of this world.
Where military men are needed
To keep us safe and undefeated
My plea to make love,not war
Is my carmen et error.
Below the stars and silver moon,
Abounds the coruscation of silhouetted curves.
Sinusoidal and voluptuous,
Seismic undulating and venereal.
Your mind synaptically aglow under the light,
Evokes ethereal perspicacity within my soul.
A torrent tsunami of desire thrusts my body.
Leaves me wanting to make love to you:
Make love to your mind,
Make love to your body,
Make love to your heart,
Make love to your soul.
All under the emanating fragrance of the horticultural moon.
In the endless ether wander aimlessly,
Words and images dying gracelessly
They were creations fondly reared
But on the net they disappeared.
Heartbroken and bereft,I do recall
That one did try Raphael to enthrall
In my feebly frail effort to outline
What poetry and painting do define.
The other did lightly glance at the naming of the parts,
More venereal ,rather than the military arts.
Lovingly it was my wish them to draw
To fill my reader with a sense of awe.
My one fond hope is they can truly be found
To complete the corpus of my writing round.
Should you know where they might be
What great joy that would bring to me.
O! Sunnier than the sun is my love’s shine,
Her radiance gives birth to jocund mirth.
More lunatic in prowess fixed to pine,
Her aspect crazes more than pale moon’s dearth.
More martial in her count’nanced iron will,
Her courage braves the fields of warring doubts.
More swift, mercurial quick my thoughts are still,
Her face in them has ruling cardinal clout.
More jovial crowned, in manners utmost royal,
Her seat of influence has kingly stead.
More saturnine are those whose love’s most loyal,
Her absence grave as weighted bullet’s lead.
My love does bend the thieving gods’ weak knees,
Devoted strongly with venereal ease.