Best Whetting Poems
Twas the night before my cousin's
wedding
He reluctantly gave in to the
bachelor party vetting
A burlesque, tawdry strip club was
the setting
Unbeknownst to him, the bridesmaid
was his appetite whetting
With gratuitous lap dance, began
the ribald feting
In drunken stupor, the enamored
groom his fealty forgetting
Released his inhibitions all of his
clingy garments shedding
Strode platform, in sync with
bridesmaids erotic moves duetting
In tantric rhapsody, she released
pheromones his testosterone
subletting
Enraptured with his riposte jaunts,
her matrimonial bond shredding
The enamored bridesmaid with lust
his bare essentials began petting
His betrothed parts to her
dominatrix will indebting
As the groom climaxed, his phallus
got entangled in her fish netting
Two truant souls now writhing;
spent body parts bloodletting
Dislodging their carnal chains, into
frothy night jetting
To hotel that lodged devoted bride;
their remaining passions bedding
Lurid, tawdry tryst not regretting;
but o'er bawdy exhibition sweating
Wedding contest
September 14, 2012
I never always truly sometimes
Wish I could be just like you
Better than not just good enough
One of the rare unlucky few
To be calm cool and uncollected
To be at the bottom of the perceptual top
Bopping to the sound of a dyslexic drummer
Whetting appetites I just cannot stop
To be imprisoned in the prison of freedom
Doing those things I shouldn't want to do
Left right forward back at the beginning
Like a child size adult version of you
I never always truly sometimes
Wish I could be the only one me
A little eccentric somewhat normal
Wondering towards who I wish to be
For nothing is everything I wanted
Now everything is nothing worthwhile
I live in the moment of forever
Trying to turn back a broken fixed dial!
The Church ladies love tongue-tied vicars
Adept at removing their knickers
For many have found
That whetting the mound
Just beats the Hell out of bootlickers
Devoured by intensity,
words that quench the soul
an enchanting intoxication - -
like a spirited ******
whetting a voracious thirst,
plunging in for another swallow
of adoration's satiated climax
A gutted mirror invents a tangled human scheme
My back might be found crooked from the jabber,
A puddling curb tried throwing the twisted dream
None bound for the scope spawned by a blunder.
My back might be found crooked from the jabber
Singing in heaven embeds tune of moral goodwill,
None bound for the scope spawned by a blunder
After a few years, you'd be ditched with side-will.
Singing in heaven embeds tune of moral goodwill
Straying guilt whetting shock and clear dismay
After a few years, you'd be ditched with side-will
The ridiculous concept of a fantasy hiding way.
Straying guilt whetting shock and clear dismay
The abstraction of waning grace is a little hazy
The ridiculous concept of a fantasy hiding way,
Tons of metal swords shattered by bared facility.
The abstraction of waning grace is a little hazy
A puddling curb tried throwing the twisted dream
Tons of metal swords shattered by bared facility
A gutted mirror invents a tangled human scheme.
Written: May 07, 2022
Ah Such A Great Night...
To Fish In The Cyber Sea
Always does this generic guy abhor
inflicting pain and suffering,
hence I haint n'er fished before,
and even metaphorically
referencing piscine creatures
(strictly as prosaic analogy),
aye reel lee deplore
causing deliberate suffering vehemently
contradicts my credo,
dogma, ethos, et cetera
within and/or without, the
webbed, wide world
this *****sapien doth explore
and as an aspiring scrivener
(fraught with floor rid sweaty palms
even in the dead of winter
offer poems galore
already written alluding to the
unpleasant physiological hoar
rubble sensation of dripping
(nee sopping) wet hands,
a curse that follows me indoor
or out, thus no surprise,
an aversion to mingle,
no matter socialization even jure
re: duty with defendant
whereat, me complicit sharing
Matthew Scott Harris namesake
accused of outrageously unreasonable
po' wet tick rhyming scheme
(but nonguilty exemption status
decreed since accused ache'n to yours truly
receives social security disability)
would be a more welcome palliative
versus less wick
Kurd substitute then Cap' kanger
rue, and ameliorate self imposed
sole lit aery isolation and
on the flip (Wilson) side keeping
streets safe, cuz temptation
dust newt not lure
me into a life of crime) more
or less chuckling,
that profuse perspiration,
would be mon nor
matt heave, while
accomplices fall down
laughing in tears,
and thence the poor
seer suckers nabbed
(cautionary fruitless
canter berry tale), and
(whew) not sullying
only whetting my
steely slippery rapport.
Into the jungle, the realm of all hazards
With love and a tucked-spear armed
The infatuated sphingid his way bravely wended
Heedless, the hostile beasts all around scuppered.
In shady corners their merciless fangs sharpening
The sphinx moth the orchid’s love shielding
All perils boldly daring, all around hovering
His sweetheart frenziedly for eons seeking
Never flinching, never faltering nor huddling
Breezes he rode whilst his love whetting
His sweet maiden’s scent to his senses wafting
His wing beats to her fabled nectar guiding.
Harare
This is the City that never sleeps-
Life in every lane stirs or creeps
Full of laughter and hardly weeps.
Roads are lined with trees in bloom
that torch to flight all the gloom
as a lamp on vigil for the Groom!
Harare, a melting pot of culture
resplendent inside every structure
looming high like a soring vulture.
Harare, City that sleeps no wink;
Those in industry, streets or at drink
all, they never curtail to think-
Great Poets, Musicians of repute;
a marketplace of minds that dispute
to perfect wit to ditty of the lute!
A hub of commerce, melee of garb,
of political dissent not rhubarb
but stone whetting minds to a barb.
Meeting place of every Religion
ecclesiastic Head for every region
Holy baptising possessed Legion!!
All happens in Harare; the Great City
of intellectuals in every industry;
media, Arts, all in perfect harmony.
Like veins en route to the Heart
All Africa's roads lead to this part
for leisure or shopping in the mart.
Here, you can win lotto and lose it
or lose your lotto and then win it
by fair, by foul, by cunning, by wit!
Harare, Harare, Harare, I love you
I love you Harare I love you
Harare I love you AND I love you!!!
Panoply of mystical elements of holly day style
breathe prez sense frostily exaled aired
per millennia athwart
(this terrestrial spaceship planet Earth)
two plus seventeen carousel rides resonated
veritable pantheon of pagan rituals
and quirky superstitions lit
(akin to a lit Christmass tree)
starry eyed imagination
as catalyst viz *****Sapiens
furrowed stern brow of forehead
aft stemmed whilst Santa oft puzzling
(allocating suitable gifts)
inducing him to tug thought generating beard
pondering, whence agents provocateurs
receive just desserts
fueled hodge podge, mished mashed, helter skelter
eclectic December twenty fifth
encompassing tens of thousands previous generations
bred despacito fixtures via paganism,
Manicheaism, Jainism, et cetera
ancient brutish credos, ethos, faiths
brewed nebulous concoction
within mindset of early mankind
loose confection, confederation, conglomeration
indiscriminately torquing, vetting, whetting
disparate constituent beliefs
contagion wrought spirit paradigm
inculcating oral tradition Madonna and child
occupying high chair
whereat superstitions birthed patchwork
comprising divergent ensemble heralding
tender petsmart impact, where world wide web populated
with sacrificial pacification sans deity
via oblation, immolation, flagellation appeasing Dominatrix
borrow wing, vis a vis amalgamated viz Roman sol invictus
wrought fiery brimstone tempting those who dared
assert contrary fledgling jambalaya outlook
provoking regally supreme sacerdotal wiseman
punishing opposing incorporating
novel modus operandi explaining sacrilegious worship
Love Is That Split Moment
Open your hands my dear
Love is splitting the moon.
Two halves joining in cheer,
A partnership swoons.
One for you, one for me,
forever an indelible mark.
Our eyes tacit and free,
our hearts rising from the dark.
Your hands in mine sweat
And the touch of your face sparks.
Our hearts thrush a duet
As our moons finding it's marks.
Love is taking that split moment,
whetting together into a bestowment.
connie pachecho
8/18/17
Inspired in writing this poem after
reading entries to the "Love Is" contest.
APPETIZER
flavorful, tasty
savoring, inviting, whetting
hors d’oeuvres, antipasto; flan, chocolate
mouth-watering, finishing, salivating
delicious, homemade
DESSERT
June 2, 2021
There once was a lady of the night
wearing dresses short and tight
she coaxed her johns
showing a titillating thong
whetting their appetites.
Written ~ December
two thousand seventeen
in case ye dear reader possess
an eye extremely keen
nonetheless just by happenstance
courtesy this human bean
counter, who also happens
tubby garden variety alien.
Panoply of mystical elements of holly day style
breathe prez sense frostily exhaled aired
per millennia athwart
(this terrestrial spaceship planet Earth)
two plus seventeen carousel rides resonated
veritable pantheon of pagan rituals
and quirky superstitions lit
(akin to a lit Christmas tree)
starry eyed imagination
as catalyst viz *****Sapiens
furrowed stern brow of forehead
aft stemmed whilst Santa oft puzzling
(allocating suitable gifts)
inducing him to tug thought generating beard
pondering, whence agents provocateurs
receive just desserts
fueled hodge podge, mish mashed, helter skelter
eclectic December twenty fifth
encompassing tens of thousands previous generations
bred despacito fixtures via paganism,
Manichaeism, Jainism, et cetera
ancient brutish credos, ethos, faiths
brewed nebulous concoction
within mindset of early mankind
loose confection, confederation, conglomeration
indiscriminately torquing, vetting, whetting
disparate constituent beliefs
contagion wrought spirit paradigm
inculcating oral tradition Madonna and child
occupying high chair
whereat superstitions birthed patchwork
comprising divergent ensemble heralding
The Plot Against the Giant:
First Girl
When this yokel comes maundering,
Whetting his hacker,
I shall run before him,
Diffusing the civilest odors
Out of geraniums and unsmelled flowers.
It will check him.
Second Girl
I shall run before him,
Arching cloths besprinkled with colors
As small as fish-eggs.
The threads
Will abash him.
Third Girl
Oh, la...le pauvre!
I shall run before him,
With a curious puffing.
He will bend his ear then.
I shall whisper
Heavenly labials in a world of gutturals.
It will undo him.
-by Otieno Elvis Gikoi
Come!
On the white mare he rides
The crowned spectre is charging
With the white bow in hand
Devout malady imparting
In shadowed smoked entrance
Venom absorbing the lands
Fear the approach of Pestilence
Or breathe your last by his hand
Come!
Crimson stallion explodes onto the field
The sword drips anointed by life
His strength expanding from humanly fears
Bones of the fleeing whetting his knife
Patience exacting the dark spirit holds
Scorched battle the scent of his breath
War plundered souls of light and of righteous
Absently collected of thought or regret
Come!
Through Hades gates a silhouette emerges
Riding a black stud he gauges the scene
Bilking the vigor from all life surrounding
He assimilates all in imagined serene
Being dries out with nourishing nothing
Drinking up all that life’s spirit succors
Bereft of conscience is the spectre of Famine
Balancing out what the heavens implored
Come!
Rhythmic and paced the final rider appears
Rusted scythe in boned grip for a reaping
Most dreaded of all his finality judgments
The broken seals his assurance in keeping
Collecting his toll for the ferry on Styx
Tainted and troubled have been smothered
Uncaring the route the damned must traverse
Death amasses the work of his brothers
Stop!
Hold close the signs of last Revelation
When the days drown in prophesized eclipse
Be trepid the day of stampeding earthquakes
From the riders apocalypse