Well, it's inspection time again!
The Boys in the Barracks are wiping,
buffing, spit-polishing, belts and buckles...
Lest they feel the Wrath of their D.I.'s Knuckles!
Now, once they're all prepped and polished,
Some may soon find...their world demolished!
silence falls...Quick footsteps down the hall...
Not, One, Soul, Is, BREATHING...At ALL!
ATTEN-SHUN! BARRACKS READY FOR INSPECTION SIR!
AS YOU WERE CORPORAL! What Have We Got HERE?
You MAGGOTS! Look like something that...
Got PAID!, Got LAID!!, and then...Got...FRAPPE'D!!!
YOU...CALL...YOURSELVES...MARINES???
CUZ, I'VE GOT A BETTER DESCRIPTION!... LADIES!!!
PRIVATE KLUTZ!!!, STEP FORWARD!!!
THIS...is what the H, E, double Hockey Sticks...I MEAN!
What the HELL!...is that...GACK!!!...on your RACK???
It looks like...you Lost your PAY...Playing...POKER!!!
Couldn't AFFORD...to get...LAID!...
Couldn't AFFORD...to Get... FRAPPE'D!!!
Then YOU...told...ALL...The Others...YOUR BROTHERS!!!
YOUUU!...FELT SICK...BUT INSTEAD...WHIPPED YOUR WICK!!!
IF YOU PREFER TO BLOW...GUNK!!!...ON YOUR...BUNK!!!
THEN...SAVE YOUR GRAVY!!!...AND...JOIN...THE...NAVY!!!
AS YOU WERE...PRIVATE!!!
It may seem a cruel tragedy
that Amherst’s greatest poet Emily
Dickinson never got to marry
though she burned ardently to be.
And yet in Death (if you’ll allow)
she did eventually get laid –
not in a man’s bed but a pine box
and (if you’ll allow) this paradox
she still remains a chaste old maid.
Though opposed by federal court
Trump’s sport-like media report
Features flights at night
With head-shaven blight
And the hog-walked men we deport
What slave asks for anything more
Than a rave in El Salvador?
With expenses paid
In dirt they’ll get laid
While six million bucks pays our whore
He's betrayed my trust - so I might stay
Depends on THIS excuse he'll have to say
I'm not quite sure how he'll maintain being my friend
It's so sad that it was shot down, before it even begins
People only tell lies to you when they are afraid
'Cause in the back of his mind, he's talking to you to get laid
There seems to be no real commitment he needs
Guys just think about the next girl with whom they can breed
Dudes all over the world just think with their d!ck
I see them every day - so many - it makes me fvcking sick
Laughing and pointing at most Lesbian ladies
Like they have the audacity to talk - they just want babies
Then when it happens - it's a slap to his lying face
So he bounces up outta this place
Another single momma - doing it on her own
'Cause of a dude who lied to her - 'cause he wanted to bone
But when she's nesting and getting ready - he can't be found
Gone without a trace - gone without a sound
Back in the day
Only fast girls could get laid
Young unashamed unafraid
Cute and candid
Running romancing
And chancing pregnancy
Zip your lips cool your hips or baby
You could be mommy or daddy
Could Estonia help Vlad get paid?
He'll claim they're Russian and invade!
Better than cash bonds
Putin can use their blondes
To entice his mark Trump to get laid
Sexy Suzanna’s neighbor was swayed
by her nakedness, often displayed
in her yard by the pool.
She’d just watch the guy drool,
knowing how much he’d love to get laid!
Long time since I have been to a nightclub
they don't let me out at night alone now.
I used to be sharp
had many friends in low places.
I miss the culture, the sweaty maneuvers
under hypnotically pulsing lights.
The aroma of nubile sex
and just maybe getting lucky.
Back then, you did not have to be
a minor local celebrity to get laid,
just have cash for a taxi ride
back to your crappy bedsit.
I could still be
a smirky smile under neon lights,
but the feet won't slide no more,
and the bouncers won't let you in
wearing bedroom slippers.
"The way of a man with a maid"
Is never quite like the girl prayed
Just one little prick
And she calls in sick
(its more fun to get laid than paid)
I knew the day we met that we were meant to be
I realized our destiny was set and she was the one for me
She was rich in beauty but poor for she will die with it
Her appearance nonplussed me and I couldn't hold the steerage of my course anymore
She is the one I consented to have on my slender thighs
At that point her pearly lips gave appointments to mine
This lady killed me and roasted my carcass
Leaving the scavangers performing the post-moterm
I walked tall in the genesis of our affair
Now I'm wrecked….
Higgledy-piggledy daughter of a lesser god!
Today, deluged with anger I regret
The day I met this devil incarnate;the mastermind behind the bleeding of my heart
She tattooed my heart with wounds;I no longer have a clean heart
Her friends and her drunk the gushing blood of my wounded heart
That night my heart contorted into painful lumps
But I had to forgive the being that created her and put her in my world
Bitter are my words,she is a nonsense with no sense at all
Daughter of Jezebel-show up on the day I get laid to rest;lower me to the ground,let me down like you always have-stupid creature!Nkt!
John Lenda (Poetic World,2022)
I had a brain like an old motorbike,
I rode it back and forth
just to get laid by whomever, and that strange one
who kept cats under her long skirt.
Truth is a marmalade calligraphy.
I yodel blood-songs
prophets have stitched to my flesh.
Truth sleeps under a stone.
No one can number the stones.
I dream of Macadamia and Muscadine
of pretty girls all in a row.
Truth throbs.
Marimba music and matchsticks,
Why all these M sonics?
Mango
mildew, marmalade ghosts.
Why not?
Miss me mother?
The bike ended up in a heap -
Its motor whines on.
Truth is whatever’s left over
after the counting of things.
The bogeyman exists, influencing lives
through drugs, alcohol, and violence.
We often say and do illogical things
in pursuit of love and happiness.
Sometimes, the building blocks of trust;
get laid upon weak, moral grounds.
And relationships are in jeopardy;
when we fail to communicate truthfully
with each other.
Time is neither good nor bad;
it's a constant current
of precious moments and heartaches,
that form memories with equal determination.
Lust accomplishes the role assigned to it;
but lacks the spontaneous heat required
to ignite love's eternal flame.
And so, it is two-dimensional;
it satisfies urges and longings,
but it's noticeably lacking depth.
Our hearts get tethered to our emotions,
and we oft find ourselves
trespassing on the feelings of others;
with immunity and impunity.
And given the opportunity,
hate, festering within the human heart,
will flare up;
and consume us from our insides,
like a cancer.
You lies through your teeth
Cause you can't get laid with my son
For you know I will kill you even from a far
You're a home wrecked that's trying to freeload
A prostitute, a SL*t, a whre trying to make a buck from FCK.
You won't get that luck with my son so stop with your lying FCK.
You will not get a kiss nor a touch to try to claim him your or your next baby daddy to try to make a buck.
For you just a sl*t.
You are not welcome to my culture nor my realm so back the FCK up.
So say what ever you want about me. For your lying FCK.
But I will tell you this much
Find a different culture to Freeload from. For my home and family is not your next buck.
Ambassador of nature.
Once came to us and said.
Don't harass nature.
Or you will get laid.
We didn't take him seriously.
Thought he was just fake.
The earth started to shatter.
Ambassador showed his effect.
Now, whenever he comes.
We try to make him happy.
But still many questions.
Why is he so creepy.
But then we forget.
It was our mistake.
The way we hurt the earth.
Nature starts to react.
No time it gives to regret.
Nothing, then it forgets.
So better to follow the rules.
Let nature be in control.
Then the ambassador becomes happy.
He conveys the message of beauty.
Let us satisfy him again and again.
For the future for us to reinvent.
Rohan Dhabade
Loving them, despite the lies, despite the tears;
In spite of horrors, nightmares, fears.
We sing and laugh during our beginnings
Then fire the daff who helped our winnings.
Lay in wait, we cry, we take
Till we just can’t take no more.
They spin unholy tales and name the love they make
In the belly of their contaminated whore.
Survival, dear, who hears our cries, our lonely sighs?
The nights are full of longing.
Miss the good times, miss the bad,
Tearful slimes, make up songs. Sleep.
Get laid.
Miss the whore, we miss the madness.
Somehow we find time to clean the blade,
The weapon used to rid the badness;
The bloody, killing knife we keep,
We made.
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