Long Kinky Poems
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POST A VERSE
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
What is this obsession with writing verse?
Then posting it on the PoetrySoup site
Do we need recognition, do we need fame
Or is it our ego we need to boost every day
We write about the past, present and future
Our imagination of the unknown and the universe
Of love we feel now or have lost in the past
The funny side of life or the darkness within
The weather gets a mention in verse most days
And of the natural world we love to expound
Funny, sad, outrages or kinky it may be
For it comes from within our thoughts you see
We look for comments from our peers on Soup
We are like a family and have our moments
Of ups and downs and mind blowing ideas
For all of us are poets but we don’t know it
I don got nothing but terrible
reviews bruited about
dip pressing field day
me (Lothario wannabe)
trumpeted execrable lout,
a garden variety baby
boomer father without doubt,
his own shameful paternal
shenanigans cavalierly he did flout
dwarfed teapot dome scandal,
thus one look no further,
or send out a scout
herewith infractions distilled,
though personally, I strongly advise
ye to go trout
fishing in America,
with a master bait
tour and/or subsist
on circa 1521 a.d. vintage date
diet of worms, well preserved
nearly five centuries
since team did excavate
cuz his narcissistic
propensity, brought fate
fool downfall wool find you
fist pumping imaginary pugilist great
reflexively recoil, at the ingrate
asper adultery, terrible
black barbs caused psyche dial late
bacchanalian debauchery,
marriage did mutilate
philandering prurient lechery,
et cetera (albeit kinky),
he did participate
heatedly enough to generate
electricity to induce perms
in every man, woman,
and child, or make poker straight
tightly coiled locks, whose weight,
sans comb bind
terms oven destined
with hot sizzling endeavor to find
my inner Elvis a vis with curled lip,
and daily pelvic grind
tryst ting mounting with hind
quarters sighting derriere
rearing to groove while inclined
at a sixty nine degree angle hull lined
for maximum fair moan to get mined
licentious behavior spurred from celibate
marriage, hence call of the wild pined
tubby satiated, and
subsequently huss signed,
thus within web of treachery
"FAKE" Casanova did wind
up gaining independence as
a Norwegian bachelor farmer.
If my hair could talk to God above miraculously
It would express praises and thanks to Him joyfully
For His grace, mercy and love shown constantly
Flowing along His provisions’ banks abundantly!
Yes, my hair would delight in God for cleansing water
Reminding His Word’s sanctifying power
Along His forgiveness that’s ready to deliver
Repentant souls seeking it through their confession-prayer!
Indeed, my hair would glory in God’s holiness-beauty
Appreciating each of His creation’s poised dignity
Declaring, “How privileged is earth’s humanity
To bear the image of the perfect Maker’s quality!”
My hair, for sure, would salute God for His wisdom
Since He knows the number of all hair strands in the kingdom
Even those that split away from hair-style boredom
And the ones that fall to find their much-sought freedom!
Never would my hair question God’s will
As to why it’s not bouncing, but kinky, or staying straight still
And why is it losing its luster despite the color-refill
For truly, the Lord cares, though head could be baldly ill!
How glad could my hair be in receiving God’s compliment
For being a healthy-strong covering in its useful involvement
Of its smooth and vibrant service as my crowning ornament
With its silky-wavy flexibility midst weather’s disagreement!
So, here’s my hair, deciding to be God-honoring
Always sweet-smelling against worldly fragrances’ devouring
Witnessing the Lord’s faithfulness and peaceful nurturing
Until it be gray, awaiting eternal, glamorous repairing!
Where’s the beef? The old woman said.
I still see her bulbous nose, parading in my head.
She opens the bun and the hamburger is dinky.
My thoughts about this oldster are incredibly kinky.
Where’s the beef? Was soon printed on white t- shirts.
We were all naming the old lady, us Ethyls and Gerts.
Wendys was bringing people in by the busloads.
I was one of the easily led, coming in on all back roads.
Where’s the beef? Was on billboards against the blue sky.
It brought chuckles a plenty, none of us wondering why.
The old lady with a bulbous nose made us laugh until we were sick.
An advertising executive no doubt got a raise with that gimmick slick.
To be a thing that no one wants
is to live a life of woe
Those backward looks, anger mistook
impede our worldly flow
All shades, all hues, we know it's true
Our skin is a delight
But beauty or not, what is it worth
when it's a cause of daily plight
She's angry, she's loud, must be a ****
Her hair a kinky mess
Such a lazy groove and we must improve
her immodest form of dress
Our shapes and curves smoothly serve
All different types of looks
Hair a crown, sisters around
Together, we hit the books
Or go clubbing, or shopping, or skiing in Tahoe
Things that women normally do
But to be a Black woman in America must mean
That all actions are misconstrued
Our natural shape - immodesty
Our hair - a workplace sin
Our voices - too heated, speak quietly
Emotions - to be held within
These biased thoughts and hidden snickers
A truly scornful sight
I'm trying to learn to love myself
I shall be a victor in this fight
I'm not a f***ing robot
So take your thoughts and go
For to be a Black Woman in America
can be a thing of woe
Just leave me be so I can learn
I believe self-love is taught
Cause though I might be hated here
There's no need to be distraught
For the light, it bounces off my skin
My hair grows to the sun
My body, a gift from mother nature herself
and with the earth, I am one
It's a mystery to me. The meaning and identifying particles of DNA that ancestors passed along to me. It's been said we have many colors on our paint bed, but still I can't fit in with any that lack or have melanin. It's this weird idea I don't belong because I can't speak the spoken languages of any of my native tongue. I have never taken in views of traveled lands, that share any of my history's past blood relation. I don't piece well with many or any groups. I don't walk side by side with any race, no flag feels I am worthy to hold its place. No, my appearance didn't make the cut, why? It appears my roots weren't deep enough. No, my skin was never toned always in a category of pigmentation on my own. No classification to confirm is mine. I'm always cast aside, because I wasn't anyone's idea of a specific race representing its people's pride. I'm just a Mix. I can't figure out which bubble to pick, those questionnaires always got me sick, like who do you feel you most identify with? The truth is, No one. I have never. The fact is it's all rigged. Honestly, we can do better. Having a community that backs you, should not be based on color, ethnicity, kinky or straight edges attached to you. It's lonely on this color or should I say colorless grid. Sometimes I want to be one full bubble, but I am not, I am a mixed kid who can't seem to find a community built on open-mindedness. If only we were colorblind, and judgment free, the more the lonely and hopeless would have a sense of unity.
Why does our nose smell and our feet run?
Methinks the answer could be kinky
If Mother Nature chose the other way round
It sure would be messy and stinky
Here's something you should never ever do
Don't make fun of a paleontologist
Bet you're wondering why, you bright people
Coz surely you'll get Jurasskicked
What did the banana say to the doctor?
“I'm not peeling well today”
Did you hear about the Italian chef that died?
Apparently he pasta way!
Two drunks in a bar, one says to the other
“Isn't that Hortense over there?”
The other says she looks pretty calm to me
Saw her knickers, try not to stare
When a midget fortune teller escapes from jail
It's called a small medium at large
Was laughing so hard, nearly soiled my knickers
That surely gave me a good charge
The difference between pea soup and roast beef
Obviously you can't pee soup
But roasting beef is really quite common
Now hang in there until the next group
© Jack Ellison 2015
There is no shame in what I do
I am your girl and I am in love with you.
Watch me throw it back and shake my thing.
Baby lets play in your dreams.
Come on and bounce me, toss me like you do.
You drive me wild, I have so much love for you.
Take me I can't resist your sweet groove.
Baby, you know me, so I have nothing to prove.
It's that fun time and how do you want it.
You make me want to play and flaunt it.
I'll keep it always nice
and where sexy panties to entice.
Come whisper to me when you want to play,
I'm there for you.
I can make your favorite kinky pose,
so come closer cause it's for you, you know.
Do you want to dive right in?
I love when we play
cause you are my sweet thing.
The way we play our lovers play,
my feelings, you must know.
Form:
You take the high road, I'll take the high road
You ain't gettin' away that easy
I'm on to your tricks, I'm a pretty smart cookie
But some things make me queazy
Like a beautiful woman dressed like a man
On second thought that's kinda kinky
A well tailored suit can look oh so good
If the lady is sexy and slinky
Another strange sight is a man in high heels
Unless his legs are real shapely
But this is certainly quite out of the norm
So you must do it very discretely
Okay I've decided gonna climb outta the box
And live like the world's almost over
When the bomb goes off, last sight you'll see
Me in high heels in the clover
© Jack Ellison 2013
Re-live the nineteen-sixties? Don't! We all
imagine mop-tops, surf, free love and sun,
conveniently forgetting Watts, De Gaulle,
the Tet Offensive, Audrey Hepburn's nun.
Imagine! Mop-tops, surf, free love - and sun!
Transistor radios, Italian suits!
The Tet Offensive? Audrey Hepburn? None
of those can overshadow kinky boots!
Transistor radios. Italian suits,
the spirit of the age - la dolce vita!
No woes can overshadow kinky boots,
The Fugitive, short skirts, the parking meter!
The spirit of the age! La dolce vita!
Your Normal Joe thinks former times were "swell":
The Fugitive, short skirts, the parking meter!
To get to know Uhura, really well!
Your Normal Joe thinks former times were "swell".
He wants to join the Enterprise's crew,
to get to know Uhura really well,
and satisfy that inner yearning, too.
He wants to join the Enterprise's crew,
conveniently forgetting Watts, De Gaulle,
and satisfy that inner yearning to
re-live the nineteen-sixties. Don't we all?