Long Sexless Poems
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Ha! That catch phrase
(kid ding lee writ)
hoop fully goat yar attention
truth be told, (no...no...
no...not by me
boat some tee else of course)
mine min (yute) yen
for light banter i.e. badinage,
(this horny toad juiced ribbing...
frog git about it), yea,
I know that punning
while keying (NOT SAFE),
sometimes dill lutes
ma serious pickling attempt ren
doors an unsuspecting reader
(bajillion times out of zero) pen
ultimately probably discourages,
an increased virtual fanbase,
rectified by the following asinine
non-sequitur (a come men
dib bull double
entendre) totally tubularly
barbed with Freudian
slip age, that ken
figuratively grab immediate
interest of hen
pecked recipients (with pock marks
to prove such assertion)
might strongly concur even
without being aware how
psychoanalysis willy thrust
significance of phallus
in everyday affairs,
particularly how peppy
(even after applying
WD-40) can rust
and/or atrophy as if cell bait,
hence thee dick cree,
that intercourse a must
(as told by this husband
in a sexless marriage
as a result, I might
join a convent) as a lust
result, either that or
go set me a
watch woman as mistress
tubby integrated within
my private life
even if one
needs tubby bussed
from the outer limits of the
sterling twilight
zona pellucida ideally,
where love of c**t tree and
priapism maketh sea men go bust!
Répéter Depuis le Début
The Pink Studio, by Henri Matisse, 1911.
Perception fuses like melted rose quartz,
fuses on the lens of Matisse’s puzzled eyes
like the naiveté of childhood returned to age.
Melted images rose in two dimensions,
rose in repetition, mothering the pieces.
Quartz, genteel rosé, shown in transcendence,
fuses on the lens of Matisse’s puzzled eyes
on naysayers & followers, his morphosis reigns.
The stimulus silent, light’s effect returned, burned
lens now open to the madness of pattern, pieces
of left brain obliterated; right reinforced; art,
Matisse’s obsession oozed from his pores
puzzled synapses explored and explored,
eyes dry as a bone, from sleepless nights, sigh.
Like the naiveté of childhood returned to age,
the Madonna appears, or the muse Aphrodite reborn,
naiveté sexless tasted clean, pure, purged in white.
Of the patterns outside, he’d reproduce those within
childhood wide-eyed he approached & there he
returned again & again paying homage to the core,
to reiterate images in pieces of two dimensions
age left the left brain obliterated – reinforced the right.
Melted images rose in two dimensions.
Images, giving meaning to negative space,
rose ground beneath the pestle of repetition
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys
two halves male-female, left-right, up-down
dimensions all an idiocracy depicted his fright,
rose in repetition, mothering pieces,
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys
repetition reiterated, quartz ground beneath the pestle
mothering the pieces of two dimensions,
pieces of puzzles conjoining parts triangularly staged.
Quartz, genteel rosé, shown in transcendence.
Genteel, childlike, Matisse adored illumination, art
rose with repetition, a mothering of the pieces,
shown in the dance, in stance, in transfigured delight,
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys,
transcendence an illusion, of optics, of light.
First Published in Ekphrastic: writing and art on art and writing 2016
I admit tubby distracted by a modeling
female physique when attempting to write,
an aching agony rips thru this son,
gripping with hard on – tight -
by Dickens constricting sensation,
who orbited the sun LX times
coon sitters himself heterosexual male,
where slumbering testosterone forces unite,
no matter my libido feels
deadened, this despite
the above mentioned
asthma ordinary devoid sexual drive,
when these eyes (brown and myopic) sight
even just a picture
oven an attractive gal fanciful flight
evokes dormant longings
crashing thru concentration
without any invite
sparring dueling animal urge,
I know ain't right
since being married,
and all (witches nothing to celibate)
boot even if aye hapt tubby
dim witted with cerebral blight
prurient predilections, would
nonetheless prevail causing affright,
whereby the photographed lovely lady
dashes out like shuttered image,
though only so few inches in height,
would make a bee line into an
unreachable cubbyhole,
not totally airtight
just enough breathing room
to await darkening hour of night
than with lightspeed akin to meteorite
off into the farther reaches with a blink quite
invisible this quasi
holographic like pseudo sprite
leaves yours truly in the lurch ignite
ting a supposed sexual propensity gone cold
nay, no can do, cuz
untethered high as a kite
electrifying animal desire forced to bite
the dust, though thankfully concupiscent pang
ordinarily not the least bit aroused, aye attest
nope, not lascivious provocative
Barenaked Ladies can NOT excite
an older fellow, whose adolescent body
seethed with hormonal secretion,
and any pretty young thang did alight
a stick up between still skinny legs,
hence people watching
(particularly gals), a birthright
even migrant and/or
teenage mutant ninja turtle doth delight
tool hook, but NOT touch
most times an effortless fight,
yet every once in a while atavistic
pulsations, asper call
of the wild bobwhite
overrides instagramming, snapchatting,
and twittering uber with such might
even erupting sexless interludes of eunuch
or "FAKE" shining knight
chess moonlighting also as “FAKE” playwright,
hence if perchance a beauty catches me sight
lack of youth in your favor
from my penitent penile plight!
(Henriette hired Fernand Labori, the superstar
defence lawyer who had recently acted for
Dreyfus. Old and cynical, he advises her to
play on her sexy image.)
6. Fernand Labori
I've long since left off thinking of it thus.
It's putting on an act, that's all it is.
The ones who play it honest miss the bus.
You'll give it drama, colour, fervour, fizz.
A woman's always stronger than a man,
since men are tethered by the nether parts.
I'm sure you'll give it everything you can.
Your jurors are all men -- so break their hearts!
You have the looks, so hit them where they live.
You shot a man to death? The nation shrugs.
The only thing the French will not forgive
is if you're sexless. Let them see those dugs.
Admit it all, and argue crime of passion.
Oh yes, you took a gun, but meant restraint.
To win the women, wear the latest fashion:
to win the men, it helps if you can faint.
Just flash an ankle, watch them strain their necks.
(And still, we label you the weaker sex!)
Melancholy
This is a blue day it is like having a ring
of steel pressing against my head.
Nothing matters there is no outlet and I want to go home,
anywhere, to get away from myself.
I sit on the terrace look at the view it is ing boring
bloody sea like I shouldn’t have seen it before
after thirty years as a mariner.
This morning I saw athletic people running along the promenade
I sat in my car looked at my considerable stomach,
so that is what has become of me a fat old man sinking into
the woollen atmosphere of self-loathing the hatred against
the world only a loser feels.
Sexless, useless old age has made me a eunuch whatever this
means I might have got the wrong spelling of the word and
my own poetry is not uplifting, too harmful to be read by anyone
who isn`t contemplating suicide?
it all I will write no more, go sit in a bar till they throw me out.
A message
An angel sat on the window ledge
Wanted to come in which was understandable
It was a cold night. Walk through the window glass
for heaven’s sake, you are an angel
the angel refused it would ruffle its wings.
He opened the window and let it in and since it
was worried about its looks he took it to be a female.
The angle denied this insisted it was sexless, God
had sent her (he refused to call it It)
The message was.: It has come to my attention
that my son Jesus is an avid reader of your poems,
and as you know, he isn`t well since the crucifixion
has become left winged (pardon the pun).
He forms his worldview according to what you write,
so be a good man and tone it down a bit or else!
God is your friend.
So why didn`t he say so himself? Well she said
he doesn’t like to interfere with human affairs.
(Leeza, my roommate Lisa’s little sister, was off-tha-hook earlier this summer)
thirteen
peach flesh
fabuk buster
nu-metal priss
sexless breasts
bitten fingernails
dirty babyskin feet
mirror mesmerized
straight-eyed honesty
grouchapottamus
without analysis
corollary sister
wide eyed
hot mess
skinny
pacer
bella
doe
.
.
Webster: Corollary: something that naturally follows another (like sisters)
slang…
off tha hook = out of control
fabuk = rotten banana
buster = acts like a punk-b*tch
nu-metal = new generation heavy metal, hated by purists
priss = baby
grouchapottamus = someone perpetually grouchy and edgy
hot mess = a handful, a piece of work, a colorful character.
pacer = very smart, hard to keep up with, sets the pace
bella = someone to handle with care
doe = girl
Krispy = super exclusive
*Update: Leeza tested into some krispy math-camp and that apparently calmed her down.
She's nobody's fool got her pronouns down
if you misuse them she screams profound
Piercings and tattoos and nose rings
purple hair, dresses male, mad and mean
No debate disagree and you are wrong
no more borders all illegals belong
Palestine for queers hating all Jews in spade
extremist political views votes only DSA
Hates her parents cause they voted for Trump yet
still needs their money for student loan debt
Has three college degrees in woke crap
can't get hired blames racism identifies as black
Malnourished but somehow fat with diet vegan
hates her grandparents who voted Reagan
Defund the police and outlaw ICE to boot
gets paid to riot pillage burn and loot
Christianity is evil, God does not exist
Loves Islam commies Chairman Mao was best
Capitalism billionaires must be destroyed
wonders why she is always unemployed
Never will marry a man children must abort
groom kids transgender bodies distort
Education for brainwashing from CCP
hating America, socialism over liberty
Believes exactly like Hitler but screams Nazi
to anyone or anything she violently disagrees
Miserable unhappy and has ten cats
wouldn't you know all ten are fat
Hillary and Kamala and Mike whoops Michelle
she worships them, sexless but on the pill
Homosexuality a religion and faith for her
Being attracted to a man is so absurd
She's nobody's fool for there is no need
She's her own fool self made by all she believes.
Companion Poetry is about Eternal God
The Divines which are Mother Mary and the Saints
Written words are based on Jac’s Poetrysoup Corner & 517Jacqueline in poetrysoup.com
To explore the world of mental illness through Poetry
To gain a deeper understanding of the world around us
“Do not be carried away with all Kinds of teaching
We have an altar and a Church that is yours
Return home with us and follow Me, you will get 100x in return”
It is a connection with others going through the same struggles
Struggles of getting Divine Toys for sexless marriage
To lessen Abortion, Rape, AIDS or STDs
Where society’s support is necessary
Get your pen and paper, Laptop, Alpha Smart or yourTablet
Start thinking of a Theme or a Topic 3052024
I'm stepping out of the shower
with the towel wrapped around my waist,
the doorbell rings, I trip on my shoes...
I grasp for air; good grief, it's Janet!
I can tell by her expression that she's mad,
and before she explodes, I say it loud and clear:
Skip the kiss, Cherry...I'm hanging out
with the nicest girl who loves how I treat her
without demanding a thing:
all you want is a casual sling!
Skip the kiss, Cherry...
go back to your sexless Willy
who is jealous of me!
Skip the kiss, Cherry...
Juliet doesn't drink,
she doesn't smoke;
her body has no tattoos:
she's the woman I like to marry
and have lots of kids...
you'll remain a delusive broad,
and crying you'll go to bed!
Skip the kiss, Cherry:
keep your regrets and tears...
I gave you too much bliss!
P.S. I have posted a track of the music I composed for, " Skip The Kiss , Cherry "on Sound Cloud.com