Phallic Poems | Examples

Hitler's Watercolours

This one’s a castle; that’s a customs-house.
They’re stolid, listless, just a little dull.
The sky supports an arbitrary gull.
The languidness of Liszt, the style of Strauss

are wholly absent. Colours are metallic.
The eye sweeps over cornice, turret, steeple,
then it dawns on us – there are no people.
Clock towers, mountains, minarets, all phallic,

are void of human life.  Stark, empty chairs
adorn each arid, motionless interior.
As we apprise, eyes sneeringly superior,
we note acerbically his love of stairs –

A Will to Power, ever pushing up.
One daub there is, however, gives us pause:
it dates long before Enabling Laws,
before he dreamed of Kesselring or Krupp:

a bridge that’s quite impossible to cross,
going nowhere, has never carried traffic.
With a boy sitting on it. Startling, graphic,
without a hint of Schadenfreude or Schloss.

Self-portrait, this? What features may we trace?
What’s here vouchsafed? Incipient racist brute?
Hardly. A disarmingly awful suit,
and most revealingly of all – he has no face.

Undergrowth with Two Figures

after the painting by Vincent Van Gogh


Does she even exist? Doubting her own reality,
seeing herself vanishing in undulating undergrowth,

fading and merging into summer-scorched scenery.
But cold lurks there beneath shafts of sunlight, phallic trees...

He wears the night underneath, a fabric of dark and unease,
his hand heavy upon her arm, silver-tongued charm

smooth as the silver-limbed leafless trees,
disappearing now on a twisting breeze...

Sinuous stems suffocate, writhing and thrashing;
convulsions of shuddering green and yellow.

Enticed ever deeper into flailing flowers,
evanescing into foam of frothing flora...

Did she ever truly exist? It's doubtful.
The flower-frail faceless and nameless

will always be lured and laid, invisible,
dissolving, under bare, phallic trees.

Sheep

People don't ever think for themselves
There's this book I read on cultural evolution 
That says group think is an adaptation 
If someone says snake
And you take the time to look for yourself
You're dead
Natural selection favors the man who runs

My son has flashbacks
Seven years old, crying out of nowhere
Because someone made him think of the sheep: 
A phallic toy, half ram head and half sheep 
Fondled by my oldest one night on Skype
Before I knew what it was 

He played it off, cuz he's not supposed to cry 
Cuz it's worse when he does
Said he loved the sheep
Wanted it 
Made me look up sheep toys on Amazon for his birthday 

His father is the goddamned shepherd
I say, "Look!" and he screams, "Snake!" 
Drives all the wondering sheep
Right back to the pen
And they line up to sodomize my child

The Third Party At A Party For Two

Imagination nude
liquored and lacquered lips
ember-breathing phoenix
..lighter fluid magic
when let loose near a flame..
combustible thigh-highs
when moonshine-high is nigh—
the moon she bathes in dreams

I have you both in hand
my tongue slick and sleek seeks
to taste the fruits of fields
intoxicated snake
oh! my lust a slither
a quiver serpentine
squeeze innocence with sins
revive the withered vine

anthurium’s shield leaf
your phallic sword unsheathed
exotic frolic fire
in heart-shaped bloom I burn
fire-water-pulse untamed
grabbed by the mane restrained
—unrestrained dreams unleashed

tequila genie free
sassy-frassy lassie
a parasol in pink
frilly and unfolded
beholder beholden
to climb aboard and fly
feminine flamingo
through shaken sky uncorked—
liquid-libido rains
as thirst and thunder reigns
just drop the reins and ride
bridal sweet  bridle free
yah barefoot and bareback
yes! drain the bottle dry

free way ticket three way
trifecta perfecta
primal energies spoon
la belle ‘Bianca’ blanc—
wine-skinned mademoiselle

Living waters, holy fire

burn me down
like Babylon 
consume my flesh with fire
unquenchable
Desire

Raze me to the ground
scatter every brick
To the four winds
bury me
like Osiris 
divided
divine sectioning
seconding
Sacralizing

phallicizing 
Pour your living waters
down my throat 
into my belly
and up from beneath 

holify me
gushing, rushing 
Living Water
sacral phallic water

energize me
Wholify me
receive me
willingly, this sacrifice
please me
please me
pacify me

resurrect me
Holify me
living waters never quench
Holy fire
Lavafy me
Molten living metals
running through every channel 
veins, arteries, capillaries, nadis 

Open me
i, the channel, emptied
eradicate me
Split me up the middle
reverse my topology
Outside like the Inside
precisely as the Inside 

I receive you
Open me, Penetrate me
lava flowing up Inside me

like the infinite Outside
show me
the unbounded Abyss within 
mirror still
Lake Placid
reflecting
Perfectly 
not a ripple
but still vibrating 
Energy
forever on fire
Lake Salome
the gushing wet birth 
of the twenty-four-sided Jerusalem
forever on fire

Such a Tease-Slightly Bawdy

There was a young maid who bathed in the rain
When it stormed, she drove all the men insane
Drooling with lustful stare
To touch her buxom pair
A teaser, she left them with phallic pain


June 2, 2022
A Funny Limerick Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
Checked with www.howmanysyllables

Stick Together People

stick together      people
the elites 
are gleaning power
from the seeds of misery garden

they're dividers of the masses
nothing more-nothing less

they smother smiles - voices.. happiness
wishing
to keep us in our safe-less spaces
for eternity.

every media outlet is brimming with
half-truthers-distorters-liars
phallic symbols for political parties
erect with hate-void of integrity 
highlighting the ogres of society
breeding fear 
spotlighting the freaks of society 
wanting us believing all white      people
are grand wizard hearted
that black veins are filled with thug sludge..

corporations are feeding piles of green to the media machine
forever stomping the bent backs of the plow horse class
planting hollow souled politicians in our garden of democracy

               but in time
all devils will expose themselves
stumble over their own fetid script
in time they'll soon forget their own lies..
slit their throats-hang from ropes
of their own making

stick together         people
unity is the purist form of diversity
stick together         people
soon enough(with help from God) 
we'll turn evil into crumbs

La Petite Mort

Straight to the cares of sweetest pleasure,
souls flying from hence to dopamine treasure.

Honey fragrance silver sensation well,
weaken consciousness loss of mind to tell.

Post inferior nervous spasm fainting episode,
the cultural link between coitus and death.

Anger management at the intimate edge,
Champagne sipping la petite mort alleged.

Glorious salvation by Shakespeare intentions,
the laughing crowd entertained by symbolic intervention.

“For she plunges a phallic object into her sheath’’,
divine spending in euphoric wishing death.
  
The force like flow in quick gentle mercy know
all in love pleasing wilt ravish in great joy.

Involutionary tension to reactive kundalini,
chakras natural image correspondence Genie.

Harpoon Heart

Innacurate mariner's spear

Molests sand, sending
reprisal's quiet return

wrath of a once in seventy 
year storm
Wounds sailor in scorn 

Misguided barbed harpoon 
missiles silt, shore bound

Beasts swim by... 
Breaching, phallic 

Burrowed harpoon
breathes in between
spaces grains give

Tide brings drink
 - Salty stew of recourse
-  rubs sins' reveal
Altered memories 
can mingle with blood's dissolved
culmination 

Persuasion picks apart iron
Dagger's gradual horizontal 

rusts as a Christmas tree
spruce in nasal cavity

Flavour seasons meat 
for next festive season



4th August 2020
Submitted for: Chantelle Anne Cooke 
Contest: Heart's Truth

Ceasefire Armistice

C  Centuries  of  fighting   and  vain  inglorious  trauma  A

E  Enemies   for  no   reason   other  than  blind   terror  R

A  Agony  fueled  by   apocalypse   in   ultimate  spasm  M

S  Surrender in  shelled  remains  or  else  you must die  I

E  Entrails  exposed  for   eternity  on  fierce   bayonets  S

F  Fighter planes  nerve gas  death war crimes for what  T

I  Indiscriminate  suffering  bones  strewn  like  confetti  I

R  Ravenous greed  delivered by swords  rather  phallic  C

E  Earth will  swallow all warriors and then we are  free  E

26th May 2020

Cursed

He was off again managing 
Someone else’s chaos
when she stood looking up
at impossible elegance,
rounded into ruby perfection, 
dangling from the twisted branches.
There’s a pull from the forbidden
that’s hard to deny.  
She knew the moment he 
told her “No,” she wouldn’t listen. 

Her entire existence was mysterious,
vague, and purposeless-- 
fashioned from leftovers. 
What’s she here for anyway?
To clean up after him?
Fix their dinner? Wash the dishes?
He is off conquering beasts, 
like some god. 
She remains an accessory. 

Nothing stirs up rebellion
quite like the feeling
of being powerless. 
That’s when another guy came
sliding over to her, 
alluring in his phallic majesty, 
dark eyes acknowledging her own, 	
whispering she could be anything.
Seduced by curiosity, she reached up.

This is when all hell broke loose. 
Pandora’s box spilled with the juice 
dribbling down her chin. 
Blood, agony, and death
escorted by knowledge,
potency, and power. 
Her defiance would punish
her daughters. 
It would also empower them.

Wind Rider

*****This poem was fairly popular, though I'm re-posting it for the ladies****



**From my collection of poems:  'Apollo's Diary' 


I wonder if she thinks of me,
   at night, alone.....
   in her melting-bed;
With moon full as her curiousity
   ....my breath, the wind in the late hour
   the stars I shall tease with,
   and phallic-lavender to ignite her bosom;
I am all things gentle, yet mighty,
   soft as her silk sheets.....
Dark and tall in her bedroom shadows,
   but candle-light makes me real
   with the night so young,
   if a king should come ----
   he will not do.....
She longs love, not adulterous power;
   I shall whisper upon a balmy breeze.....
(I wonder if she thinks of me)
    at night.....

Write Is Never Wrong

Do you think that you can’t write a verse
Free or formed, a villanelle or song
 Do you fear the  end , so feel accursed?

The first words are banana,gold and terse
Start from that new sentence on your tongue
Do you think that you can’t write a verse?

Bananas ,phallic symbols, unrehearsed
What you write is  almost never wrong
Is you fear the  end   be not accursed

Golden is the joy when we’re immersed
In the company  that knows our tongue
Do you think that you can’t write a verse?

My lover speaks but he is often terse
He prefers to use a gesture not a word
Is you fear the  end   you’re not the first

In the mind float symbols , gold, absurd
Metaphors   that hunger to be heard
Do you think that you can’t write a verse?
If you fear the  end , we’re here  at worst

Metaphors That Hunger Tp Be Heard

Do you think that you can’t write a verse
Free or formed, a villanelle or song
 Do you fear the  end  then  feel accursed?

The first words are banana,gold and terse
Start from that new sentence on your tongue
Do you think that you can’t write a verse?

Bananas ,phallic symbols, unrehearsed
What you write is  almost never wrong
Is you fear the  end   be not accursed

Golden is the joy when we’re immersed
In the company  that knows our tongue
Do you think that you can’t write a verse?

My lover speaks but he is often terse
He prefers to use a gesture not a word
Is you fear the  end   you’re not the first

In the mind float symbols , gold, absurd
Metaphors   that hunger to be heard
Do you think that you can’t write a verse?
If you fear the  end , we’re here  at worst

 

 

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Estrogen Cup 2019

Twenty two uniformed nymphs
panting across an emerald lawn
kicking the skin off little white balls- 
National pride and pearly posts
red cards flashing,everyone moans-
Sweaty shirts and tender thighs ripple
dreaming of holding a shiny phallic symbol-

Amidst this maelstrom of estrogen
the tally becomes quite insignificant.

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