Thanks, Odetta. Another poem based off of my own life...
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Thanks, Odetta. Another poem based off of my own life...
"I am not alone" the destined bastard did cry
He'd now knew how his parents would die.
His patience at its end
He had to break this trend
The mental abuse, the terrible scar
He crept under the truck while they were at the bar.
A pair of tin snips in hand
then off to the curve to see it firsthand.
waiting in the brush
all night he waited for his rush
then the familiar sound of the truck
drunk and speeding was his luck
The curve now, tires protest
His glee was barely suppressed
tires silent now, off the road
midair over the cliff, no turning back now, his life's crossroad
Screams of horror and surprise, voices he knew well
Voices hated and bound for Hell
voices silent now, impact
crunching steel announces his emancipating act
total silence now, he steps to the edge, assured he can fly
Bent knees, his time is nigh
A thrust from six year-old legs like a coiled spring
Surely the deadly landing will provide him cleansing
A split decision and he leaps
All the way down he weeps
A bone crushing landing, only moments to live
Staring into his father's dead eyes, did they even know his motive
Does anyone mind if I paste this with an other poem and add it to my personal poem thread?
no, of course nobody would mind. Any poem previously posted in a poetry contest thread can be re-posted in personal poem thread if the author so wishes.
Well said, Jean.
Your pearls your poems must appear in your own (and so amazing) poem thread as well, Jon.
with that being said... new words
fleece
puppet
spark
*****Warning. The following poem is meant in total jest but contains content that the general, right thinking public would label as smut of the worst kind. You have been warned. I hope you take it with the humor in which it was written.
-Jon*******
MMmmm her fleece drives me crazy.
But I am sure few of you would agree
She in the field grazing
I sit on the porch lustfully gazing
Oh how I have been planning
Weeks of tanning
The groomer came by to sheer
I stood behind, a view as lovely as a celestial sphere
Her grazing done, I look at her eyes and see that spark
I rise and approach, ignoring the groomer’s caustic remark.
Under her spell, stoic as a puppet, now I undress
A dose of my tractor’s gear oil, I enter her without protest
Slowly, to allow accommodation, I slide in listening to her bleating.
Oh this special ritual of man and beast meeting.
The thrusting becomes faster
Soon, ewe will know me as the drillmaster
My 7.5 seconds about done
Soon an end to this wooly fun
The pause, then the rush from below
Not human, but this pussy is primo
Must pump faster before I squirt.
She tries to run, thank God I am alert.
Her face against the barn wall
I am close now, and I must make her sprawl
Squirt one, two, three and four,
I grab her ears and tell her she is my whore
I have two squirts left, five and six
I wonder what she thinks of human dicks
Softening, I remove myself, maybe a candle or wine
Maybe cuddling will be just fine
My arms around her neck, scratching her ears
We share our dreams and fears.
I move myself near her face hoping for some barnyard head.
I stop in fear of Odetta or Matt closing this thread.
I am sorry I brought this thread to a screeching halt. I deeply apologize to the management and the members of this site for the content of the poem above. I genuinely thought most would see humor in it.
I am sorry. It is inappropriate and gives a bad name to all poets, the thing I regret most.
I humbly beg forgiveness from all offended.
-Jon
never apologize for that shit. while it may be disgusting in its nature, and i taste barf in the back of my throat, it's still poetry.
i thought it was kind of funny, actually. :D
Ode to a Sheepfucker. :lol:
I just read this... I was negligent in my facilitating... well, um, that poem was rather... enlightening, shall we say?
Plus, I think Jon needs to spend a little more time in urban area, perhaps. ;)
why don't we just move along with another poem, shall we?
I'm going to keep the same words.
Yes Jon, there is no need to apologize. Keep on writing. :rose:
poetry or any other piece of creative writing here is not going to be censored in any way, provided it complies with the general guidelines for posting in the site. If someone feels that their text might be qualified as adult or [exeedingly] politically incorrect, they should just warn the readers at the beginning of the post in question. I'll post the specific guidelines soon.
Very well. I'll add a warning. I thank you all. I thought you all were angry with me. It was just a lark. I get in odd, funny moods sometimes. It is a relief that no one has flamed/banned me.
Jon,
it takes all sorts to make a world of poetry. There's no "right" or "wrong" about a poem, or about a story, or anything else that comes from a creative mind. Let alone the obvious fact that everyone loves you.
And, by the way, the warning you added is perfect. I think it could be used as a model for all similar warnings.
Too true
although I like Brice's reasoning :rofl:
I am at a loss for a proper poem for these three words. I just cannot find a way to use puppet with my idea. This could be a result of way too much writing for school. I received a note from my English composition Professor. It said "Lets keep the word count down from here out OK. We both know you are destined for an "A"."
well, time for new words anyway...
teacher
cheese
sunshine
Floral Durant
Show me how to love,
Be my proverbial teacher
Of the heart.
Trim my mwng.
Bet on the wrong numbers,
Show me how.
My blood shimmers and curdles like
Bad milk or even cheese,
Thanks to the visceral bitterness your acerbic words throw into me.
Teach me how to hate to love.
Show me.
Trim my wings.
Cut my mwng.
Omit the whiteness.
Kill the sunshine,
Bury it in repose in a ground
Filled with myths.
Teach me how to show me
To love.
Keep my soul alive.
Cut my wings.
Trim my mwng.
For(m) circles around my head,
Halos of seraphims called ecstasy.
Show me emotions.
[Note: Mwng is Welsh for mane.]
I'm working on one.
I enjoyed that, Fruno.
I really like the subtle repetition...
classy touch, imho.
:)
(but what's a mwng?)
Mwng is Welsh for "mane."
Thanks, Fruno.
I've learned something new today.
:D
bumpity bump!
new words...
lemon
empathic
sway