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Cripp Jan 2014
room for members only
inclusion to the party or left outside
for some reason, you’re not good enough - - - go away!

racks and rows of sorrowful pain come beating, like rain
in an endless circuit, it runs a spool
subtlety plays its wicked game of tug and pull, and horror is a resident in a dilapidated hostel
croakers dive into lucky packets, curing ails by tearing off layers of skin
these leechcrafters perfect the axiom, regurgitating sedatives to enact fever struck pattern
sawing bones into finest dust stream, disabling balm by wilting growth

only the knowers know what’s happening
keep the outsiders out
it’s a secret party - - - not all are welcomed
nivek May 2017
when you have the attention span of a frog
10w poems make you leap

and croak
The Fire Burns Sep 2016
Ask me what I want to do, go fish
if I had a genie, it’s what I would wish
in the lake, river, creek or pond
eagerly cast next to a fern frond

Wiggle my bait and work it some more
hoping a fish cannot ignore
flipping up under docks
or the edges of piles of rocks

Working the tree stumps
waiting on a big thump
on my lure, adrenaline pumps
waiting for the end of my rod to jump

Bass, on Carolina, Alabama, or Texas rigs
crappie and pan fish I’ll catch on a jig
white bass and hybrids, on slabs and spoons
I have even caught them casting at  loons

Sam Rayburn, Cedar Creek or Lake Fork
I’m getting excited just like a dork
Tawakoni, Amistad, or Nacogdoches
if I ran out of bait, man I would use roaches

Livingston, Stryker, or the Trinidad  Lake
catching some fish, fry them up on a plate
bait cast, and spin cast, pushbuttons oh wow
I also can fly-fish, I taught myself how

Gar, carp and buffalo, anything that bites
looking for something to make my line tight
Matagorda, or Galveston, or Port A
I have no problems fishing  the bay

Intercoastal waterway or out in the surf
no problems cooking surf and turf
Black drum, Red fish or Speckled trout
as long as they’re biting I’ll never pout

Whiting, and Croakers and even Hardheads
catching are fun, getting the slime off you dread
gaff tops are pretty, but just as slimy nasty
I’ve never had any, I hear their pretty tasty

Flounders are flat and so are sting rays
but if that’s what’s biting I’ll fish everyday
jacks, and mackerel and bonnet head sharks
so many fish in the ocean, that’s just a start.

How about invasives, silver carp and snakeheads
cast for the snakehead, jumping carp in a net
I’ve fished lots of bass, native and Florida strain
but there is one thought that sticks in my brain

Is I’d like to go catch some peacock bass
top water action would really kick ***.
catch and release or serve it up in a dish
as you can see I really love to fish
I wish I could make you feel all I smell and see
When the sun shines through the tall grass in a Southern Maryland breeze
When field flies hover in the golden, fading sunset, suspended in their wandering
When crickets and croakers sing their evening songs, humming along to the universal sound
When twilight fades to startlight where city lights fade to black
When love is planted and pruned in rolling rows of farmland
When new seeds sprout of a life worth falling and staying in love with
When the pages of history are not simply learned, but lived
When a small boat's sail first fully fills with a westward wind and leaves the dock in it's wake
When children come in from play to mothers and fathers, smelling sweet of sweat and sunshine
When sand, soil, shells, and stones pave paths for the bold and barefoot
When brackish water breezes stick to skin like kisses and tans and waves on the shoreline
When Spring fades into Summer, and early May silently yet steadily stretches in her seasonal tension of the in-between
I wish I could make you feel this.
|b.g.|
* line about universal sound inspired by the song Universal Sound- Tyler Childers

It has been five years. I hate the thought of this not being my second home. This river has carried me so far. These people have taught me so much. These sunsets and breezes have made an eternal impact on me. If I really do only have one life, I am glad I lived 5 years of it here.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
buying a Trek Marlin 5 for around £500...
really has given me a new lease
on life...

prior to i was walking 6 to 7 hour marathons:
i walked to Epping...
i walked to Coldharbour to inspect the Thames...
i walked to St. Paul's...
then... on one of these walks...
i eased out a yawn: it was time to speed up...

i thought: perhaps a dog would help...
a girlfriend...
of the 3 Ps... priests, psychiatrists...
prostitutes: an hour with one, properly:
can fill years worth of... an absence of...
urges...

the body can do all the talking:
it's best when the body does all the talking...
i never bought into confessions:
alas... this is probably a confession...
or that psychiatric *******: C.B.T. or whatever
they call it: talk-therapy...

drinking less ms. amber having switched
to wine: well... the digestion is more fluid...
i've emptied myself three times today
to the point where my guts ache from...
having ******* out: what i can only assume
to be... 1 kilogram of ****... or a forearm's length
of it...

emptied to the point where it sort of aches...
thank god for the transparency with
prostitutes... last time i checked i was there
to pay for something beside conversation:
or lies...
               always the two extremes:
an honest ******* and a...
                  boasting thief: thieves always boast...
they're not timid murderers...
all that Robin Hood fancy gets them going...
i talked to this one in particular
on the day i buried my grandfather...
we talked about Paris...
poor fellow: he asked me if he could stand
on a step above me so he could
look me in the eye: well: i obliged...
i wasn't going to tower over him...

   all in all: a nice conversation...
the stories he had from prison...
what the Russians get up to in the 4 x 4
while punching walls... i injecting...
plastic? seems odd: into their knuckle region
to punch better...
i once took up some sort of martial art...
all i can remember is being trained to squat...
in a position akin to horse-riding...
the Sensei wasn't there one session
(Golders Green)
and his students took over...
we were instructed to march forward and
strike while making a lot of sound...
the student of the Sensei isolated me:
i said: i will not ooh! ah! i will not marry my
breath to an attack...

kick in the *****... me lying in a foetal position...
that's me and learning martial arts...
if i was going to learn martial arts by getting
kicked in the *******...
i was going to learn something: else...
accommodating people from all walks of life
with a conversation...
oddly enough: of the encounters i had in
the night when all the shady suspects should
be about...
one problem... this little ****** took advantage
of me willing to have a drink with him...
took me via an alley and grabbed
a phone from my hand...

oddly enough: i didn't fight him...
i shouted at him...
the seven heavens reigned down with fire
when i implored him to:
'LOOK AT YOUR GUARDIAN ANGEL!
LOOK!'
  i shouted down the confrontation...
when scuttled off lamenting about...
down on my knees in the middle of Brick Lane
lamenting on / with the word: All-Ah...
Al-Lah...
                say what you may... certain gods have
names for certain moments...
his is a name when you just
grieve having to show yourself what anger can
be hiding in you...

but rather than fight: tenderness of the hands...
moving my hand against a brick wall
to later invest in a body...
all that mandible leather plush...
i still go crazy: not too often but when i go crazy
i... pretend to not be thinking about
foods that are eaten raw...
notably the Baltic sushi of herrings...
a steak Tartar... chunky...
with all the additions... raw onions...
kippers... gherkins... Worchester sauce...
pepper, salt... a raw egg yoke...
a dash of garlic...
    and a fat slice of sourdough...

but a bicycle is a new lease on life...
esp. at night: when the air is thinner...
and you can hear a church-bell ring from
almost a mile afar...
or... the sound of trains as if a stampede of horse
from: i'd imagine over 2 miles...

i could never own a car...
i once fancied myself owning a motorbike...
i'll stick to the object that allows me
to generate my own momentum...
what bonus?!
hell... no road-tax... no insurance...
i haven't even bothered with a safety-helmet
and most certainly not any lycra...

a bicycle allows you all the momentum
that a bus stuck in traffic might allow:
and more than a car... esp. since i've taken
a liking to cycling into central London...
several times now...
once upon a time it was this spectacular
gesture awe to take the bus and later
the tube and emerge at certain locations
in the city: Piccadilly Circus / Westminster
of note...

but starting off from the outskirts... teasing
the M25... and cycling into the city...
via little Bangladesh of Ilford... Manor Park...
Forrest Gate... little Jamaica of Stratford...
through to the Mecca of Bow...
and whatever the hell it is come Mile End...
reaching the pearly gates of Bank
and further past St. Paul's into Holborn...
past Hyde Park onto Notting Hill Gate...
eh... it's not that... spectacular...
i would probably have to attire myself
in window-shopping clothes...
in pedestrian attire...
    perfume myself and work a chisel of
wax on my hair... probably carry a book
to keep me company during transit...
but on a bicycle:
it's not at all... spectacular...
buildings with no entry labels...
buildings like labyrinth walls...
                 that's about it...
oh... and the people...
                         i like to throng-spot from
time to time...

bicycle: no M.O.T.: no insurance...
no road tax...
the thrill of using a bullet of momentum while riding
behind an object that might **** you...
that's fun...

prostitutes? oddly enough: Isabella...
a third year exchange student from Grenoble...
the story behind my lost virginity...
but the current hook-up culture...
however freely them come and go...
you might be paying for dinner...
covert payments... you'll be arguing for something
else...
talk and more talk...
odd... well... not really:
i was never really truly on a date...
well... this one time a girl picked me up
from a nightclub...
we went to the park...
i drank a bottle of wine...
we talked about grey-matter of our
everyday...
we went into a pub...
i drank a pint of holy grail Guinness...
she escaped with a follow-up of some
previous engagement...
god... i was glad...

the transparency with prostitutes is:
paramount...
i don't like the current culture of ***...
only-fans... and once in a while you find this...
angry... mean... toxic female...
posting *******'s worth of arousal
stating outright: pay up simps...
she isn't even roleplaying a ******* suite either...
she's just plain Jane with a strap-on
of her forehead...

whatever this famous ****** revolution
was to bring to the table from the 1960s...
should it bother me that some percentage of men
are having all the...
   "fun"... personally i wouldn't want
the baggage, the lies...
the covert methods of "bagging" one...
payment upfront for the body to speak:
for the hands to wander...
sure: i once paid for *******:
i paid for a *****-magazine and the seller
saw my face...
the good old days where you had to ****
up on any worth of... ha ha... "pride"...

since i last encountered Khada(ia)
she was bothered by an excess of hairs on my shaft:
i too noticed it... i'm not exactly going
to shave my *****... i'll trim my *****...
sure... i've taken up a liking for...
***** hairs... an oasis of familiarity...
in the form of Ava Dalush...
hell: a completely shaven crop down below:
is a bit like looking at a skinhead...
just enough wheat-shafts to: furrow...
a bit like *******: it should be there...
i can pull it back during penetrative ***...
but... it's also there so i can *******...
oddly enough...
***** hair is designated on a woman:
since... imagine all the bearded ladies...
should the ****** hairs undermine the surprise
of what's down south...

hell: this *** culture *****...
i went among the prostitutes because:
i, simply... don't... want... to... play...
this... bogus... game! of herr Lancelot!
all men are liars are women are ******
and all dogs are ******* peddle-stools!
cats are insomniacs: if you gather my humour...
this current *** culture *****:
triple ***... triple the trembling donkey's
*******: life is not supposed to be fun:
at best: there's some pleasure in thinking...
once all the moral conundrum of ought-i:
ought-i-not have been laid to rest...

how glad to come across:
paid up-front... clearly a debit experience...
harsh to make a summary of:
someone else calling it a "livestock" affair...
i tend to think of leather...
i tend to forget my tongue...
the hands that belong to hands...
the lips that belong to lips...
the thighs that belong to thighs...
the eyes that belong to eyes...
i tend to explore the fingers and the jaw...
all that's mandible...
not wholly exhausted upon the requirements
of taking a ****...

not enough chances to love women:
then again: plenty...
but i will not grow old and boring
and stiff and stuffy and watch television with her...
waiting for the ******* inevitable!
Lothar! aye... call on Conrad! & Otto while
you're at it... we're planning an escape!
i've seen what old age does to men...
women might enjoy it...
hell: they live beyond the age of men...
i'm not going to bother...
i will not hear wisdom from the old croakers
either... smothered by dementia and what not...
when my time is on the table:
i'll do what i'm reserved to do...
old age suffocates...
not that people shouldn't aspire to having
reach it:
but it's hardly possible for most to still be
an inquisitive Socrates come his age...
childish comforts...
marry me unto death and let us part
in good spirits...

this current culture of *** *****...
i don't want to be part of it:
i'll debit my affairs / pay upfront...
for what i'm willing to pay for:
kosher ***... nothing boredom related:
no need for gimp latex suits...
threesomes... ******...
stilettos / strap-on ******...
just give me the kosher salt
and i'll rummage into otherwise hidden
subject matters for the better half of a decade...

how could i think of prostitutes as lesser creatures?
what am... that ******* Jack the Ripper
moralist?
i'm not Jack the Ripper the moralist...
i pay for the eyes to see
i pay for the hands to touch...
i'm not paying for *******:
i'm paying for a 1st person "seance":
yes... we'll be making contact with the dead
who are living... those untouched ******* harangues...
misnomer:  harangues...
i over-stepped the marker...

dilute the blood among the ol' raven hair women
of Turkic persuasion...
god help her: and her fairground of joys...
i don't want to be part of it...
i don't want to be there to pick up the crumbs,
either...
***** didn't give: now there's nothing to lap up...
beside... oh wait...
i don't own a car: i own a bicycle...
i don't want to be tempted into making as much
money as might be required to:
sustain her spending habits... and... whims...
that must make me... an almost: free man...

i guess i'll have to concentrate on...
limiting as much suffering as possible...
i'll have no chance concerning toothaches:
they'll always come and go...
but i suspect that... any...
attack on the soft organs is... rather: painless...
you never hear the truth of people with
terminal illnesses...
concerning the soft organs...
that have a limited nerve presence...
oh... but anything afflicting the bones:
i'll believe that to be ****** painful...

- ah... the interlude: a **** break and some
ice in the glass...
the joy of getting drunk slow: "drunk":
gearing up to a proper momentum of scribbles...
getting drunk slow: wine... beer...
it usually takes me 2 bottles of the former
to have some sort of: IN-SPI-RA-TION...
(impossible to rewrite our syllables
into katana... however much i like:
i draw blanks... still looks pretty...
i will have nothing to do with Ezra Pound's
fetish for Chinese ideograms...
they end up being primitive sounds
of vowel, consonant, vowel-consonant...
consonant-consonant-vowel structures anyway)...
of course there is... a slow way of getting drunk...
wine beer... and a fast way of getting drunk:
ms. amber... although i've become rather
immune to her flirting...
stone cold sober with her during the night:
stinking of dog **** the next morning...

refresh my mind...
Khada(ia) made a complaint last time she was
performing ******* on me...
hairs where there should be hairs:
on the shaft... i'm not going to shave my *******:
but i also don't expect her to **** them...
well... no other cure...
i'll need to get a *******...
i got a ******* and started to pluck out
the excess hair...
i was waiting for mr. limp to come along...
he came... and went...
and i was back to plucking out the excess hairs...

in the current climate?
the current culture... it's hardly reading marquis de sade
on the tube... although the one time i did
i had 4 teenage girls giggling
because the cover had a oil on canvas depiction
of a ****...
they giggled... while the words contained...
well... what is it that marquis de sade didn't write about?
to hell with marriage and with thirsting for
what the French cosmopolitans are accustomed
to with affairs...

this one chimpanzee laboured to prove
the existence of dragons...
dragons prior to the unearthing of dinosaur bones...
massive fire breathing lizards:
the great meteor cull...
this one chimpanzee with aspirations to find
something noble: like widowhood...
to escape the monkey harem / ****...
to find the widowhood and nobility among swans...
now... that's a thought...

upsetting confiscations of libido while
a certain number of would-be van Goghs do
one more.. d.n.a. genocide simulation into
a tissue... why wouldn't we somehow
abandon pop; and take a steer
at... say... something akin to:

         chevalier, mult estes guariz...
for tbe river of blood that is not supposed
to run through Yerushalem...
diviner of the old gods: Balaam!
  one word stands out though:
*****... in western Slavic...
"oddly" enough i can write it in katakana:

SU-KA...              スカ...
oh... look... no hyphen for the worth
of a compounded wording...
i can't find escape in Chinese hieroglyphs...
Japanese syllables can only stretch to far..
Korean? perhaps... i'll hardly inquire into
the Semitic scripts of either
Hebrews or Ar-Rabs...

this current *** culture is... bothersome:
i like to pay for reality: otherwise i go into
the forest and bend a deaf ear:
how eagerly i still watch how women
are pleasured...
it bothers me in the slightest:
during ***: 1st person...
you're never allowed the whole
3rd person pornographic availability of
experience... so you're missing the ***
resembling a Lamborghini... no?

but better with a ***** than these...
angry: newly invested in freedom
sort of broodings over...
these "livestock": oh sure...
the sort of freedom these "free" girls will allow...
no... i'm not buying into a farce...

because simply can't tell a journalist to
*******: secular priest: hand on... linger...
while the advertisers say all the things i want
to hear: since i don't have the money to spend:
i.e. a woman...
sad little affair this society has become....

SUKA! スカ!
dearest: Kinga...i seem to have picked up a case
of an... itchy nose...
i rub it again: and again:
between AGNI PARTHENE...
and what the Templars have on "choice"...

Salve Regina:
   consecrated upon the altar of womanhood...
this stiffening via the niqab:
versus al the freedoms that the setting sun
might also: allow...
bellowing rams...
                oh how i might love....
always the potential of me having "access"
to the disclosure...

         it's impossible to love a woman like
a saint... somehow possible to love one as...
but to love one as an ANGEL...
her own words...
                i couldn't get a *******:
she was living with 4 homosexuals..
we drink so that we might forget...
we forget in order that we might
attest to the puddle pretending it to be the sea..

waves.. waves... countless hybrids
of ice comes with cherry pulp....
i don't like the current *** culture...
i debit my encounters...
i pay upfront...
a day of the darkening of skies...

hier: ich bin!                    jetzt!
              jetzt! oder! nimmer!

   **** it... english party girls have it
covered... for the time being.
TheRiverStyx Mar 22
Violins rising
My German croakers assemble
Guitars fiddle with themselves energetically
Spirits of humiliation arise

The banana peel fell out
One more showing
One more casualty

To the elements none are innocent
Tony Grannell Apr 13
Humidity’s risin’, the air’s scrutinizin’
my waitin’ for her to come home.
There’s bothers a loomin’, the bayou’s consumin’
suspicions, that she ain’t alone.
Bullfrogs are croakin’ on the mists they are smokin’:
knowin’ that somethin’ ain’t right.
When she left this mornin’, the nets, they were haulin’
an’ now they are draped for the night.

The moon’s in her hidin’ for fear of confidin’
with that which is chokin’ the air.
A cruel kind of silence, unseen in its violence:
ain’t nothin’ but evil out there.
The rooster to preenin’ the night in its leavin’:
I’m dreadin’ the comin’ of day.
When scandals come trawlin’ an’ rumours a callin’:
an awakenin’ into the fray.

I’ve heard all the stories, ’bout her an’ her forays:
some stranger was burnin’ her flame.
I left that to slumber, some ill-mouthed monger:
gossipers defilin’ her name.
The truth of the matter the mornin’ will scatter
the day into light’s disarray.
I should have known better but who knows the weather,
like waitin’ yer worries away.

Make way to the jetty, my boat's at the ready,
I’ll put out to sea on a whim.
I’ll pack me a compass an’ belly the canvas
on a hope and a gallon of gin.
What use irritatin’ the tempers of waitin’:
the waitin’ for what, but her lies.
A fair wind’s a greetin’ the sails when a meetin’
an’ the tide is calm on the rise.

No more I’m returnin’, my bridges I’m burnin’:
the sins of her makin’s ain’t mine.
The ebbin’ of evenin’ will dim a man’s leavin’:
I’ll see out my troubles with time.
To yon, the horizon, no use criticisin’:
I’ll leave what is left of my heart.
To the bayou, her skeeters, croakers an’ cheaters;
whose gators would rip ya apart.

— The End —