Poems About Dicks
Ridickulous
.....................Tip.
..................Sensitive.
.................Happy-head.
................The epicentre
...............Of all pleasure.
...............And then we go
...............Move down and
...............Down below it's
...............More and more
...............Like a root or a
...............Tree or a tower
...............Somehow to be
...............A symbol of all
...............Power. The way
..............We shape all our
...............Bullets n’ trains
.....And then................you have:
...Two big balls..........that hurt when
..You get struck.........A matter of luck.
....Never quite............equally made
......One Big.................One Small.
.
.
Can You See It Too?
The recidivist Doctor closed his shop at dawn
His clientele was High and Fell, Happy and Forlorn.
Reliving bygone days he slept with pictures in his mind
He hid the cabinet key, where his wife could never find.
The pale-faced woman who was tied up to the post:
Gaunt face hollow cheeks the colour of a ghost.
His member Small,
He looked about;
Hatred in his eyes.
She saw his dick
In profile.
* (This poem, the one above, well...the purpose was to make a poem that would give a short account of a man with a small penis...as a criminal doctor generally is. The structure of the poem is such that if you look at the whole thing...the image of a small but erect penis is clearly visible. I mean...sure there are no artistic curves or anything...but I'm working with words here so just the general impression is what I'm aiming for. Personally I felt I'd done a good job and that if somebody says that the poem 'does not resemble a dick...' surely he is blind and expects too much. So with this apologetic footnote...I leave it to the ignorant reader to look back up again and decide whether my effort merits praise or not.)
.....................Tip.
..................Sensitive.
.................Happy-head.
................The epicentre
...............Of all pleasure.
...............And then we go
...............Move down and
...............Down below it's
...............More and more
...............Like a root or a
...............Tree or a tower
...............Somehow to be
...............A symbol of all
...............Power. The way
..............We shape all our
...............Bullets n’ trains
.....And then................you have:
...Two big balls..........that hurt when
..You get struck.........A matter of luck.
....Never quite............equally made
......One Big.................One Small.
.
.
Can You See It Too?
The recidivist Doctor closed his shop at dawn
His clientele was High and Fell, Happy and Forlorn.
Reliving bygone days he slept with pictures in his mind
He hid the cabinet key, where his wife could never find.
The pale-faced woman who was tied up to the post:
Gaunt face hollow cheeks the colour of a ghost.
His member Small,
He looked about;
Hatred in his eyes.
She saw his dick
In profile.
* (This poem, the one above, well...the purpose was to make a poem that would give a short account of a man with a small penis...as a criminal doctor generally is. The structure of the poem is such that if you look at the whole thing...the image of a small but erect penis is clearly visible. I mean...sure there are no artistic curves or anything...but I'm working with words here so just the general impression is what I'm aiming for. Personally I felt I'd done a good job and that if somebody says that the poem 'does not resemble a dick...' surely he is blind and expects too much. So with this apologetic footnote...I leave it to the ignorant reader to look back up again and decide whether my effort merits praise or not.)
posted by Duck @ 12:55 PM
2 Comments
2 Comments:
A smile that spanned the breadth of her white face
Longed to go completely berserk and free
Running through the woods, where snails
And lizards on trees slyly eyeing two pale
Priests whom we thanked for their guiding light
As Black Rose whispered to her companions, sane:
“Their judgment maggots is and afterlife lame.”
Quiet trees absorbed the swirling strands of smoke
And we made love to the poisons growing floor.
There were some mice and a peddler selling his wares,
“A light for the blind,” I said, “a light for the blind!”
The delicate sounds of a giggling infant child
Some petals ripped off by the cold steel hands
Of massive machines turning endlessly in lands
Where eyes shut wild in blind noise’s vortex
As is the wont of any believer disbeliever
Whose guttural praise for foreign gods in epic lies
Far, far away is the house of the nomad wanderer
May your curses find your enemies in their beds
A hatred that spans the length and breadth of her
Warrior who sings of bloodlust and of a girl.
your poem 'rape of the cock' is so graphically disgusting, you seem like a little whore trying to excite her listener on the other line with details of how she arouses herself!
i mean, vaseline and cum/come and a blonde whore?
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