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The horns of the sister are horns of gold; the horns of the wife are true horns.
Halos & Horns
Halos and horns, sinners and saints,
Hearts that are torn between what's wrong and ain't
Just because it feels right does not make it so
So we struggle through life in horns and halos
Tempted and tried with each step we take
We stumble and slide and make our mistakes,
Ask God to forgive us for all of our sins,
Then we take off our horns and wear halos again
Halos and horns, sinners and saints,
Hearts that are torn between what's wrong and ain't
Just because it feels right does not make it so
So we struggle through life in horns and halos
Halos and horns, sinners and saints,
We're praised or we're scorned, we either run or we faint
Oh, but life is a challenge from the day that we're born
Just tryin' to balance halos and horns
It's heaven or hell, halos or horns
Halos and horns, sinners and saints,
Hearts that are torn between what's wrong and ain't
But just because it feels right; well, that don't make it so
So we struggle through life in horns or halos
It's either horns or halos
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Dark the Night
(Copyright (c) 2006, Kenneth Scott, All Rights Reserved)
17 June 2006
How dark the night
within your tight, undulating breast-embrace of sensuality,
your torso-sized udder-breasts burying my erect virility
deep inside your satisfying breast-valley, refusing to set me free
as my rivers, my warm, yearning rivers, flow abundantly
between your massive, thirsty breasts of ecstasy.
How sweet the song
all night long, as you moan with insatiable pleasure,
my thrusting tower your lifelong treasure,
your countless gallons of orgasmic udder-bosom claiming me
with overwhelmingly sublime jealousy, undulating udders of jealousy,
refusing to release me from their amorous embrace of tranquillity.
How beautiful the lady
who keeps me, passionately buries my virility
deep between her gigantic udder-breasts of serenity,
faithfully drinking my abundant rivers of love-seed
within her udder-cleavage of ardent need, for hours of delight,
fulfilling her soul this lovely night.
-
I am nourished by your sweet milk of love,
your thick, insatiable udder-nipples joyfully feeding me,
your delicious, lovely voice comforting me with blissful gentleness.
Larger than the rest of your voluptuous torso and hanging free,
your massive udder-bosom nurtures me, embraces me deeply,
squeezes every last dropp of my love-seed out of my aching-hard virility.
And I am at peace, faithfully nourished by your massive udder-breasts
with insatiable love. And I nourish you with my virile power,
filling your moist, deep, sucking blossom with my erect, pumping tower,
thrusting with ardent strength as your two wet petals caress my length,
your thirsty flower blissfully drinking my rivers of ecstasy
as your massive udder-bosom passionately feeds me
with sublime serenity. How dark the night
within your undulating udder-cleavage moist and tight.
poem by Kenneth Scott
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Milkmaid
The girl's far treble, muted to the heat,
calls like a fainting bird across the fields
to where her flock lies panting for her voice,
their black horns buried deep in marigolds.
They climb awake, like drowsy butterflies,
and press their red flanks through the tall branched grass,
and as they go their wandering tongues embrace
the vacant summer mirrored in their eyes.
Led to the limestone shadows of a barn
they snuff their past embalmed in the hay,
while her cool hand, cupped to the udder's fount,
distils the brimming harvest of their day.
Look what a cloudy cream the earth gives out,
fat juice of buttercups and meadow-rye;
the girl dreams milk within her body's field
and hears, far off, her muted children cry.
poem by Laurie Lee
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The udder of a neighbor's cow is always bigger.
War Profits
THE horns of the moon are tipped
With pearl. Her lover, wooed
By charms and won, Endymion,
Inherits quietude.
White the gleam
Of the dream
On his eyes.
The horns of the sun are dipt
In ruddy flame that flings
Adventurous young Icarus
To earth on ruined wings.
But he flew,
But he knew
Winds and skies.
Lucifer's horns have a crust
Of gold and topaz gem
On points that thrust to yellow dust
The heart that covets them.
Heed! take heed!
For by greed
Glory dies.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For instance, if you're playing a record with drums - horns would sound nice to enhance it so you get a record with horns and slip it in at certain times.
quote by Grandmaster Flash
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The world is like a goat's udder. It does not yile any milk, unless you punch and squeeze at it.
Minimus Stuck - Fragment Abramic
.
To be continually caught as the ram,
redundant among thorns,
horns at branches push,
blood ignored,
flow, more,
to come,
itself,
or other,
kindred bodies
entangled, who
waits a commanding authority,
sacrifice with thorns,
horns, first born.
I am caught up in the matter.
.
poem by Warren Falcon
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You grow by drives
The bull got horns to fight with.
The horse has no horns for that.
The horse learnt running to escape by.
Skill grows in adopted ways,
As demanded by sex and safety.
It is a myth the God fevours
For each growth and each loss.
Gravels turn to pebbles by force
28.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Soccer!
GOAL! SCORE! HORNS BLARING!
soccer fans blowing there horns, eating their food, jumping up and down, painted faces, soccer jerseys, foam fingers, hot blistering sun, fun.
soccer balls roll and fly across the field soaring though the air like a bird with no wings, black and white moving so fast.
soccer bleachers, sweating fans, crumbs of food left in the stands, bird and bees and hornets to fly all around looking for food.
GOAL! SCORE! HORNS BLARING! SOCCER!
poem by Katrina Stewart
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O Lady Moon
O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the east:
Shine, be increased;
O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the west:
Wane, be at rest.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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In between two horns
In between two horns
My father is the best man
For better study he sent me to a distant land
I read carefully medicine
Philosophy and dialectic materialism
He refuses to listen
When I say there is no inauspicious time
He is confused as I am
Why he did send me to that wonderland
He can not disbelieve his long time belief
And I can not agree to disagree
I can neither leave him with his superstitions
Nor I can live with all the reasons
I just keep bleeding on the two horns…
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Sheeptalk
there came out from the open Bible
in a corner of a field
all of the sheep
gave one triumphant bleat
their exodus complete
without them
the book had very much less to say
as a sheep without an udder
gone permanently astray
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Unclean becomes clean in needs
A cow’s mouth is held unclean
But not so is its udder.
A dog’s jaw is held unclean
But not so is the hunted
That it brought by its jaw to the hunter.
Every unclean is clean
When a woman is at night.
The need cleanse the dirt
24.01.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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No Horns & Sirens On Radio
Horns and sirens
don’t have a beat,
take them off the radio
and keep them on the street.
The radio is for songs
not for horns where on the
street it belongs.
So when I’m cruzing
down the street,
hearing a great beat,
hearing sirens makes
me scream.
I’m not trying to give
you grief,
I just want the radio
to sound sweet.
Written by Christina Sunrise on April 11,2011
www.purplepoems.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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