You Know Better
you know
the real score
my dear
#2
YOU'RE
60% less prettier
and
40% less
intelligent
than her
and there you must
understand
cope up with what
you do not have
your long black hair
scented with
peaches
your watery mouth
and long
soft tongue
you must get
even with her
for she is always in
my heart
and i sleep with
you
on the bed
mechanical
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Relying On Feelings
tonight sleep is cruel.
she does not come to you and you go anywhere searching for her
breasts, you are a new born child wanting to suck the milk of life
from her teats, and you want to take her like she is a sow,
and your hands are ready to caress her hair
and her soft body but she is cruel and so insensitive
and despite your endearments so she may sleep with you
tonight
she keeps that cruelty of a lover long
jilted by you.
tonight sleep takes its vengeance.
and so
you have to compose the lines again
to appease her.
speak of love, write about lovers
making love beside the sea
under the moon above the softness of the sands
tell sleep about love on top of love
caress sliding like a spill of honey to the lips of
the beloved
the tongue wriggles in such sweetness
the mouth opens and takes
every dripping desire
plead sincerity and beg for mercy.
perhaps, by then, sleep would be too kind to kiss your mouth
and gift you with a bouquet of sweet roses for dreams.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Four Woman
My skin is black
My arms are long
My hair is woolly
My back is strong
Strong enough to take the pain
inflicted again and again
What do they call me
My name is AUNT SARAH
My name is Aunt Sarah
My skin is yellow
My hair is long
Between two worlds
I do belong
My father was rich and white
He forced my mother late one night
What do they call me
My name is SAFFRONIA
My name is Saffronia
My skin is tan
My hair is fine
My hips invite you
my mouth like wine
Whose little girl am I?
Anyone who has money to buy
What do they call me
My name is SWEET THING
My name is Sweet Thing
My skin is brown
my manner is tough
I'll kill the first mother I see
my life has been too rough
I'm awfully bitter these days
because my parents were slaves
What do they call me
My name is PEACHES
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Making Love To A Black Woman
How do you make love, to a Black Woman?
How do you make love to a Black Woman,
Romantically and Patiently;
Take the time to make love to her mind.
Fulfill all of her midnight wishes.
Cover her entire body with soft wet kisses.
Tell her, so that she will know!
There's no place on her body
your tongue won't go.
And, when you love a Black Woman,
you love her real slow.
How do you make love, to a Black Woman?
How do you make love to a Black Woman,
Passionately and Sincerely;
Let her Sweetness become your Weakness.
Do not use just the Penis, But include your ear.
Listen to the sweet sound of her moans
and see what you hear.
Feel the warmth and care of her loving embrace.
Place your mouth on hers and savor the taste.
How do you make love, to a Black Woman?
How do you make love to a Black Woman,
Sensually and Honestly;
Say what you mean and mean what you say.
Tell her that you love her,
more and more with each passing day.
Let all of the fantasies that dance in her head.
Become her moonlight reality
when it's time to go to bed.
Kiss and lick all over her body
until you find all her right spots.
Touch and caress her soft skin
and make her real hot.
Mutual satisfaction is a lover's plan.
Love her, cause you are in love with her.
She's your Woman and your her Man.
How do you make love, to a Black Woman?
How do you make love to a Black Woman,
Lovingly and completely;
Love her until her 'Screams of Passion'
are all you that hear.
Suck on her neck and stick
your tongue in her ear.
Hold her soft round ass
in the palm of your hands.
Let her sexual wishes
become your loving commands.
Love your Black Woman with
your Mind, Body and Soul.
She's the most precious gift on this Earth.
She's worth her weight in gold.
How do you make love to a Black Woman?
There's only one true way to start.
To make love to a Black Woman,
just give her your Heart.
poem by Samuel Newton
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Sashimi Loveliness
there is still something
raw in that relationship which
takes years to
grow
the tendrils of illusions
soft
it is like
salmon sashimi
sushi
bathed in wasabi cream
green hotness
which i leave softly still inside
my mouth
which my tongue savors
like
a pearl
a treasure of sesame
oil
with rice wine
and ginger
pleasure bathing longer
in the pool
of time
i love that raw peel
cold lemon juice
around my gum
that my teeth have long
readied
to take the
last bite
there is something delicious
in love that is raw
watery softness
hidden tenderness
unspoken
because the mouth is
closed
and full
so privately
uninviting
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Zipper my tongue
notice me not; i am zipper by the fence of
my teeth and close by the lips, protected by two
holes beneath the two big eye balls rap with color
little hair, to feel it shiny tiny cloth of skin to tell
why keep in talking if the heart can't improve
good silent, and why the nose always breathing
when, the same air, feel in the air, would it's not
easy for the ears listen and talk to the wind after
the dawn of silent
sleep my dear heart; let us always open the mouth
and touch the teeth for every silent the tongue will
speak; for each return claps the hands where the pin
is on
what then the little heart tell, when the big blind
mouth says that; the waiting is over for everything is
ready to a harder fight, and win a better glorious
victory, its not the right aim yet, the best shoot it
gain
stop my apology; the same things happen again,
please switch a new beginning for my awesome
heart zipper my tongue forever......
poem by Antonio Liao
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The Death
I’m hit. It’s come at last, I feel a smart
Of needles in ……My God …. I’m hit again!
No pain this time……no pain….. and yet…..
my heart……
Where is my heart? ‘Tis strange I feel no pain.
The night is still, the night is very still
I feel the April rain upon my hair.
I see the lights upon yonder hill
Agleam and shining in the silent air.
How soft the grasses seem-how soft and cool!
How long the valley looks-how long and deep!
How warm the rain! I feel a little pool
Beside my hand. I feel…..Can this be sleep?
Can this be sleep…. This buzzing in my head?….
Good God! A light! A light! The pool! I’m ***
poem by Leon Gellert
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Sonnet: The Tongue
Tongue, the muscle belly in the mouth’s floor!
That grandmothers used to narrate folklore;
With sensors to taste the food that we eat,
And speak fluently with neighbors who cheat.
The boneless tongue gives creatures satiety;
In misdemeanor, speaks words so nasty;
The tongue-tied man cannot speak out too well;
The one with a long tongue argues like hell.
The tongue can emit both a soothing word,
And also cut like a double-edged sword;
The tongue helps one to sing a sweet song,
And touch one’s nose-tip whenever too long.
The tongue can start a war or conclude it;
Some stars use it for their kissing habit.
poem by John Celes
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Mechanical Angel
The Mechanical Angel
Is made of tin
Put together with screws
And mixed with sin.
The Mechanical Angel's
Paint never fades.
Underneath her perfect fingers
Hide hidden blades.
The Mechanical Angel
Must constantly grease her joints.
Her nails are sharp
And her teeth filed to points.
The Mechanical Angel's
Head is dusty.
She is uncared for,
She's getting rusty.
The Mechanical Angel
Cannot feel.
She cannot hear, cannot understand,
Her wings are made of steel.
The Mechanical Angel
Is made of tin.
She shuts the world out
And locks herself in.
poem by Tessa Marshall
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Dreaming Of Hair
Ivy ties the cellar door
in autumn, in summer morning glory
wraps the ribs of a mouse.
Love binds me to the one
whose hair I've found in my mouth,
whose sleeping head I kiss,
wondering is it death?
beauty? this dark
star spreading in every direction from the crown of her head.
My love's hair is autumn hair, there
the sun ripens.
My fingers harvest the dark
vegtable of her body.
In the morning I remove it
from my tongue and
sleep again.
Hair spills
through my dream, sprouts
from my stomach, thickens my heart,
and tangles from the brain. Hair ties the tongue dumb.
Hair ascends the tree
of my childhood--the willow
I climbed
one bare foot and hand at a time,
feeling the knuckles of the gnarled tree, hearing
my father plead from his window, _Don't fall!_
In my dream I fly
past summers and moths,
to the thistle
caught in my mother's hair, the purple one
I touched and bled for,
to myself at three, sleeping
beside her, waking with her hair in my mouth.
Along a slippery twine of her black hair
my mother ties ko-tze knots for me:
fish and lion heads, chrysanthemum buds, the heads
of Chinamen, black-haired and frowning.
Li-En, my brother, frowns when he sleeps.
I push back his hair, stroke his brow.
His hairline is our father's, three peaks pointing down.
What sprouts from the body
and touches the body?
What filters sunlight
and drinks moonlight?
Where have I misplaced my heart?
What stops wheels and great machines?
What tangles in the bough
and snaps the loom?
Out of the grave
my father's hair
bursts. A strand
pierces my left sole, shoots
up bone, past ribs,
to the broken heart it stiches,
then down,
swirling in the stomach, in the groin, and down,
through the right foot.
What binds me to this earth?
What remembers the dead
and grows towards them?
I'm tired of thinking.
I long to taste the world with a kiss.
I long to fly into hair with kisses and weeping,
remembering an afternoon
when, kissing my sleeping father, I saw for the first time
behind the thick swirl of his black hair,
the mole of wisdom,
a lone planet spinning slowly.
Sometimes my love is melancholy
and I hold her head in my hands.
Sometimes I recall our hair grows after death.
Then, I must grab handfuls
of her hair, and, I tell you, there
are apples, walnuts, ships sailing, ships docking, and men
taking off their boots, their hearts breaking,
not knowing
which they love more, the water, or
their women's hair, sprouting from the head, rushing toward the feet.
poem by Li-Young Lee
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Tootie
You put a rose in my hand
Put a dollar in my pocket
But you dont understand
How the days grow longer, the sky is black as night
I see the morning but you wont see the light
I thought about you for a long, long time
I wrote about you but my words dont seem to rhyme
And now youre lying here
But my heart still beats for you
Had a dream about you
You sat right down beside me
And you told me we were through
It was all so real and you told me reasons why
You brought me to the window
And you taught me how to fly
I thought about you for a long, long time
I said I love you but we just dont have the time
And now youre lying here
But my heart still beats for you
I thought to hold you for a long, long time
You said I love you but my heart wont seem to chime in
And now youre lying here
And my heart still beats for you...Im trying, and my heart still beats for you
song performed by by Hootie & The Blowfish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Next Summer
Autumn is here
no more peaches to sell
so long my friend
I hope you come
and see me next summer
to buy peaches from me
...again
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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The nicest talks about woman.......
The nicest talks about woman.......
The woman the society was divided in the middle, she breeds his another equity.
Commensurate with a love of the woman her revenge is.
The stupidest woman is capable of cheating the most intelligent man.
The woman maybe will pardon the treason but don't forget it.
a woman heart`s is a pearl needs a skilled hunter.
the more beautiful way to let the woman change her suggestion, is agree with her.
The satan the professeur of the man and the student of the woman.
The woman like the soft herbs the breeze bends in front of but he is not broken by the storm.
The honest woman makes you swallow, and intelligent she agitates your interest, and a beauty to attract you, and the softy wins you.
The woman is always afraid of the intelligent man who mocks her.
The woman will remain an unidentified riddle, while the man believes that he is being capable of his dissolution.
The woman smiles when she is victorious, and she cries when she wants
The woman remain in twentieth in her age, till the last moment in her life.
the woman learnt from the snake: The dancing.. The perfidy.. and long tongue.
The woman lights the fire by her smile, and she tries to extinguish her by her tears.
Not the woman who birth the children, a woman who make to grow them.
The woman without virtue, like a rose without a nice smell.
the last thing die in a man is his heart, and in a woman is her tongue.
The woman like the lyre gives her secret to who knows the playing on her.
The woman a satan whose manufacture is perfect...
and still more and more..
poem by Hazem Al Jaber
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Too Long
It’s been too long since I felt the soft touch of a woman’s hands rub my bald head.
It’s been too long since I felt the gentleness of a woman’s lips press against mind.
It’s been too long since I cuddled with a woman’s head up against my chest listening to my heart beat.
It’s been too long since my tongue has slipped between a woman’s thighs and her juices drip down my throat.
It has been too long since I have made love to a woman and felt her inner walls pulsate.
It has been too long since a woman made my leg shake as I climax.
It’s been at least nine months and that’s far too long.
Caution...
you pretend that sleep is your friend
but sleep is honest enough to admit that there is something wrong
with the bed
the blankets are talking and the pillows
are protesting
your hairs are mad
your eyes as usual do not tell the lies
that your mouth and tongue have long mastered
and the teeth that grit
knows who at the end
shall win
your mind is not a friend of anyone
its insomnia the heart fears
can kill anyone
it is time to be cautious
wear the feet of the cat
perhaps be silent like the
floor.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Second Part: Misleading An Idea Like A Blind Man
my left hand touches the right side of my neck
rubbing it and then slides its fingers to my ear
i open my mouth to signify that i long for sleep
i put my hands on top of my unwashed hair
the day's schedule is hectic like the way a juggler pleases our eyes
i open my mouth letting the wall see my egg white
teeth and then i close my mouth again
sipping air inside my lungs
my eyes are like heavy clouds low to the ground
becoming fog to the grass
i am sleepy
but i do not want to sleep
i am teasing time since it has no
underwear
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As Long As I
When the heart and brain cease to function
I will no longer exist,
but as long as I am living
I will do the thing I love to do.
As long as I have arms
I can give a hug when needed.
As long as I have legs
I can walk that extra mile.
As long as I have eyes
I can see the beauty around me.
As long as I have a brain
I can think of may things.
As long I have fingers
I can write down what I think.
As long as I have a tongue.
I will tell the world of my dreams.
As long as I have a heart
I can and will live and love.
As Long as I have you
my world is complete.
21 October 2010
poem by David Harris
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Play Me A Whisper
play me a whisper in my ear
where i
whimper
and tremble
in desire
(that is your
word not mine)
play me softly a whisper of love
in my hair
i let you
and tell you how it means to me
play it on
turn me on, i let you know how much it means
to me
my hair thinking my skin whimpering
let me have your whisper
now not in my ear
let it be in my mouth
let it stay
let it stray inside my tongue
play me a little soft whisper
not in my mouth now
but in my heart
let it stay there for a while
and then play me another whisper
not in my heart now
let it be inside my guts
down in my belly
let it go deeper
let it escape in the toes of my feet and let this whisper
dissolve in a distance in the infinite silence of the space
between us
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Until The Real Thing Comes Along
I'd work for you, I'd even slave for you
I'd be a beggar or a knave for you
If that isn't love, it'll have to do
Until the real thing comes along
I'd gladly move the earth for you
To prove my love, dear, and it's worth for you
If that isn't love, it'll have to do
Until the real thing comes along
With all the words, dear, at my command
I just can't make you understand
I'll always love you, darling, come what may
My heart is yours, what more can I say?
I'd sigh for you, I'd cry for you
I'd tear the stars down from the skies for you
If that isn't love, it'll have to do
Until the real thing comes along
With all the words, dear, at my command
I just can't make you understand
I'll always love you, baby, come what may
My heart is yours, what more can I say?
I'd lie for you, I'll cry for you
I'd lay my body down and die for you
But if that isn't love, it's gonna have to do
Until the real thing comes along
Until the real thing comes along
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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~Reconciliation~
A black woman migrates to Europe
War devastated Germany in she finds a tolerant white widower to cope
Years some later a mulatto is born with arrear
Unluckily the newborn not so towards white but usual spirally knotted hair
She grows up and gets because of her white father´s repute a government job
Ego came out spontaneous in black aggression as corn on the cob
Her work by job agency comes mostly foreigners for demonstrations
Majority a jobless black immigrant who has not the lucky touch of Midas parentage in confrontations
She looks of blacks down and she herself is black
When asked to justify says she is more white hidden traits back
She repeats her satisfaction from day to day
Until she went to a white german barber for hair trim and foam some day
Your hair is another says the white old barber woman
I have no experience and i cut not those hairs as talisman
Go to a black barber she added
They understand more your hair as they the same headed
Long Enough
My heart is like a bird that sings
and soars with outspread wings.
My heart is like a flute that plays
a lilting song that sings.
It knows no sorrow when you're near.
It only knows my dear
that however long you are with me
It will never be
long enough.
My heart is like a rose in bloom
whose scent fills every room.
My heart is like a chandelier
with crystals oh so clear.
It knows no pain on any day.
It only knows the way
you make me feel when you're with me,
and it will never be
long enough.
Then what is long enough you ask?
Long enough to bask
in the warmth of all my love for you,
long enough for two
to never question or wonder why
my heart is yours then sigh.
'Forever, forever
That's long enough.'
I cry.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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