Trim and mow the lust.
Lust is grass, rooted in blood.
Trim it and mow it to a lawn.
Grow it for a fodder or
Let it die on its own soon.
Don’t pluck it or uproot it.
Then you will become barren.
03.10.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Related quotes
Witch
Eyes, rivulets of red that run beneath a canopy
Of green-tinged lashes –
Tear blood playing on the grey-white skin,
Stretched across the twin peaks of cheekbone.
That slender pillar of a neck –
Magnet of eroticism, blinds to
Veins gorging on the flesh,
Dancing under pulse of blood –
Or whatever pumps inside.
Coal-black lips word intentions –
Castigations – variations of the horror
She was born to be.
O the hair! – a flame-orange avalanche
Thundering down to Hell
Where seething mounds of torn bodies lost their souls
To viler wants and fouler holes of
Scatological minds.
And the plunge of lavish breast –
E’er the siren’s weapon! –
Baits the mortal man –
Were he to chance his hand across
The certainty of doom.
But still we go, our weakness on display –
Hers will not a challenge be to see to our decay.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
Under lust rain
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Talons of a Gothic Mind
She of talons, borne from gothic mind-
Steel of blue her chilly stare,
Pitch of black her fetid blood-
Whence there came an evil flare
To terrorise the weeping kind
Befogged in mental mire; to rape
The shore with phallic waves -
And all for lust, her one desire:
Corrupt the sand of innocence
Without a case for penitence,
Or cause for such as reticence -
While coming on her priapismic fire.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Lust lust lust Lust lust lust Lust lust lust
Lust lust lust Lust lust lust Lust lust lust
Lust lust lust Lust lust lust Lust lust lust
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Search Party
You touched my tongue
With yours - blending buds,
Kindling minds, racing worlds,
Unifying two lovers - one body.
Tongues wrestled violently,
Fluidly, in fluid -
Juice flowed, fluidity rousing -
Endorphin storms erupted;
Hearts raged, blood gorged
Cock, clit, tit.
Search-party hands
- desperate -
Found their feelings,
Feeling up, squeezing, sliding,
Rubbing, working, fingers fiddling.
Lungs breathed - sighing, rushing,
Panting, huffing, heaving
- ciliated turmoil.
Hearts worked harder,
Forcing blood torrents;
Whirlpool minds raced,
Blinded, careless, caring, daring.
Clothes faded, cast out - jetsam.
Skin flesh moulded, melded -
Oh to split! for
Inner flesh wanted in.
Pulses pounded,
Rounded mounds flirted nipples
At the lips;
Phallus begging, forcing, pushing,
Pushed;
Ripples crossing skin dunes
Under shudders:
The Quake of Coming - coming -
Came.
We came.
We found.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Completing All The Touches
Her pupil shone –
Black stole a peek
Her smile wore sleek
Beneath a knowingness
That I would seek
A slipping down of garments,
Jealous of their role
To hide the jewels that complement,
Completing all the touches.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
Lines of Lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Fantasy IV
Pounce of nipple
Snatches,
Catches me off guard
Flounce and ripple
Thro' the breasts
Arrests
Landing hard,
I'm flung upon my back
To analyse the ceiling -
No appealing under stress
Now under dress -
Panties gone
And she upon
My countenance -
I rouse to bait
Her feminine way
Lead astray by
Aromatic warming
Of her womanhood,
I tune her body's
Resonance
Thro' eloquence of tongue -
Her shrieking
Highly strung
We up the play
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012
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lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poverty's Grass
Arrogance said
We eat Poverty's grass
As Mockery fed
Biased high class
Now the famine
The Suicide breed
Pride is the sin
Destroyed your seed
We may eat grass
But you eat the soil
Your words are brass
And now you recoil
Grass tastes better
That you must know
But Death is the bitter
Seed that you grow
Dried and barren
Your land had become
Our grass can be eaten -
Do you want some?
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The glory of lust
‘Lust, Lust. It’s worst’
Many burst.
Lust is not a ghost,
Nor a devil, nor a peril.
The tender grass on a rocky patch
Is tender to taste for the toothless
Cow, old enough to die.
It is lust. Who can hate.
‘Lust, Lust, It’s the best’
All murmur in secret.
01.05.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Honest Questions
Can you see
Honest questions in my heart this hour
opening like a flower
To the rain?
And do you know the silent sorrows
of a never ending journey
through the pain?
Do you see a brighter day for me?
Another day?
A day?
Do you wonder what's in store for me?
The cure for me?
The way?
Oh look down 'n see the tears I've cried
The lives I've lived
The deaths I've died
But you've died them too
And all for me
and you say (faded)
"I will pour my water down
upon a thirsty barren land
and streams will flow from the dust of
your bruised and broken soul
You will grow like the grass
upon the fertile plains of Asia by the streams
of living water,
You will grow, Oh, You will grow"
Do you know
The story from the start?
and do you know me
like you've always told me?
Do you see
the whispers in my heart against your kindness
my eternal blindness
Do you see?
Do you see a brighter day for me?
Another day?
A day?
Do you wonder what's in store for me?
The cure for me?
The way?
Oh look down see the tears I've cried
The lives I've lived
The deaths I've died
But you've died them too
And all for me
and you say (faded)
"I will pour my water down
upon a thirsty barren land
and streams will flow from the dust of
your bruised and broken soul
You will grow like the grass
upon the fertile plains of Asia by the streams
of living water,
You will grow, Oh, You will grow"
"I will pour my water down
upon a thirsty barren land
and streams will flow from the dust of
your bruised and broken soul
You will grow like the grass
upon the fertile plains of Asia by the streams
of living water,
You will grow, Oh, You will grow
song performed by by Daniel Bedingfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blood Of River
Saw him in half, like a frog and snail,
Running with passion and living underwater.
My buds attach to the clarity and potion
Of this barren odorous bog of congealed
Blood, that finances are read at this hour
For their future and beyond.
Much concrete chasms encase strong dances,
The weapons of the bold and polite.
The woes'd rain down hard to scatter
In the blood-like muddy puddle,
Wearing me thin, as the abdomen encloses
The fodder, to express a sickness.
poem by Naveed Akram
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How green this lawn was
How green this lawn was
Two years back, when did I trespass
Thick green on each blade of grass
Shining in sunlight and dancing at each wind cross
Alas, there are patches in yellow
So many that the land piece looks fallow
Paining and placing me in sorrow
How I wished the entire scene changes tomorrow
I asked the trim and erect watchman
Keeping vigilant near a portico van
What happened to this graceful lawn
So well kept extending greenly greetings each dawn
Was it because the soil turned hostile
Or it because the ants established their domicile
Or it because of the chemicals those weed sterile
Tell when soon the lawn will get back its soothing smile
Oh, sir, are you in this world, ever on galloping
Economically marching ahead and developing
Where is time for any one to attend to this soil topping
We are on the progress mode nothing be stopping
We know what are our gainful spending
And where should we stop depending
And which are going to keep revenue sending
There is no end to this economical expanding
In this great economic value addition
Everything is in cash denomination
No longer loyalty, love or passion
All aim towards cost-to-the-company reduction
Growing trees is no longer a feat
Nature care has to take a back seat
We are preparing for those days ahead so sweet
When this lawn will not be of grass, but of currency sheet
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Be with your people
Grass is a weed among corns.
They themselves, it is a lawn.
Grass! Be in the lawn.
In the field, you’re a weed
29.05.2001, Berhampur
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love, Daughter of Lust.
Lust attracts man and woman;
Lust gives birth to love in them.
Love inhibits lust since then.
Lust starves and seeks to escape.
Adultery seems attractive.
18.10.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Root, uproot!
The time to plant and,
The time to uproot;
Root, uproot!
The effect,
The universal truth,
Of this activity;
But, i am free on Friday!
The easy one,
Bend, unbend!
The difficult one,
To, too!
With past memories;
But, there ie the time to pland and,
The time to uproot.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Petal Game
pick a flower
to play the petal game
pluck a petal
he loves me
pluck a petal
I don't love him
pluck a petal
he keeps getting closer
pluck a petal
I keep pushing him away
pluck a petal
he is always around me
pluck a petal
I hide away from him
pluck a petal
he is always protecting me
pluck a petal
I just punch him in the gut
pluck a petal
he never seems to get it
pluck a petal
I really hate his guts
pluck a petal
he just really bugs me
pluck a petal
I need a new flower now
pick a flower
to play the petal game
poem by Amber Lyn Charneski
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Taken to the Cleaners
TAKEN TO THE CLEANERS
Role reversal takes rake by surprise.
Chips down, chipper chaser's chased. Heart aches.
Stakes down, he ups the ante, thereby tries
to flee from trap she sets with sapphire lakes
whose beams are bait, placate to circumsize
escape attempts. Net tightens, instinct based.
Dynamite from unsolicited sighs
smoulders first, then bursts as lust replaced
in context hunt and hunter, two soft eyes
turn tables. Taken to the cleaners, haste
finds calculations quite awry and cries
foul as pride kneels down to whim's trim waist.
Anticipations sweeten exercise,
add spice to life as Cupid's dart's encased
in heart that trap discovers just to late,
with man, bereft of wits, left to dire fate.
2 May 2010 revised 5 May 2010
for previous version see below
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Taken to the Cleaners
Role reversal takes stakes by surprise
when chips were down, with chipper chaser to chased,
dynamite from unexpected sighs
would splutter first than burst as lust replaced
in context hunt and hunter whose soft eyes
turned tables. Taken to the cleaners, haste
finds calculations quite awry and cries
foul as pride kneels down to whim's trim waist.
2 May 2010
poem by Jonathan Robin
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On Her Way To Afternoon
The morn' arrived barefoot
With words of the Dawn upon her breath
Sunrise clinged tight with its fingers
And the green grass prepared for the dews death;
Waves of many barefoot clouds were above us
Her words shined as jewels from her mouth
Sunrise broke open the shores of this beautiful day
And the green lawn became queen of the South;
In the air there were many a barefoot dragonfly
As her words became more fluid and then
Sunrise called to the mid of day
And the green lawn asked afternoon to begin;
The Essence
October 1,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
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The fertile land
Prosperity is a barren land,
Where love and empathy will not grow.
Poverty is the fertile land,
Only where safety is harvested.
03.04.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Weep no more
WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that 's gone:
Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;
Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see.
Joys as winged dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.
poem by John Fletcher
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I Grow Old
i grow old, i grow old
i shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled
and steal from TS Eliot
thinking no-one knows
i grow old, i grow old
i shall cease to do what i am told
and stay in bed till sunset
when the weather gets too cold
i grow old, i grow old
i shall only wear my crumpled clothes
and look disdainfully at others
when they roll up their nose
i grow old, i grow old
i shall watch events unfold
and take a greater pleasure
in an elder statesman role.
i grow old, i grow old
i shall never play lawn bowls
and never will watch cricket
that's too boring for the soul.
i grow old, i grow old
but i shall never be so bold
as to admonish others
when my views they do not hold.
poem by David Keig
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Human Or Not (vampire)
My heart is hollow
Like the beat of a drum
My skin is pale
Like the color white
My teeth are now fags
They lust for the teats of blood
But not just any blood
The blood of what I use to be
But I’m I not still human
What is it that makes me not
The hollow beat of my heart
The paleness of my skin
Or the lust for blood
Has your heart never been sad
Have you never spent
All summer in doors
So if it is not those things
Then it must be my lust for blood
We all need it
But I just need it a little more
So I am different but I am still human
poem by Emoly Core
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