Itch
Who understands the logic
Behind the desire
That flurries up nausea and breasts' itch,
Unmet, fret frown as birthmark
What's me made-hunger raw obsession,
Through blood cord,
Sip, what's mother chew drip
Whose juice taste of gardens
Arrested in autumn scent
Voluptuous with citron, myrtle, jasmine
Alive with bees buzz.
I sense all fruit sap
As current of our blood...
The green flooding into the red.
poem by Yoonoos Peerbocus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Fever Pitch Itch
Who understands the logic behind the desire,
The earnest heart-filled passion of true love?
It flies and flurries up like birds on the wing.
Or it makes us the most worried of souls...
Like nausea, it makes the breasts itch.
Unmet, it is like a fret turned into a frown,
Just like a birthmark, true love never leaves us.
What is my manmade-hunger and thirst, this raw obsession?
It courses, unstoppable, through my fevered blood,
As if it were a naked, open cord.
It sips me as if I were its mother's breasts.
Drip, drip, drip... always thirsty for more...
The succulent juices taste of tropical fragrant gardens,
Arrested within a sultry autumn scent,
Voluptuous with citrus fruits, myrtles and jasmines,
Alive with effervescent, vibrant, pulsating bees' buzz.
I sense all fruit sap, so fervently throbbing,
As if it were the very current of my life-giving blood...
The green flooding into the ruby rose red.
Joining, becoming one, celebrating joyous harmony,
All of Nature combined into something new,
Something for-ever-green...
Something exquisite, delicate,
Deserving to be cherished, revered and forever loved.
For she is the most beautiful girl in the world,
Adorned with radiant roses and orchids in her golden hair.
Here I stand, and so in love...
Knowing I'll never be the same again!
Sigh...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shift of sex
Flowers are, in general, endowed with
Scent and nectar to woo bees and flies
For the ultimate goal of impregnation.
Then why do the Jasmine and the Rose,
Known for scent and nectar, fail,
In their courtship, to get impregnated?
Do they copy men and women,
Who want only sex and not its fruit?
18.11.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Drip, drip, drip
tears roll down my face
drip, drip, drip
that's all I hear as the tears fall
in the dark
I sit alone as blood runs down my arm
and mixes with my tears
drip, drip, drip
my door is locked
my knife is a deadly scarlet
getting closer every time
to the veins I desirer
drip, drip, drip
I push the blade deeper into my arm
it hurts but it's a good pain
a knock at the door
I grab my friend and scream
as I find the veins I want
drip, drip, drip
my mom walks in as I fall to the floor
my dying words to my mom
'I live no more'
she rushed to my body and calls for my dad
I smile as they see my pain
drip, drip, drip
as my blood hits the floor
my mom screams my name
I smile once more
and say good bye
my mom screams ' why god why? '
the last words I heard were a plea for help
until the final
drip, drip, drip
poem by No Reason To Care
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The Last Revelation (The Final Prophecy)
There were none at His left hand
No man amongst His army
The Earth has ripped herself open
And birthed from her wounds
Thick black clouds, which covered the Earth
It tears
I see blood in the air
I taste the blood in the air
Dissected from the heaven
Cut and stripped of her skin
We let it begin
Descending from heaven
It tears
I see blood in the air
I taste the blood in the air
Dissected from the heaven
Cut and stripped of her skin
We let it begin
Descending from heaven
An all-consuming cancer
An all-consuming cancer
An all-consuming cancer
An all-consuming cancer
Reaching to repent
We will taste it in its purest form
Reaching out for nothing
Suffocation on our words
While we hold our children
It tears
I see blood in the air
I taste the blood in the air
Dissected from the heaven
Cut and stripped of her skin
We let it begin
Descending from heaven
It tears
I see blood in the air
I taste the blood in the air
Dissected from the heaven
Cut and stripped of her skin
We let it begin
Descending from heaven
No cradle
No Son
A mother of none
No cradle
No Son
A mother of none
No cradle
No Son
A mother of none
No cradle
No Son
A mother of none
It tears
I see blood in the air
I taste the blood in the air
Dissected from the heaven
Cut and stripped of her skin
We let it begin
Descending from heaven
It tears
I see blood in the air
I taste the blood in the air
Dissected from the heaven
Cut and stripped of her skin
We let it begin
Descending from heaven
song performed by by Zao
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dreaming The Breasts
Mother,
strange goddess face
above my milk home,
that delicate asylum,
I ate you up.
All my need took
you down like a meal.
What you gave
I remember in a dream:
the freckled arms binding me,
the laugh somewhere over my woolly hat,
the blood fingers tying my shoe,
the breasts hanging like two bats
and then darting at me,
bending me down.
The breasts I knew at midnight
beat like the sea in me now.
Mother, I put bees in my mouth
to keep from eating
yet it did no good.
In the end they cut off your breasts
and milk poured from them
into the surgeon's hand
and he embraced them.
I took them from him
and planted them.
I have put a padlock
on you, Mother, dear dead human,
so that your great bells,
those dear white ponies,
can go galloping, galloping,
wherever you are.
poem by Anne Sexton
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The Independent Bee
A hive of bees, as I've heard say,
Said to their Queen one sultry day,
"Please your Majesty's high position,
The hive is full and the weather is warm,
We rather think, with a due submission,
The time has come when we ought to swarm."
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Up spake their Queen and thus spake she -
"This is a matter that rests with me,
Who dares opinions thus to form?
I'LL tell you when it is time to swarm!"
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Her Majesty wore an angry frown,
In fact, her Majesty's foot was down -
Her Majesty sulked - declined to sup -
In short, her Majesty's back was up.
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Her foot was down and her back was up!
That hive contained one obstinate bee
(His name was Peter), and thus spake he -
"Though every bee has shown white feather,
To bow to tyranny I'm not prone -
Why should a hive swarm all together?
Surely a bee can swarm alone?"
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Upside down and inside out,
Backwards, forwards, round about,
Twirling here and twisting there,
Topsy turvily everywhere -
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Pitiful sight it was to see
Respectable elderly high-class bee,
Who kicked the beam at sixteen stone,
Trying his best to swarm alone!
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Trying his best to swarm alone!
The hive were shocked to see their chum
(A strict teetotaller) teetotum -
The Queen exclaimed, "How terrible, very!
It's perfectly clear to all the throng
Peter's been at the old brown sherry.
Old brown sherry is much too strong -
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Of all who thus themselves degrade,
A stern example must be made,
To Coventry go, you tipsy bee!"
So off to Coventry town went he.
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
There, classed with all who misbehave,
Both plausible rogue and noisome knave,
In dismal dumps he lived to own
The folly of trying to swarm alone!
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
All came of trying to swarm alone.
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Green, Green, and More Green
There is green everywhere,
even in peoples' hair.Some
on hands, some on shirts.
There is green everywhere!
Green, green, and more green.
I think I'm going crazy over green.
If you don't wear green you get pinched,
then you'll start to itch.
So many people are obsessed with green.
Green Spring, green air.Green feet, green wheat, green meat.
Green isn't very neat!
poem by Autumn Howard
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Old Autumn Rain
Old Autumn Rain
it is raining
heaven is urinating
drizzle
prostate heavenly enlarged
drip drip drip
drizzle drip
it is raining
leisurely
patiently
prostate cancer?
not at all
nothing malignant
nothing special
nothing unusual
nothing critical
nothing clinical
drip drip drip
drizzle drip
just autumn rain
just old autumn rain
just old man's rain
just old god's rain
just benign rain
it is halloween
it is raining
- Battered Suitcase, vol 1, issue 3, October 2008 -
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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Where are they?
Rare are those who die with thirst unmet.
Rare are those who die with hunger unmet.
Rare are those who die with power unmet.
Where are they who die with sex fairly met?
25.12.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Itch, Itch, Itch
should it not annoy me
what comes from single addition sound
itch, itch, itch
scratching my finger point
my heart is like free market
my brain is like full garbage
itch, itch, itch
there's worm army in my back
I get itch in my leg
itch, itch, itch
it's an itch in my mouth
I have sharpen my nail
I want to jump and scream
can I come to scratch you into pieces
the hands that touch me impolitely
the blunt mind that speaks empty
itch, itch, itch
you are just itch for me
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Blood Lust
I found out by the purest accident
that I like the taste of blood.
I felt ashamed to tell anyone,
but denying it would do no good.
I bought meat from the butchers
and extracted what I could,
but the taste failed to satisfy,
which left me craving human blood.
I broke into the Transfusion Service
and drank all that I stole.
It wasn’t long before I was arrested
and found guilty of having no soul.
They placed me in a mental hospital
and tried to cure my thirst,
but the substitute blood they gave me
only made my craving worse.
Daylight began to hurt my eyes,
my incisors grew sharp and long.
I could see clearly in the darkness
but I yearned blood upon my tongue.
My cell mate became lifeless and frail,
because he enjoyed giving his blood.
Other prisoners willingly contributed,
the staff and guards also tasted good.
In the short time that I’ve been here
I’ve become a much healthier man.
Every person here must take the credit
for helping me become what I am.
Even though they won’t release me
they consider that I am cured.
I’m being transferred to an open prison
where new friends are assured.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Who Made The Law ?
Who made the Law that men should die in shadows ?
Who spake the word that blood should splash in lanes ?
Who gave it forth that gardens should be bone-yards ?
Who spread the hills with flesh, and blood, and brains ?
Who made the Law ?
Who made the Law that Death should stalk the village ?
Who spake the word to kill among the sheaves,
Who gave it forth that death should lurk in hedgerows,
Who flung the dead among the fallen leaves ?
Who made the Law ?
But who made the Law ? the Trees shall whisper to him:
'See, see the blood - the splashes on our bark !'
Walking the meadows, he shall hear bones crackle,
And fleshless mouths shall gibber in silent lanes at dark.
Who made the Law ? At noon upon the hillside
His ears shall hear a moan, his cheeks shall feel a breath,
And all along the valleys, past gardens, croft, and homesteads,
HE who made the Law,
He who made the Law,
He who made the Law
shall walk along with Death.
WHO made the Law ?
poem by Leslie Coulson
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For Those Who Grieve
no one
no one can really stop you
from eating the bark of the tree
the thick skin of the
fruit
no one can tell you what should have
been proper
or better
you like the skin and you throw away
the fruit that could have
satisfied your
thirst and hunger
the bark has poisoned you
the moon has warned you too well
the worm is wriggling
its frail and elongated
body
you have no ears
your sense of smell so badly damaged
and now you
are dying
no one tells you that life is as sweet
as the ripe fruit of the tree
that luscious flesh that flowing
juice
your gaze is sharp as a knife
stabbing even the
sun
and you are always right
what you have been searching
that can satisfy your hunger and thirst
is not found on the fruit
not even in the tree
it is in the poisonous bark
that useless skin
that silly coat
definitely it is not even here
where we are all grieving
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We have created a new demonstration program to allow families with a sick child who could be helped with a cord blood transplant from a sibling to bank cord blood from newborns should they decide to have another child.
quote by Nathan Deal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Women's Greatest Assets
Voluptuous, round, soft, and plump,
Breasts- the ultimate source of pleasure
For babies and for men, alike.
Babies, burying their heads in their mama’s bosoms,
Say bye bye to dangers, say bye bye to insecurities,
They wrap their plump lips around the little pink dots.
And voilà, they suck!
Sfuuuuuuuup~ sfuuuuuuup~
Slurrrrrrrrrrp~ slurrrrrrrrrp~
Hunger, desire, yearning,
Lust (in its most primitive form) ,
Overwhelm these babies, as they suck fervently
On the little pink dots of their mama.
Men, placing their hands on their women’s bosoms,
Say bye bye to self-discipline, say bye bye to dignity,
They circle their fingers around the little pink dots.
And voilà, they caress!
Shhhhhhhhhh~ chhhhhhhhh~
Shhhhhhhhhh~ chhhhhhhhh~
Hunger, desire, yearning,
Lust (in its most mature form) ,
Overwhelm these men, as they caress passionately
Around the little pink dots of their women.
Voluptuous, round, soft, and plump,
Breasts- the ultimate source of pleasure
For babies and for men, alike.
poem by Irene Pang
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10.15 Saturday Night
10.15
Saturday night
And the tap drips
Under the strip light
And i'm sitting
In the kitchen sink
And the tap drips
Drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip
Waiting
For the telephone to ring
And i'm wondering
Where she's been
And i'm crying
For yesterday
And the tap drips
Drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip
It's always the same
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strange Fruit
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant south
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is a fruit for the crow to pluck
For the rain to wither, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop.
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I starve for a fruit on a tree
I am forbidden to pluck
the fruit that ripened.
I can get access to fallen
fruit, but it is rotten.
My desire exists.
My want is not sated.
One consolation-
I am not weary of you
who I am in pursuit of
and in whom my taste is alive
as you aren’t a fallen fruit.
04.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Strange Fruit
(l. allan)
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the roots
Black bodies swingin in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hangin from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant south
The bulging eyes and twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias sweet and fresh
And the sudden smell of burning flesh
Here is the fruit
For the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather
For the wind to suck
For the sun to rot
For the tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strange Fruit
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves, blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar tree.
Pastoral scene of the gallant South
The bulging eyes, and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolia, cool and fresh
And the smell of the burning flesh.
Here is the fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop.
So strange
So strange
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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