Verbal Abuse/The Poetry Corner

(Dedicated to everyone who ever gave one.)

It was a brief moment in time
that I had forgotten,
so long ago.
The salty taste of it,
the musty smell,
the glance of my head
bobbing up and down in the mirror,
the sound my mouth made
while trying to breath and swallow,
at the same time
worrying about what would happen
when he finished.
Would I choke?
Would he joke about it to the others?
And when the moment came,
he did, but I didn't.
Men are such pricks sometimes.

B.Miller / c. 1995

Thanks Minnie...and you're the Marie Dressler of the family.

I was soooo happy to find this new place on the boards. Can't wait to see the beautiful things that grow here. God Bless You Barbara Jean!

Hey Minerva!
I checked your profile out. You look like my kinda gal.
Maybe we could go out for a cold beer sometime.

Let's keep the poems coming here girls and boys and less chatting.

Unless it is praise for what you've read here.

Thank you,

Your local moderator.

There once was a queen from Nantucket
Who's chin so hairy she'd pluck it
Her trade was quite massive
Though she was so passive
That she used a hot glue gun to tuck it

Bobby, how could you write a poem like that about Nancy Isla?

Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
If Minerva eats my pussy
Then I will eat hers, too.

Rising from a restless slumber
with torrid dreams and aching member
I recall the thousands painted, mincing in a row

The frocks so garish, the beat, an infection
the meat nightmarishly bound from inspection
smutty jokes and drama soaks the nature of the show

The fever swells like cock on fire
towering strumpets to admire
they've stood their ground and found a substance 'midst the hollow of this art

A wanton drive for love and lust,
shaved and plucked and primped and fussed,
held nothing back -we won't!, and thus, must evermore become the tart.

And on the left a line of hussies,
catty, vicious, strength in collective wit
self-preservation to the end, backstabbing every newfound friend

And through those sisters' animosity,
One cannot deny that cool ferocity
"Respect me at distance, I'll never spare my pride to bend"

Such a gaggle of hens could induce a fox
To put aside her synthetic locks
And find another farm from which to feed. A drat, a damn, a shame, indeed.

And on the Right, a solo beast,
One look, see something incomplete
Maybe she rushed to make the scene, only to be fodder for the mean.

"She tries too hard", "Her clothes don't work"
"Steamroll that obnoxious jerk"
"Thanks for the drink; now fuck off, you barstool-falling queen"

An equal blend of sour and sweet,
size twelve women's heels on size twelve men's feet
enough drink and enough smoke and she's an L.I.P. burden for said hens to choke

She's so glad to be OUT, she holds them with "the hook",
Which earns more dissent against her than her look,
Alas, there is no book of manners, for her or those who'd be gaslight planners

Such ugliness disturbs my rest,
It becomes them all not; we are not at all impressed
This wretch could be talked to, instead of dissed; tis more than her money that might be missed.

Does it take gates of steel to corral the poor broad?
If one did, would it bring a jeer or an applaud?
And that it might be a mission of mercy, what's it take to reverse the effect of Circe?

You amaze me. Pure genious.Keep it coming..

There was and old dyke from Manhattan
Who lived for the piss'n and scat'n
She'd watch lots of porn
Swallow peanuts and corn
Then crap in her sheets made of Satin.


Hmm I wonder if _______ will know this is about her??

Nancy will never know if we don't tell her.

But I'm gettin' outta here before Bobby gets back! This is a poetry nook.

I guess I am gonna have to write some stuff in here as well.. altho my poems arenot at all cheery.. But everything I have seen so far is just wonderful!

I t was nice to see him again
altho I wish it were for longer
our love grows stronger and stronger
the longer we spend time apart
I am usually happy when I see him
this time was different
He was so angry, and wouldnt tell me why
He wouldnt lie
in a few weeks I'll see him again
Then , then I'll find out whats wrong
Whats wrong? whats wrong I said
he turned and looked,
as he turned he shook
he shook with fear anger and rage
While on stage he was great
Afew weeks later I saw him again
He didnt get the part
Once again we were apart
His anger grew and grew
for he was a Jew
not by nationality but by religion
He told me he didnt get the part
Because of his religon at heart
The part was a small one
thats all it was
It meant alot to him
it does, it does
Well it did
I was forbidden to see him
his parents thought I was in part
I wasnt I loved him at heart
A few weeks later his final weeks
his final weeks of dread
soon he was dead- he died
not by homicide , it was suicide
he hung himself from a rope
for he had no hope
and I was lost and he was gone..gone..gone..
I wrote that in my sophomore year of high school, I kept a book of about 25 poems I wrote then. I was going thru alot in the all boys catholic high school I went to..

How did you sneak into an all boys school?

Helin, that was gorge.

Bloodhate #3

I was walking alone that night
I was thinking of the fright
the fright, the fright
the fright of walking alone
Although walking alone was alright
I was strangely walking into the night
the snow turned to slush
then to mush, to mush it turned
All of a sudden I felt something coming
Good I thought, they missed
There I stood looking, looking
looking for those
for those who show hate
they won't debate it
they just hate it
they dont even know me
they just see me
they've never even met me
don't let me- tell
Tell what is under this shell
for it will horrify
and deny you
of your free thoughts
Although it sounds distraught
So I thought
hey just ignore it
No! go for it
all my body was a rush
As I slowly gushed
The blood trickled down my neck
What the heck they got me-

?

Whaah? I don;'t get it.

Well there is alot more where that came from

I hope more people will write!!

I learned tonight that our own Empress Chi Chi Valenti will be reading her poem about the Harlem Balls at Cupid's Ball@Spa this Thursday, February 14th on Valentines Day. For me this kicks the event up several notches and now I plan to be there!

Helin-- I never thought I'd be reading poetry from you - Keep it up, girl!

your poem

That would make a good song.

Die why?#13
I'm in pain I am confused
My mind is taunting me
Why why why
why does he want me to die
we've been thru it all and back again
and there he goes back again
Oh when you think things are better
they are not, they are not
life took another shot
and missed, should I be pissed.

We were talking
he was driving
My mind was racing
I am glad I said so
I didnt know he knew
Could he tell
he could and didnt yell
if he knows Whoa!
I wasnt direct
Whatever I said had an effect
it had an effect on him
that caught onand he knows
what should I do
If he accepts it I guess its fine
He came just at the right time..

They tickle your testes
you know I only let you wear the best
Your chest is defined with breat shadows
your nipples are brownish red and slightly hard
your chest cut up and your shoulders muscular
Oh how I want you,
Show yourself become visible
what I am sending you is not edible
but you are!
Its not a car or a gold bar
Rememeber they will tickle your testes,
warm your buns
they may even make you cum
sounds like fun..
So if you can figure out what it is I am describing I will give you something...

No Accessories Required

In a crowded room, he said,
he fantasized and had a lovely time doing it.
swash buckling tall,
long strayed hair with darkening eyes to prove it
or they loved it or she/he loved it,
when he says he did it to them all;
he implied he played a priest
or maybe it was a late night hotel bellman.
Try as I may,
"I can 't remember everything you know!"

I said, 'I don't do that when alone together,'
fantasies, i mean
but I think he thought I meant,
I don't do that..........
the big that,
that that that everyone means when they say that
which is a much larger issue than,
"I don't do that"
and I don't...fantasize, I mean.....
not here anyway, not now.... but.

I did tell him, I don't do fantasy,
I think he heard me.
he sat back in his chair musing
through his repretoire of characters,
remembering his fantasies
as if they had taken place this evening.
he smiled inside himself, again,
another time, our eyes were not meeting
another fantasy? not with me this time,
only his rememberings

He said that fantasies were fun.
they could enhance a situation
becoming a fore-text for fore-play,
my words sorry.
taking on a persona to please another
and thrill the room.
he could thrill the room
by just walking in the door, but
but, what do I know, he likes fantasy,
and I don't do that. I told him.

What I wanted to say is,
I don't need fantasy to do that.
I know now, I should have grabbed him by the collar
and pulled him close
and felt his heartbeat
and heard his breath warm my face,
whispering for everyone else to hear,
"I don't need fantasy
When you are with me, baby, we are enough.
No accessories required."

Merlin , June 9, 1995

[This message was edited by daddy on 02-15-02 at 11:45 AM.]

Remember, I warned you about Merlin. He is dangerous. This stuff is real. Beautiful and real. Watch out.

EDITOR'S NOTE:
Merlin,
Sometimes there is a translation problem on the boards. Quotation marks turn into question marks. I don't know why. That's why it says Edited by Daddy. Of course I didn't edit your perfect poem. Just fixed the glitches.

love this thread, bobby,
and yes i am greatfilled
that you improved my impoverished text daddy.

hmmm never had a warning label before;-)

Well another week is gonna go by
and I think of you .
I liked the way you winked at me,
makes me smile,
and yes for a while,
today I was thinking of you winking away!!

Emily's latest, "Atta Poem" is available as text or an mpeg. This Verbal Abuse Legend is always worth a listen!

Emily XYZ Atta Poem

I have been up and down lately and now on a down streak a bad one, I wrote this like 8-10 years ago, and I felt like this last night...

Here I lay
upon a bed of roses
red roses
lying dead
lying in red
red roses

Quarter me
Board me up
shut me out
give me a mouth
to speak out with
let me speak alone
I have fucked or been
fucked, so what am I
what am I
I know I'm good looking,
he told me so.
And there are times
when he makes me
feel particularly
good
but y
should I
Everyone knows
what I am
so y bother
so let me cover my head
cover my body
make me dead

I'm worn
my loins are torn
I'm a whore
and a bore
and what for?
I'm just a whore
fuck this
fuck that
suck this suck that
buy me this drink buy me that.
whoredom
boredom
I'd rather be a bore than a whore
but I guess
I had no choice in that one.
I was made a whore by a boar
now this whore wants to be no more.
Blackness
I see no more
sickness I see no more
Chloe** I see no more
Everything I see no more
Please, pleaseI say dont pity the dying whore.
let her die
At least she wouldn't
have lived a lie
Please let me die
as heartanchingly
as I have lived.
I am nothing
I am nothing at
all I'm bound to be no one
I= nothing, no one,
whore.

Like I said I wrote this years ago, I dont want to worry anyone, I am ok I am not looking to do any harm, I just needed to vent my feelings

the *** to those who dont know my first drag name was Chloe, and thats what the ** refers to...

Wow, Ms. Rhiannon! Your poem reminds me of my favourite poet Sylvia Plath. My favourite poem being "Lesbos". Granted her poetry was influenced by her hatred of being confined to the life of a mother and housewife; however I found the resemblance to your poem, in relation to the emotion and despair. I really wanted to copy and paste "Lesbos" in this post but I think its just too long so instead heres a link for anyone interested in it:
http://www.plathonline.com/poems/Lesbos.html

Crashing
bashing
thrashing, all in my mind
I cant stop
feeling fear
the tears
as they ...run
down my face
I have lost the race.
My fears guided my tears down my porcelin face. The race is over
I feel like
I was run over, by a range-rover
Over more, agin agin.
Me memememe!!
fu ny you think thats the singer,
the singer of the song,
the bringer of the bong
What?
he hasnt brought I have bought, and brought and now i am distraught...

slash and burn
I'm discerned
and burned. I
am changing,
dont know anymore, who is that whore?
I feel
like a movie reel
is this happening
is it happeneing to me?
I feel this I feel that
sometimes feeling like a cat.
Curious...
whats going on?
Interested...
where am I
I'm gonna be 26
whats with the trix
and the games.
What is my goal, my aim?
I still cant spell
or type too well
Life feels like one big game

I dont know when you'll get this,
but its been hard this week
not speaking with you, and
not sleeping with you,
having my arm under your neck
often giving you pecks
of kisses as you sleep
as I am counting my sheep.
Like little Bo Peep
Nibbling on my neck
shoulders and arms
you keep me warm
your embrace
that sweet wonderful
face. your eyes
drive me wild
your style
very non chalant
yet I look at you and I want
to grab you and hold you near
my dear, I cant wait to see you
my fear, my dear isnt so clear.
I want you here..

THAT is a beautiful love poem Helin.

It is a strange thing to become
a man's fantasy. When he reveals
his desires they confuse me and
leve me breathless.

I know I have to pay attention.
He has no limits in his mind.

Sometimes I am very afraid.



(I do have some of my own hope you like them to).

I wanna write more myself, please we need to liven this section up again!!