@dVersePoets and the joy of Googlism in three parts

bourbon

bourbon is made
bourbon is great for sipping
bourbon is not
bourbon is a family
bourbon is aged for 8 years
in new charred oak barrels
which is
lying to me
giving me eyes that see different
bourbon is a cross between an
autumn damask and a china rose
like you
eaten up by my madness
bottle madness
bourbon is velvet
cloaking the truth
despite all efforts
those eight years had gone

 

baton

baton is the tool
baton is probably the best one you get
baton is conducive for cabaret shows
baton is carried around
baton is rolled back and forth on arms
baton is great to defend yourself
baton is great for use in all
bondage and discipline situations
and comes as
baton is available in 16″
baton is best for crowd control situations
caligula would be proud
orgy proportions of a spanking latex riot
baton is combat
loss of control the eroticism
lost to a carnival mind
baton is in the hand it can twirl
baton is a sport that never really ends for me
camus you gave us him
caligula in his glory
no it is a counterpoison
antidote feeling beyond the math
baton is a non

 

pepper spray

pepper spray is often carried in the backcountry by biologists
pepper spray is on the agenda for today
pepper spray is safe
pepper spray is not a bear
pepper spray is made in the USA and factory fresh
pepper spray is a 1/2 ounce canister that is cased by stylish
plastic spongebob graphics
krusty krab innocence
of spatula mayhem
the enemy plankton
pepper spray is used on psychiatric patients
pepper spray is not for sale in Hawaii
so it cannot belong in
a pineapple under the sea
pepper spray is hot
at the burning griddle
plankton’s kind collected
searing their flesh
shaping and forming it to be
something edible
pepper spray is not a bear
as they cannot be found in our blue oceans
where our nation innocence
is a star in an armchair

http://dversepoets.com/

 

 

 

counterfeit saints and barefoot dancers

as the snow melts

you open the doorway to onions,

crammed in a pan with cubed steak,

beige dress and apron strings

he saw the wineglass

an ashtray close to full,

he still wondered why she shaved

her pubic hair  into a stripe,

going to piss in the small toilet

a room barely used scented of

kerosene and urinals,

you ok she called

peppermint ice cream tones with

hidden expressions,

scratching beard muttered out a reply

zipped up mind still a conflagration of thought,

i wanted to do an english stew

was your day ok

housewife animated advertising jargon

felt like exploding,

the car would still be warm

engine would start quickly,

murmured almost automatic familiarity

those beech tones just as wooden

full of grain and knots,

fifteen years it was comfortable

not likable settled,

he did not question or ask

just lived as he now did with her,

camus  could of written a diary with  them

in with charlie parker soundtrack,

there was no children

they had not found time,

you could crawl back inside yourself

but that would lead to tears

best left to what was

a grisly fetish

slave and domination

abstract interludes,

snapshots of a smoking buddha

fuck hole sanity,

without that crawling cuckoo

jacket on chair

assembled the winning smile,

she came and kissed

long tongue surrounded his mouth

lips soft journals of praise,

now feeling ok

sat back and spoke as if released

watching her

not knowing her