Poem Post - "Bumping Uglies (Consensual Lines on Sex)"

In a world in which all

Proverbial cogs are

Lubed with industrial KY,

Dripping with the foul raw stench of sexuality,

Am I wrong for reaching for the

Warm wet-wipe and hot towelette,

Or the porcelain phone?

Often it feels as though a

Scaly, dark engorgement is being

Forcibly inched turgid

Down my non-consensual

Spasming gullet,

Choking me blue with

Throbbing ignominious desires,

For the mundane, the profane,

The commercial,

As I wide-eyed claw for terrified air:

Buy this watch.

You'll have great sex

- Or at least be able time yourself.

Lightly spritzed in perfumed delights,

Designed by pop stars

You'll smell all the better for sex!

The clothes, the car,

The come-fulfill-me tinsel

With which we

Lavishly adorn ourselves,

In which pre-pubescents parade;

All the better for

Pounding hard-on up to

Fellatial summits and across

Sensual plateaus,

(Where everyone is fabulous),

To slake the lip-cracked thirst

For bestial congress.

Animalian weildings above the din,

The flailing of tears,

The betrayal of flesh,

The heaving of rain onto

Indelible hearts and

Saddened, eternally ungratified sheets...

The next day?

The half-denied concessions

Half-brushed almost aside,

Framing Platonic differential

With tomorrow's sadness.

The black-worm ambrosia

Wiped afresh from our chins,

We shuffle back to it,

Aware in our gardens of

A vacant space

Where something fertile

Used to reside, but now

Abject lies in the

Half-truth-half-light of

Morning's shadow,

Like a long-depotted plant's

Sill-sought stain.

Nevermind.

We hide resentment

From downcast eyes,

For knowing that the little death

Shot the messenger,

In their chalk outline

We see all too clearly, all too late:

Interned to gag on fetid bait!

Yet still I crave and burn, irate.

Use your sex wisely!

People treat people as if

Something more than genitals

Will ever be found in the

Yawning chasm between

Spread legs and closed minds.

Yet like ice to Eskimos we

Gobble frozen fallacies

- Spit them out children!

As the rising protuberant swell of the

Rich and powerful invade, their

Endless mascaras,

Fanciful creams and

Cherry-lipped enticements

Numb overwrought senses.

We all pay for sex now.

iCrave and iThrob, iRate!

To buy into the lie

Of corporeal station

We pucker up in great queues,

Pressing palm-slickened wads

From desperate trembling hands

To kiss vulgar brown rings!

The swooning Twitterati will

Soon enough be

Laid prostrate,

End to end,

Top to Bottom,

Penetrating the

Fog of neutral antipathy which

Hugs the ground of the

Suck-seeding day.

Far easier will it then be

To poke out our eyes and

Skull-fuck us over:

Perpetual endless oscillations:

iCrave, iThrob, iSate.

iRepeat -

iSate, iCrave, iThrob...

© J.J. Bardsley aka The Dharma-Farmer

November 2014

*POEM POST* - "Lost in my Head (with The Negative Fuck)"

Twitter-twatter's chitter-chatter
Sometimes leaves me feeling flattened
Under a tumult of
Ponderous turds;

The neurotics, psychotics and

The poets in turn

Are all having a go at 

Expressing the souls 

And I do what I do, 

As and when I feel bold.

But all their saccharine verses 

Congeal in the ear 

Their sad hearts seem filled 

With black honey, not tears. 

But I'm tongue-tired and cynical, 

Long in the tooth

Through negligent dental care

Stoned in my youth. 

Bitter and jealous, 

Always pointing the finger

Dark forces arise, and 

They don't so much linger

As waltz into my head 

Like an old family friend,

Availing themselves of 

The Master Suite bed:

The wine in my cellar,

My slippers.

The lot.

And then fuck off home suddenly

For a wallet forgot.

It's puzzling and weird when I read back my verse

Malevolent scrawls as if under a curse

For who's spell I so 

Fervently wish I could break;

Like a fairy princess from a coma awake

And walk up to the door

Welcome in different guests:

An inner robustness and 

Smile that attests

To a new resolution

To escale Eency's Spout

And whatever the weather 

Feel loved from without

I've been to a place

Of a stillness so kind 

And I know alone 

How it feels in my mind

So although it's not always how I wish it could be 

I forget that the secondary suffering is ME

Simply heaping it on with industrial machines

Getting lost in my head of critique and dark dreams.

At times my mind's rent a 

surreal and sad space 

And in spite of the blockers and levellers I take,

I still lock myself in 

to be sure, to be safe...

That I cannot harm others or 

fuck up their lives.

I recall Robin Williams alone. 

And I cry...

It's too easy you see

To get angry at dreams and 

The vain prophesy

I espoused as a teen, 

But flat-out on the canvas

With the count going up

I still know I'll gain not

From The Negative Fuck

Who at times grabs 

The Cat-o-Nine, 

Salt and the limes

And splashes and slashes 

This raw brain of mine... 

"Who took life for granted

And pissed on his luck?

This is what you deserve!"

Fuck The Negative Fuck!

So I'll put down the trowel,

Stop piling pain on, 

(As there no coming last 

In the race left un-run)

Stagger back to my feet

Stumble into the Sun

Because whatever the weft 

Of this life that you've spun,

If your reading this now

It could be so much worse,

And whether by Heaven or 

Starlight on Earth

Your death can't be stopped

Any more than your birth:

So perhaps shrug and smile,

Have a wank?

©The Dharma-Farmer 

Oct 19th 2014