Sunday, 30 October 2011

Sticky Toffee (2002)



(Hate Truth, & Lies Are All You’ll Have)


Let’s drink to minge that’s sticky-sweet:
Secretions’ toffee flavored;
With tongues that mouthe round ev’ry treat
On stretch-meat that we’ve savored.

Full wanton each conceiving pose
For which two bodies couple;
Climaxing plunge she’s steady as she goes
In form’s moving - infinitely supple.

But while my mind lets yours distend
Your pudend self bisects;
Prick’s blood stands-up right on its end;
Always liking what it respects.

Your body’s pride is much too tough:
It omits the porn’s-eye view;
Emanates this fur-lined animal muff:
Hiding pleasures in store for two.

This book you write’s a haggard face:
Tells ev’ry hard-won tale;
So there’s really no cause for moral disgrace
In intertwinings’ human scale.

Lacking your greater, deeper gift:
Are crude-soft parts-of-speech;
My lips seal-up your brighter, darker rift
With words that no thought bleach.

So forget you now from all those creeps:
Whose affection is unknown;
For truth is all the reward you reaps
From my seeds that you have sown.



Copyright © 2011 Frank TALKER. Permission granted to reproduce and distribute it in any format; provided that mention of the author’s Weblog (http://poetryftalker.blogspot.com/) is included: E-mail notification requested. All other rights reserved. Frank TALKER is also the author of Sweaty Socks: A Treatise on the Inevitability of Toe Jam in Hot Weather (East Cheam Press: Groper Books, 1997) and is University of Bullshit Professor Emeritus of Madeupology.

Sunday, 17 April 2011

Burying the Bone

The proud young bitch must be adored
while panting in the sun;
So - admire the pelt in which she's pored
or she won't give you one.

She hides her pleasure's winning grace
for fear of noise - too much;
She wonders at your blood-red face
when cumming in her crutch.

And she likes long legs - so strong and smooth
for cellulite to cheat;
A nice tight cunt could so improve
her prestige on the street.

For she's loving gossip - such a lot -
'bout lads without their kits;
Oh! How she aches for well-filled twot;
comparing boyfriends' bits.

So, she hopes her arsecheeks aren't too big
when sat upon her thigh;
She loves those tits - so pert - to jig
and poke you in each eye.

And she's shaving armpits' fuzzy hair;
not liking her young sweat:
Bikini-line that's cut with care
to trap you in her net.

And that bulging stomach - she don't need -
for fear that blokes might mock;
Unhappy with her pussy's bleed
when stretched on some guy's cock.

Now! There's acned spots - that make her cross -
and hair that's dull 'n' lank;
But, youthful dogs don't give a toss
you are better than a wank!



Copyright © 2011 Frank TALKER. Permission granted to reproduce and distribute it in any format; provided that mention of the author’s Weblog (http://poetryftalker.blogspot.com/) is included: E-mail notification requested. All other rights reserved. Frank TALKER is also the author of Sweaty Socks: A Treatise on the Inevitability of Toe Jam in Hot Weather (East Cheam Press: Groper Books, 1997) and is University of Bullshit Professor Emeritus of Madeupology.