BMF's Urban Hang Suite

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Swinging by to say hi and to wish you a fuxable Friday! ;) I think it's safe to confess that I do love being woken up like that in mornings, but then who doesn't? :devil: :)

Have a wicked weekend B. :kiss:

Hmm..I already have my passport....
 
Lol. How are you BB?

I'm good, trying to decide if I should move this vase of flowers in the lounge into the kitchen as it is not doing my sinuses any good....it is threatening to make me sneeze for the next millennium. I love flowers but they don't love me. :(:rolleyes:

How's yourself?
 
I'm good, trying to decide if I should move this vase of flowers in the lounge into the kitchen as it is not doing my sinuses any good....it is threatening to make me sneeze for the next millennium. I love flowers but they don't love me. :(:rolleyes:

How's yourself?

I'm good. Enjoying a spurt of creativity. Lol
 
A New Song I'm working on

Addictive

I tend to think about you nightly
Fingers wrapped around tightly
Strokes coming with great urgency
Imagining you laying close to me.
Wondering the way your body works
And if my nibbles might make your body jerk
And if your nipples might begin to perk
When my tongue puts in its special work.

Something about you
Is making me want to
Consume you
And I gotta have you
I just gotta have you
Its so true..that

Chorus:
I'm so addicted, I'm so addicted to you
I can't believe (can't believe) that you're
My love fantasy
You're my exctasy

I'm working on the rest. lol
 
Whaddaya say, BMF? I haven't been very poetic lately, but I feel one coming on. Jus letting y'all know I'm still alive :D
 
In pleasure…In pain

In pleasure…In pain

Hands caress supple orb
unblemished skin
silken feel
innocence plucked
welts raised
nipple buds
orgasm blossoms.


Fingers trail down belly’s plain.


Touching moistened lips,
a camel’s toe.
Scooping honey from the comb,
and forgetting why they’ve come.

Strike one: resolve shakes;

Strike three: the dam breaks;



Strike fourteen: orgasm blooms;

Strike fifteen: I’m in love.
 
Fine Wine

You were created to be sipped, not slurped.
Held high and admired
Your body not made to be torn, but observed
As your form moves lithely across marble floors
You slide down easily
Creating warmth as you traverse the length of my mind
Slipping silently into my consciousness
And making me drunk.

You make my limbs heavy, eyes alight with flame
Perfectly still, noticing how you work,
How you move
Dancing without trying, your very words are a waltz
You sparkle like fine wine
Available, yet not obtainable by the usual means
Your price tag expensive,
Yet your make up...priceless.

You are to be sipped and savored.
Your flavor is honor, your words make me ponder
And I watch you exist with great wonder...
You go down easy,
The burn feels like heaven
Then you settle, and now I can't forget you.
My drink of choice.
You're the top shelf stuff...
Many want, but few can handle you like fine wine.

You were made to be sipped, not slurped.
 
The Birth of BMF

Pain and brokenness,
Rejection, grief, and shame
The outcast, cast into the light
Without so much as a name.
Striving in life to be upright
Below the surface simmers tremors
Rage uprooting conventions
When I mention sex, things seem perfect.
Placing myself on the back burner..
Yeah, I might turn you on
I might make you leak and wet
You might gush, and turn to mush and such
But it came out of hardship.
Rejection.
Circumstances ripe for creation of an essence.
BMF born..
Romeo past dead.
No longer any filter for the shit roaming around in my head.
No longer keeping conventions
The randomness starts now
No sympathy, no compassion for me...
Just let my pen begin its assault on society.
BMF, Black Man Finding himself through all the mess
That his head can never forget.
BMF, Black Man Fux with what people think is normal
Screwing up right and wrong, up and down
Creating a new day, where the night rules supreme.
BMF, born minus filter...
Existing from a big bang of shit storms
And teasing,
Tears wrung from sheets,
Abandonment never ceasing...
But I'm here...and I'm not.
I'm not.
 
The Death of BMF

The revolution will not be televised, it’s being watched already
The programming is constant, Gil Scott, we miss you.
The narrative is steady, yet we never seem quite ready
Relations sullied horribly, like out futile economy.
Our currency is hatred, baiting people with comedy
Into thinking about society that way that it ought to be
When actually, our charity should merely speak for itself
Instead of storing heartbeats all alone on a shelf.
Where is the humanity?
Consumed with lust and longing,
Being wanton as we sell out for sex, drugs, and microphony
Criticizing politics, when we were the ones who elected
Forgetting to support the officials,
Its official…
We’re a sick, sick nation, the world laughs and shames us
Debt ceiling so high, China’s dagger is running through us
Education lacking, learning has gone packing since the early days
More obsessed with making it big,
Than lifting up our neighbors.
Selfishly living for the moment,
Refusing to own the future, disillusioned youth
Merely conduits for ruin.
How can we remedy when such sickness invades the air
The revolution much be ingrained
It must take birth there.

See, I can see myself, I’m as guilty as the next one
Writing about love when
In much of reality there is none.
Musing about sex, lines dripping oils and exstacy,
Content to live away from the real things that keep plaguing me.
But then my heart checked me,
My ears cut on the radio…
The screams seem incessant, my eyes bleed from the radio
Seeing what our children are subjected too on tv shows
A nation of gluttons, getting fat
Now knowing where to go.
I’ve been the hoe, the whore, the harlot
I’ve sold out for personal gain
Now in the rain I’m shouting about injustice when I can.
And for this very reason, felling very bereft
I’m writing my own eulogy
This is about my own death.

A product born of hurt pain and longing,
Withdrawn from character
Searching to be filled by the skin
Captured by relics and reminiscing
About the golden days as if my life is now over
Running around the yard, digging up bones
Call me Rover.
But now those days are over
No more turning the cold shoulder
No more squashing the mole hills –turned mountains
With cold boulders..
Stumbling over dead bodies,
People mute with no advocates
I’m opening the jail cell, everybody’s free
Let’s start living.
For my part, I’m giving this life
Living with more effort
The revolution is symbolic of reviving the true relics.
No more content to be oblivious
Leaving behind myself
I hereby announce
The demise of BMF.
 
Oi! The Birth and Death of BMF? You trying to send some subliminal message or what?

Anyways, hope you had a fuxable weekend. :)
 
:eek: What a powerful statement: The Death of BMF!!! Are you planning to take up the battle cry where Gil Scott Heron left it?

Lyrical! Bold! Uncompromising! Evocative!

(((APPLAUSE)))
 
So, BMF is going away. I probably won't be posting in here under that name anymore. See you soon when I get some things in order. Lol.
 
Can anybody post in here or is it just the OP's thread for getting his poetry out there?
 
Anyone can post.
The OP isn't even around anymore.
He was a good guy and will be missed.

BTW Welcome to Lit.
Have fun and Be safe.
 
So, BMF is going away. I probably won't be posting in here under that name anymore. See you soon when I get some things in order. Lol.

Hugs and kisses to one of the sweetest men out there. BMF, you will be missed. Change is sometimes an inescapable part of life and I wish you well in your new endeavours:kiss::rose:
 
So, BMF is going away. I probably won't be posting in here under that name anymore. See you soon when I get some things in order. Lol.

BOOOOOO! :( At least you gave your best to come back here to have fun again...but will sure look out for you when you're reborn like the Phoenix! ;):D
 
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