Bantering with Octagons

The sea of life and the ripple effect

You know life is a long journey
full of pitfalls and pitstops
sometimes we get carried away by the tide that is life
and we also often float along, come what may
buoy my arms get tired every now and then
trying to swim against the current
 
dedicated to Wainui

a fallen tide
the smell of flat seaweed
over barnacles

The passing year
scallops
echo my brief life
how much longer
asks
the moon on the water

escaped the nets,
escaped the ropes--
tells the kingfisher to the seahorse


gazing into the tidal pool
a paunamu..
 
tidal pools glisten
crustaceans crawl
the xxx girl brings smiles to us all

frame the barnacled kingfisher
avast avast
ye be a bitchin' treat tonight, i say
 
afloat on surfrhythm
breathe in, breathe out
join in the kelpsway
drift in, drift out
surrender to riptide
tide in, tide out
 
rhythm...
every step

pattern..
each hurt

reach out...
no one’s hand but mine

dark mist’s enraptured sigh,
swirls, sings
is the dawn’s first inkling cry!

lets to go then ..you and !
said the tortoise to the sky
 
you banter
here
and only
here
and only
one place else.

threadbared intellects
pour crimson
welcome mats
for you
not to thread upon...

and you have not.

becoming more
each day
you are less.
 
they
treasured the obvious
before even
the gel
had hardened.

she ate it with a bowie knife;
eliciting hiss-hahs
from the red men in attendance.

but for her,
it was not enough.

she glared steam.
they backed away,
as the
spinster's army
buttered the tire chunks.

there were
so many
more to feed.
and they knew it!
 
No one knows
when they die
ghosts, spirits, friendly or foe
where anyone goes
till they RIP with a forwarding address.
 
Mark the music... Into the main of waters. music! hark!

Lark and spark!

QUARK!

No one knows or do they, they do? Do they do they do be do be do? One banters with steam at their own risk and therefore it might be preferable to get lost in the fog. Unless there is a bog in the fog. That wouldn't do. No no no.

SPLAT.
 
HOLD ON MAMA!
Where you going with that dildo in hand?

I'm talking dedicated phosphorescent manual orgasms of the moonlit variety.

Yeah - you know what I'm saying.

Don't you?
 
sorgham
sorgham
sorgham pi
.

mush-filled question mark
rotisseried for
moist-headed contemplation.

she lobbied
to be post-tied
then
molested accordingly
.

as the seats filled,
chattering excited hush...
he pondered the equipment.

she would want the prendergast
but
what she wanted
was the game.

he'd start with the
motor-launch.
 
everything is possible
with an excited, chattering bush

clang overboard
like a dike breached
find the bush
chatter
excite

winter is coming like a pall
dark wash of eerie deadness
 
I was highly confused
Impossible I said
How not following
was I misled
I have not posted
in far far too long
So with a nod and a wave
To all I say, s'long.
 
underlying niceties
have never
underlied you.

that ugly,
purple tinge
dyed everything
you had ever seen.

self image
as well.

it
is not
nice
.



.
 
Nice nice very nice
Its not impossible
Mission
Mamababylove
Launch it launch it - yo launch it
Not at all like Ice-9
 
Self image

I caught my reflection recently
What caught my eye was my many laugh lines
They haven't appeared yet.
But I'm expecting them.
And welcome them I truly will.
There are many when they're could have been few
I'm glad I choose to mostly laugh instead of boohoo

Tissues are slightly expensive but laughter and smiles are free.
I'm only 36 but when the wrinkles appear?
I'll know they are part of life and who I am.

PS My vagina isn't stinky nor does it smell like tuna (My post doesn't rhyme nor is it prose) so I guess, even though I slightly digress that I'm kinda keeping this thread on track. :) In it's own different way.
 
I'd go so far to say that it would be illegal to post any vagina in the mail, let alone a quality one. Even for christmas and all.
 
the
traditional preparation
had not
prepared
us for
the climactic
sploosh...

nonetheless;
good scouts
never
leave a trace.

with salt,
and a decent hot sauce,
sploosh soaked irony
goes down
like
a vegas pro...
 
salt irony below the lifeline
serve tender dimples in red

sketch a surge
melt a breath
rise skittering beneath

catch the balloon wafting lazily over the river
for summer days are far away
 
Tranquil callow breeze.
Saffron foxfire sun.
The gurgling stream wakes the forest
Waiting to bury in warm sand
toes out to the sun
 
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