Submissions by Bunx
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
EROTIC POEM
Published
15th Jul 2013 9:29pm
15th Jul 2013 9:29pm
my try
There she is
in the back of groove,
the beat of the bass drum.
For I am in the rumble in your heart.
Slowly I Hum
in my head to the sound of the
bass. I am playing to hear
soft ears. To see you move
those hips like a dancing
doll, made of skin
not plastic.
I look into her eyes
and let out a little smile then
up I jump up to slam down on the
hard wood ground. This mound of
rock I have built in my soul.
That will not let a girl become
one whole with me, kills.
I want that babe. I want to know
who you...
in the back of groove,
the beat of the bass drum.
For I am in the rumble in your heart.
Slowly I Hum
in my head to the sound of the
bass. I am playing to hear
soft ears. To see you move
those hips like a dancing
doll, made of skin
not plastic.
I look into her eyes
and let out a little smile then
up I jump up to slam down on the
hard wood ground. This mound of
rock I have built in my soul.
That will not let a girl become
one whole with me, kills.
I want that babe. I want to know
who you...
609 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
15th Jul 2013 9:16pm
15th Jul 2013 9:16pm
spam poetry
I would like to type this out on facebook,
but all I get is artistic hate, and trolls
that move like a rook against a soft river stream.
I don't hate you guys, I just want to help.
But middle age men get mad, then make me "melt".
What do I got to say in the name of poetry
to make you all think. That English is not
a thing to throw up in the sink.
So here I go, hope in hand.
posting on this desperation form again.
I hope you understand.
X,
Bunx
but all I get is artistic hate, and trolls
that move like a rook against a soft river stream.
I don't hate you guys, I just want to help.
But middle age men get mad, then make me "melt".
What do I got to say in the name of poetry
to make you all think. That English is not
a thing to throw up in the sink.
So here I go, hope in hand.
posting on this desperation form again.
I hope you understand.
X,
Bunx
438 reads
0 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
3rd Jul 2013 5:05pm
3rd Jul 2013 5:05pm
rock crabs
rock crabs
who has got the crabs?
the rock crabs? stone slabs
slowing rising from the withering earth
below of soft walking carpet.
sweet grass, the finest of smells
going up my nose to cleanse my
sense of right and rock, yea.
the rock crabs.
yaw yaw, singing to and fro
about things i have heard of,
things i do not know. monsters
of the rocks beneath of feet.
just like a rocky character,
you do not want to meet!
so take a seat, and greet
me. and buy me a drink if you will
wait, there it is,
the rock crabs!
who has got the crabs?
the rock crabs? stone slabs
slowing rising from the withering earth
below of soft walking carpet.
sweet grass, the finest of smells
going up my nose to cleanse my
sense of right and rock, yea.
the rock crabs.
yaw yaw, singing to and fro
about things i have heard of,
things i do not know. monsters
of the rocks beneath of feet.
just like a rocky character,
you do not want to meet!
so take a seat, and greet
me. and buy me a drink if you will
wait, there it is,
the rock crabs!
500 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
2nd Jul 2013 00:52am
2nd Jul 2013 00:52am
rofls sinister
I am writing a poem today,
to bad it is July, not May.
I wish I maybe could see the darkness
that reigns wooden spears over a story.
A story that describes life without reason,
who needs reason when you have strife?
that's right with all your might you can't
speak without words.
Edit the words you speak to identify the meek.
rhyme and rhythm is withering like weeping
willows blowing in the soft shade. If you
can speak you can say, but if you don't use
diction to can't write and say.
hey, im rob :) nice to meet you
to bad it is July, not May.
I wish I maybe could see the darkness
that reigns wooden spears over a story.
A story that describes life without reason,
who needs reason when you have strife?
that's right with all your might you can't
speak without words.
Edit the words you speak to identify the meek.
rhyme and rhythm is withering like weeping
willows blowing in the soft shade. If you
can speak you can say, but if you don't use
diction to can't write and say.
hey, im rob :) nice to meet you
582 reads
0 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
1st Jul 2013 10:32pm
1st Jul 2013 10:32pm
First poem on the site
hmmmm, i found a new site!
oh, boy! incredible delight
seeing sight go blind before my eyes.
victim thy name is poetry itself.
nothing else.
victory its name is expression.
this session is me first, but.
not my last, just like a tik tik
hour glass. no sand there just
people in a box.
boxing like a raging bull. not caring
which way to pull. oh gall,
the mole in the room.
Bunx
oh, boy! incredible delight
seeing sight go blind before my eyes.
victim thy name is poetry itself.
nothing else.
victory its name is expression.
this session is me first, but.
not my last, just like a tik tik
hour glass. no sand there just
people in a box.
boxing like a raging bull. not caring
which way to pull. oh gall,
the mole in the room.
Bunx
497 reads
1 Comment
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