Posts Tagged ‘David Mac’


 

Morning Horny

You wake up so horny

You want to hump

Something

Anything

And you want the hump to go on forever

To never stop

To blow fast

To last

This great effort, this

Sexy hump

 

But your bed’s empty

And you’re all alone

And your hand looks at you

You swear it’s giving you the eye

 

 

So you smile back

 

***

 

Words In Use

I hope your

poetic is

deep wet

and wide.

 

I hope you under

stand.

 

My poetic

is

hard and

male.

 

There is

no

 

loss,

 

and

 

no love

 

***

 

I wanna come back as your tight black skirt

I wanna come back as your tight black skirt

I wanna feel your bend and

move and

sway

I wanna know your shape,

your figure,

your curves

your outline

and feel you

really feel you

your body hot and potent

your body full and ripe

your weight pushing against me

pressing down on me

ready to split and burst

at the seams

I wanna come back as your tight black skirt

and understand you

the woman in you

explained

the sex that you are

like you haven’t got a clue

 

 

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Kite or Cunt

High as a kite
or
low as a cunt,

it’s the in-between that makes life so hard to live.

My Sad Drooping Poem

And this room gets colder as
I think of all the shags I lost, who
got away, who
pulled up their knickers and
said nothing,
disappointment and silence
in their pretty eyes.
But I’m drunk and
feeling empty
once more.
‘I chose beer over you, dear!’
‘I chose another wine, this time!’
I couldn’t get IT up,
whatever IT is,
and
I’m a lover,
not a fucker,
I just lay and belch,
I don’t say I’m sorry,
I’d never say that.
I have Jane Austen in my soul!
I am too sensitive for you!
‘Hey, see if you can get HARD
with Jane Austen in your soul,
huh?’
But so what, babe,
a climax is a split-second bliss,
like a bit of madness,
and anyway,
this poem
has already gone on
longer than that,
and some might say
long enough…

Try This

There’s no more jokes
about your face, about
your weight or your
inky eyes.

There’s no more light
on us, on where we
used to be, the place
we used to exist.

Our miracles are dumb and
only for us. You see we
don’t perform much
anymore.

But use your oils,
paint sunflowers,
cut off an ear and
give it to me.

Has that been done
before? I was only
trying to be
romantic.

Maybe just wrap your lips
around my life and

think of something
good to say.

Think of something
good.


The Cunt is a Cunt

 

The cunt never stops

it don’t shut up

 

The cunt keeps on

screaming in my mind

 

The cunt keeps snarling

from between thighs

 

it keeps whispering

beneath dresses

 

The cunt is rude and angry

all day long

 

It mocks and laughs and

hisses my name

 

It coughs and spits and

belches and swears

 

It needs to be fed to

make it smile

 

Yep, the cunt plays

on my mind

 

But I should learn to

stand up to bullies

 

 

Cock Alarm

 

The kids had drawn a large cock and bollocks

Down in the street on the pavement
Somehow with a can of cola or
Something
It had stayed and had been there
For a week in the sun

And they’d giggle at me when I came down to put my

Empty beer cans in the recycle bin
‘What you drinking today?’ they’d mock
‘The world’ I’d usually reply

Someone had told me that the Romans used to

Build or make images of penises to
Point the direction of where there were some
At least it wasn’t pointing up here

And my smoke detector had been beeping once

Every hour for the past two days
I sat and sipped my beer and wondered

I was certain that I was not burning

Or even on fire
But lately I couldn’t be so sure

 

Singular

 

Most couples you see go by

Man and woman

Boy and girl

Have either

Tried to fuck

Have fucked

Or do fuck

 

Most couples you see

On their way home

Have just that one thing in mind

 

Or is it just me?