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When the nights get dark and empty
Posted:Dec 5, 2019 11:34 pm
Last Updated:Dec 5, 2019 11:37 pm
27 Views
My partners away till Saturday and I’m getting bored and restless without her around. I I have attempted come up with a creative solution that will address both the absence of my partner and also the significant lowering of the room’s ambient noise coefficient.
So I basically got a soft toy and attached an iPhone to its head. Next I opened the camera roll and put my partners on the screen. I chose address the auditory factors by going onto YouTube on the phone and putting on a 10 hour video of ”trol lol lol“. If I get sick of that I plan to swap it out for ”chocolate rain”. I’m starting to think that this tiny little cute effigy works well and is way less maintenance than my partner.
0 Comments
Your picture was declined
Posted:Dec 5, 2019 5:35 pm
Last Updated:Dec 5, 2019 11:22 pm
185 Views
I’m so sick of getting that email from site admin.
They restrict what you can post and how you can post it ,
Constantly looking over your shoulder ,
And that they get all precious about not letting people go off and chat somewhere else where They can swap audio files and pictures of the pets and shit like that .
Site admin is wearing very thin

Go on decline this picture
I double dare ya
3 Comments
An Autobiographical Poem
Posted:Dec 5, 2019 12:28 pm
Last Updated:Dec 6, 2019 10:6 am
43 Views
The quiet house

Voices in the empty kitchen.
“I’m leaving”
“What?”
“Tomorrow”
“no..”
dancing fingers,
and her music
Fades in the empty corner
where once her piano stood.
Garlic and coriander sizzle in a pan,
curry from a jar.
The fridge,
the one I wanted,
the bigger one with more room,
I hear it’s door swing open
and the little light turns on.
There’s a birthday cake in there,
and caramelised butternut snaps on a plate.
Distant voices sing Happy Birthday,
and I remember finding the candles,
hidden under the brown paper lunch order bags
in the bottom drawer.

A squeaking black marker,
held in the shadow of a tiny hand,
and I can smell it’s nail polish perfume as she writes,
“one hot with sauce
and a chocolate milk”
We add the prices up together.

And from the bathroom,
I hear the toilet roll rattle.
like a bell it summons a memory
of patting her little bottom dry,
and she, looking up at me
all smiles.

I hear the front gate click.
School shoes tap tap tapping on the concrete path,
and I wait for a knock.

There’s a shoebox on the empty bookcase,
A door and window cut from it’s cardboard,
“Fairy house” it says
And inside is a tiny piece of chocolate wrapped in a tissue.
I hear a lullaby in the spare room
“Goodnight my fairy princess.
Sweet dreams my fairy girl”
A slumbering memory curled up in a cold, empty bed,
I stand in the doorway for one last look before I myself, turn in.

And I remember her mother’s hands strong and tanned,
our fingers intertwined.
Three short squeezes meant
“I love you”
and we fancied that that would be our code
should either of us ever lay
speechless and helpless in a hospital bed.

Now I lie here in the dark,
on the bed her parents bought us.
Ghost gone memories play.
And I remember the words,
written in texta by a tiny hand.
“Happy last night here, mum” they said

next morning,
they were gone.
One skipped with excitement,
the other carried a suitcase.
They never looked back.
In a quiet house,
I dust all the stuff they left behind,
and in the silence
I hear them whispering,
“We’ve gone to a better place.”
0 Comments
An Autobiographical Poem
Posted:Dec 5, 2019 12:27 pm
Last Updated:Dec 5, 2019 5:08 pm
17 Views
The quiet house

Voices in the empty kitchen.
“I’m leaving”
“What?”
“Tomorrow”
“no..”
dancing fingers,
and her music
Fades in the empty corner
where once her piano stood.
Garlic and coriander sizzle in a pan,
curry from a jar.
The fridge,
the one I wanted,
the bigger one with more room,
I hear it’s door swing open
and the little light turns on.
There’s a birthday cake in there,
and caramelised butternut snaps on a plate.
Distant voices sing Happy Birthday,
and I remember finding the candles,
hidden under the brown paper lunch order bags
in the bottom drawer.

A squeaking black marker,
held in the shadow of a tiny hand,
and I can smell it’s nail polish perfume as she writes,
“one hot with sauce
and a chocolate milk”
We add the prices up together.

And from the bathroom,
I hear the toilet roll rattle.
like a bell it summons a memory
of patting her little bottom dry,
and she, looking up at me
all smiles.

I hear the front gate click.
School shoes tap tap tapping on the concrete path,
and I wait for a knock.

There’s a shoebox on the empty bookcase,
A door and window cut from it’s cardboard,
“Fairy house” it says
And inside is a tiny piece of chocolate wrapped in a tissue.
I hear a lullaby in the spare room
“Goodnight my fairy princess.
Sweet dreams my fairy girl”
A slumbering memory curled up in a cold, empty bed,
I stand in the doorway for one last look before I myself, turn in.

And I remember her mother’s hands strong and tanned,
our fingers intertwined.
Three short squeezes meant
“I love you”
and we fancied that that would be our code
should either of us ever lay
speechless and helpless in a hospital bed.

Now I lie here in the dark,
on the bed her parents bought us.
Ghost gone memories play.
And I remember the words,
written in texta by a tiny hand.
“Happy last night here, mum” they said

next morning,
they were gone.
One skipped with excitement,
the other carried a suitcase.
They never looked back.
In a quiet house,
I dust all the stuff they left behind,
and in the silence
I hear them whispering,
“We’ve gone to a better place.”
0 Comments
One of my paintings
Posted:Dec 2, 2019 7:17 pm
Last Updated:Dec 4, 2019 9:45 am
182 Views
Is the painting I did for mambo. It’s a psycho clown.
I hope you like it
2 Comments
I got tiger blood man lol
Posted:Dec 2, 2019 7:14 pm
Last Updated:Dec 4, 2019 7:58 pm
185 Views
Here’s a drawing I did of Charlie Sheen
Hope you like it
1 comment
Another one of my poems for you
Posted:Dec 2, 2019 7:00 pm
Last Updated:Dec 6, 2019 10:6 am
173 Views

Sexualhumility

Hindsight
Hung like a

With her eyes.

He sees…
his dirty nails.
unpainted house,
Grimey car.

He hears
Conceit
Where pride once rang.
Boffin turned buffoon
Doyan now a dick
Karaoke confidence
Once he sang

Food turned to love
He tastes…
inadequacys tang
Wasabi humiliation
bitterness and
Bland textureless impotency
Flaccid vegetable love
Celery stalk
rubbery
She takes care of the cheque

With her hands
He feels His cock
Once erect
Now
Like ego
Deflated
His hopes of throbbing red flesh
Barely can raise
an…
Aubergine blush of shame

Beneath him She lays
All beddy and
Open mind,
Open legs
Lovefood full
she Yearns for
The hard cock of her man
And he
Though taller than she
Is the one who comes up short

With pathetic optimism
He grinds his pelvis
Hard against hers
Soft cock humiliation
The tiny tip
Of his three inch warhead
Flops and Flaps
launchcodes lost

Her craving cunt
Remembers the full feeling
Of A mans hard cock

Like love
Empty, wanting
And unsatisfied
It cools,
grows dead root cold.

Once sizzling and wet with hope
Now cryogenically frozen
It waits…
memories
Root rat ready
Hard cocks lined up
Jets of jism
They Did Cascade
like a Ticker tape parade

She’d had it made…
0 Comments
The story of a trip to the op shop
Posted:Dec 2, 2019 6:57 pm
Last Updated:Dec 3, 2019 7:57 pm
243 Views

I feel pretty

I was opp-shopping one Saturday afternoon, maybe 20 years ago. Probably looking for novels, maybe some records or something. Back then, I always checked to see if they had any Levi’s for cheap after I finished looking through the books, and this one day… The men’s jeans, merged into the women’s jeans, and they suddenly became the women’s tops, and then I started to look at the women’s dresses.
When I looked at the dresses, I could feel a tension in my chest. I felt a tightness, and it became kind of awkward to breathe.
I started to flick through the coathangers looking at the styles and colours. And when I felt the soft fabrics with my fingertips, my heart started to throb in my chest and I felt a rush of a feeling that was indescribable.
It crossed my mind to one and take it home… god there was no way I’d do that. But then I stopped at a dress that had a halterneck. I imagined tying the halter straps in a bow behind my neck, and I decided it had to happen for real.
So I went straight to the counter, bought it and took it home. And then in my quiet bedroom, I slid the cool fabric over my naked body and tied the halter collar behind my neck. Such intense beautiful feelings. Such arousal and excitement and joy.
……… I still have that dress.
1 comment
Another poem for you
Posted:Dec 2, 2019 6:51 pm
Last Updated:Dec 6, 2019 10:6 am
173 Views

Flights of fancy

In a dream inside a dream we have a brain.
It thinks and dreams and we this the mind.
Thoughts are stored and then recalled again.
In networks they're connected and refined.

With lexicons we weave a veil of lace,
and through it see the world as we pretend.
Reality and truth we then replace.
Flights of fancy now we must defend.
0 Comments
A poem I wrote
Posted:Dec 2, 2019 6:49 pm
Last Updated:Dec 6, 2019 10:6 am
173 Views

The quiet house

The Quiet House
by Rod

Voices in the empty kitchen.
“I’m leaving”
“What?”
“Tomorrow”
“no..”
dancing fingers,
and her music
Fades in the empty corner
where once her piano stood.
Garlic and coriander sizzle in a pan,
curry from a jar.
The fridge,
the one I wanted,
the bigger one with more room,
I hear it’s door swing open
and the little light turns on.
There’s a birthday cake in there,
and caramelised butternut snaps on a plate.
Distant voices sing Happy Birthday,
and I remember finding the candles,
hidden the brown paper lunch order bags
in the bottom drawer.

A squeaking black marker,
held in the shadow of a tiny hand,
and I can smell it’s nail polish perfume as she writes,
“one with sauce
and a chocolate milk”
We add the prices up together.

And from the bathroom,
I hear the toilet roll rattle.
like a bell it summons a memory
of patting her little bottom dry,
and she, looking up at me
all smiles.

I hear the front gate click.
shoes tap tap tapping on the concrete path,
and I wait for a knock.

There’s a shoebox on the empty bookcase,
A door and window cut from it’s cardboard,
“Fairy house” it says
And inside is a tiny piece of chocolate wrapped in a tissue.
I hear a lullaby in the spare room
“Goodnight my fairy princess.
Sweet dreams my fairy ”
A slumbering memory curled up in a cold, empty bed,
I stand in the doorway for one last before I myself, turn in.

And I remember her ’s hands strong and tanned,
our fingers intertwined.
Three short squeezes meant
“I love you”
and we fancied that that would be our code
should either of us ever lay
speechless and helpless in a hospital bed.

Now I lie here in the dark,
on the bed her parents bought us.
Ghost gone memories play.
And I remember the words,
written in texta by a tiny hand.
“Happy last night here, mum” they said

next morning,
they were gone.
One skipped with excitement,
the other carried a suitcase.
They never looked back.
In a quiet house,
I dust all the stuff they left behind,
and in the silence
I hear them whispering,
“We’ve gone to a better place.”
0 Comments

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Most Recent Comments by Others

Post Poster Post Date
Your picture was declined (4)HAMONMAN
Dec 5, 2019 11:07 pm
One of my paintings (2)pocogato12
Dec 3, 2019 8:07 am
I got tiger blood man lol (1)japaneseass
Dec 3, 2019 7:46 am
The story of a trip to the op shop (2)PAWAPh
Dec 2, 2019 7:04 pm