stir for me please oh poetry

like how in any given
blessed name of heaven
or the heavens could a gent
handle a harem? Sure the concept
is juicy and incense
chokes as though vision is
a painting, frozen, as opposed

to constant, silken, pulsations,
and rambling tent to tent,
unwrapping linen presents
on top of linen presents, fingers
easing open dewy
veil after dewy veil,
sunup, sundown; some lucky bastard

would have to have no other duties,
no silly
callings to societal
obligations; even figuring in
refractory phases
a stanza might be able
to blossom, well, what brief
refractory phases they’d be


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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