may your clouds be always fluffy
may your fruits be ever fresh
may your tests not all be toughies
may mozzies* be stopped by mesh
may your holidays be jolly
may your sleeps be peaceful too
may your dreams not end up folly
may you never get the flu
happy may!
*mosquitoes
you wind me up
and hold me
you let me go
i fall
and spin
and hit bottom
and wonder
if you’ll jerk me back up
or leave me dangling
while i wait to find out
i’ll just walk the dog
Oh woe is me
as I sit here
in a puddle of spilled tea.
My hot ass
is by far hotter
than it was but five minutes past.
And just as I
was about to walk
out the door on a date with a guy.
His ass was hotter
than mine yesterday
but now, alas, my hotpants are no better than a blotter.
Oh woe is me
I must get changed
into beige-ly boring cloth, and sadly covered knees.
Author’s Notes:
1. Some characters fall easily into poetry. The sadder they are, the faster they fall, in my experience.
2. I have no plans to write Adult Content fiction pieces for this challenge, but it happens, and it’s sometimes beyond my control if I’m to remain authentic to my muse. I will place a warning in the title of those posts which fall under the AC category.
eyes closed
the music falls in patterned beats
from my fingertips
to the page
and when i feel you near
the breath of your aura
melting together with mine
in a rainbow of swirling energy
i smile
knowing that no matter what,
through life and through death,
you are with me,
the music that sustains me.
The quixotic man quotes
from ye olde text
of a quivering maiden
about to execute a virginal leap of faith
into the arms of her lover
but the quibbler quickly points out
her lover is not yet
her lover if she is still
a quivering virgin.
The quixotic man
quells his urge
to quarrel, knowing
the quibbler can quite annoyingly
never be quieted.
Author’s Notes:
1. There are times when poetry seems easier than prose. I suppose it flows better, depending on the subject.
2. I have no plans to write Adult Content fiction pieces for this challenge, but it happens, and it’s sometimes beyond my control if I’m to remain authentic to my muse. I will place a warning in the title of those posts which fall under the AC category.
all this cloak and dagger stuff
you love to play with your friends
around a raucous game board
with your milk and cookies;
you don’t fool me
i know when I leave the room, the beer comes out
and the music with the naughty lyrics
all that teenager stuff
perfected by a bunch of grown men.
none of you fool me
‘coz I set up the cameras
and rigged the board with a mic
because you see, i’m worse than you:
i’ve got nothing better to do.
when we met, i fell in love
with you immediately
your cherry red-painted lips
held me captive;
the way they slid
across your smile
and caressed your speech
though i couldn’t hear what you said
from across the room
i had to have those lips
pressed against mine
but you wouldn’t have me
would you?
your lips scorned me
and your body turned away
and i had no recourse
none at all
but to follow you home…
here in your room i hear you breathe
a staccato of sobs as i
squeeze your scarf around
your porcelain throat
and i think
(since you’d taken it off)
i’ll paint your lips once again
that glistening cherry red
so i’ll have no need to see them
the dusky blue
of your sunset moment
Author’s Notes:
1. My torture scenes go back to my Stephen King roots; reading horror was such a forbidden teenage pleasure. I have a classic love/hate relationship with my evilest characters.
2. I have no plans to write Adult Content fiction pieces for this challenge, but it happens, and it’s sometimes beyond my control if I’m to remain authentic to my muse. I will place a warning in the title of those posts which fall under the AC category.
it’s the poem of all poems
the penultimate penned piece
where the damsel withers
within her lonely turret
while the prince races hither
to smite the beast
and finally to claim his bride
as he breaks her fall
only his legs are crushed
because the silly woman squeezed
her gigantic posterior through the window
thinking her romeo had burn’t crispy
from the dragon’s horrid and hot halitosis…
it’s the poem of all poems
and this is not it.
no one home for months now
her circulation hums
like a storm in a hollow drum
her skin, fossilized and drawn into place
the shutters of her eyelids clip-clatter
as she stares out the window
to a vacant lawn
her thoughts rattle
around the icy lake of dreams never realized
Tuesday Use It In A Sentence is brought to you this week by MLW, with thanks. https://awordadventure.wordpress.com/2016/03/29/tuesdayuseitinasentence-vacant/ Click the link and add your post!
you’re here
he’s there
you’re real
so is he
but life with you
is not like life with him would be
life with you is mundane
he is exciting
our real life is ordinary
my life with him would be a celebration
day in, day out
night life, sleeping all day
work, boring
partying all the time
our life is lived together in the real world
his life exists in the spotlight, he is never bored
the dirt on which we sleep is hard
the grass over there is soft and green
we fight
he is always happy
we’re poor
he is rich
you’re here
he’s there
it’s surreal
This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click the link and you can join in too! http://lindaghill.com/2016/03/25/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-2616/
Linda G. Hill 