Review Some of My Poetry Please?
Pomegranate
Hold her stare and promise you won’t be disappointed to find That everyone holds secrets like mothers hold their children. It’s a way we have with our words and we are angry when Someone discovers our secret and takes it as their own. Oh, how easy it is to be tangled in a writer’s web! For it is here we weave our secrets like bright bulletins. The more you pull the silver strings, the more our lives Unravel before you, naked and cold, forced from the Comfort of ink spattered pages. Yesterday the stars glittered within the mass of people. She plucked one and then She pinched the ruby between her two fingers and Watched the pigment run down her pale stems. If you were to take her hand, I again promise you that You won’t be disappointed to find you alone are her secret. (Note, the format from the site this was original posted at is different than here. For original see: http://dfawrites.wordpress.com/tag/luckyduck08/) |
Untitled
Two iron curtains fell over an ocean- A sea of ink formed where they forgot about you. The ice was broken and felt like glass Crushed into soft skin. Citizen America rejoices at the birth Of another propaganda baby. Round greedy cheeks and Eyes not yet open to the inhumanity Of Situation 24/7. Spray paint an enigma about life Onto brick walls and They’ll be there to cover it up Before someone solves the puzzle. One piece is missing for Every few hundred yellow ribbons With sand in their wounds. Pretend to be the brave, the proud, and The few who survived by Semper Fi. Falling headfirst into stone As saline mixes with the acid and ashes of Hollywood Heroes- The next big cover story, or a hit in the face from God. There’s a detour to heaven called oxygen- Don’t waste it. Disease-ridden knowledge fights for the cure of stupidity. We are not alone, but no one will join us as we Spread our toxins into empty space and Shoot euphoria up bright red vines. Give ‘em the ol’ one-two Three-four suicides today and counting. Lift off, and God’s Speed just isn’t enough anymore. Selling yourself is the next big thing One step backward from the KKK. We live in a newspaper world-get over it. Milk chocolate tastes better anyway. Unwanted: unborn baby. Let’s play God Bless America. |
Tennessee
It was dusk when we used to climb those dewy hills. The whole world was yawning after supper Except for winking fireflies who guided our way and Into the barn we’d go, climbing Step After Step Up the ladder to the wooden loft where we felt One hundred feet high, looking past the train tracks Across those sleepy mountains, and Into the star studded ink above us. |
Broken Children
Old cola cans and broken beer bottles Litter the ground, nested in the pinestraw. Candy wrappers slowly decay in the sun As they rot away in the streets, their homes. The yellow paint clings desperately to the walls Like the milk bottles they used to hold, Only milk was replaced so long ago. Now Mary Jane is the only one cheap enough To be their friend. (There is a metaphor in this that may be considered inappropriate, let me know if I need to delete this reply). |
Ode to Midas
So much grandeur does a goldfish hold; Its alabaster mouth is haughtily upturned. Watch its golden scales flicker in the light; “I’m richer than you.” But as riches come, they easily go, And, alas, so do goldfish. |
July
The sweet smell of southern jasmine Crowds the hot summer air as Yellow Georgia hopes for some Sign of grey-toned skies to Quench the Indian colored clay beds. |
Gun Shot Wound
My words are bullets, And you, dear, are my target. The mind is a magazine And in my case, it is very full. Kiss me, honey, and I’ll make you swallow lead- Fill your lungs with sulfur. Your heart is nothing but a Gun Shot Wound. |
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