Way below in this pit I squat, / Bound to be that which I cannot. / The floor is flat, the wall is smooth, / The light is dim, it tends to s…
Perhaps these would make some fine lyrics? / unsure, but this story bubbled to the surface one night, / and I was so estatic that I didn’t get any action!! ^^
From the pit he crawls bruised and battered
fate as it is
Pit, Pat, Pit, Pat, Pit, Pat, Pit, Pat / Pit,pat,pit,pat,pit, pat,pit,pat, / The constant noise of a drip of water. / My eyes are closely sh…
Inside the mind of a dream.
but instead drinks the bitter brew of / faded memories, regret and / pride which / match the colours of the bulldog, / and the shamrock and t…
Feels like aaages since i wrote anything poem-wise so here it is
I was afraid of my own dog. What scared me about her was her monstrous strength.
A tale about a no-eared bird catching Pit Bull.
Did you know that I am alone / When you leave the room behind / I feel that silent breeze as you walk by / And tears tickling down these eye…
I wrote this when I was slowly falling for a guy who I was growing a connection with. =)
“Grandma, can we play some music on the radio?” / “No, no, no! No play music. You here to work. You makey money and save, put in bank…
This is the story of the time I spent as a boy cutting apricots at my grandparents ranch in the middle 1950s.
He finds himself at the bottom of a well. Not that he’s fallen in – his was a slow descent. The walls are tight and the air is close. He …
Self explanatory.
This is the start of thinking and the end of growing.
A Childhood Confounded Letter
I wrote this from my searching for God in my early years and just writing.
pit, God, kindness, love, overwhelming, drying tears, lifting up
I don’t want to get old, and I don’t want my only topic of conversation to be my illnesses.
I don’t want to get old. I don’t want my only topic of conversation to be my illnesses. I don’t want to shop illogically in supermarkets. And I don’t want daytime television characters to loom life-like in my mind.
“How’s it going kid?” / “Fine thank you.” / “What’s a kid like you doing in a crummy place like this?” / “I am incognito Mr. Bogart.”
Installment fourteen / In the palaces of the imagination, the town’s flea pit cinemas.
All my life, / It’s the same old thing…
Meemawing mothers in curlers and ash flicked acted cough bandied about gate gossip all day
Confounded letter about memory
Thank you to whoever bought my puppy calendar!!! I am thrilled!! / Click on the picture to bring you to the calendar page where you can se…
I know who one of the sales went to…:)) Thanks to Bonnie Todd for buying my APBT Puppies Calendar!!! You rock Bonnie!!! ”!http://im…
Thank you so much Joanne Piccirillo for buying the 2 calendars!! Joanne is the MOM of UNO who is on the July page of the calendar and als…
In the kitchen an empty fridge gurgled / Dirty pots glued together with yesterday’s sustenence / A cockroach raced his brother towards the …
A woman grieves alone for her sports legend father.
Thanks so much to Sweets014 for buying Hehehehehe That Was A Good One Ginny! I hope your neice enjoys the card for her birthday! / ”!http:...
Fire licks, / And lightning whips, / Dissolution rises, / And macabre quips.
This poem is part one of a trilogy of poems that inspired my drawing “Diabolus Est Mi Amor (Death is my love)”. The story about a human woman stolen and romanced by a devil’s black heart. Paramour is from her point of view.
High one, / Red death, / Shining to destroy, / My very last breath.
Part 2 in the trilogy of poems that inspired the drawing Diabolus Est Mei Amor. I originally wrote this poem in English and Latin, to grab the effect of what language this devil would speak, but I only keep the Latin version for my own amusement. Votum is written also from the woman’s point of view. Though, in this poem she is admiring him, worshiping him, and ultimately falling in love with him. She is begging, needing, and hoping that he has at least some small ability to love. The anti-heroine, at this point is mad with lust and want. She can think of nothing but him.
Ravenous gluttony, / Quenching seclusion, / White lily, / Light illusion.
Part 3 of the trilogy of poems inspiring Diabolus Est Mei Amor. Inamorata is from Diabolus’ point of view. This poem speaks of passion, thirst, and forbidden fruit. He admires her for being human, for being flawed. Her very scent drives him to insanity. He exclaims his desire, and tells us that he’s fallen for her, abandoning himself. It is admitted that yes he can love. This one individual has the power to bring him to his knees. As she is his slave, he is hers.
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