Monthly Archives: August 2011

Your Shadow

Let me be your shadow when the night falls,
Creeping through your subconscious as it calls,
From its deepest place and its dark desire,
I can reach that spark, I can build a fire,
Softly enveloping each part of you,
Revealing things that not even you knew,
Unraveling each of your mysteries,
Your animal self, your Divinities,
Unleashing The You, you knew could be there,
The You locked inside The You when you dare,
Brick by brick we can both tear down your walls,
Let me be your shadow when the night falls.

The Fruit

There it hangs, sexily,
On that stupid tree.
The Tree of Knowledge,
Or something…

The Fruit. Forbidden.
So He says.

See how it shines,
In the light of Eden!
Radiating, throbbing,
Pulsating, succulence.
How it calls to me.
Beckons and lures.
Tantalizes.
It wants to be,
Inside me!

Oh, the pain….
The AGONY!
Of wanting it.
Almost unbearable.

It’s RIGHT THERE!!!
And I so so so so want it!

Forbidden.
Yeah, right.

(I wrote this piece for poetry picnic. This week’s theme is Adam and Eve.)

Little Plastic Junkie

I think it’s quite fantastic,
That my kitty cat licks plastic.
Drop a grocery bag, she’ll grab it.
And indulge her plastic habit.
I’m not sure what to make of it.
She’ll lick until away you take it.
Produce bags, they’re her favorite.
But is this normal cat behavior?
Should I be worried? Asking why?
Does it taste good? Make her high?
She swears she’s not addicted.
Can stop at any time she wanted.
But the sad truth is, my kitty,
Is a little plastic junkie.

12:45 a.m.

12:45 a.m. and I love the rain
when it comes like this
hard and steady on an August night
the light of my cigar glowing
as I stand beneath the eaves,
Maker’s Mark in hand
completely in command
of my existence,
unencumbered not lumbered
with anything more than
this moment in time
this rhythm this rhyme
this feeling divine,
the rain wiping clean every last thing
so a new day awaits
with no fate no destiny
just me
and the story I write
after this night in
the rain that I love
at 12:45 a.m.

Winner of the Poetry Palace Perfect Poet Award Week 50. 

Babies On Buses

How fun to make faces at babies on buses,
Those it makes laugh, even those that make fusses,
They sit there in strollers, their eyes open wide,
Makes me wonder what they’re thinking inside,
With my eyebrows  both raised and my face turned to putty,
I bet they wonder why I’m acting so nutty!

(shared on: http://purpletreehouse.blogspot.com/2011/10/funny-bunny-fridays-week-3-october-7-16.html )

The Real Beginning.

It’s not easy to be a sperm,
That much I truly can confirm,
Sitting here inside his plumbing,
Never knowing what is coming,
My only goal to try and give,
A biological imperative,
To an egg that’s inside of she,
An ovum that is meant for me,
Waiting here with all my brothers,
Have to race a million others,
To beat the pack and win the prize,
A fine ripe egg to fertilize,
All the while knowing that my winning,
Is really just a small beginning,
The ignition to get things going,
So a baby can start growing,
That’s it, that is my destiny,
To beat the others and break free,
To bravely rush out in the dark,
Find the egg, and light the spark!

Relationship Ponderings

Have I used up all my relationship lives?
A couple of girlfriends, a couple of wives?
Is that how it works? Have I just had my share?
Does the cosmos say sorry, nothing more there?
Time to move on bud, time to try a new game?
Be yourself on your own then you’ve no one to blame?
Is it time to be single? Is that what is best?
Can it be that I’ve simply lost my interest?
Or is the truth finally so clear I can read it,
I can have a relationship,
I just don’t need it?

PASSIONS FLARED

Words are exchanged,
Temperatures rise,
Civility reigns,
A veiled disguise,
Behind which each,
Simmers and burns,
One thinks the other,
Just never learns,
On a long ride home,
Tensions grow higher,
They burst through the door,
Tempers on fire,
Their passions run high,
Their anger still grows,
The blink of an eye,
They’re ripping off clothes,
They’re down on the floor,
Flesh steaming hot,
Giving each other,
All that they’ve got,
Like beasts they ride hard,
In a coiled embrace,
The argument melted,
Not even a trace.

Darling, darling…

So sip so sweetly at my nectar,
Darling, darling, from down there.
And in return I’ll sip your honey,
Darling, darling, you know where.
I’ve got that little space to fill,
So darling, darling fill it up.
All the way up with your passion.
Darling, darling, to the top.
Love me, sweetly, gently, roughly.
Darling, darling, please don’t stop.
Give it, give it, give it to me.

Darling…

Let me get on top.

(This is my poetry potluck piece. This week’s theme is “Passionate Nights of Love.” Methinks a few babies will be made this week.)