Author: poetryfest

That itch in the middle of your back
you can’t reach. Your grandparents
waving goodbye. One two three four
I declare a genocide. Petrified,
I remove my head so that I can see
over the other side. I don’t trust
my neighbor. We are packed too close.
True war exists in the webbing,
the conduit running at all times.
Greed feeds into anger, flexes once full,
depants itself, insane in the street,
distress, destress, unstressed, colossal.
Curious how the bell still rings
rump pa pa pump. It’s coming
they say. It’s been coming forever.
Curious chaos on childrens’ chests.

In the bar, the girl next door
cute laughing and alone
it works if she never goes home

There’s Water in her shoes
There’s Knots in her hair
but who else sees what’s there?

Chasing the sun
singing the blues
waiting waiting for the cue

Now we’re sitting in the diner
late with decaf and french fries
Why won’t your gaze meet my eyes

Now I’m skipping town
trying not to drown
in the water in my shoes

Your perfect sweetheart
the role only works if we don’t go home
with who we are when we’re alone
To the holes in my pockets
and the crumbs on the counter
all the cracks in my heart–
Will you love me when I falter?

Can I be the girl you choose
with water in my shoes

Laying under the Oklahoma moonlight-
My fingers ache after a long days work
Hauling wood and moving furniture
I can feel the splinters buried beneath my skin
I walk out into the pasture
And listen to the wind whispering through the cornfield
Like a comb brushing soft strands of hair
I find a soft spot in the ground
Like a warm cozy bed
The smell of dirt surrounds me
And I hear the croaks of frogs in the distance
With the buzz of cicadas along its side
I wake up with the sun beaming in my face
The train horn blares from afar
This is the sound of home
Lost –
The crowd cheers wildly
The stadium is rocking
I have a smile on my face
But I look out into the sea of people
And realize
We are all the same

after the 2024 presidential election

Like carbonating old limestone,
several citadals of crooked old men
leak steroids into a water-source,
piss viagra through their packages.
They stand as best they can,
awaiting some lungs
and liver

Mirror, mirror on the wall
who is the fairest of them all?

A pretty middle-rich cat is casing your joint —
a walker, treehouse topper,
leotard leopard
plumped puma
cougar.
Blessed be her expensive face,
her perfect nose
twitching for the lungs and liver

and the spirit-squat janes
in mad red caps and big bad boob hearts
swollen in hyperbole are
everywhere
mining for the man
mean participles of policy,
singing above the pick-din
nasty night folk songs about
bad daddies.
Lord help them
when they finish only
to find at their doorsteps
their own daughters’
lungs and livers.

Nothing is fair now.

In fields where they once laughed and played,
two friends side by side, now lay.
Their youthful dreams, their endless days,
now lost in time’s relentless haze.

Through summers bright, and winters cold,
their bond was strong, their stories told.
But fate it seems, had other plans,
to end their journey hand in hand.

As shadows fall and breaths grow thin,
two hearts beat slow and their lives begin,
to fade away, yet still they find,
in death their bound, forever kind.

Paint me in sex its all in your strokes and if you do it just right you’ll paint my love instead of making it.

Paint me with all your beautiful colors of dedication, love, and loyalty, for all eternity in all its glory.

Paint me in the shade, with a cool breeze if it pleases you, blessing me your canvas with your dreams, fantasies and thoughts revealing me with your reality.

Paint me in harmonoies, melodies, music, notes, orchestras, symphonies, soul stinging strings and boisterous beating drums floating in the wind.

Paint me splashing in waterfall showers smiling in the soaring sun shining and soothing my spirit in serenities and sensations while I surrender to you my seductive siren.

Paint me in magic a freak show on a Vegas trip, tease-me tempt-me with your tantalizing treat tickling my fancy until my toes curl and tender tears trace my cheeks.

Paint me in Daffodils, Daisies, Dandelions, Honeysuckle, Jasmine, Lillies, and Roses.

Paint me in Blacks and Browns, Diamonds, Gems, Gold, Rubies, Sapphires, and Silver.

Paint me in Cashmere, Feathers, Furs, Leather, Linin, Linxs, Minks, and Silks.

Paint me with your broad strokes, gentle stares, glowing glares, silent tears, and sweet kisses.

Paint me in matrimony mister to mister with our brothers and sisters, crying Mothers and proud Fathers, friends and relatives all raising glasses.

Paint me in time millions of lifetimes shared between the scenes of scars, shadows, silences sounds, sweat and stains.

Paint me in your heart a secret picture framed saving me as a memory for tonight, today tomorrow until forevermore into infinity.

Leaving your touches and blimishied truths to stand the tests of time, a work of art, an ebony king masterpiece.

I kept that piece you painted along time ago across my heart. It was pure gold, a rare treasure to have and behold, I buried it deeply into my soul.

My mother,
my mother’s body,
fucking miraculous.
I mean, we’re talking tooth-pick,
steel-framed.
I mean, we’re talking 60 yrs un-fed.
12 hour days.
I mean, she doesn’t even water it.
I mean, it never stops holding.
Anything
I mean, my mother taught me how
to have legs that never buckle.
I mean, she taught me how to have hands
that can hold each other.
I mean my mother,
fucking unbreakable.
I mean me.
I mean we
Fucking breakable.

I hope not once you doubted how much I love you,
I hope u know that there is nothing for you I won’t do.
Sometimes the truth is more complicated than any lie you’ll ever find
and not often does logic make a woman emotionally blind?

It must’ve been very hectically in your face,
the love of your life, the heroin-junkie, the big disgrace.
The stigma attached is much stronger than the dreaded ‘addict’ before your
name,
but for fuck’s sake why does everyone have to use it cause not everyone is the
same…

Do you really think I’m gonna die a statistic, fuck that shit,
I’m gonna pick this up, every single last bit.
The harder I get punched to the ground,
the greater does the challenge of getting up sound.
No one tells me that I’m not capable of stopping this shit;
they can go and fuck them self with a huge elephant dick and that is it.
The faster and harder you kick me to the ground,
every time it will be faster and harder – the me getting up sound…
Like a rocket struggling just to get in the air,
but once I’m up and going the people who know me are usually in for a huge
fucking scare
cause ambition and inspiration fucking oozes out of me,
and any motherfucker that knows me can this part see.

Yet when my mind starts to have its annual wake,
then dumb cunt me: a hit I’ll take.
All that effort and hard work straight to the fucking floor,
and then the shit, debt, hate, pain and suffering just gets more…
You’ve changed me forever angel

There’s something about the first taste of freedom
A freedom you only partially want
There’s something so quenching about it
Intoxicating
You get a taste and want more
Images in your peripheral fade away
They don’t exist until you want them to again
They’ll stay put
Run to your freedom, don’t walk
Devour a full cake of freedom not a small piece
Run with no accountability for needing to push things out of
your way
Let your retractable cord snap
So you can’t find your way home
Lose yourself in the overwhelming aroma of loneliness that faded
from freedom
Walk blind back home but don’t find your way
Mistake one emotion for another
Until you don’t know what you want or what you feel
Lose all familiarity
Realize you already had freedom
And what you were looking for was something different
Replay clearing the path in your way
Replay all the moments you kept moving forward even when you
were begging yourself to stop
You were only looking for destruction
You just didn’t expect the dismantle of everything you built
But you asked
And it was received

when deep at sea with breakheads
remembering how to dethrone mountains
sweetened condensed milk thick on his tongue

he sees the orkneys lost in a pacific haze
been too long since he felt cold
saw the jagged coast embrace

sputtering starlight of the marrow
in his bones