Category Poems
Beautiful as the sky
Beautiful as the ocean,
and the mountains way up high
Beautiful as the stars,
that shine so very bright
Beautiful as the moon,
that’s lighting up the night
for shooting practice
by white skins who think
it wise to destroy
the devil -in black-
We didn’t beg to be broken
into breaking news
scattered into lobes of
juicy stories on CNN, BBC
like propitiatory kolanuts
This time he dragged her down, bound with him Clutching they spun inhaling, plunging in Needle tight breaths, she smacked and fought back Against his tourniquet grip, she slipped free in slack Necked gropes as he grasped her hopes and crushed As burning, they spiralled, kicking then hushed
A Scorpio snake
Longing for
The white hot desert
As pure as a needle tip
Under a naked flame
As I slither
And scratch around
The dirty streets
Of humanity
Trying my best
Not to bite
Or sting
Down Rue de Bellevue
To deposit the glass
From the previous nights
Of drinking
And writing
blurring in brightness and dulling the haze
longing still to escape the deaths
of life that fades away
please touch, please reach through
worlds, and rescue, grasp, tease
hold firm and wrap yourself
around these vacant needs
Are our differences all we can see?
We’re similar in ways but we’re not the same,
And is that really a flaw, something to blame?
We think like that is true, but we act like that is deceitful.
And tell me this, is one gender greater than the other?
If so, what has your sister done to be better than your brother?
That almost slipped into the present
And became a distant futureI will always think of thee
Of all the things we could have done
And what we could of have been
Once upon a time you were there, for real, but not now, ever
When you went away my world crumbled and all is ruined, dust
Where did you go? So far away I could not see or hear you.
So fleeting is the time.
The bills to pay, the clothes to wash,
and the kids to bed by nine.
Where do I find the time?
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
Oh, where do the hours go?
This hunger will not tire.
The heart knows all too well,
What the lips ache to tell.
The eyes begin to dance,
No more concern for romance.
A slight touch of the hand,
Weakness sets in and you cannot stand.
This passion yearns to be fed,
A tangled mess of naked flesh falls to the bed.
The nails claw and tear,
Hair and sweat are all you wear.
Visual Art
