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  Dec 2017 Uh-Lay-Knee
Ernest Hemingway
All armies are the same
Publicity is fame
Artillery makes the same old noise
Valor is an attribute of boys
Old soldiers all have tired eyes
All soldiers hear the same old lies
Dead bodies always have drawn flies
Uh-Lay-Knee Nov 2017
Sly & Cunning
     Swift & Nimble
A Demon at home,
has life so simple.

Whiskeys' soul
     on the rocks;
Reading alone, past
     four o'clock
Uh-Lay-Knee Nov 2017
I've been trying to
make something of myself.
But when I look all I can find,
is the lives I've made up in my mind
Spilling out.

And I wonder,
If I never told a lie again,
Would I do better, at keeping my friends?
Or would I still drive them all away
Anyway,

Three years in and I stopped thinking,
A couple more and
it just spills out, people and places and things I've never
seen or done, but,
if everyone believes you is it true?

I was scared before but,
not anymore and,

That's why I cant decide on you
If you're true or real or know anything about me,
or if it's just another perception of me
Created as a fantasy, turned my reality.
  Oct 2017 Uh-Lay-Knee
Sylvia Plath
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a **** lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

— The End —