Words strapped to their broken seats,
without the windows of sense,
the dense air of silence becoming
a cold reliance.
Their Brain Malfunction Waste,
otherwise known as a BMW,
stays parked on a sloped drive,
alive but without a programmed destination.
I guess the ‘writers block virus’ took away
the ignition key.
Justine Louisy © Copyright 2020
All Rights Reserved
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 5:58 PM UTC
I know your young feet have the urge to drive a high heel,
but they cannot feel the heartbeats of the ground of soil,
beating beginnings and growth.
So, abide to this simple troth for your naked feet,
to meet with beginnings and growth,
first.
Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Aug 5, 2020
Aug 5, 2020 at 4:11 AM UTC
Be the salt lamp,
that purifies the delinquent dust,
and leaves a path of glow,
so the dark can finally see.
Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 4:35 AM UTC
Biro the brave heart,
liberated the wasted words,
that layed lifeless on the rippled land of paper,
imprisoned and not found.
Words that have been fed with feeble fever,
swollen from the neglect injected into its letter limbs.
Neglect from the puzzle prime minister.
But biro the brave heart pen,
together with the motion from his noble ‘hand’ steed,
slowly walking around each word,
in a captivating circle,
made out of incentive ink.
The circle of meaningful medicine,
that cures the words emptiness,
and installs a ventilator
so, it can breathe value.
Words that are ready to breathe value,
the words I am looking for so,
that my figure of speech is finally alive.
Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 5:11 AM UTC
I know these people.
Their voice box doesn’t even need to be awake.
I know their character by the way their lips are dressed.
A streak of blue,
I know their brain is sweating stress.
A display of rose,
I know their flirtatious fever is always contagious.
A heap of crust,
I know their anger stings the meaning of trust.
A stream of moisture,
I know their soul sooths and heals the shadows.
A thin size,
I know they seek comfort in a box.
A big size,
I know they feed off centre stage.
A nest of cuts,
I know they want the gift of love.
Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Jul 25, 2020
Jul 25, 2020 at 1:15 PM UTC
So, I have a friend called water,
you can see straight through her most times as
she is so clear in her manner,
but she always has no taste in conversation,
because I can sometimes see,
the traces of dirt she carries with her,
and I’ve come to realise she clearly has no filter.
She often soaks you with shock,
you have to run and sit somewhere tranquil to pacify your stressed heart.
She’s always very cold,
and has to be forced to warm up to you.
People say she’s a healthy fit for you,
but I would think twice before you invite her into your home.
Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 4:53 AM UTC
Sleeping limbs,
hair looking like a display of drunk,
tongue breathing the smell of skunk,
closed eyes still acting as a screen projector for my daisy dream.
All this,
whilst standing,
in a hungry bath.
Hungry for the applause of water droplets,
it’s echo making the drums in my ear bang at every beat.
Oh finally! sober strands of hair thanks
to the medicine called ‘wet’.
Lazy limbs finally awoken by the kicks
of caffeinated splashes.
My crusty feet marinated
in a shallow stream.
My tongue doing the Mexican wave
in a pure fountain.
At least it scared the skunk away.
The cool fingers of the water poking
against my snuggled eyelids.
No more daisy dream.
Thanks to the shower!
All this,
and work is in 10 minutes.
Oh crap…..
Jul 15, 2020
Jul 15, 2020 at 3:34 AM UTC
You are the co – pilot,
That will steer my human fuselage,
whilst my captain eyes are laid to rest in living blindness.
Steering me into the hearts,
of the fragrant families called red roses,
That will make my lungs dance in the smell of love.
Steering me away.
Away from the sharp smoke of the ‘polluting mob’,
That will make my lungs shatter in the smell of abuse.
But I trust in you, nose.
My journey will be safe with you.
Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Jul 13, 2020
Jul 13, 2020 at 8:25 AM UTC
You excite my Sahara tongue as it is
slumped lifelessly in the cave of my mouth.
Tickling footsteps of your atomic bubbles,
making my gum groove to the music of fizz.
The fumes of your light lemon creating an alluring
smell to my basic breath.
The soaking sweetness of your body as it slides
down my throat making my blood vessels spring with hyperactivity
and so, my tummy laughs hysterically.
I feel like a child again…
Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 9:08 AM UTC
Listen my friend.
Try to understand that the
symbolisms sealed on this land,
can make your tears laugh,
or make your embraces collapse.
I am talking about a spider,
struggling to hang onto his web.
His home of aspirations.
I am talking about the single strands of
grass in the field that are cut by a lawn
mower.
The many fallen dead of our armed forces in the battlefield.
I am talking about mature gold resting on
the water.
The cruise of the rich life.
Inquisitive symbolisms.
Reflective symbolisms.
Life symbolisms.
Do you understand?
Justine louisy
Copyright © Justine louisy 2017
All Rights Reserved
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 2:02 AM UTC