Yeah. Ive been away awhile.
I prefer the quiet shadows of the ungraced.
I also prefer decent poetry.
Of which, this site is apparently lacking as of late. This mockery,
This "teen angst"
hurts my head to read.
I once drew inspiration from the lovely poets that were once here.
Breathed every beautiful word as oxygen.
Now,
my very eyes hurt.

She said she had her "Free papers"

Green cards
Walls
Chains

Let me ask you,
But this one question,
or perhaps a few
When you walk the fields
see the flowers,
Do you say, cut down the yellow ones
save the pink ones?
Pick the purple pansies,
lay waste to the red ones?
When you plant flowers,
Do you say
One is less than the other,
because of differing beauty?
Do you like the rainbow,
given all it's colours?
Are all those colours,
not what makes it so beautiful?

Two hundred years ago,
We called them "Free Papers"
Today,
We call it a green card

Flesh and Flesh
Is what we are.

I've lain on this horrid couch for days,
vintage in hand
ever staring
at this hideous popcorn ceiling.
A cheap white, low lying coffin lid.
You can never rehabilitate the dead
We are dead.
Yet, more alive than any of the sane people.
How I pity the sane.
Boring.
****** to a life of hell they are.
In these popcorn ceiling caskets.
And routine,
is hell~A

The devil resides on a fence post,
covered in honeysuckle and black berry vines
Across the dirt road in front of my house
He squats there,
atop that post
With his beautiful grin and blue eyes
He has demples when he smiles,
and hair the colour of hay
His voice,
is that of silken sin
Offering up a drunkenness that the finest of whiskys can't give
He drowns me in satin,
posing promises never kept
He bruises peaches,
and feeds on flames
Beckoning my flesh,
with the sharpest of silver blades~A

They found an old man dead,
down the road
the other day,
He cut grass for a living
died **** eater in hand
Up by the church
Where did he go?
Are we all just
still lifes?
Stolen thoughts
and
Glimpses caught by the
eye of God?
Pieces of some clock
never put together
Seconds, of memories not accurate....

I'm the "crazy lady" here in town
My long skirts and big hats seem to frighten
My eyes are too big for my face,
I'm well aware
But, I paint them anyway
I can't leave
I drink too much
Think too much
I lie about caring what these people think
I care
It hurts
The things they say
Odd
Strange
Crazy
Insane
*****
They say
"What? She knows no other colour than black is in existance."
"Her family have their money from shine."
"Her nans is Cherokee. Red skinned. And she dyes Her hair, I've heard."
I'm the crazy lady
I look away.....

Please, read this with the thickest southern accent you've ever heard. It's my language. It's my home...


Hee Haws on the TV
Chicken's fryin' in cast iron skillets
Taters and maters scent mama's clothes
no AC
Papaws in the bacca field
Granny's sippin' on sweet tea
The law stopped comin' here they say,
Back in '23
The fruit's ripe for pickin
daddy did that last week
He said the Apple brandy
Tasted perfect,
bitter sweet
The moonshine makers meet
When the crickets sing at night
they pass around mason jars
'neath the moon
and southern stars
The wine stays burried till fall
muskadine,
other than strawberry
the very best kind
The yanks
buy it up
Its funny to watch 'em
they can't handle their stuff
The Demory Mart stays busy
oh Lord it's so much fun!
When the moonshiners play pool,
till the rising of the sun
Momma don't like it,
Lord she gets so mad!
But she puts my church shoes on me
and I know she still loves dad
But now the still's turned green
as copper always does
There are no moonshiners left
Time has passed, just 'cause
Papaw's gone
the fields have grown up
there are no moonshiners left
it's all store bought, mason jars
have turned to cups
Demory Mart is Yankee owned
the church has indoor plumbing
But late at night, I hear the banjo's
and the stills, copper humming....

I purchased an iron fairy,
she dances for me
upon my coffee table

Her wings,
always intact

She's coloured blue
Lake blue
Her tag said

She shall never break,
nor fade,
with the passage of time

Or so I'm told
by the department store of Macy's
from which, she was sold

She will dance
till God comes back

And I,
I'll watch...
As I do

My daughter will play with her
I've named her
And play with her Too

That blue, iron fairy
belongs to me
As I once belonged to others.....

And she's lucky
that
Iron fairy

I can't be
someone I'm not
But atleast the someone
I am,
Won't be soon
Forgot....

We work,
"Twerk"
Not so much
we don't ******* and such
We're mothers,
Lovers
June Cleavers
And when we have to be, leavers
We cook, we clean,
When need be, we're mean,
"Crazy *****" sometimes
but you can't buy us with dimes
We'll stand for you, and
F
A
   L
     L
We always give our ALL
When we love, We give our everything
and a good woman is immune to "Bling"
We take things slow,
but only to show
We got this
So for you men, don't be stupid and miss
We can't all walk in heels
And we can't all cook gourmet meals
We aren't all pretty and petite,
But when we love, we'll give what you need
A Real Woman, will never stray
and in your hands, her heart will stay
We'll always be faithful and kind,
So when we speak, please don't be blind
A REAL WOMAN always gives a second chance
Because that's The tune, in a REAL WOMANS dance~A

You didn't listen to Stevie at dinner when she told you,
" now here you go again you say, you want your freedom"
Well, who am I to keep to down?
Sign your record deals
You didn't let my long sleep last
It was warm
and
blue rose buds
The hopscotch grid faded
with falling rain
lightening,
Your hands were water
in the desert
And I,
I need the cicadas
The green things
quiet
Black breezes
Blue roses
And cicadas
My tears
are
******* and whisky
You,
are the infections
of the
Uninsured
And trump is
King
Die now
if you've any sense
But never forget
The blue roses
And
Black breezes...

I took my chopped
and plucked wings,
coloured black,
off the shelf
I do so hope super glue holds them
as I can't,
and they're
Dusty

String pickers,
violinists
Poets
Bad Boys
The lot of you
We fall in Love
with you
a thousand times a day
We listen to your songs
poems
Voices,
over and over
Common thread in crystals
cloud bursts of feeling
that you each sharpen
daily
You
Bad Boys Of Poetry
You
cut we
black butterflies
and
dark diamond
poetesses
daily,
hourly
We butterfly bats
dance,
sing
write!
Yet,
you
Bad Boys Of Poetry
Still
Lie, there in
to your ownselves,
and say
"No one loves me,
I'm alone
Forgotten"
Well,
No.
We each see
as we wish
Pluck your strings!
Sing your songs!
But know,
you're LOVED
A thousand times a day
By black butterflies
and dark diamonds

Poetesses
~only a poetess
A

Into the Zambian Amythist
I glare,
with
pale blue eyes
And watch him
fall,
all around me
Pieces of nothing,
in purple thoughts
Sounds of imagined whispers,
trapped in quartz shimmers
in a
dusk,
never dreamt
Some lover
imagined,
never held,
Pieces of nothing,
in purple thoughts.....

With eyes,
the very hue of water,
I'll never drown in
Skin,
the tint of earth
Hair, as soft
as a mermaids voice
That my kind,
will never
in a million millennia
lay pale flesh upon
Heaven,
embodied within a China doll,
behind carnival glass
Pure as heavens own tears
Sinful,
as the way the sea,
lusts for sandy shores
Lacking,
as eternity's knowledge is
to newly borne mortality

I weep red
for that
Never known.

He,
the boy China doll
with lake coloured eyes.

It's ok.
Have a massive public melt down.
Drink it away,
you'll forget
Are your teeth perfect and white?
Clothes ironed?
Hair done up?
If you've drank too much
or you're beat to ****
have a friggin
Jolly Rancher.
It'll be ok....
Just as long as you smell
like a jolly rancher
Throw glasses at the elderly cook
Bring home men way too young
who know nothing except
Nothing
But make **** sure
You eat that
Jolly Rancher

Sugar melts sweetly in the mouths of liars pickled truth is what's spewed
Salt that misery for preservation
We prefer our reality be skewed

Shattered mirrors give better reflections
of what truly hides within
But it don't matter, hide it deep
beneath peaches and cream skin

Choices forced upon the weak
by the strong with candied lies
Hold tight to that shattered reflection
remember it when innocence dies.

When I was six
Daddy held my tiny hand
He promised mine would stay silk
His hands were hard
From love
He walked with me
in the Tennessee mountains
While the Lady Slippers bloomed
Rare orchids
in pink and yellow
They grow wild here
He bent,
looking me in my pale eyes
And he said
"God of the mountains and wild things,
breathe,
make them dance,
for my little lady."
And they did

To dance alone in the dark
Drinking aged tears
Pretending mortality
Living on dreams
The wish of Cass's courage
And I've none
Blades call, no?
Mine's clean
The shine of it calls me
I'm alone
I don't wish to be
But really I do
Rain pours on my rubber roof
Is it pleasant,
to watch?
Violence is *******,
For the "normals"
and I'm not
Insanity,
my mother
Darkness,
my maker
Love,
Is insanity
Over and over we try
same patterns
same results
But all,
For LOVE
and the lie of it
And poetry
is my shining blade

I'm burnt,
I've dwelt in the flames
These metaphors we choose to speak in
Well,
They're lies
I burn
No metaphor needed
Half moons consume my skin
As I crave
Heart beats
I lack one
And I know,
You dont believe
But they say
I'm pretty
In
Flames