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How cowardly it
is to hide behind the scenes
and play puppeteer,
while my children are starving
in the streets your Benz drives through.

How selfish it is
to ignore paying taxes,
while I scrape and search
for meaningless currency,
with auditors on my ***.

How luxurious
it must be to slumber in
silk and satin sheets,
while my unclad family
bunches together for warmth.

Oh, the nerve I have
to speak loudly against those
harboring every
cent, while there are thousands of
us without one to our names.
 Jul 2016 Samm Marie
Wordfreak
The unfortold concussions.
The blindsiding explosions.
I'm broken, yes.
But I'm getting worse.
This is emotional shock.
I get the chills as your hand touches my waist,
Looking at your lips, I just want a taste
 Jul 2016 Samm Marie
Sylvia Plath
Never try to trick me with a kiss
Pretending that the birds are here to stay;
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.

A stone can masquerade where no heart is
And virgins rise where lustful Venus lay:
Never try to trick me with a kiss.

Our noble doctor claims the pain is his,
While stricken patients let him have his say;
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.

Each virile bachelor dreads paralysis,
The old maid in the gable cries all day:
Never try to trick me with a kiss.

The suave eternal serpents promise bliss
To mortal children longing to be gay;
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.

Sooner or later something goes amiss;
The singing birds pack up and fly away;
So never try to trick me with a kiss:
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.
 Jul 2016 Samm Marie
Sylvia Plath
Cut
for Susan O'Neill Roe

What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge

Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.

Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls

Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.

Whose side are they one?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to ****

The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ----

The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux ****
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence

How you jump ----
Trepanned veteran,
***** girl,
Thumb stump.
 Jul 2016 Samm Marie
Sylvia Plath
My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.

Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.

While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and ****,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.
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