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 Feb 2017 Veronika
r
Ditched
 Feb 2017 Veronika
r
Walking home
ripped I tripped
on a dead dog
half-in the ditch
hard as a log
and stinking.

I said *Scoot over bro,
come morning
there won't be a spit
of difference between
you and I in the eyes
of the buzzards
and the beholders.
Creeker notes.
 Feb 2017 Veronika
S Smoothie
Slice
 Feb 2017 Veronika
S Smoothie
Plum
Cucumber
melons
Drip
Offered
Open
Lucious
With
Seed
Mouth
Waters
Flavor
melding
Lick
****
Slide
Swallow
Savour
when no mornings
follow nights
cities lie without their lights
little beasts root happily
children can live all their fears
   forests break
   mountains shake
then it’s time again

rockets roar with deadly freight
sharp explosions rock the night
   soldiers shoot
   graveyards bloom
it is war

when scrawny skeletons
creep through the streets
parents weep
dead bodies radiate
   new death
and crumpled shapes
   spread more disease
then it’s time again

the general orders strategic attacks
and watches how the metropolis cracks
   rivers stink
   battleships sink
it is war

when the bakers bake no more bread
when the butchers chop off their hands
when the doctors’ only prescription is death
   corpses float in the village pond
   and supermarkets stay closed
24 hours a day
then it’s time again

maybe the ultimate time
for the warriors to storm from their heights
to the valleys to lance and destroy
   they also **** women
   all children are dead
   the moon is all red
   the stars are so wan

   we are counting the corpses
   as long as we can

it is war
This verse was originally written in January 2003, three months before G. W. Bush's invasion of Iraq. The military saber rattling and hyped governmental rhetoric of the last week trigger bad memories......
 Feb 2017 Veronika
Mysidian Bard
It started as a puncture,
but the seam slowly ripped;
a thimble can't protect
from a poison needle tip.

She tried to mend it
by making more holes;
the tear only grew
and grew out of control.

At the spinning wheel
her life would quickly dwindle;
frantic attempts to hem
were depleting the spindle.

What started as a puncture
of seductive sedation
fueled the abuse
of machined perforation.

"Don't mourn a living corpse"
were the last words she said
as she drew the needle
that held the last thread.
 Feb 2017 Veronika
Mysidian Bard
She stretched out across the bed,
her body curved in serpentine suggestion.
Seductive whispers, bedroom eyes
and the beckoning motion of her hand.

What sinister intentions are behind
this divine invitation to partake
in the pleasures of our flesh?
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