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Rama Krsna  Nov 2021
sibilance
Rama Krsna Nov 2021
as the shimmering stars
in the scorpio skies
samba in syzygy,
here on scorched earth
the sparkling eyes of this silk rose
become stress’s antidote to soothe body and soul.

feeling sanguine,
even a tad sangfroid,
i smile,
scribbling sultry muses
sauced with sass and sibilance


© 2021
I was given a challenge to compose a poem which captured the essence of the word sibilance
JJ Hutton Nov 2012
I left the electric bill in the mailbox. Along with one of those Get to Know Your Community at Christ's Church pamphlets.  One where Jesus sits holding a sheep, and oriental kids sit criss-crossed and apple-sauced at his feet. An advertisement for Great Wall Chinese food rounded out the lineup. How many trashcans must be filled?

But your letter, a mini-salvation at the sight of your name alone, came with me. My octogenarian neighbor with the heavy jowls and purple hair watched me rummage through the mail as her leashed shih tzu ****** in my yard.  Good morning. A nod. No response from my neighbor like usual. She's hardly a neighbor. More like a cop that directs traffic just past her property onto mine so traffic can **** my grass.  The shih tzu, though, that thing quaked as if I might give it a hard kick in the ribs. A satisfying thought.

My great pleasure dissipated when I opened your letter. Don't worry about Tim. I know he cares about you. He'd be an idiot not to. These are things I'm supposed to say. The sad truth being that Tim is a man. And like the rest of us, he's cheating on you. Probably with a thinner woman. A model that still subscribes to ****** chic. Or at least ******.

Before you take a kitchen knife to one of his neglected polos, make sure he's okay. Bizarre advice, I know. My mind only wandered when I did't feel like I was worth a million bucks. You always made me feel like two million. So, I'm sure it's something on his end.

Pour the whiskey until he opens up like one of those cashiers you make the mistake of acknowledging when they've been on the clock for five hours and still got three to go. He'll tell you about the baby he can't feed, the gonorrhea feasting on his urethra, and the titanic loan he took out from mama looming over his head. After he's said his piece, his load will lighten. The clouds will part. Fingers crossed.

The way you described his despondent behavior sounds like the lurking grey of bad luck. A black cat. I'm reminded of the time in my beat-up Cavalier when a black cat began to cross the street in front of us over on 86th and Western. Do you remember that? You have to. I cursed the bad luck. Then my curse seemed to stop the stupid beast in the middle of the lane. He looked straight at me. The headlights reflected off his eyes, and you grabbed the wheel. Turned it right into the cat. "I **** my bad luck," you said as the cat's end was confirmed with a thump. Then you said something like if they don't cross your path completely, it doesn't count. Find the bad luck before it snickers from the other side.
Tell me why indigenous
seems so obsolete?
Thoughts in the genius
whose sense is up so late

Why originality
seem so fake?
And off-reality
is worth the take?

It might not seem its best
nor have the Sauce
Not in Vogue as the rest
But it's the source


-Pastorlee
I choose #originality
#indigenousSombodi
your #LocalBoy

#ipoet
Blossom Dec 2016
Colorless icicles hang off my hair
That has lost all of it's bounce and sway
Now resting on top my head
Looking like a disarray
Of sauced up spaghetti noodles
Sethnicity Dec 2016
Why *** lie bowling A sway Black reigns Pull in spite blue wind bowing chains

Saw row dove in from dry stains stare his leisure bee twin faux brick games

Lies tat lie wow stains high streets raking like father calls, waking

Death shaking width gall diss clarity may skys carry mi disdain forsaken

Bile the sight sauced swirled dreams key drown complacent
Visually stimulated, Beat sequence motivated.
Missy Beminio  Jul 2013
unsure
Missy Beminio Jul 2013
everything is backwards
figuring out forwards
giving it time
finally mine
if you think I'm lost
you're probably right
so I'm getting sauced
until I see the light

everything is backwards
nothing is right
but I think I might be
finally seeing the light
head is pounding
problems are mounting
somebody save me
help me with this fight

moving forwards
heaving fog is blinding
unclear the road ahead
maybe I'll just go to bed
dreaming the future
still feeling unsure
accepting this fate
makes me feel pretty great
considering this day
maybe I'll stay

— The End —