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Within his paw
smeared blood red
by a deliberately mocking thorn
sat a
blanched ripple-y
strip of cloth confined narrowly
between the love and the life lines

what remained of her
what remained of the underthings beneath

fluffing rows of silk
the heavy skirt had been raised
above the ankles
the creases no longer hidden in shadow,
one leg hoisted over the back,
the reigns held expertly.

Hey Beauty!
As it happens, the number Eight is
Strength (also Lust)

She had surely fled
She has surely flown
through the trees and away
Not on foot at-all
while the three saw her pass.
great speed.
The two sisters
with that prince vulgaris looking on
Three daemon goblins watching from a distance
a disturbance
a smallish crashing
and afterwards
a scrap, sleepy and unfurled, relaxed
within the leaves that shudder
and give up the delicacy, slyly
into stubby fingers

The Woods are Laughing!
Did you notice any scent?
Did it linger between
the thumb and the ring?
the remnant of her flowers,
Petals flouncing, swirling
in odorous potentiality.
a scrap, yes
a deep seated souvenir
Can we re-fabricate the whole from this little thing, you think?
we want her.
there are things that we want to do with her.
They lean in close, nostrils flaring slightly
searching for the ambergris or the jasmine
settling instead to gaze upon
the still clutched
still a little springy
sprightly, o! the remnants of her liveliness
and *****

3: at least let us show you the stage that we’ve built
with a clean sheet,
paper cut-outs
and some sticks.
it’s called acting.
the wine and the wafer.
we’ve hidden in the trees’ darkening
what you would call
‘the mattress’ and
the leaves will crumple underfoot
as we ravish the ghost.

meanwhile, he’s petulant:
- why, if you’d just get off of that high horse!
- how long are you going to resist?
- are you STILL angry?
- why won’t you let me stick it in you?

she telegraphs her response, cough:
you do know that in this
particular scenario
(fingers pointing downward and across
as if to suggest that
the scenario
had a specific location)
You are the wolf, right?
The wolf...

I, the girl, am in the forest
with my basket and
have got a
cute little
blood red
crushed velvet
swing coat
With matching hood and a single task
And YOU (with those other two *******) have decided
to bore me with this ****.
Daresay slow me the **** down.
Of course I will get rid of you.
Who am I talking to?

Let me also add that
there never has been any high-stepping
on my part,
no ankle twirling,
no mandate to impress
a stale balcony,
no sign of gaslit illuminated
pink bows
that lay down flat perfectly upon the straps
that snap perfectly at the thigh,
NOT to be slid off a pert buttock (mine)
crumpled into a ball, ripped and torn
and yet I know that
the determined creature
more faithful than Argos
is prepared
to wait a lazy eight
at grannie’s cozy house
in a sickly corner
over eager and overwrought with
pandered fantasies
and explosions of once sort or another,
irrelevant to me.

What I will admit to is
the touch of those grubby fingers
transubstantiated at my waist
from behind as usual
impatient impractical,
again too quick to make himself a beast
to rid himself of being a man.
Tamera Pierce Jul 22
Today was weird for me.
I was so nervous and trembling with guilt.
~I don't have enough money.~
But my grandmother was going to buy everything.
I saw her pick out things like the price meant nothing.
She saw a pretty blouse and said "do you like it?"
Of course I liked it.
It was a pretty blue and had a very adorable set of flowers at the cusps.
The flowers were vintage.
It spoke of a librarian's day off.
A golden morning while sipping coffee,
with a walk on the beach after lunch.
but it was thirty dollars.
And I knew that if I said I liked it, she would toss into the cart.
She couldn't.
~ I don't want you to spend money on me.~
I shriveled.
As if I had aged significantly in under thirty seconds.
my back caved and my arms tucked themselves around my waist.
I suddenly found a great source of interest in my feet.
"I think it's really pretty," I utter.
"Do you want it," she asks.
It hangs like a thirty pound weight in her hands.
Of course I wanted.
"Oh, I don't think they have my size."
Of course they had my size.
She put it in.
I felt my soul snap.
How could I ask to spend so much of her earned money on me.
She works two jobs, and decides to use her paycheck on a lavish blouse for her granddaughter.
That thirty dollars could have gone towards food or gas.
How dare I become worth more than comfort?
She bought it despite my attempts to change her mind.

I love the shirt, it fits me well.
I feel confident and pretty in it.
but the guilt feels like I traded the world for it.
Please leave notes for me. I want to improve.
Anais Vionet Jun 25
What a small room - my finger traces dust across the plain table.
What did Grandma DO here? I glance around for electrical sockets - none to be seen.
Her life was spent staring out the window, at 3D life, but only seeing memories.

I go to the wall and test the switch
a bare light bulb illuminates an area with a hot plate.
"Jesus", I mumble.

Why would she live in this shabby room?
Was this a punishment? Like a place where a nun would live?
No, I self correct in my mind Gramma was the sweetest person on earth.

I walk three steps, twirl and flop on my back, on the bed.
Dust explodes off the bare mattress in the sunlight
slanting through the grimy, half-open, shadeless window.

I wave and blow the dust away and now I'M lost in memory..
She was ninety-three - I never heard her say an unkind word
In that tiny, sand-papery whisper of a voice.

She always wanted me to sit in her lap, she wanted to brush my hair.
From 10 on I was bigger than she was and afraid I'd break her.

"Don't you worry over ME", she'd say with a chuckle, "I'm an old piece of leather."
Her cheeks were pink and wrinkled like old rose petals. Her hair a white bun.

"I miss you Gramma", I whisper.
a free verse piece about my gramma
Maria Mitea Jun 19
The meanest creature
I have ever met,
it was my grandmother's dog
guarding under the cherry tree,
waiting and waiting,
every May of the year
for the stalwart soldier
returning from war.
BLT Challenge " Stalwart"
Stalwart reminds me, how as a child in May cherries ripe and me and my sisters went to my grandmother's place to eat cherries. My grandmother's dog stayed under the three with so much determination until we leave ... My grandmother won't tell us anything, but it felt like the dog and grandma had a complot on us grandchildren. As we walked back home with my sisters, we tried to find out what was going on in all this story with the grandma, the stalwart dog, and cherries ... One day grandma tolled us the story about her son ...
We children cried and felt so much compassion for her and the loyal Dog ...
Ayesha Naeema Jun 17
This is the love I know only in dreams,
In my grandmother's home,
Where I sit in a sunlit glow,
writing beautiful things,
Listening to her stories.
Where I'm selfless and whole.
Oh, I pray,
Oh, I wish,
She lives forever to tell me more.
This is the love,
This is the love I know only in dreams
its been 8 years since you’ve gone to a better place. On one hand I’m sad that you’ve left  and on the other, I’m sorta glad because the present world isn’t as beautiful as it used to be. But I’ll meet you soon granny. And then we can sing together to our hearts content and I can listen to your stories whenever and forever❤️
Lost Jun 9
I forgot what it felt like
To be burned
The familiar sting of sensitive skin brushed against fabric
All too real for me.
I wonder if she, too, felt pain like this.
Days spent basking in the sun on summer days,
While cancer scrawled upon her skin like a signature.
Sometimes I think she knew what she was doing,
Laying there,
Letting herself be killed,
But surely.
I hope she sees me,
Walking with friends.
Hundreds of us,
Marching for racial equality.
Would she have scoffed at the idea?
Or scolded me for not protecting my delicate shield?
“Your heart may armor your conviction,
But it does nothing for your ivory skin”?
But I know,
The lace on my wedding dress may hurt now,
But I will heal.
I cannot say the same for my brothers and sisters of color.
I will not let them lay there,
And be killed.
I received incredibly painful sunburn while protesting police brutality this weekend. If that's the worst pain I am delivered from this movement, I am beyond privileged.
"I have a name and it’s Jaylen Foster
I am two weeks old.
But the size of my big feet
Will foretell my future:
big things to come

I am the third generation of Fosters
What the world need now is love sweet love
It is the new normal, the beginning of a bad ending
Social distancing, mask trending, and facetime,

My new world..  Six feet apart, no options
Only restriction: for them or for me??
The truth for our futuristic endeavors is to
Wear a mask, or stay at home..

I saw the smile, on her face, her laughter is contagious  
The joy of being a grandmother, pretty Joy for Paula
Proud moments for my father and mother..
a new beginning for a grandfather: David

Love and happiness for a two weeks old me
And distance kisses for cousin: Annie
Annie said the meaning of my name is Joy

My grandmother's voice says nothing can surprise her.
My grandmothers’ voice, says wisdom,
My grandmother’s laughter is genuine,
When it comes to me.. Jaylen Foster
Keep the pictures coming?
Meant keeping Joy alive
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