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****** Most Fowl!
by Michael R. Burch

“****** most foul!”
cried the mouse to the owl.

“Friend, I’m no sinner;
you’re merely my dinner!”
the wise owl replied
as the tasty snack died.

Published by Lighten Up Online and Potcake Chapbooks

NOTE: In an attempt to demonstrate that not all couplets are heroic, I have created a series of poems called “Less Heroic Couplets.” I believe even poets should abide by truth-in-advertising laws! This poem also questions who the "original sinner" was. How was it not the Creator, if such a being exists, since owls are forced by nature to ****** innocent mice and other prey animals? Is it possible that the Creator is not so heroic either? Keywords/Tags: Death, Nature, Rhyme, Pain, Creator, Predator, Prey, Mouse, Owl
Carlo C Gomez Aug 30
testing the limits of
a circular drive
one hand on the wheel
the other copping a feel
of his passenger mate
dutifully nursing her neonate
foot goes down
to apply the break
fracturing fingers
is what it will take
to lessen
the voice
the slade
the mountain
tell me, don't floaters
eventually get flushed?
Beware...there are deceivers among us, hopping from one profile to the next. These types are not so interested in poetry as they are with messing with the ladies here. Please be careful.

Note: not all those with multiple profiles are deceivers. In fact, most are not. But there are a few here with ulterior motives.
In my heart
I know
your "little transgressions"
with me
were not the anomaly

snapping wolf
in sheep's holy clothes
how many other girls
you sunk your teeth in
I'll never know

but your daughter's suicide
still chills me to the bone
some secrets
too heavy
to carry alone

though you may not
have knotted
the noose
I'm afraid you
handed her the rope
attempted BLT's word of the day challenge (anomaly)
I may be young
But I believe 16 years of experience is worth 16 stepping stones
To reach the expectations of society
And spit in the face of it

We are prey to the predators
Involved in a war of existence
Where we bleed tears
And cry blood
Functioning wrong
Because we are told we are never right

Validation we rarely receive is sweet they say

The predators

But how do we know when they

The predators

Sliced our tongues to hide our screams

Trouble is lurking from the parents that gift the children with what they want
In contrast to what the children need

My pen doubles as a society cleanser
Writing all the wrongs in all colored inks
Inspired by the beautiful equal people
And I take that sliced, beaten down wood
So I can shove it down their ******* throats

And I find peace under their tears
I craft it into a blanket
Yes, its cold
However, my body is warm from the scars of bullet shells, death stares, and unwanted opinions

A shameful balance
Written 2 years ago

Still relevant.
Graff1980 Jul 16
Lured by the slurred
word that she heard
which plied with lies
that made her hum and purr.

Late for her classes
she moved like molasses
and stopped at a hot mud spot,
to sit in the slop
letting the filth
flow from the bottom
of where she was squatting
up to fill each crack and crevice.

She thought the wet dirt
would only hurt her white skirt
as the slick liquid was sliding
up and down her body.
In that moment writhing,
She had the feeling akin
to being pleasurably pig skinned.

How strange the change
as her belly engorged
and her limbs grew short.
Then from her lacy drawers
a corkscrew tail emerged.

How weird was it
when she heard
squeals of concern
spew from her snout.

She began to doubt
her humanness
as her dress
and she was grabbed
by a drab brute
with skoal breath
and lots of flab.

Pork patties were made
of this maiden led astray
by the wiles of a worthless
**** that made a feast of her
soft pork belly.
Tryniti Jun 23
God..what you still do to me
When will I just move on, already?
Why can't I just breathe?
And why is my heart so unsteady?

It leaps like a rabbit when you appear
And my mind races just like a gazelle
I turn into an animal when you're near
A creature of prey, under a predator's spell

Though I'm not sure if it's fear that I feel
But whether I'm angry, scared, or just anxious as hell
It's clear to me you've left wounds that won't heal
It seems my past just can't say it's farewell

But I will keep dragging myself away from you
Leaving this trail of blood behind
I will survive the pain I went through
Time for this prey to put you out of her mind

Yes, this little thing still goes on
Though your teeth have torn and shredded her
She'll live through what she's undergone
And maybe, just maybe, outrun this predator
I had a happy & sad childhood
Had great tragedies & greater triumphs
But changed me
As much as women did

I had an eye for the special ones
Like the predator for the prey
Nice, Intelligent & truly beautiful girls
Who didn't know their worth yet.
I have my eyes on you.
Dear Jeff Singleton,
This letter is six years
too late,
of course.
It's how I do things, lately.

I had found a little place for myself,
where I felt safe.
A place where I felt warm,
a place where I believed
I could grow.

You took this from me.

I had found a little light for myself,
enough to spread my leaves.
a light that nourished me,
a light that made me believe
I could belong

Then you uprooted me.

You betrayed me,
a sapling that you'd tended
so carefully.

Six years later
and I've never
quite felt safe again.

Six years later
and my feet have never
graced the floor of a church

Six years later-
and you think I would

I'm bitter-
wondering who
you will prune next.
I named you and I don't even care
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