I forgot to learn your tongue
Before we sank into bed
I will learn your song well
By touching it instead
Cotton has a plantation,
It’s home in central Texas.
It might be your cremation.
Don’t drive up in your Lexus.
In the barn he persecutes.
Devices of mad torture.
Chainsaws, meat hook executes,
Diced and spilt into quarters.
The Bloodbath we fascinate,
Victims face he has gotten.
Oh my, he does dominate.
****** face here’s some Cotten.
This was based on my trip to Florida last week because I’m convinced Waze wanted to **** us. It took down this back Texas road that looked like Leatherfaces home. It’s done in Ae Freislighe, an Irish Quatrain.
Mine eyes heavy
Twins aching in the skull
Yet of exhaustion they are full
Quick quatrain I made when tired.
It's a cliché one, but I'm loving the flow.
It almost end at the middle of the story,
But gladly the protagonist is fighting through.
It's not the end yet, she's still learning.
thank you for reading!
We call them heroes, send them to fight
armed with plastic armor, much extolled valor.
They are isolated inside the veil of gratitude,
Drafted in a terrible war they never asked for.
We call them heroes, our robust knights
who will slay the beast, shield us from its fury.
We try to forget the open secret that they were,
in fact, robbed of a choice, ****** into glory.
We call them heroes without ever knowing
the face behind their masks and elastic bands.
These worrisome times will come to pass;
meanwhile, we stay inside and wash our hands.
NaPoWriMo Day 13
Poetry form: Quatrain
watch me wither,
lie about love,
feel like I'm forcing life
or being forced by it
the will has its limits,
so does resistance to it—
to flow with things
means harmony with experience
what I feel is real
and what I think stinks
—there's no surprise in me,
no time wasting:
I calculate my every step
and stop beauty in its tracks
always defending myself
from being naked under her glance
yet I know she's there
—have always known
—have always failed
but in me I have felt
depth, beauty, forgiveness
beyond notions and ideas about life
so with the eternal world
I smile in silence
When staring at my skin
From your soft distance
Be sure to ask yourself this:
How much life do we have left between us?
There's always an empty space somewhere
For your mind and your tongue
Untouched and ******
Waiting to be sung
And ripped from immaculate dreams
Are the abhorrent beasts that haunt me
And they grossly linger far longer
Than the euphoria that taunts me
Soft as light that slips through windows shaded
alabaster body tangled up in
sea of wrinkled cotton warm and faded.
Still and silent, I dare not awaken