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Genevieveish Jul 2018
The alligator in my swamp
The hornet in my nest
Whispered softly under the meteor showered sky,
I'm the only one who'll know.

Because he never had a soul,
He never could remember mine.
trf Jul 2018
Tides move in swiftly
when the moon has to let us know
how powerful she is
and her phosphercsecent glow

Howling songs in the distance
like southern cicadas do
asking her to forgive us
holding hands next to you

I was born down south
I was raised by the heat
Cornbread in my mouth
I crave a country beat
When I go to the river
And the levy breaks
Don’t blame me
for all the mess we create

Southern cicadas
you sing lullabies
Like Mother Nature
You overwhelm the skies
But in the morning
And three cups of coffee
The only rhythm is my heart beating trepidatiously
Orange Rose May 2018
Every night I’m lulled to sleep,
By the dripping of heavy dew,
By crickets as they play their song,
By the Owl asking, “Who?”

But just before I fall asleep,
I hear a *****’s Scream.
The foxes are mischievous,
As they prance beside the stream.

A moth is fluttering on the glass,
She’s enchanted by the light,
Of the little lamp beside the bed,
To keep away the Night.

And once the light is gone again,
And everything is still,
The cicadas sing a special song.
I’m delighted by their trill.

And when I can’t resist it,
When my time to sleep grows nigh,
I close my eyes and listen,
To a Southern Lullaby.
Jessica Lima Jan 2018
Mama didn't raise a player,
But here is the thing about me...
Two men want my attention,
But... 'twas once three!

When I walk my hips sway,
A rhythm hard to resist...
I turn must men down,
Yet they tend to persist.

Is it my dark, secretive eyes?
WHAT IS IT about me?
Two men love me deeply,
But... 'twas once three!

I am grateful for my luck
But the reason I sing my song
Its cause two men love me
But I only need one.
It wraps around
The porch and barricades me
Safely away from the danger of nature
Closing in to take back its own, the space
We took to make our home.
Buzzing mosquitos circle and vines entwine
The posts that hold the screen between the night and me.
Ophelia Dec 2017
one
on summer nights, all nights, you can hear the sounds of fiddles and tambourines, rustling among willow trees and fireflies.
your dog gives a growl and thumps his tail.
when the moon is out, you fight the urge to follow the sound into the forest.
They said to buy local so I tried to buy Dave Cull’s lung.
But he wouldn’t sell it.
They said to buy local,
So I tried to buy Michael Woodhouse’ heart,
But it was out of stock.
The shop girl told me she would check out the back.
They said to buy local so I tried to buy Lee Vandervis’ hands,
He said he’d sell them to me but I tried them out and they had no grip.
The said to buy local so I tried to buy Harlene Haynes nose,
But it was already in something else.
(she told me it was malicious of me to ask and threatened me with defamation)
They said to buy local so I tried to buy the Highlanders cauliflower ears,
so I’d have enough florets for a salad,
But it turned out they weren’t organic, so I left it.
They said to buy local so I tried
They said to buy local so I tried
They said to buy local so I tried
And I tried
And I tried
And I tried

They said to buy local
-but between the dilapidated hospital and the drafty-damp flats there were no good organs to purchase.
as desolate winds could charm their cymbals
and to enchant this summers' gleaming
but hot those afternoons did return steaming;

this hot dirt in palm sands there
and carpetbaggers still wondering aground
but in their lewdness they called a woman
so made this lazy day ashore and quite gooseflesh
as any who'd visited in this bungalow at port
where their dream was so alive and together
that really made bounty in her clutches
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