"cindy" poems
Photography,
Photo journalistic,
Everyday, realistic.
Commercial, architecture, landscape, artistic,
Industrial, fashion, ethnographic, pornographic.
Big Brother, fallace, stealer of souls, vouyer.
News seller, instant gratifier, man pleaser, woman abuser.
Barthes, Sontag, Cindy Sherman,
Virginia Woolf, Warhol. Weegie, Francesca Woodman,
Leibovitz, Adams, Arbus, Tina Modotti,
Nan, Evans, Hoffer and even the Paparazzi.
Cheap ***** digital manipulator, image poser,
Center fold, coupons, Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe.
Where did they go:
Lifeless paper product, painter's picture mess,
C-type, digital archival,
Sepia, black and white, hard drive retrival.
Image addict,
Image taker,
Image maker,
image seller,
image buyer.
Newspaper, magazine, graphics and ads,
TV, dreams, even the trash.
Billboards, subways, phones and buses:
Utopia:
Surreal, crop, stretched and air brushes.
Modern ideal.
Surface manipulator.
Brain conditioner.
Consent manufacturer.
Oh Photography,
I got you in my eye.
A few thousand dollars,
A BFA, A critical scholar.
Or maybe a nerd,
Just boys with toys.
Telephoto genitals, with motor drive action.
Studio lights, umbrella traction.
Oh Photography,
You proprietor of obscene.
Detailed, de-sensitized.
Court ordered, jury analyzed.
Click, image, copy, edit, paste, print or post.
Myfacespace, twitter, flicker,
An internet media overdose.
Pry, spy, your friend's friend's acquaintances.
Parties, picnics, reunions and shows.
Visits, vacation, style, shoes and clothes.
Pics, photos, images, jpegs and giffs.
Snap shot, portrait, panoramic, Kodak kiss.
Exacerbate:
Divorce, break-ups, jealousy, envy, love and fears.
Devour and captivate society for years.
Slaves to Western and Capitalist desires,
Destruction of Earth with psychological, monetary empires.
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who is the fairest of us all?
Skin so delicate and fair
Blue eyes and long black hair
A good king, a good daughter
A wicked stepmother
One day full of gloom and dread
When The Wicked heard it said
"The Daughter is the fairest,
O' dear! You are second best!"
The Wicked was wild with jelousy
And begun plotting conspiracy
Getting rid of the fair lady
Was the wicked plan of the day
The Wicked called on her servant
The name was **** Cindy
Bribed her with riches women want
Promised her a gift of beauty
So **** Cindy and The Daughter
Went into the depth of the forest
**** Cindy has led the pretty girl
She surely must put her to death!
Our **** Cindy however
Found the girl a thing of beauty
**** Cindy's courage betrayed her
Excused herself and ran away
The pretty daughter was left alone
Terribly scared but still alive
Tears fell as she thought of home
Doubtful if she will ever survive
**** Cindy returned to the castle
Showing a heart of a roe deer
And served as a loyal vassal
To The Ever Wicked stepmother
So **** Cindy got rewarded
With unimaginable riches
Lasting beauty she was awarded
At last she got her wishes
At night our **** Cindy
Her riches, all she gathered
And then she vanished swiftly
Away from The Ever Wicked
Meanwhile the pretty daughter
Found a place to stay
That house was full of laughter
And the rest was history
Highly pleased now The Wicked
Turned again to the mirror
But her hopes became unsettled
After the unpleasant cheer
She must die! She must die!
Went The Wicked's awful cry
She became an old peasant
Killed the girl with a poison
And so the pretty daughter
Laid in the forest for days
The cute house lost its laughter
The Wicked went on her ways
The sad news reached the town
And to our **** Cindy
So she wore her sexiest gown
And started on her journey
Into the forest she went
Looking for that pretty girl
Her heart skipped and bent
Feeling that awesome thrill
**** Cindy found The Daughter
Lying on a wooden bed
"Thy beauty is oh, so rare!"
Was the thought inside her head
She could not help but wet her lips
Staring at the sleeping lady
She felt a tingle below her hips
And sensation inside her belly
They said no man can wake the girl
And maybe no man really can?
So **** Cindy kissed The Daughter
And so her passion has began
The kiss was oddly very awesome
And it stirred the sleeping girl
It brought a funny slurpy sound
Waking up The Royal Daughter
"Oh God! Oh my! Oh my!
Oh my beautiful princess!
Take my hand, come with me
Away from this very place!"
So **** Cindy and The Daughter
They ran away together
Across the land of nowhere
Where they lived happily ever after
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who is the fairest of us all?
"Snow and Cindy are the fairest
O' dear! Now you're the third best!"
~THE END~
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
Atari clouds are digital ziggurats,
and rather minimal at that.
The sounds are Amiga.
Welcome to the eighties.
Your hair is big,
your clothes are odd,
and Nagel is a minor god.
Welcome to the eighties.
There is a plague
and ACT UP's rage,
but Reagan will not act his age.
For six years, he will say nothing.
Generation X gives birth to Y,
future hipsters to vilify.
All music is vinyl or cassette.
Rocks stars still wear epaulets.
There are two Coreys, podded peas.
Terrorists stay overseas.
Boy bands aren't quite yet in vogue.
Menudo carries a heavy load.
Ricky Martin is still straight.
Cimino ***** with Heaven's Gate.
Cindy Sherman is everyone.
Johnny Hinckley got his gun.
Welcome to the eighties.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
I was sitting in the chat, with big dumb Mike
he showed us his mask, it was a terrible site
Boston Chickie was quiet and subdued
, Shelby, Cindy, Katie, Rachel, kind of set the mood
Ciggy came into the chat with his well well well
And Steve replayed to Ciggy you look like you are from hell
Raven had beautiful eyes and lips of wonder
Wolf Bracker was downing the sauce like a pirate in plunder
Tucker zone he was there as well
and Romeo, Ken, Robert and Al we all came out of our shell
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 8:11 PM UTC
Oh I do like to be in the countryside
where the branches bash against the windows of the bus
where the leaves on the boughs of the trees bow so low
that I feel I have to duck.
Where people know me almost better than I know myself
I can gesture to my figure when Brigitte says
"have you eaten?"
and she will reply
"but that means nothing."
Where I can tell Tracy all about my life
and she won't judge,
will look at me with the same quiet smile,
the same laughing acceptance
as she ever has, since the day we met.
Where Cindy and Cathy sit talking about the world
and tell me of their troubles
because they know I'll understand.
Where the sea pounds gently in the distance
whipping the wind sometimes into a frenzy
and molding my hair into a salt-ridden sculpture
on my head.
I don't miss it
when I'm in the city
on the contrary, I love the beat of the sun on the concrete,
the thrash of the trains in the distance,
even the wheezing exhaust fumes
feel like they fit somehow.
But it's nice to be back sometimes
where the trees still grow on the roadsides
where the fields are green even in winter
where the pubs are cozy and quiet
like their clientele.
I went back there today
and I loved it like always
I loved it as ever
I love it still.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
Now it might be hard to understand
But just for a moment I ask that you try to comprehend
The idea, the marvel, the miracle
Of learning love’s true definition from a child less than 3 years young
Her name was Amelia Lyon, but she was called Amy Lou
And her hair was up like Whoville’s own Cindy Lou Who
Dr. Suess would’ve been proud
I’m sure he would’ve loved Amelia, as did every single person of every single crowd
We would bring her with us to Disneyland
The happiest place on earth for both woman and man
And little Amy loved every second of it
With a wide smile, never crying, not even a bit
Bearing the power of a simple smile, and a thousand suns
She would light the very streets she crossed
Reaching out and attacking strangers was far from seldom
With a beautiful kiss of innocence, sincerity, we watched as joy would blossom
Did she discriminate?
Did she decide who to incriminate?
No, you see, Amelia would never
If someone was hurt, and broken, she could make all things better
A beautiful soul
To match a beautiful girl
I learned, let me tell you
What true love is, something new
Something that is rarely practiced
But only talked about, and the fact is
I’ve never seen love quite like this!
It was sincere, and it was real and it was amazing
A special perspective, a new trail she was blazing
And now I know what true love is
Humble, supportive, and nonjudgemental
Kind, gorgeous and always gentle
Thank You, Amy Lou.
One day, I hope to be like you.
But now she's gone, at two and a half you were taken from us
So unique, Heaven, God, and the Angels were jealous
Do I feel robbed? Do I feel cheated?
Certainly not! Because I know who I shall see when I am greeted
There she will be, adorable and precious
That gleaming smile with a child’s eyes
At the opening of the Gates, it will be glorious
Because finally, that disguise, that shroud of earthliness
Will have been torn away, and we will forever be united again
My baby sister, my Amelia Lyon, my Amy Lou
I miss you so very dearly, my little Cindy Lou Who
With love, bittersweet tears, and a heart deeply aching
Your brother, Remington Charles King
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
I wish I had a ball gown
So I could go to the ball
But loose a slipper after all
3 little mice friends
Make a dress for me
You can see
This is not me!
I wanna be Cindy
Good ol' blonde Cinderella
Hunny maybe kiss me
Let me know you love me
Hug me take my hand
Let's dance
Salsa? No!
Techno? No!
Let's slow dance
Let me put my head
On your shoulder to rest
I wanna be, Cindy!
Maybe if I wish
On the star in the night sky
You'll say, "I'm your guy
Forever and ever."
But I doubt that wish will,
Come true!
Oh, you're lookin' fine over there
With your black hair
Eyes sparkely blue
Oh how I love you!
~I wanna be Cindy
Good ol' blonde Cinderella
Hunny maybe kiss me
Let me know you love me
Hug me take my hand
Let's dance
I wanna be Cinderella!
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 4:26 PM UTC
It's looking like
history books
and web pages
tell what once was
as an instructional
or, how to
for the future,
as every trend
spins on the same
blueberry,
and what once was
shall be, again.
I used to think
I might not have
the best grip on ****
because of that Cindy, and
her gaslit basement.
But my eyes are valid.
I'm not slitting throats,
I'm just taking notes
on this tragic situation.
Joker and The Fool.
I'm part of some kind
of severely ****** up system,
whether I wish it or not.
I better learn to smile.
So watch me. Here:
^_^
Everything's bound
to a simple rule.
Everything dies,
and everything is alive
with some participation.
I can't shake it from my mind.
Why should I?
All of my ancestors made the mistakes
I can't help
but bear repeating.
Why shouldn't I?
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 1:01 AM UTC
Fame was my name years ago.
Now I’m a white dwarf
in this youthful universe
and my smile is long forgotten.
I remember the days of Colvin and his Wilt.
There was also Cindy the **** German,
and of course Jerry and Apeksha…
and how close we were!
The Filipinos were my favorites; so nice and kind.
I still talk to Greta, and I’m thankful for this.
A Working Poet has been around to see my world in both darkness and sunlight.
However, I remember Bliss Like This,
as well as Aaron, and the Airships;
my first follows and followers.
There was a new face every day
and friends were made instantaneously.
Over one thousand fans immersed in my words on a daily basis…
Now a handful at best read my withering stanzas.
I’m a rotting apple
on a dwarf planet.
Like Pluto,
I was once loved by many,
but then they chose to forget me.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
Reading her bio, enticed by her verse,
Emotions run deep, often times terse.
Talent is obvious, click the poems and read,
Life hasn’t given her, what she really does need.
Spy between the lines, aching is her heart,
For one to protect it, not rip it apart.
A glimpse at a picture, black and white does her fine,
Joy at the sight, ****** features on which to dine.
Romantic and passionate, creative and fun,
Walking and talking, together in the sun.
So many questions, where do you live?
Other wanted to receive, but never would give,
Their mind and soul, feeling only your embrace,
Ultimately leaving you alone in your place.
Why must this happen, am I unworthy of love?
Hardly, look to the sky up above.
Waiting sometimes has rewards that are great,
From picking a career, to finding a mate.
I can hear in your words, and see in those eyes,
Your feelings abound, and are endless as the skies.
Alas the loneliness is full of strong power,
Patients is hard, your soul can turn sour.
Find a way to give love to those,
Truly in need, many in the throws,
Of unbelievable hardship, cold and distraught,
Reach out to them, with the kindest of thought,
Let them know, you really do care,
Smile and be gentle, do this and I swear,
Your body will be filled, from head to toe,
With gods pure love and the way he will show,
To others that feel, the same way as you,
Finding true love, no more are you blue.
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
Of course it was never her fault.
So many misgivings, so much insanity
Capacity to care floundered
Dispersed white powder fragments
Blow on broken glass tables
A surrendered white Christmas
Drawn matted curtains keep
Crystal blue skies and
Bright sunshine hidden
In darkness Dr Seus’
“How The Grinch Stole Christmas”
The stealing of innocence
A childhood
A prevalence greater than
Any Christmas
Her imagination only fuelled by
The blinkering television set
Thurl Ravenscroft’s voice penetrating her silenced soul
In a climate of disdain
Christmas spirit in shortage
How she lived alongside Cindy Lou
Her scarred heart, willing and eager
For just one taste
Of a day so sacred.
© Sia Jane
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
Fame was my name years ago.
Now I’m a white dwarf
in this youthful universe
and my smile is long forgotten.
I remember the days of Colvin and his Wilt.
There was also Cindy the **** German,
and of course Jerry and Apeksha…
and how close we were!
The Filipinos were my favorites; so nice and kind.
I still talk to Greta, and I’m thankful for this.
A Working Poet has been around to see my world in both darkness and sunlight.
However, I remember Bliss Like This,
as well as Aaron, and the Airships;
my first follows and followers.
There was a new face every day
and friends were made instantaneously.
Over one thousand fans immersed in my words on a daily basis…
Now a handful at best read my withering stanzas.
I’m a rotting apple
on a dwarf planet.
Like Pluto,
I was once loved by many,
but then they chose to forget me.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
I sit and stare...
As time crawls by
Anxiously awaiting nightfall.
Nowhere to go,
Nothing to do
But yawn and stretch-
All day long.
Nothing interests me today
Sleep becomes tiring
Food becomes tasteless
Nothing catches my fancy
Not the TV
Not the radio.
I take a walk outside
Not a chance!
The fierce sun drives me back.
I call my friends
But all are busy
It's a conspiracy!
I sigh,
Desperate for the day to end
Maybe a book will speed it up
I browse through my shelf
Picking one at random
I sleep off,
Before I make it through page one
Hopefully, I'll sleep away time
I awake to the barking dogs
Convinced I've slept for hours
I feel worse than before
Cos I only slept 5 minutes.
**** dogs!
I listen to a song-
Cindy Lauper's Time After Time
I feel like crying
Where is everybody?
I give up!
Nothing works for me today
It's a sad, long and lonely day
The street is quiet-
Except for the barking
I feel tired
Tired from sleeping
Tired from everything
Nothing to do but think.
Finally, I pick up my pen
I grab a paper
I write a line
And for the first time today-
I smile!
© Raphael Uzor
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
She brushed out landscapes with her words
as deftly as any impressionist master
and speed-trekked us from where we sat
to scenes of transcendent beauty.
Each day I awaited her verbal canvases
with self-indulgent anticipation.
But one day all was all different.
What was this horrific account of
of unspeakable Afghan tragedy -
A wandering woman whose final defeat,
after all she loved had been butchered,
was hope beyond all recovery
dragging her feet through the dust?
I picked up my heart from out of the soil
to ask her, "were you there?"
She was - with a physician's bag
for Cindy is a doctor
who eschews a suburban clinic
to defy all danger
and be where life would fail
without her healing craft and care.
Dodging bullets, sputum and mortal threats,
Cindy fights life's most essential battles
and so uplifts the standard of our species.
The next day Cindy painted for us
a verdant mountain scene
whose whispering streams and fragrance
exceeded all I'd every witnessed.
I wonder where she is.
September, 2013
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
when the world,
was much younger
and i was a stupid-crazy
girl-ly-chick, enamoured
with her youth.
i drove, a sunshine,
lemon, yellow bottomed, white pith on top combi van. coyly, cloyingly named Mello Martha.
it was...surfboards and swimsuits,
egg and bacon sangers,
early morning breezes,
after a blitz at the breadbox.
before... changing into
the structured, tortured baby, bank teller blues,
in the back,doors left open.
it was... rockin, knockin,
*** on credit,
to a promised future,
alluded to, but postponed,
for the moment.
it was... bruised back and
grazed knees,
harder, deeper oh god!
oh god! please... faster, fucken frenzies,
on a saturday night.
it was....running away to nowhere,
to find myself,
then finding me,
running away from,
the self i didn't want to know.
noway, nowhere, nohow.
it was... a barrel of monkeys, a barrel of laughs,
a keg of beer,
a box of wine,
under the crowded stars.
it was.... a roadtrip,
up the coast,
midnight bonfire,
midnight munchies,
playing hunches,
exploring reefs and reefers and such.
it was...far from family
and church rules,
a friendly rebellion,
of loud, proud youth.
totally and brazenly,
uncouth
it was... wham! and m.j.
cindy and boy george's culture club ,paperlace,
billy idol and the beach boys.
sung with abandon,
at spinal tap level eleven.
it was... peaceful, quiet, sleeping grace.
insanely in love with...
i forgot his name.
it was.... the birth of bodaciously me.
all brass hair and bosoms,
wild and carefree.
it was ....so long ago,
it was... yesterday night,
when i saw... Mello Martha's identical twin,
stopped at a traffic light.
it was... sunshine and lemon, bitter and sweet,
as she sailed off, down the street.
i sat and watched,
wist, full of recollect,
far and away, from my presently minded place...
sitting in, the driver's seat,
of my mom-blue subaru.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
Life is but a country club.
Weren’t you invited, dear?
Intelligence quotients and aptitude tests,
sorted by layers of filters and ciphers,
to justly court the consummate lifers.
Are you qualified?
The waiting list is growing,
and the company is getting anxious.
Shall we take on some new members,
or watch the squirming a little longer?
Think about it this way,
if you aren’t qualified -
You can always try upstate.
What a lovely estate!
A half-smoked cuban cigar,
and a watchman at the gate.
No, you can’t trust the man
who got lost in his mistakes.
He is untrustworthy.
Do be a doll though, Cindy,
and send a nice postcard.
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 1:26 AM UTC
If Rex Ryan got the nod
and was cast as Cindy’s prince.
The play would run much longer
than it had before or since.
When the royal decree went out
To the maidens of the land
To display their pedicures
Rex would be close at hand.
He would visit every maiden
and some hottie matrons too.
Caressing Paula’s bunions
And sniffing Jennie’s shoe..
And when he got to Cindy’s shack,
He’d take her feet in hand
And ease the pain she suffered
last night dancing with a ham.
“You have such pretty little feet,
I really hope its you.
Alas, I have no way to check,
as I forgot the shoe.”
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 9:18 AM UTC
There is a face
That lingered
So constantly
Her name
was Cindy
I thought at first
She wanted to help
But now I see
That she hates me
‘Purge it!’
She screamed
Standing over me
I obeyed
Since it was all
I was capable of
She told me
She loved me
When I looked
In the mirror
She revealed
My hideous flabs
Bulges and bumps
And was encouraging
When I tried
To banish them
But then
After a time
I realized
That face
In the mirror
Was only me.
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 12:36 PM UTC
The trees overlapped
overhead creating a warm
cloister.
Harvey's car cooed past
the vibrant green
and sputter-stopped
at the plastic, fishhead
mailbox.
He drove up the grey gravel drive,
hopped out of his car and
with eager stride
headed toward
the door of the widow Prine.
"Hello, Harvey," Mrs. Prine
greeted from behind the screen
in her always-sugary-hushed tone.
"Hey, Mrs--I mean hello, Margaret."
"Haha, you remembered this time.
C'mon in, sweetie."
Harvey's steps matched gentle creaks
in wooden floor.
Pictures of Mrs. Prine's
three children lined the walls.
"That's Mattie, Cindy's baby. My first grandbaby,"
Mrs. Prine beamed.
"She's a cutie."
"Well thank you," Mrs. Prine picked up
some magazines lying on the couch,
"feel free to sit here. Can I get you something to drink?
Some wine, maybe? It's a red."
"Sure, sure. Sounds good."
Mrs. Prine stepped into the kitchen,
as the evening news played at a barely
audible volume.
"Oh Lord. I forgot to put the wine in the
fridge, Harvey."
"That's okay, Mrs. Prine. I can--"
"Margaret."
"Margaret, I can drink it warm."
"How about some ice cubes?"
"That works too."
Mrs. Prine's husband died
driving an 18-wheeler,
six-miles outside of Dallas
two or three years ago.
One of the few times
a sedan won a war
against a big engine.
Her cheek bones
jutted sharply from
her face,
deep crimson lipstick
and light eyeshadow
emphasized her
few deep wrinkles,
as if she wore them
with pride.
They sat sipping lukewarm
red wine, saying nearly nothing--
touching only during commercial
breaks.
When the news ended,
Mrs. Prine grabbed Harvey's hand,
led him to the bedroom,
filled with pictures of her and her husband.
The love they made--
textbook in its precision,
light in its passion--
finished chapter,
Harvey reached for his cigarettes.
"Sweetie, please don't smoke in here."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Margaret."
Harvey stared at her old life's relics,
wrapped his arm around her,
pulled her naked flesh against his,
a summer breeze crawled through
open window,
and Harvey said,
"So, tell me more about your husband."
Mrs. Prine smiled, brushed her hair
out of her eyes,
and with a retrospective sigh,
she began.
May 19, 2011
May 19, 2011 at 5:31 PM UTC
"Did you want to smoke that cigarette?"
Mrs. Prine asked as she covered her skin
in a black velvet nightgown.
"That'd be good. Just to be outside."
"Right. It's pleasant this evening."
Harvey climbed out of the sweat-drenched
sheets, slid into his jeans, tossed on a t-shirt,
and stumbled behind the widow Prine.
The field behind Mrs. Prine's home
stood tall -- a rich green sea, with
islands of yellow dandelions and
splatters of Indian paintbrushes.
The two sat down in the tall field.
Mrs. Prine closely watched Harvey's
moves.
Her eyes followed him with
gentle observation and understanding--
much like his own mother.
A cloud of dust perpetually hung over
the Prine place.
Mr. Prine chose the abode
to escape the hum of cars and exhaust-teeming air,
but his reconnaissance was poor.
Mr. Prine picked a house that was less than a mile
from Kiev, Oklahoma's hidden gem:
Sugar's Sweethearts.
Sugar's Sweethearts prided itself on being
the only strip club in 50-miles.
The girls were much older than young,
the ******* suffered from much more sag than they did once,
and the bar sold nothing
but light beer and throat-dicing whiskey.
"I think Cindy is going to live with me for awhile," Mrs. Prine's voice whispered then dissolved in vapor. Harvey sat on her words a moment,
"Your daughter?"
"Yes."
"I thought she just had a kid. You acted like it was all fine and dandy
less than an hour ago."
"It is fine. I don't mind. Her husband cheated on her. *******
"What about--"
"Us? Harvey, I know better than to believe this means anything remotely tangible."
"It's our escape, Mrs. Pri--dammit--Margaret."
"Sure. You and I have a healthy understanding of our needs,
while the rest of this overly-religious town
empties its restlessness at Sugar's."
The suns rays bulletholed through the clouds.
Harvey put out his cigarette on an anthill.
An interstate of ants led Harvey's eyes to
a dead blue jay.
Flies and ants alike covered the bird's body.
"I love you, Margaret," Harvey got up,
dusted off his jeans,"See ya Monday."
"I'll see you then, Harvey."
May 26, 2011
May 26, 2011 at 2:58 PM UTC
A ****** up girl
In a ****** up time
With ****** up lyrics
And that ****** up rhyme
A ****** up fairytale
With a ****** up start
A ****** up prince
Holding a ****** up heart
A ****** up story
With a ****** up ending
A ****** up princess
Named ****** up Cindy.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
Of course it was never her fault.
So many misgivings, so much insanity,
Capacity to care floundered.
Dispersed white fragments,
Blow, on broken glass tables,
A surrendered white Christmas.
Cartoon shapes form,
A blinkering television set,
With a lowly child meek submission,
Afraid to question a day, date, time,
Just the imagination fuelled by,
Children's laughter behind,
Matted curtains keeping,
Crystal skies bright sunshine.
In darkness, Dr Seuss'
"How The Grinch Stole Christmas,"
The stealing of innocence,
A childhood,
A prevalence greater than,
Any Christmas.
Spirit in shortage,
How she lived alongside,
Cindy Lou, wishing & eager,
For even just one taste,
Of a day so sacred.
Adults circulate, noise polluting air,
Insects festering in,
Corners untouched,
By rancid faeces,
A baby boo striving,
To thrive (survive),
In a climate of disdain,
Unworthy.
Another one bites the dust.
© Sia Jane
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC