"earring" poems
You think you're so cool...
Bad boy, detached.
Nobody knows you
like you know yourself.
Leather jacket, crooked grin.
Only few deserve it.
Pocket-watch, single hoop earring.
Vintage, vintage...
How did you get so great?
Perhaps you stole the lost souls
of fragile beauties.
Perhaps you aren't so great after all.
Perhaps...
Or maybe
you just got so sick of hating yourself,
that you decided
to hate everyone else instead.
Maybe...
Or it's possible
that you lost your own soul
in the eyes of a fragile beauty...
And it's possible
that you're too far gone
to be saved.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
Camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains
was the greatest day of my life
It was my birthday
I brought a suitcase
and my favorite dame
and hiked 2 miles UP^^^^^^^^
laughing all the way
UP ^^^^^in the Ozarks
Medics were shooting steroids in my ****
BUT, never been more in love
with a man who injects grief in my veins
Dwelling in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains
sensed his vibe
Yes, Jesus I feel you here
held en el Rio Grande con mis mejor amigos
drooling in the hot springs
Taos has called our names
********* the rocky sand that is below me
I find a coin from New Zealand,
in turn, losing my evil eye earring
an offering to spirit's stream
a pair of desert lizards
we desire to get frisky and be alone
we shine silver glitter under a moonlit glow
witches cackle and curanderos
hide behind coyote cries and cacti
looking to each other with faces expressing,
"What should do we do?"
I guess allow them to do their thing
humans need ceremonies too
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 1:36 AM UTC
Don't ever let any one tell you that you're not beautiful.
You are a most precious gem,
beautiful in nature, unique in design.
One of which all men are hoping to find
A gem that should be strung on a necklace
and kept close to the heart,
Yet necklaces are often only seen in part.
Perhaps you should be on the band of a ring
on a hand like a string,
reminding everyone of your glorious beauty,
Yes for all the world to see the treasure that you be.
But hands are often, time and again
bound to get ***** now and then.
No, not on necklace nor a ring can
all your beauty be on display.
If there was something I could do,
if I could just find a way.
Perhaps on the ear you can hang,
where no dirt will be
But lo, there is hair and hair blocks
the beauty the world needs to see.
Where can I put a gem like you?
Necklace, ring, and earring all won't do
So where can I display a beauty like you?
At last only one place remains,
(Though your beauty I could never contain)
In a case, behind glass, on a stand made of brass,
where dirt nor hair get in the way
where your beauty can be put on display.
Then the world may know what treasure have I,
to hold such a gem as yourself makes me one blessed guy.
2/11/12
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 8:26 AM UTC
Leather mini, high heels, pretty bracelets, earring-wheels,
Make-up perfect, smooth, right, -pins in nylons, *** tight,
Little purse, toe rings, pearl necklace -flashing bling,
Baby I’m a hot-thing,
Friday night –dating,
Take me out, -treat me right,
Take me home/bang all night!
Baby I’m a hot-thing,
Friday night –dating,
Dance and twirl stilettos, 'uptown-out-the-ghetto,'
Hours preparation, for **** hot sensation,
Grip my hips, grab my side, rub my *** pull me tight,
Baby I’m a hot-thing,
Friday night –club-bing,
Take me out, -treat me right,
Take me home/bang all night!
Baby it’s a sex-thing,
Friday night –dating,
Take me to the bathroom; treat it like a throne-room,
On my knees in nylons; tiles hard I slide on,
You give it up, take a blow,
we come out, no one knows,
Baby I’m a hot-thing,
Friday night –dating,
Take me out, -treat me right,
Take me home/bang all night!
Baby I’m a hot-thing,
Friday night –dating,
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
I saw hostile clearly
She was an ambling pear
She turned, and amber melt effused my person
I - her saccharine tome
turning pages in my minds eye
I heard her
dog-earring the notion I should remember most
And I felt mealy, and bruised.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
The expendable existence.
That uncomfortable rat on your skin.
The cut in your gums that bleeds when you chew.
The last feasible member to fit on an ascending elevator.
Warm.
Hot.
Itching.
The spinach in your teeth.
The tear in your jeans located too close to “there”
The treacherous unzipped jean fiasco.
That crumb on your face.
Where is it?
‘To the left’
Is it gone?
‘A little more’
How ‘bout now?
‘Got it.’
The untied shoe.
The untucked shirt.
The eyelash stranded on your face.
The rainy wedding day.
The gold earring under the fridge.
The luggage thats flying to London instead of Zimbabwe.
These are the unwanted little honeybees of everyday being.
cracked mirrors, guitar-snapped strings,
welts of fire and third wheel things.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
289
I know some lonely Houses off the Road
A Robber’d like the look of—
Wooden barred,
And Windows hanging low,
Inviting to—
A Portico,
Where two could creep—
One—hand the Tools—
The other peep—
To make sure All’s Asleep—
Old fashioned eyes—
Not easy to surprise!
How orderly the Kitchen’d look, by night,
With just a Clock—
But they could gag the Tick—
And Mice won’t bark—
And so the Walls—don’t tell—
None—will—
A pair of Spectacles ajar just stir—
An Almanac’s aware—
Was it the Mat—winked,
Or a Nervous Star?
The Moon—slides down the stair,
To see who’s there!
There’s plunder—where—
Tankard, or Spoon—
Earring—or Stone—
A Watch—Some Ancient Brooch
To match the Grandmama—
Staid sleeping—there—
Day—rattles—too
Stealth’s—slow—
The Sun has got as far
As the third Sycamore—
Screams Chanticleer
“Who’s there”?
And Echoes—Trains away,
Sneer—”Where”!
While the old Couple, just astir,
Fancy the Sunrise—left the door ajar!
3k
One Cuil = One level of abstraction away from the reality of a situation.
Example: You ask me for a cat.
One Cuil: If you asked me for a cat and I gave you a rhino.
Two Cuil: If you asked me for a cat, but it turns out I don't really exist. In the place where you perceived me to be standing is a picture of a large cat. On it's collar are the words: "I am a large rhino."
Three Cuil: You are a cat. You begin to scream, only to realise that you are meowing. You scratch just under your ears and begin to purr.
Four Cuil: Why are we wearing dinosaur outfits? A light breezes rolls over our bodies but you only have one arm. Suddenly, the wind begins to howl and an alternative universe is created where we are dinosaurs wearing human outfits. I have cats for arms, and as you notice this you meow again.
Five Cuil: You ask for a cat; and I give you a cat. Your pull it to your chest and begin to pet it. Your nose begins to run and you wipe it on the cats tail. On the other side of the world a bank is robbed by a woman who has 7 sisters. In her wallet is a picture of you, in your human form. Your ears are pierced in this picture and they were in your human form as well, but something is different about them. The cat purrs and grabs a hold of your earring, ripping it from your ear. Milk drips out of you wound and the lady robbing the bank is arrested. Her oldest sister is climaxing while having *** with my brother. I give you a cat and it is poisonous. I am dead.
Six Cuil: You ask me for a cat. Mark Whalberg tells me he will not **** and he hands me a cat. The cat is smoking a cigarette, I develop liver cancer. I die. The wind blows on you again and the cat does not have a left rear leg. It puts its cigarette out on my eye. MGMT plays softly and you meow to the moon which is a pizza. The pizza has olives on it which displeases you. Your displeasure causes the woman to rob the bank so she can buy you Hawaiian pizza. The gravitational pull of the olives causes a flood to reach your house. You cry and your tears become lakes. The Earth is flooded. Uranus ignites suddenly, engulfing Neptune in flames. A civilization of Nicolas Cage's living there are destroyed. Obi Wan says that there has been a disturbance in the force. A cat hands you me.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 2:56 AM UTC
Big old jade earring hung from that haunted necklace, swinging from this and that and the other way where and if that sky upstairs let go of the thing I wanted you to be but a break in the system, no a malfunction in that suction of a love that you tried to forget about but feel those typing keys on the fingers that break knees and the heels up and up with the ***** a lingerin' and thats sounding like a new pounding, the one upstairs with the translucent roof ghostly and guess i got a new boot thats fixing itself to elate another prisoner upstate where the worries are always about the women.
Yeah, that women with the diamond ring with her children by her side thinking about the monastery she never visited a big time act act act in a dress that helped her enough and forgot about the rest. But we all move on quick to detest times test with the burritos that she never ate because of the figure she imposed that she got from her transistor radio and the yearly subscriptions of the ghostly ghost that haunted her in the moat around the castle of stairs up ripunzel with dragons a aflame listening to the same wishy washer story of old uncle Maury and the twenty ten twelve salute to the mastery of the fiction of listening, another riddle in the twiddle beneath the sheets that were once painted gold but her husband done left her and she's moving to seattle to start up some new cattle spreading the seed of 1910 where time stands still with his drink in his hand because the guy has got to get around to something with all that talent, with all that anger with all that impulse that proves itself time and time again it will never be enough for a salvation sanitation with the twisty fro's of yearly ye and ye bouts of fights she twisted in that shout that she knew, she knew she swears, what it was all about.
May 6, 2011
May 6, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
I'm still waiting for you to kiss me
With those crimson lips so smooth.
And I'm still waiting for us to be alone
When the pain in your bright eyes can be soothed.
I'm still waiting for you to get help
For the carmine rivers that you trace.
And I'm still waiting for a reason why
You broke the promise you put in place.
I'm still waiting for my head to stop spinning
The rose hairclip means I see you down the hall.
And I'm still waiting to tell when my stomach flips
If it's good or not at all.
I'm still waiting for my logic to return
But love gives an alazarin tint to every drama.
And I'm still waiting for a chance to talk to you
But I seem to have bad karma.
I'm still waiting for that hug you owe me
My ruby hair shoelace flopping in my eyes
And I'm still waiting to be the tall one of the pair
As I try to move on, part of me dies.
I'm still waiting for that movie date we planned
And the ketchup coloured earring you wear in the left ear
And I'm still waiting to dance and twirl you round
In my arms I could hold you near.
I'm still waiting for when you blush
Vermillion as insults are thrown across the street
And I'm still waiting for the chance to set that right
Remmembering you defending me in the stifling heat.
I'm still waiting for the time to tell you
How much you're in my thoughts
And I'm still waiting for your birthday so I can gift
The cadmium sketchbook that I bought
I'm still waiting for the coral pain to stop in my heart
It's there for you, of that I have no doubt
And I'm still waiting for the laughter to return
To my life when we sort this out
I'm still waiting for the trip to the coast
The bergundy viking boat alight
And I'm still waiting for what will never be
But then again, it might.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
I'm disgusted with the skeleton that shows through my skin,
and my heart palpitates to a beat that I cannot trace,
I feel so weak and you stand so tall,
and I wonder if the roles were reversed,
if I could stand up as straight as you,
and if you would be able to keep yourself stitched together,
because I am always trapped in a state of frigid failure and I think
that I might be falling apart on the inside and out but
yet I never change and nothing ever happens
to make anyone notice tha-
I wonder if I will ever be whole because some days I cannot
even decide what to wear in the morning and I always,
always think about perception and things like that,
for example I accidentally dropped my earring down the sink
yesterday and I just started sobbing into the mirror and I wonder
what people thought about me,
like maybe I was having a mental
breakdown but then again,
perhaps that earring was a family heirloom that was worth
more money than a lawyer would ever make,
yet seeing yourself from the outside is different
than seeing your own reflection,
Jesus I never wanted to admit this but I think that I am dying
but I cannot stop myself from keeping the same habits and patterns
and the feeling never leaves anyway
and I always wondered how people had the time
to pray to a higher power
because I could never even wake up in
the morning without four alarms set just in case,
if Jesus decides to come down from chilling up on a cloud and talk
to a little person such as me,
I wonder if he would be able to see all the emotions
that I carry or if he would try to convert me to Christianity,
even though I was raised that way I always just felt lost
and I just could not wrap my head around self-sacrifice like that
until I met you and I realized that your life was most defiantly
worth at least ten of mine,
I'm frightened to think that one day I could end up all alone,
even though I'm pretty sure that I already am because
I push everyone away that does not understand the way that I feel.
My hands shake and tremble even when I am holding yours
and I'm sorry that you are trapped by someone like me.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
"DO YOU HAVE A QUESTION?"
her heart was a red
fire alarm
going off
with nobody
paying it
any mind
her heart was
an evening hillside
as the sun went down
the light stealing
into the ground
her heart was a favourite
pair of cufflinks
with one link
missing
or an earring found far
too late many many
years later
her heart was a lute
that was mute
unplayed for
many many moons
her heart
was a house
burningburningburning down
razed to the ground
the sneer of her
pyromanic lover
lost in the shadows
her heart was
the junk mail
that came in one door &
out the other
instant *******
she felt as if someone
had pressed DELETE
her heart was
a crystal ball
that could foretell
nothing....nothing at all
her heart was
a knocked over cheap cocktail
that left a nasty stain
on the carpet...on the wall
her heart was
a tiny torn pink knapsack
that held all
she had known
her heart was
the forgotten iron
branding itself into
her nice new blouse
her heart was
a poppy seen
from a passing train
there&gone again
her heart
full of the perfume
of memories that refused
to ever
...go away.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
His rasping grumbles define hunger, louder than my stomach
complains about the seven hours since breakfast,
Grunts replace the pry of a commanding tongue, eager to devour, or a feathery graze past the
hook in my collarbone, a tender nip at the crescent of flesh that
peeks below my white plastic earring.
Gutturals guide our transition from a stained mattress to a rickety desk where
Frenetic eyes validate the arch of my back.
Wild thrusts push us perpendicular.
Undoubtedly, my howls alert the neighbors.
If not, then the neglected crashes of my plummeting clutter or the unfaltering thud of my head
pounding the half closed window can attest:
We mean business.
The tired floor creaks ‘nd cranks as erratic lunges hasten.
(grasping his shoulders tighter than a lone, wrinkled hand grips the pepper spray in her bag)
I brace that swelling itch, my hips shudder as it consumes, throbs, and then
Electrifies to axons from dendrites.
And he doesn’t miss a beat— more jabs **** my liver.
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 4:20 PM UTC
I pierced my ear today.
Emphasis on the I.
I bought supplies,
took the needle,
and pierced my skin.
Then cartilage and skin again.
Put the earring in and locked it up.
Cleaned up blood with watered down
chemicals.
I pierced my ear today
to get a safer rush of pain.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
Tears…so many tears after my best friend
died. I was 17. Light brown, coarse hair from my
puppy snuggled up to me each night. Crumbs
from many late-night dinners, coupled with
doing homework until the sun peaks
through the sleepy darkness.
My mom’s old white tennis shoes, falling
apart at the seams. Bobby pins.
Snoozed alarms. Text messages I didn’t want
to say goodnight to. Screams,
from that nightmare that felt all too real.
Tears…so many tears. The nightlight I kept
on ever since then. Books. Stories. Adventures.
Gatsby’s blind love. Harry finally defeating his demons.
The matching sock I didn’t have time to find. Dust.
Lots of dust. The phone call when her grandmother died.
My wandering mind dreaming of what the future might hold. Poems,
written and read. The dizzy night I told you
“stay,” and I let you have what you
wanted. Then you told me, “I’m not ready for
a girl like you.” Tears…so many tears.
My mother’s constant disapproval of
me, and my time spent
wasted in her hazel eyes.
Countless nights I wished you
laid with me under my cold lavender sheets.
Misplaced earring backings. Baby blue nail polish dripped.
Bittersweet dreams of a future with you. My puppy’s hidden
treats that he forgot once existed. Phantoms.
Monsters. Phone calls and Facetime’s that felt like
a moment frozen, but lasted hours. That bright pink
Homecoming dress my mother said I looked
heavy in. Tears…so many tears. Darkness. Months later when you
came back, sleeping peacefully next to me. Forgiveness. Hope.
All the boys I thought were worth my time. Love.
You.
It’s always been you.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 12:44 AM UTC
i must be the only one
who finds sparrows
amusing outside my window
filled with song,
the same in me trying to imitate
their song with a range of onomatopoeias
never written (thankfully, poets
who write sparrows' song, may you
be disgraced, chirp chirp,
beat-box that **** elsewhere, where
you're welcome by admirers),
the same in me laughing
at the kangaroo hops
unable to use both feet to walk
in the guttering of the carcass plateau of crows...
but there my laugh,
like the last whims of a pope when a robin presides
over the ritual outside the window on the sill...
i find pronouns unable to capture
timing, a class of words for standing still,
they just can't capture timing, they're space
orientated, a man of 70 will say the same
of a man aged 20 about a woman,
but both will be idiotic about the size of
her earrings concerning her promiscuity:
bigger the earring, the bigger the need to feed
her juiced up genitalia lips...
warm **** and cold mouth,
some say in reverse: getting ****** off
is like ice-cream being eaten...
and cold in reverse would give you circumcision
defined lawfully as **** a cold genital
assertion of womanhood will peel the skin
right off... ask for a cake you''ll be welcome
away from the bony **** of your hand's embrace...
perhaps marriage... and that cold mouth
that encompasses all hidden glaciers;
still, the **** is about sparrows in rain rain gutters
hopping along to the orchestra playing only
one tune that's ha ha ha.
all in all, when aroused, one hole warms
up the other cools down... the third?
don't know, don't care, apparently it's exhilarating,
trying to turn men onto all three
and away from homosexuality,
with the fourth (woman's ego) being missed...
could never equate that to a phallus and a hole...
i always felt ***** by that thing, the fourth dimension
once the **** was explored... it's all Dostoevsky after that...
everything is permitted, no deity exists,
i guess a the end is required of such a poem as this.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
The things you find when you leave your husband, are not the things you think you'll find.
A missing earring, a couple of quarters, a dime, a nickel and three pennies all stuck behind the makeup.
Those are the things you're happy to see. Those are the safe things. The things that make you think, "oh, well it's a good thing I'm finally cleaning out this cupboard." But then, then you stop. Because you aren't just cleaning up. It's not spring, this isn't a cleaning rampage. This is packing.
This is leaving.
This is the hardest thing you've ever had to do and no one is there for you.
This isn't anyone else's battle to fight.
It's a long time coming, 6 years of tears. 6 years of laughing.
it's the laughing that made you stay.
All the conversations about being so unhappy. All the friends who have said
"Well, if he really makes you that unhappy why don't you leave?"
As if the difference between happy and unhappy is as easy as I want it to be.
Like hopscotch.
Because what if it's all true?
What if the reason you're unhappy is because you are
"An embarrassment as a wife?
Who can't cook.
Who can't clean.
Who dropped out of school.
Who barely has a job.
You're embarrassed 'cause I'm yelling? How do you think I feel?"
If all that is true then leaving won't make you happy.
Leaving isn't going to change anything but your address, marital status and financial situation.
Leaving won't solve the problem, staying will.
Staying, there's no way in hell you're staying. You might have a snowballs chance out there but in here you're already dead.
Slowly every time you remember it isn't true.
I can cook, pasta, casserole, chocolate chip cookies and stir fry.
I make bacon and eggs, pancakes and waffles, coffee and cigarettes.
I can clean, vacuum the house, throw all the q-tips away that are left on the counter, pick up dishes that are not mine all over the house, but if not wanting to be a maid means failure I'll take it.
I'm going back to school, I'm not a good student, college is scary but I'm tackling those demons.
I have a job, I'm a nanny, I'm helping raise someone else's kid because I think that's worth while.
I am not embarrassed by myself. I like who I am.
YOU cannot take that away from me.
So I'm going to leave, for fear of more scars and just because the scars don't show doesn't mean they aren't there.
Because the things you find when you leave aren't found in the make-up cupboard.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 9:32 AM UTC
That feeling that you get when you drop the last bit of your ice cream cone.
When you think you lost your phone and it's in your back pocket.
When you simply can't find your glasses, which are on your head.
When you trip over a painted line.
When your bookmark falls out of your book.
When you think there's an extra step at the top of the stairs.
When you think there's an extra step at the bottom of the stairs.
When you conveniently keep hitting a newly formed bruise.
When you can't find a matching sock.
When you accidentally press send before you're ready.
When you break a hair tie.
When you step in a deceivingly large puddle.
When you get a paper cut.
When you scratch a CD/DVD.
When you sing along to a song you hate.
When someone steps on the back of your shoe.
When someone's tag is sticking out.
When someone's a loud chewer or chews with their mouth open.
When your hair blows around and gets stuck in your gum or chap stuff on your lips.
When you stain your clothes.
When you lose an earring.
When you run out of cream for your coffee.
When you get to E in your gas tank.
When you step in gum.
When you sit on hot leather seats.
When you sit on wicker furniture with shorts on.
When you get shampoo in your eye.
When the soap is so small it crumbles to pieces.
When no one refills the toilet paper.
When someone sticks the milk or juice back in the fridge with half a sip left.
When you can't for the life of you think of the name of something.
When you forget how to spell simple words.
When you have to walk barefoot on hot pavement.
When you get an awkward sun tan.
When you forget to reapply.
When you get fingerprints on your glasses.
When someone spoils a movie or TV show.
When your favorite character dies (love you Sirius).
When you have an itch with a cast on.
When you can't open a combination lock.
When you hear a mosquito in your ear.
When you drop your change everywhere.
When you smudge your nails right after painting them.
When the Bruins lose.
When the end of your jeans fray.
When you get hat head.
When you get shocked by inanimate objects or people.
When you (re)realize there will never be a new Harry Potter book.
When you have something stuck in your teeth.
When you can't fall asleep at night.
When you can't turn your mind off.
When your phone decides to shut itself off.
When you have a cord that just isn't long enough.
When time after time I have to remind myself that you aren't who I thought you were.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
The last feeling pang passes in a gasp
As the cold metal, hot metal
Pierces through that bending
Wind-like flesh.
In a second it will be a
Feature like the hue of eyes
Borne its weight long and steps inside
Its waiting grave.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 3:06 PM UTC
The world is watching
Little boy dangling
Like a earring
In an over ear piercing
Many hate to see
The future go ******
Not in their eyes
But still the boy is dangling
Right in the open
Many eyes looking
This is unthinkable
All wishing
Let it be a marvel comic
Hoping to end happy
With a friendly neighborhood
Spider man!
There is no Spider-Man
No Spider-Man
If there is no neighborhood
We have a neighborhood
Without a Spider-Man
But a mere mortal man
dried up the tears on Paris map
In the hands of Gassama
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 6:31 AM UTC
In the summer night, below the sunshine,
I met you darling, here, and all of your friends.
And like you're golden earring, you became my energy
the whisper to my night, the sparkle in the ocean deep.
And when we waited for the morning song of the sunlight,
from this time on, you became a part of Romania to me.
For below the skylit ocean, in Varme Vece
between the purple, red, and blue stars, and you.
In all the colors of the blue, I want you to
Remember America golden skies when I leave.
So in the "Glo"of the clubs, or light and fame
of another day when you lead in therapy,
and when you restore the might of the weak,
Or between the wine and dine, and good games,
in the same way, my dear, you know you can find meaning
From these summer nights or darker days -
from a broken heart, you also can be mended - you do know.
So when you struggle and trying to find the words to say,
When you yourself feel lower than the ocean sand,
you can trace these memories, and search for my hands,
and fall in line and feel warm and safe in these summer days.
Jun 22, 2021
Jun 22, 2021 at 1:32 PM UTC
So far the story goes
Miss Place keeps everyone on their toes.
For her finding things is not an easy thing
Most of her possessions invariably go missing
Nowhere to be found are objects of her use
And the ones she blames find some excuse
That she is unmindful and blatantly unfair
Her missing comb is there only in her hair
To her desperate hunt for an important file
She's told she's sitting on it all the while
When she lost an earring and was sulking morose
It so happened they said she wore it on her nose
She wonders why her family should at all blame her
If her car keys are found in the dickey of her car
and why on earth should the blame be all hers
when her money is in a book and not in her purse.
Miss Place thinks she knows the reason for such mess
others' gross negligence in putting things in place.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
this long red tunic
hides her battle scars well.
centuries of fighting incarnations of cunning lucifer
her eyes sea blue,
her lips blood red,
the crescent moon on her forehead
witness to her numerous accolades.
in the continuing saga of good vs evil,
her next battle begins.....
this warrior goddess of exquisite beauty
pauses to smile,
just for you and me.
with this gifted diamond earring
now worn
as her cosmic amulet,
her ultimate victory is near certain!
© 2021
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 8:45 AM UTC
cocktail heels
sharp as tacks
watch your feet
every step the green mile
you could hear a pin drop
(or was that a pearl earring?)
the lipstick on her teeth smiles at you.
skin so creamy
it’d feel right at home in a cup o’ joe
free that poor hair from *******
so the red sea comes tumbling down her shoulders
just ignore the diamond on her finger—
it’s merely a suggestion.
that dress
smooth black and form-fitting
follow the zipper towards the small of her back
now emerging from the chrysalis
madame butterfly
nice clothing like hers looks better on the carpet.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 11:46 AM UTC
*You lost it
...
The pre-dawn sky still held stars
and she shivered beneath their cold light.
Arms crossed against the weather
eyes darting, yet her posture is held tight.
The stars light up the sidewalk
and her darting eyes look tired.
She sighs glancing at the ground once more
then checks how much time transpired.
Her hand touches her ear
checking to see if she missed it.
It's still not there and the night is fading,
yet she doesn't want a replacement.
Her hand falls to her side with a thud
and her heels clack loudly.
She's done what she could
yet there's a risk paid for acting proudly.
She didn't look back to the grass
where a small object reflected the starlight.
The earring was there
but it was fading away with the night.
...
It isn't the only thing I lost.
.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 4:43 AM UTC