"ginned" poems - Hello Poetry

Night shimmer with a ginned up glimmer.A double palm grip.He bores through my windscreen. Dead eyed urban zombie. Chrome flashes.dude hAs,long eyelashes. One face down.my turn comin round. This my friends is a gangland popper.Wrong place wrong time show stopper. Who-Bangin Lead slangin. Exit 10 East Transverse colon in the belly of the beast. One stop shopping one size Fits all. I watch in slow motion as John Doe Skids ands sprawls.Head buster got im. Tin Foil wrap or Rat a tat tat... I Gotta move.

0

Feb 23, 2014

Feb 23, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC

geno-cattouse-1

muzzle flash.A midsummer missing

Night shimmer with a ginned up glimmer.A double palm grip.He bores through my windscreen. Dead eyed urban zombie. Chrome flashes.dude hAs,long eyelashes. One face down.my turn comin round. This my friends is a gangland popper.Wrong place wrong time show stopper. Who-Bangin Lead slangin. Exit 10 East Transverse colon in the belly of the beast. One stop shopping one size Fits all. I watch in slow motion as John Doe Skids ands sprawls.Head buster got im. Tin Foil wrap or Rat a tat tat... I Gotta move.

14

Well met by moonlight we, like painted birds Wing through the winking dark. In the half-light Of looming streetlamps, and a bond, cast new. Birds of a feather we, skipping in our High heeled boots, songs dripping from our ginned tongues. Fledglings; two young things painting the sky, and It bends around us. Together we fly. Since that first blue night of scrabbling through the Waning light, you’ve been a strong branch, an Essential part of my wavering nest. All I have is gratitude, lay it at Your feet. A hand to hold your spirit up. My preening blackbird, you will always be A poem-tongued and twilit queen to me.

0

Apr 17, 2017

Apr 17, 2017 at 7:54 AM UTC

emma-whitworth

For Evie

Well met by moonlight we, like painted birds Wing through the winking dark. In the half-light Of looming streetlamps, and a bond, cast new. Birds of a feather we, skipping in our High heeled boots, songs dripping from our ginned tongues. Fledglings; two young things painting the sky, and It bends around us. Together we fly. Since that first blue night of scrabbling through the Waning light, you’ve been a strong branch, an Essential part of my wavering nest. All I have is gratitude, lay it at Your feet. A hand to hold your spirit up. My preening blackbird, you will always be A poem-tongued and twilit queen to me.

14

Was Dorothy right or a victim of ginned-up memory? She was so pleased to be deposited right back at her beginning. But the colors weren’t there. Where was the action? The danger that infused her journey and spiked her nerve endings? I guess that she eventually acclimated to her old routine. Gradually the colors and tingly tension subsided into a memory. She helped with the chores, later married a farmer from a nearby town, and put on her apron to raise corn and a few kids. Maybe one snowy night, though, when Dorothy was in her twilight years, all alone in front of the fireplace nursing a dram, She took solace in the fact that once upon a time she was the star of her own technicolor journey. Close your eyes, Dorothy. And dream a little dream for me.

0

Apr 12, 2020

Apr 12, 2020 at 5:47 PM UTC

sue-collins

There’s no place like home

Was Dorothy right or a victim of ginned-up memory? She was so pleased to be deposited right back at her beginning. But the colors weren’t there. Where was the action? The danger that infused her journey and spiked her nerve endings? I guess that she eventually acclimated to her old routine. Gradually the colors and tingly tension subsided into a memory. She helped with the chores, later married a farmer from a nearby town, and put on her apron to raise corn and a few kids. Maybe one snowy night, though, when Dorothy was in her twilight years, all alone in front of the fireplace nursing a dram, She took solace in the fact that once upon a time she was the star of her own technicolor journey. Close your eyes, Dorothy. And dream a little dream for me.

8