"handi" poems
severed , fish on the block
head I sit
ripe as a two year old egg
shelled
bitter as vinegar mixed with jack
Black stirred into a margarita and two shots of
house bourbon a beeker of *** two
fingers of peepermint schnapps
and a handi-wipe
for a napkin
moderating an argument between this big woman
and a bear of a man
about the rules of pool
whether balls are big small which
both of them dripping ice from their nostrils wild *** eyed
trying to slip off the far edge of the stool and at least go ****
they have me surrounded
one in my left ear big girl in my right
any closer their teeth would take a bite
sneered she does good and he all 6 4 350 lbs of him
reeks of hard work and the drout
I see clouds overhead
clouds everywhere
a lot of spit
little rain
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 2:46 AM UTC
Your mica eyes
****** their sinister gaze--
Grim and glowering--
Gouging into gaping heart-wounds
To commence continuous fresh ooze
Dripping from festering, unhealed centers.
Your darkened desires
Derive insidious pleasures
Watching the writhing and wasting--
The squirming of my weakening spirit;
You grin at the gruesome handi-work
Of your impaled butterfly.
The brilliant brevity
Of my soul's prismatic patterns,
Exsanguinates in frantic, futile beatings
With shredded, useless wings--
Faint flutterings fade into memories;
Anguish appeases from silent screams
To inevitable fatal numbing....
( Release me--
P L E A S E--
I need to soar!)
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
The Chaos n tussle dat Ʊ have brought upon us
The demise Ʊ have caused a day to d birth of our lord
"Be you not proud"
Of sinister handi-work dat darkkens d cloud
You have brought sour to ta lips of all
Another family has lost a mum
Just when we thought we hadd seen it all
The man you have de-manised into a black mournful figure
And the children Ʊ have put in the centre of the swirl.
I challenge you to man up
I ask Ʊ in un-understanding pain
Are you now content?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
I BELIEVE THERE'S A GOD; HE RESIDES INSIDE OF ME. THE REASON WHY HE SENT HIS SON, IT WAS FOR MY LIBERTY.
I BELIEVE THERE'S A GOD; I LOVE HIS HANDI WORKS. I LOVE THE SUN, THE MOON, THE STARS, AND HIS PRECIOUS DIRT.
I BELIEVE IN ETERNAL LIFE; I WILL NOT BE HERE FOREVER. I BELIEVE THERE IS A HELL, TO REACH HEAVEN IS MY ENDEAVOR.
I BELIEVE THAT I AM LOVED, BY THE GREATEST ONE OF ALL. I PRAY THAT I WILL ANSWER HIM, EVERY TIME HE CALLS.
I BELIEVE THERE IS A HOPE, FOR A MAN WHO USES HIS GUN. GOD IS ABLE TO CHANGE HIS LIFE, AND RECEIVE HIM AS HIS SON.
BY, AUTHOR & POET, SANDRA JUANITA NAILING
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
(presumably still alive
predicated on rumored sightings dive
ving fast as blazing saddles,
her blitzkrieg,
nothing but a blurry beehive.)
Swifter than Usain
(lightening) Bolt
Eden Liat
(thine eldest daughter,
a mixed hybrid breed
greyhound and whippet)
leaves in the dust
topnotch any racehorse
prompting speculation,
she harkens, and begat
from a long line,
sans award
(at trough feed ding),
many a cooly
winning super naturally
infused awk worded Colt
surpassing (with a flash,
plus even sub track ting
considerable handi
capped add halt
ting delay), thine
prestigious, princess,
and prodigious exalt
ting marathon running
smart lee zipping
as a whip lash heiress,
thru no fault
in the stars
of her astrological designs
oft times humbly declines
adulation, benediction, dedication
and deferentially finds
reasons amazingly, gracefully,
and mannerly deflects
self imposed grueling practices,
that she quickly grinds
into pulverized powder,
any high top custom made
high tech lines
brand name
threadbare sneakers saved
with countless
trophies that aligns
storied (and stuffed
animal bedecked)
bookshelf, even gag
me with a spoon
humor tinged competitions,
faux rotten tum ate oh
(John Heinz)
seeded "ketchup with me"
hash-tag game
opened to all kinds
of village people, including
some barenaked ladies,
where flashy Mainliners
dressed to the nines
(essentially for sound
garden variety public,
who generally favor squash),
that crop up during
Indian Summer salad days
punctuates the warm air,
where one after
another lover doth appear
oak kay embracing ephemeral
pseudo sappy romance
spine tingling
as sharp needling pines.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
People take selfies
and pictures of one another
just in case they missed it the first time they saw it
all stored in their phones
which hardly ever leaves their handi's
only to see the image they saw
is not right
that is not how I remember it
you had to be there
you would have seen it
the joke is on you
now the world is not the same
nor are you
Think I have a filter for that.
I love people, do you do?
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 2:46 PM UTC