"manchineel" poems
It's grey now
In the calm, after the storm;
or perhaps in its center
So quiet that I can hear her breathing,
like the last note in a song,
and under it,
at the very edge of hearing:
the soft whispers
of small spirits
in an unfamiliar language
like old cedar woodchimes
on a windy day
Outside is dark,
and rain,
and trees
It's been raining all week
and I hope it won't stop
Maybe, if it doesn't
all the ground will wash away
and I'll finally know
what exactly is under
that odd moss statue,
half buried in sand,
always looking in my window
like I did something wrong
Our home is blue smoke,
and cats crying on carpet
But mostly, it's her
Alone in the foreground,
without competition
So I look to the hazel,
****** glow of her eyes
Always so bright,
skeptical,
and laughing
But now they seem darker,
****** and less green
Her words were all curses,
violent and heavy,
pulled down, to the floor,
by their own weight,
to make quite the mess
Such lingering filth,
and not easy to clean
But I'm ****** and she's pretty,
like a manchineel tree
exhausted of patience
She's looking at me
like I took away,
every good thing,
in all of the world
Blame me,
Or our town:
built on miles of buried ***********
rotting in the dirt
We pretend to be offended, but don't really care
Why should we?
I imagine it's much the same in other places,
with other people
I think that all towns are grey,
just different shades
But her,
She'll stay red forever
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
Hot boring day
Don’t got much to say
How can I get High?
I need my Soul, Mind, Body to Fly
I tried ***** and Jack
Boy the Buzz is Wack
I wrote some real cool things
But destroying my liver would sting
I should try to take drugs
Where can I learn how to take pills?
I need to get my mind to chill
With my luck I would probably OD
If I do bury me beneath
The Manchineel Tree
Maybe I should go to the Internet and hire a *****
I hear these girls Love Money from Male Bores
Gee I hope they don’t have too many sores
Writing poems is nice
But I yearn for a safe vice
I use to listen to music
Beatles, Stones, Billy Idol
Today I need a sound that is Vital
Rap is Great
There is no debate
But I need a Lady to take me to another level
My ears, eyes and mind she must bedevil
To soar I must feel the Beat
I have to feel the Heat
She has to be a Visual Treat
Her soul I would eat
I don’t care what color she is
But I must be able to taste her Audio ****
So I go to my search engine and type in trance
All the Ladies are Super Hot
But will I find Aural Romance
I can’t decide between Milk and Dark Chocolate
Wow Black Latex Skin Tight Suit
Her stance, her dance, her prance, her trance
I found the Trance Queen
Nadia Ali is her name
Her sound and beat have brought me to life
She will become my Video Wife
Her performance can bring and man or woman to their knees
You can see on her face
She has style and grace
She loves to entertain
And take away the boredom pain
What an Angel sent to Earth
To spread Trance’s Birth
Thank you Miss Ali
You got me Audio High
I bet even the Devil if he heard you would cry
Please if you read this poem check her out
You owe it to yourself to find what Trance is all about
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC