For our Echoing Little Red Riding Hoods
Lagging behind in the Opposition Departments
Lets help you out by  offering some buzzwords
For your important assignments even though they've
been floated around forever,

But we understand you need some help catching up
So memorize these basic premises
And please enrich your lives and utilise your valuable time
by raking your little brains to create  poems with them

Lets begin with ITALIAN , don't forget RAINBOW, LIES
is also in, add RESPECT, throw in RUDENESS, factor in
LITTLE GIRL, remember ANGEL, write about TRUST, that
much overuse term, throw in BLACK - that's quite a
popular one. Also PINK is quite up the scale, as well as HEART-
Broken ( as if ) and pleeeezee make a big fuss on LONELINESS
That's a big seller. APPLE and SERPENT did appear now and
again so trigger them as you like.

How about BETRAYAL, LOYALTY, FAKE FRIENDS and that
famous one, FOUR or is it THREE, what about BONES,
Lets not forget SKELETON or even ANOREXIC, let also
remember SCREAM, that was a scream..hahah see what
I did there! Remember GREY that has a bit of colour and
what about BUCK or even DOOR-MAT that was a wipe-off
or SUBMISSIVE another popular one.

Hmmm...what about HAIR CUT or TOMBOY or DIGITAL
those are quite good or WOODGREEN or HULL or DOG
that reared its head...woof....woof...hahahah or CEREAL,
beats me what that's about or even MONEY..though that
never was an issue, how about GOLD-DIGGER just for
drama or 50/50 which has been mentioned. Hey! don't forget
RED, what to do without that pinking away.

So please  Little Hoods, students of the Opposition Department
keep with the programme and work on these pointers
crack your little brains and write poems like crazy little ants
Your contribution is valuable cause persistent is the Key.
Keep up with your assignment and forget all other things
Oppose, oppose, oppose, work those little brains!

We met outside of a dingy doorframe
of a hotel room and automatically blurted out
introductions at the same time,
pinking our cheeks and
slowing
us
down.

The way you breathed out your name
as if it was the lingering smoke
from the last drag of your cigarette
captured my attention and
kept me hungry
for more.

Three days passed
and we were caught wrapped
in the white sheets of Room 243,
whispering compliments of the craft
of my soft lips on your bare skin
in between green apple
Smirnoff-soaked kisses.

You didn’t mind
when I desperately needed to find
my best friend wrapped in the arms
of a half-naked frat boy
by the bonfire flames,
just to tell her she was
the best friend I have ever had.

I didn’t mind when we ran
through the hotel hallways
to find your best friend
on the brink of arrest,
barefoot and broke,
giving the shuttle drivers a hard time.

We said goodbye outside the dented door
of the shuttle we coincidentally took
together the morning after,
leaving behind our two a.m. talks
of improvisations and dances
to stupid songs by the DJ
in the other world that is
Lake Havasu.

*May 5, 2014 4:17:28 PM

As if with His breath
He blew across the
face of the earth and
sent clouds scurrying
towards the West

As if with His mighty
hand in the upper
Heavens He cleared the
sky as the clouds moved
ever faster towards the East

As the Sun rose the
birds sang praises for
the beauty of this fall
morning growing cloud
less in a pinking sky

The ferns dance gracefully
in the shadows to a
rhythm in the breeze

A set of yellow wings perform
the nectar dance in the warming
sun as the shadows creep across
the grass the fern dance in the
shadows and yearn the warmth
from an ever shrinking fall Sun

New shoots rising from needles
and leaves as they roots move
silently under the decaying life
an orange flutter by did his
nectar dance as a blue dragon
sips nectar from a fading blue and
purple bloom's swaying the breeze

Graceful forms emerge held in pose
as there leaves do a free fall and
the branches move less with each
breeze a bird sings of love and the
beauty of his life, in the changing colors

And the food our Lord provided him
and his mate an enticing ballad of
love and admiration  as the sounds
of children laughing in the distance
carries in the breeze and the warmth
of the Sunrises to a sweat

Tis the time when Ginger blooms
and it's white petals dance in the wind
as erotica flows into the minds men
amidst the yearn to snuggle as the
nights grow long and cool and the
pleasures of the night seep into
their hearts and souls

Orange globs with painted faces
dots the door steps with candied
thoughts dwell where fear once slept
as the greens fade in the setting sun
and the circle of life creeps into night
an ****** scents pass in days and
onto necks those fragrant spots
as the fern flickers in the breeze.

How am I supposed to breathe when you're not here?
Oxygen has not been kind to me.
When the leaves fall and soon enough they'll make a crisp beneath my soles
And the brisk wind will come whistling past my ears pinking my cheeks
Will you still be there in my dreams?
Will you still be my escape?

And then when the snow starts to fall and those leaves begin to fade from sight
When the ochre sweaters turn into fur coats
And the people no longer carry umbrellas but coffee mugs
Will I still wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat
Grasping at the greedy oxygen
Reaching for you
Angry with the futility of my predicament?

Or will the fresh leaves of spring bring relief?

There is sincerity in her eyes
as she says she reads my poetry
out loud
to herself
to practice
speaking without
cracking her voice

I wonder if
the flush spreading
into my face,
pinking my cheeks
is from
pride, embarrassment
or a mixture of
these two emotions
fighting for recognition

Super Saiyan like Goku
Japanese got Nobu
Got things to blow through
Soul searching eat soul food

Lineman said go blue
Know things I know too
Cough down got the flu
'Rona season ye they knew

Hit a lick and they rich now
Kobe shooting bricks now
Make music you call sounds
Shorty go two rounds

Henny Henny on the flip town
Jealousy they talk about
I don't really give a **** now
I just wanna blow it up now

Someone come roll spliffs
6ix God go views this
Air punching got no fists
I just feel so diff

Get rich and go dip
Pinking I go swim
Jelly jelly got no diss
****** like solstice

Don't want to lose connect
Dripping down like a faucet
I just want to be blessed
Late sleep feel too stressed

Situations go reflect
"**** my ex" is a reflex
I just want two things
Big money and respect

East to side to the rex
Play smart got no decks
Aces  up next
Need a queen be the best

Whip around in my X
Flex on my ex
Check time Rolex
Get "I miss you" texts

Prompt: Describe a day in the life of a painter or artist**

Wake up. I tell myself for the millionth time.
I want to stay in bed, break away from the chaos I once called life,
but the crowd inside my head has been screaming my name for hours.
“We need you!” it continues to say, and although I want to fight back,
tell the crowd they are wrong;
that they are perfectly capable of living without me,
I know they will not stop unless I get up, they will not let me sleep.

So I get out of bed, slightly hungover from the night before.
As I slug my way to the bathroom,
I remember that even a celebrity
has the same ****** functions as a normal human being.
While I sit there, on the ***, the metal bar that holds my shower together suddenly comes apart, slicing across my neck as it break and falls.
Blood gushes from my throat and I gasp for breath through gargled pleas. Death takes me in the end and I sit on my toilet
until the maid finds my blood-soaked body.

The sound of a dog barking outside my window forces my eyes to open.  
I curse that this was merely a dream and not reality.
I flush the toilet and was my hands,
trying to avoid my reflection in the mirror.
I slither my way into my study and sit before my creations,
half finished and hardly something I would consider art.
Today is the fifth day I sit idealess,
unable to think as I once had of paintings to entice my fans.
The only thing I can remember is her…
how I have not been able to get the image of her mangled body twisted among the forgotten metal scraps out of my mind.

They had found her three weeks after she had gone missing.
It had only taken me two days to know she was no longer alive.
Since that day, I have not been able to produce a painting I enjoy;
no longer can my mind see colors for everything has turned black.

Frustrated I grab the sugarcraft knife that lies on the desk before me,
turning its sharp blade over gently in my hands.
For ten minutes I debate a decision that had already been decided five days earlier. I press the thin sharp blade against my neck and pull,
feeling no pain as it slices a thin pinking line across my throat.
As I await the sweet release of death, my blood becomes my final masterpiece.

The scent of pinks assail me,
I'm walking down a hill,
evoking distant memories
that linger with me still.

Of secret garden places,
full of child delights,
where I played when I was happy,
'mongst Cillas, Daffs,so bright.

Cherry blossom tree drops,
pinking everywhere,
flying Dandelion Fairies
playing through my hair.

The scent of Pinks assail me,
travelling on the air,
once again,
they take me back
To a time without a care.

this thing is very pretty.
it does not say much,
its cheeks are pale over
and beneath blossomed with crimson.

it has 2 light eyes
of greeness which
move softly over the nose
and lips–2 florid strips of pinking.

its hair is spun of evening sunlight,
red hushed and riven with ray.

this thing is rare
and beautiful
and lovely beyond lovely.

this thing is a girl,
she says
her name.

her eyes move softly,
and her cheeks shine as blood with snow.

few things have ever been so perfect,
few things have ever been so girl.

Flowers bloom yearly
then die. We make beds
for beauty, sheeting them
to make love.  Lovers coil
wrapping skin, sweating to
make a future enshrined with
devotions to their own.
Damp ground tread on by
feet running to demand what
they want for themselves. Running
over flowers pinking towards the sun;
wild, growing without struggle, until
they are trampled.

Jan. 26, 2009

some girls taste like all girls taste like
every girl, differently, the same;

each smells the least exactly like the last,
smells swelling with a pinch of brine
between hot breaths of a Summer ocean;

and how good the ocean feels running
faster than curved orangeness of pinched
pinking hotness down your chin while it
rustles jook quivers and sighs heaping
one exquisite leap of its spine into each;

(let's say basically i've been a lot myself
on my knees at the edges of beds eating.)

Now my strength is failing
My already tiny muscles screaming
At the weight of your words
As they gnaw and gnash
At the filaments of my fragile world

Now my strength is straining
Shopping bags of poor plastic
Stretched and tearing
Pinking my fingertips
As I hold on for my life

Now my eyes are tearing, bitter
Angry tears
When I am not enough
When I cannot cure your illness
That plagues your angel bones

Now every day is a battle
That I do not want to fight
I just want to be happy
I don’t want to fight this cancer
That eats my failing mind

Now your monopoly on madness
Is being taken over by me
And I cannot contain
The fire that burns my all
When I bleed my words of comfort
And the stains aren’t red at all
But plasma
The empty hollow coat of life
That isn’t enough for you

I wrote you another poem
That was for your birthday
But now I don’t think you want to read it
For it will surely spark tears
In your beautiful, wet eyes
I cannot be a rock always
I cannot just be the wires
Trying to contain a bowl of soup
That liquefies and solidifies
As often as the sun lives and dies
On our earth

I’m trying so hard Katie.
Just please try as hard too.
That’s all I ask of you

loving without pinking up
around your neck, feeling
cold blue — am i bleeding?
or is it you — just coming back?

— i am kidding, cause i'm sinking
waiting for the cause to wreck

Bark and blemish. Toads
ribbiting amid ***** dark.
Poison underneath lip balm,
prayers and price tags
scattershot amongst pared
rosebuds. I feel like explaining.
But I can’t. Just imagine
the sun peeking above,
morning starshow, skinmelt.
Fingertip whorls
pinking with sheen.

I shove my fist down my throat to stop butterflies spilling out,
spluttering under sticky toffee pudding sky

lines and lines of grass wave hairy heads, panicked to be plucked in
late May air - bare and dry, naked as paper.

We drink fizz to soften silence, look down at birds chasing their shadows.
Ice on pinking thighs

I lick my lips to hide frantic flapping wings,
clouds gather as marshmallows, bodies of grass rise to look.

tongue tickled by flutters, I drink more to drown the butterflies.
Let them digest into crawling caterpillar crumbs in my stomach’s pit