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P E Kaplan Apr 2014
First I spied the neck, sagging innocently enough,
one might even say blissfully, reflected in the glass laptop.
The phrase "whodunit" came out of nowhere,
and a low, silky, voice whispered,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

The villain left a few clues; the wispy hair strands;
some scattered age spots, skin tags, a few moles,
listless, crinkly, skin pale, lightly pimpled,
and a weird, wrinkly crevasse teased,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

Totally hooked, curiosity piqued; southward I spotted
where a once perky treasure "chest" was hidden,
two solemn, half-empty grain sacks, laying sideways,
basically lifeless they lazily muttered,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

The final chapter, the mystery solved,
no crime, no villain, nothing stolen, just flesh alchemy.
Where once a taut, flat, plateau of supple skin, resided
now a lumpy, bumpy, flabby belly, murmured sweetly,
"Boston Creme Pie and a cup of tea would hit the spot."
PC classic Sep 2016
you drink for ten nights straight
and the eleventh night
arrives
and the drinks still keep coming
at you
but this time it knocks you out
First round
and you find yourself again at an
odd hour like
two forty seven in the morning
lying crooked neck
on a half torn
mattress in the hall

You just lie there
hoping to go back to sleep
but the knock out punch
from earlier
has toughened you up
and now no matter
how hard it tries
the soft hands of night
can't box you down

so you write

you know that
time has a tendency to crawl
when its Wednesday night
of a long week
and you are a thousand miles
away from home
and you wish you could
just disappear
into a deep slumber to fast forward time
to the fourth day and beyond
but you are so done with boredom
that you can't even dream

so you write

There is an old hag
We call her grief
and she is back again
at your throat
and you wish you can
straighten out
her old wrinkly flesh
so that at least you can have
an aesthetic end
There is no cure but to put your mind to the paper

so you write

Your life is a hamster
As long as it runs, the clocks will roll
and you don't want to turn
certain corners of time
because
you don't know what you will find
and the moments you want to keep
are always in a hurry to leave
and happiness is a flash
shining few and far between
but you want to
prove them wrong
when they say no one can be
forever strong

so you write
Sister and I loved to play, to run and twirl and roll in grass all day. Momma gets mad when we go too far but our yard is massive we live on a farm! Running on rolling fields of prairie, singing and laughing and acting merry, shot right through the tree line that marks our abode, slid across the rocks on Old Joser Road, saw an old lady who walked with crumpled toes and spoke too and listened too a pack of crows, plucking weeds and picking a thorny flower she called out to us that fateful hour;

  “Oh my and how lovely, two twins so cute! I had thought no one lived so far out here, away from the town and its charming cheer? Why don’t you come over and meet my pet crows and I’ll show you two a trick that nobody knows!”

  I leaned down to consult with sister you see, she being younger she’s littler than me, I told her to stay close while we watched the show, then we’d be off and away we’d go;

  “Okay old lady my name is Tim and this here’s Tam and this place you’re in, is our family farm and that guy in the field, well that’s our Dad, and if you mess with us he gets real mad, so no funny business in this game and we’ll be nice to you just the same.”

  “Agreed indeed you little man and I can’t wait to see you in my pan!”

  Now I had to think on this real hard. Did that mean something about being able to see or was she talking about eating me? No matter, no problems and boy those crows, did they sure put on some funny shows and acted like they had lots of smarts and seemed just like pets and warmed our hearts;

  “Thanks old lady we gotta go we’re almost late for dinner you know?”

  She moved too fast and came right up and pulled out an odd-looking wooden cup;

“Wait there dearies, not so quick, about that dinner and my sweet shtick, you see you owe me a trick too, two coins I’m asking there of you, you bring them up to my cabin on that hill and I’ll teach you some magic and give you a thrill!”

  “Okay lady!”

  I agreed as we ran, if we don’t get home soon it’s gonna be my can! ‘Cause I know my pops he’ll beat my **** and I’ll be sent upstairs with nothing to eat, so I told little sister to move those feet!

caesura

  Whisk you down the road of boiled toad, and singeing hair, of whispered things and fires' flare, of evil looks from open books, pigeon’s toes and a chicken gizzard, while around your legs it crawls and creeps, my hungry lizard that never sleeps! You gawk! You stare! My wrinkly-face, the dank rank air in my dingy place, the dusty shelves a-lined in books and creepy crawlies in every nook, cobwebs and spiders at every corner, piggies run squealing while the chickens banterer, ravens caw at strange green light from lantern but back to all those shadow corners where little bad things spy and salivate, thinking on what they had last ate, and there you are shaking, nervous, trembling; a porky little piece of meat and something we all want to eat!

  “Oh don’t be scared my little one, I’m kidding, teasing, just having fun. Hand me the coins I asked for earlier, when we crossed paths along Old Joser, draw near to me, come here, come a bit closer!”

  Be careful will I not to bare my teeth, or lick my lips or stare too deep, for one is easy, two a dangerous feat and I so want to have my little porky piece of meat! I stood on a ladder with little Tam on my shoulder, so she could see the *** as it smoked and it smoldered, I directed little Tim over there to a seat and he saw me lick my lips as I thought about their meat.

  “Aha ha ha ha ha!”

  I laughed out loud as I cast in the dust and the billows changed color and kiddies made a fuss, but then the sparkly things popped and shimmered in their eyes, while both of them let out marvelous sighs, bewildered, bemused and tricked by my lie, I threw Tammy in to my cauldron to die!

  “Nooooooo!”

  Little Tim, little Tim did he let me in and punished will he be for that little sin, I whispered a spell and took up my broom and zapped a hole in the floor out in the room, where Tim was running and dropped him in a hole, down a tunnel he went that saved his soul, for out he shot back on Old Joser Road, no wiser no worse for the trick I showed!

Now listen up children or this is your lot,

For I’m out there always lurking with my ***,

I’m always hungry and so are my crows,

We’ll eat you up all the way to your toes,

“Jimson and sassafras, morning glory, woodrose seed,”

“A ***** of my finger, lock of my hair, a thimble and tweed,”

“Two coins, a cauldron, my cunning and your breed,”

“Whenever I’m hungry that’s all that I need!”
(Joser: Joe-Sir) rhymed with (Closer)
This is a retelling of the Sumerian story of Tim-Tam which is the origin of Hansel and Gretel. This entire piece came to me in a dream and I wrote it down in one sitting over ten minutes. Grimm's Fairy Tales are about warnings to small children...warnings that not ALL adults are good people and sometimes starving old people in the woods use trickery to eat kids. The phrase 'two twins' is a reference to the dual nature of myth as both actual events and cosmic. Gemini and the two earthly children.

Two coins to pay the boatman who takes your soul across the river Styx.
zebra May 2017
all my life i held a dream
of a woman i would love

of course

she would be alluring
supple
a charming countenance
erudite, with an angelic face

her body
a muscular stretching willow
arching her legs over head
kissing her own
curving soft feet
a graceful contortionist
in confetti colored sparkle pantyhose
stretching towards me
silken hair draping a perfect symmetry
with spun sugar kisses
wafting the scent of vanilla
and candied vaporous breath
lips like cherry glistening lozenges

but

one never knows ones destiny

i met her
my girl destiny
and except for a faint look of languor and ruin
with a tinge of withering
she was without doubt unbearably titillating
with razor-thin blackened lips
mascara slits for eyes
hair pulled straight back
jet black
jelled like hardened licorice
with satanic blood rivulets
and pitch fork tattooed ****

a vice of lechery
a malefaction of moral turpitude
her *** scarred from orgiastic beatings
her **** became
like a large wrinkly mouth
resembling the face of a bullfrog
from pleasuring  herself with
tableware cutlery

her soul
a broken creel
suffering bouts of anxiety
like a weeping moon
having  been institutionalized
in Mother Marys Hell House
from a ghastly bout of parricide

her father,
a hobbling gloomish troll
while the dark veins of mother
ran through her soul
leaving little choice
but to dispatch
the parents
abandoning their corpses in the kitchen
like strewn litter

turned out
just my
kinda
girl

d
e
s
t
i
n
y
ViVie Jan 2018
I'm full of stories that aren't mine
And every night I go out of line
Consuming them without single pause...
Oh, sweet illusions, oh, deep remorse.

I talk and I love and I come to life
Through screens and their light and old black on white.
So filled to the brim with feelings not real,
I fear any second they'll tumble and spill.

And I'm not aware

That miniature pieces of loved heroines
Attaches themselves to my sense of self
And bits of dialogue not quite authentic
Escapes my lips though I try to prevent it.

There are no more days, just a faraway blur,
In my free time from fiction I flounder and slur.
Completely immersed in another yet tale
I do not notice...

My life has gone stale.

I forgot what it feels to feel spacious inside,
Only vaguely remember a bright state of mind,
And I plunge even deeper into my relapse,
So as not to see gaps and through them my collapse.

But oh how I miss it.

It's been ages since your eyes were twinkling, You said.
Now I'm tired and old and my eyelids feel wrinkly...

Tomorrow,
Tomorrow,
Tomorrow

And yet -

With hair dreary
Vision bleary
One last time
I
need
to get

A quick fix of fantasy, drama and wit...
It's just one more line, after that I will

Quit.
Richie Vincent May 2018
Before I knew that I could fall in love with another boy,
I had already had those feelings stolen out from underneath my feet

50 years old cold and old with a lust for blood,
and innocence,
At 16 years old there wasn’t even a whole lotta innocence left in him,
But he worked and moved in places that felt like dark alleyways,
and promises that seemed too good to be able to break,
The way his tongue slithered out from underneath the church pews,
looking to lap up whatever he seemed to have missed from his youth

I remember the first time I went to therapy,
the way that my therapist kept asking me if I was confused about my sexuality,
It shouldn’t have started like that

Wrinkly, angry, and full of adrenaline, young in the head and sick in his veins,
He liked to touch them,
He liked to hold them,
His eyes always matching theirs,
he made it perfectly clear that he’s not looking for a fight,
he’s already fighting,
and he knows he’s going to win

I’m not a religious person, but I believe the devil comes to all of us in different ways,
Sometimes beautiful and forgivable,
Other times in a black t shirt and a pair of nikes, disgustingly promising,
a place to make you feel comfortable

We let so many people use our bodies to prove their points, it’s so exhausting,
I can’t tell the difference anymore between wolves and sheep,
But I know that he’s a wolf,
And I know that no one listens to a boy who cries ****,
And the blood is always going to be there,
The alcoholic breaths taken deep into lungs that promise to carry on, are always going to be there,
The hatred and phobia of old men with mustaches and eyes that look just a little too inviting,
is always going to be there

Your Innocence is always going to be there, just don’t let anyone convince you that they can steal it from you

We are more than their torn muscles and “really, I’m a nice guy”s,
More than their “I’ve never done this before”s,
More than their “You don’t have to mention this to anyone”s,
More than what we think we deserve,
More than what love used to mean to us

We don’t have to love like that anymore,
Our bodies are new,
Not used anymore, but brand new,

We just have to teach our bones how to use the beautiful new skin that they’ve worked hard for

So to the man who taught me how to love myself,
You are nothing more than a distant memory I’ll continue to pack into the bag of luggage I carry and unload when I need to remind myself that I am more than whatever you made me think I was

I forgive you, but only because I forgive myself
Paul Hansford Oct 2018
My mother was the tenth
of eleven children,
all born, on average,
two years apart.
So her mother,
- my grandmother -
was, as far as I was concerned,
always old.

She had pink, wrinkly cheeks,
like an apple that’s been kept too long,
and, to go with the apple cheeks,
she smiled a lot.

I had heard of Granny Smith apples,
and assumed they were like my gran,
pink and wrinkled,
but when I found out
they were shiny
and green,
I was deeply shocked.

Fair enough,
green was her favourite colour,
so that wasn't too bad,
but . . . shiny!
I never really got over the shock,
and, however long ago it was,
I still can't quite forgive them for that.
Liz Alvarez Aug 11
I had to learn eventually
Someone else makes you smile
Someone else occupies your mind
Someone else holds you up
I have to realize what we had was literally nothing
Compared to her now
I hope that smile is permenant till your last days here
Wrinkly, old, wise and jubilant
Warm in your bed
Nothing but best wishes truly

-from the girl you called your wonderwall to maybe your unicorn to now no one
Au revoir
Ill doubt he will ever see this, let alone know im on here since he is too, but I sure do hope but good luck and thank you for giving me your precioys time. With someone and alone, I always thought of you. Will always, till my next lifetime.
Masego Pitso Jan 23
The streets are tattooed with potholes and the sidewalks are covered in broken glasses.

Our bodies are demolished and stripped off from all integrity and decency.

The road to having crisp air, diluted wars and unpolluted humanity is foggy. It fights off all good fortune like a new born baby counting his seconds on earth.

We belong to the categorised society, the one that's heart beats with sorrow and skin is impregnated with melanin.
The nation is an equation, divided, torn apart like an  old cloth with stains of dried up blood.

It's ******* are dry , wrinkly and contaminated .The painful strokes on our backs are escalating. They walk towards our chests ,ooze in blood and opens themselves up to beg for mercy.

Mothers with squirming innocence on their backs. Their home is built of threats and poverty . It holds on for dear life during the winter and breathes relief during the summer.

The children's appearances are misleading. They are all bony. Their eyes are tucked in deep into their skulls like the home of a porcupine. Turning nothing but a blind eye to the inequality and pain that they hAve to endure.

Fathers partake on a journey to seek for the daily bread. They embark on the beast of Hope. He breathes steam and his skin is coated with the color of the sun set. His feet are inclined to the railway.

It bends and runs to a place of hope. A place where the  only purpose a male child lives for in our country.
The tools are weeping and begging for a taste of water.

Their skins are suffocating. And howl for a glimpse of fresh air.
But rest is a luxury that the tools rarely taste.

A luxury men wish for day and night.. under the red acres of the sun and when the skies weeps sympathy for it's  fellow brothers.

We are entitled to the misfortune and great grief. Poverty is our clan name. It walks with us daily , under our feet that's embroidered with blisters and  broken heels. Cuts as deep as the Kimberly hole .

We are the black endangered mammals with nothing but equality to fight for.

— The End —