The birds and the bees are not dreams
For I baptize myself into love
As my spirit enters the ocean
My breath blows in the wind
Romanticism in the spring
Bring yourself to me
Excitement in our hearts
Our fairy tale is a charm
Hanky-panky in the pond
Passion in the birds
Honey in the bees
Cuddling is our touch
Watery lips, so smooth
Relationship is our bond
Kissing is our key
Lovemaking in our soul
Energy fill the earth
Combine , the birds and the bees
As I accept this ring
I do not know?
"I stabbed a faggot
in the knees", he whispered.
I wanted him
To catch some
from a pile of
Growing stubble heads
and high-heeled masculinity
so I unhook them
to sea [see].
Though fully dressed for a wedding
I could not resist the buffet,
Fine lipstick wore off for a refill
Of dessert from a laden tray.
Soon, full tummy began to roll
Up, down like the hall’s throbbing light
My rear needed to drop a bomb;
Restraining the urge,’ not tonight!’
As bridesmaid, I pulled the doves’ cage
While they zoomed off, my eyes sensed it
Before rushing to the girl’s loo,
My gown streaked with birds’ deposit!
Everyone Poops Contest of Roy Jerden
The poetry I write seems harsh
it seems sad and powerful,
sings songs and pslams to the sorrowful soul,
sung its song in the past of sorrow in all.
The poet's blood flows like champaign
on a wedding day of young couples in love.
Champaign that flows like rivers and streams
in the green plains of Mid West America,
and the poet writes about the land and the bird
that sings afar in a tall, old oak tree
thick at barch with experience and age.
The soul burns and cries out to be freed,
yet sits and reads poetry till the crack of dawn
in an old apartment house on the second floor,
and the rats run along the walls, and the cockroaches
in cerial boxes,
with shotgun in lape and cocked, ready to fire,
one in the chamber.
Whiskey in the lungs,
and whiskey on the ground,
in the hand
and upon the feet
of a sorrowful soul, filled with pain
and age, age full of tender love that never was discovered
by any naive soul.
One time the clock ticks and tocks,
echoes rings in an empty mind,
that echoes the sorrowed mind and tortures the pale soul.
One pull of the trigger,
and the sound of an explosion of faint silence
and a smile on a face of a dead man is shown in the light,
and watch the blood flow on the white pannel wall,
flowing like champaign on a beautiful wedding day.
Two weddings and a funeral...
~*~ Two Doves ~*~
Perched atop a bird of paradise tree
Two doves sing merrily
Recounting every flight
And every plight they have ever endured
Never looking back on their sorrows
Soaring new heights tomorrow
Caught up in a most extravagant breeze
Atop a million trees
Two doves cuddling in their nest of eternal harmony!
Written by Gwendolen Rix
Especially for Kevin and Rita
…on a Sunday morn, against the ever watchful
and furtive glances of bird feeders, who enjoy
the occasional, yet so gentle breeze;
the vibrant façade of this kirk and voices of hummingbirds,
in the rays of my morning orb, you suddenly appear
before me, with echoes of our yesteryears;
your sad, sad face reminds me of happy, happy times
that you once etched in my heart; now you came, with desire
of wanting me back, I know, for I can feel it
as I listen to your whisper to the wind “I still love you!”
“Great, just great! You know I did love you,
but it is too late now Honey!” my eyes silently answer;
…the vibrant façade of this kirk and voices of hummingbirds
have already intertwined, with resounding wishes
and marching of bird feeders, to part our ways, for eternity.