Two peas in a pod
One still on Earth, One with God
Inspired By Nathan Leccese"s Contest "Two Peas In A Pod"
BLACK and BLUE
Today I wonder,
You hit me in the eye,
you made me cry.
My eyes are brown,
Now they're black and blue.
Is that what I get for loving you?
My lips are pink, now they're bloody red.
Is that what I get!!!
Do you wish I were dead?
My teeth are white,
I just lost three,
Is that what I get over a little fight?
I see a smile underneath,
I see you leaving with the police.
I finally got rid of you.
I can't believe I waited,
UNTIL I WAS BLACK AND BLUE.
NOTE: True story, I finally did the right thing and called the cops
My love is like a worker's gloves grown old.
His hands are leather, roughened now with age
and years of work in weather hot and cold,
yet through the many years, he has grown sage. . .
My love is like a builder's pair of boots.
He's dusty and fatigued and still he walks
while trailing mud, but now his attributes
shine through despite life's many stumbling blocks.
My love is like a pair of jeans much worn,
a pair of socks with holes that have stayed warm.
Though time and all the trials he has borne
have left him frayed, he wishes no one harm.
To write a beaming sonnet would not do,
but threadbare love (in some ways) bests the new.
For PD's "first love poem~ (on the soup) Poetry Contest"
Written about a month after I came to Soup in the new year
Believing that marriage was ordained of God;
that, like a seed, it needed constant nurturing,
she sowed her deep devotion with a hope
that stretched beyond an ordinary scope.
That hope scanned schisms that had left her desolate-
until it reached the heavens with her prayers.
Time and time again, her spouse complained or failed to do small things
essential to cementing the marriage bond.
With unusual restraint, she held her tongue, forgave. . . and listened.
If matrimony were the fire in a hearth, she supplied the kindling and the logs;
then lauded him for twigs that on occasion he tossed in.
Some nights she’d lay a weary head upon the chest
of the one she called her husband (when he was fast asleep and didn’t know).
In those moments, she felt the beat of that heart he never showed to her.
With humbleness she supplicated God
that she might find connection with her mate.
She wondered and she wondered why. . .if thoughts, invisible,
which were transmitted to the Lord, were able to be recieved by Him,
why could not her words, directly spoken to the one on earth she loved, be heard?
Daily on her knees, she telegraphed celestially with a faith most extraordinary. . .
and wisdom came. Her love would not be broken, and she grew.
The seed she’d planted took root too and grew until there came a time. . .
she laid a graying head upon the chest
of one that was her husband (not just in word only);
a someone who now watched HER as she drifted off to sleep.
With his heartbeat strong in her ear,
she heard him whisper softly, “I love you” as he kissed her cheek goodnight.
For Audrey Carey's "To Err Is Human to Forgive Divine"
"The Arabian Nights"
Underneath the oceans veil.
Mystery lies within.
Beyond Orion's belt, I shift my mind to sail.
Within me, every constellations hides secrets of sin.
Allowing me, to time frame the world of yesterday.
I found portals with no way-out.
Covering every bruise that my body had on display.
Drawing along the mist of no doubt!
I tie eternity into loopholes with no ending.
Singing a song that lacks the strength to be strong.
Trying hard to swallow words that have no mending.
Babbling at my tongue, when one's heart is wrong.
I hide in the light, away from the darken mist.
A sprint sensation lurking down-under.
Anthologies written only to exist.
A place that strikes louder than thunder.
Eyes that port and slow everything down.
Mysteries behind, a deadly desert storm.
Slaving under the 3rd crown.
Candlelight's guiding a new wedding form.
Executed in a thousand tales, of romance.
Knocking at my door ending another dream.
A sensual marriage with regrets, and loss of chance.
Dancing streams with no means.
Avalon, closing over an Arabic Night.
A story cradling me in bed.
By morning dawn I will no longer see light.
Waking up to another Arabian Night.
NOTE~ I read the book 5 years ago.
ABOUT~ "THE ARABIAN NIGHTS."
the book is Full of mischief, valor, ribaldry, and romance,
I based my poem On the Queen,
Who's Husband would kill his new wife after one night of marriage...
Most of my lines are metaphorical, about the mysteries and stories told...
enjoy~~ click about this note
The cares of the world waft away like
the vague images of a forgotten dream
when he climbs into bed beside me.
And my comfort is found in the warmth
of a slight up-curved smile relaxing across
an unshaven face tickling me with a
hundred kisses as I squeal to his delight.
A calloused hand urges the small of
my back gently forward as I fuss in
mock protest of his boyish game.
His eyes gleam indulgently making my
heart swell with such regard I
choke back joyful tears and throw
my arms possessively around him.
With a knowing sigh he draws me in,
cradling me in his capable arms
sworn to provide and protect.
Then he buries his face in my copper-red
hair breathing its henna scent, and
holding me tight, he whispers my name,
swearing love that will never relent.
Recipe for Promiscuity
Long life with a boring, snoring sod
made the wife a warring whoring broad.
For Dr. Ram Mehta's Tyburn Contest
Down where I sleep,
You hold me, embrace my every way
The Marks up on my skin
You caress, taking away from the ugliness
Watching the simple breath, when I breathe
Breaking the ice, soothing my inner peace
A sweet spray across the paleness in my limbs
Holding the warmth, I've been loved throughout my life.
From picking up sticks to the walking stick
My loving dear I know you will always be there
A few wheel chairs, when broken bones mend
You know my every cure*
Walk with me across the hall
Through the oldness, and the boldness of every color in the sky
Thank you for taking me as I am
A light twinkle' every time I feel the colors of the rainbow drip
Now a newborn takes his form
In you I find the strength to stretch my arms and reach for every star
When happy moments fail,
I embraced the colors I found in you
I make out every tree, and wonder why and how?
I close my eyes to imagine the fun of chasing fireflies
Tonight I'm keeping my prayers simple, cute, and innocent
I will count sheep and search for sweet lullaby dreams
Smiling like a 3 year old this very moment,
You think I'm having "Baby Blues."
My loving dear, thanks for having patience,
Painting my way down a toddlers sky
Every time "P M S" hits
A Certain Kind Of Death
She was in love
Their expression of it
Was the perfection of it
The way they shared
Was beyond compare
Today is the culmination
Of their dedication
Today she is pregnant
Her heart sings
Then the phone rings
At the hospital
Next to her dead husband
How is the possible
Why did this happen
But not heartbroken
She still had a piece of him
She had to be strong
For their child
Even though he was gone
She had to march on
Pain and spot bleeding
Getting ready for birthing
No rhyme or reason
She took care of her body
Took care of her baby
Its two months too soon
For the child to leave the womb
Lacking strength and power
It only lived an hour
She could only scream
No strength to go through the motions
She hasn’t seen family or friends
Trying to find something within
nothing left to give
No reason to live
she is dead inside
Her memories fading away
She’s doesn’t want to lose them
Tries to hold on to them
She racks her brain all day
Trying to find a way
To keep them fresh and vibrant
It came to her at a convenience store
A fisherman was buying some worms
She saw them wiggling
Saw them moving
So she bought all they had
She knew she had gone mad
But she didn’t want to be alone
Lying in her bed
Longing for the dead
She put the worms in her womb
And pretended her baby was alive
Her days where filled with joy
They where going to have a boy
Her husband would stay home
He could finally feel it kick and move
His happiness was there only wish
They would love and cherish
Every moment of everyday
A happy family
For everyone to envy
She wasn’t alone anymore
She was no longer ripped and torn
Her evenings were horrifying
She wasn’t just taking worms out
She was reliving her baby dying
She never once heard it crying
Never got to hold it in her arms
Failed to keep it from harm
She was useless
She was helpless
She should have died too
She should have kept inside her
Even if it had killed her
She decided one day
To keep her baby
Decided not let the doctors take it away
She started to feel some pain
She decided on a name
She can barely move now
She would keep David safe somehow
She’s constantly bleeding and convulsing
She can feel his life pulsating
She gave birth before she died
And David was the only one that cried
Intoxicating was his scent
Many hard-earned dollars were spent
To evoke his bliss
Give him Aramis
Young and poor, we were newleyweds
Memories linger in my head
This scent was so strong
But to him it belonged
And through time I travel today
When e’er Aramis wafts my way
Sad tears gently rise
John’s scent fills my eyes
Another dimension I seek
Longing to hear my husband speak
We'll meet again one day
Faith brings hope my way
*For PD's oldest love poem contest. Poem written for my late husband John.