My bed is a vintage and very old
I adore the swirled black metal
nice to behold
so delicate each created petal
I inherited it from grandma long ago
and can never let it go
The mattress is not to everyone's taste
perhaps a bit lumpy and soft
with pillows placed
a perfect bed in my open space loft
oh, each night I lay caressed by my vintage bed
under a down bedspread
The bed is close to a window dormer
it looks really beautiful there
nothing warmer
in the sunshine the best bed anywhere
so cozy to just lay and soak up the morn' sun
before day has begun
_________________________
February 28, 2023
Poetry/Ode/Ode to my Bed
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1528-594-28
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Write An Ode
sponsor, Jeff Kyser. Judged 03/08/2023
Second Place
The chlorophyll is starved,
green goes to brown and red.
The dead are promptly shed.
See beech tree - skeletal,
stark and elemental,
looking like black metal.
But in its outer skin
some dormant cells waiting -
for rising in the spring.
New Mirror
The heavy metal guy looked perfect
With his long black girl like hair
With his round black John Lennon shades
With his black SpecFor combat trousers
With his black Doc Martin boots
With his phone’s black metal music
With his black heavy metal band t-shirt
With his long black sleeve shirt
With his ring with a black stone
With his black snake medallion
Heavy metal guy all in black
Very similar to myself in all ways
Going to a gig in Manila in normal days
Right now just remembering those times
Music of a life time right now
LIZARD SNAIL 124K
Nick Armbrister and other writers
The blackest night wrapped around the lake of Votna - snow fell fast what is up and what is down? A fist held tightly not allowing a single sound.
Below the murky waters lay a creature unfound.
On its serrated time timetable and its unfounded clean the concoction mirrors the souls it has taken, they could not find his place of refuge, but a cauldron of
whispered tensions among a deepening tragedy of history and evocative lies of
the breath of wrath that must be emoting in constance.
In the belly of the beast grows a hunger.
Earth and still life start to crumble. The eyes of the beast look into a bleeding soul – don’t ever, ever grow old.
A swimmer gazes under the cold lifeless moon. Tensions rise on the shore of steel knives. Violin strings cut through the wind. Mirrors of blackness - warmth seeps in steep pools - mid winters child learns of white dawn.
In the boarders set, and a blundering storm of mimicry, before the sights of knives, teeth, and his kneeling stance of predercoutship, we could sense the shifting season arrive, landing on the very night and the poor guy, never feeling a drift from the pools depths come alive.
COLLAB POEM WITH JIMMI CANADA
12:44 a.m.
Hollowed-out eyes
Rimmed with kohl
Set deep in sunken faces.
Tracks down faces and up arms
Visible under flickering halogen bulbs.
Dark cars creep by,
Distorted light reflections
glinting off black metal
Stopping by each person
Until the unsuspecting are
forced into vehicles.
1:18 a.m.
Money and drugs are exchanged
Before driving to a cash-only motel
Where favors from bodies become the currency.
The analog in the car changed to 2:23 a.m.
$200 for an hour
Tucked in the back pocket of worn Levi’s
An average pull at 16.
A lit cigarette
placed between smears of #213 Red Rose
Guided her back to a cold cement patch
With the word “Home” etched in faded chalk.
States away, a “Missing” flyer
bearing her face
rustled in the wind.
“Please help” screamed the flyer
in Ellis Bold font.
The graveyard of the dead
The dirt coils and warms the bodies in the ground
The tombstones stand above the ground
Marking where the dead lay
The grimm graveyard moans with despair
The black metal gates shriek with horror
As the wind screams as it dances around the tombs
The graveyard of the dead
appears deserted
With evil trees that lurk in the shadow
The wind whispers rumors of the graveyard
Where darkness and death had conquered light and birth
The grimm graveyard moans with despair
The black metal gates shriek in horror
As the wind screams as it dances around the tombs
The graveyard of the dead,
Awakes the corpses from the ground
The corpses, risen from the ground, cold and grotesque
trudge to the trees that are begging for water
And shamble past the haunted trees
The grimm graveyard moans with despair
The black metal gates shriek with horror
As the wind screams as it dances around the tombs.
Mother sparrow fell down my chimney.
Kept quiet on a quiet bedroom floor.
Baby sparrow, clung to screen door.
Sat on the black metal front light.
Then took flight, and mother died.
No one cried. Such is life, death.
Baby sparrow will find new mother.
Sorrowful song, midnight moon glows.
Sparrow comes often and then goes.
Off to perch, eat, fly, and have a life.
Wonder at times, what will be the story.
Sparrow not eagle, whom gets the glory.
Innocent.
silently the blacksmith works
trying to make a living.
Harmless.
The finished product;
the cute cold black metal rod.
Viscious.
The gun swallows
poisonous pellets.
Violent.
It roars.
It spits fire.
It spits death...
"Hey Babe,don't move, I'll give you some slack.."
as he tightens the leash.
Her burning gaze projects flames from under the head scarf..
hoping someone will see.
Dry lavender smoke vapors slowly waft
through the cracks in the floorboards.
Blind eyes and deaf ears greet her silent calls.
His family watches from a safe distance as
nectar from her wound oozes forth.
Neighbours savour the sweet and sour strains of
the Blues and Black Metal vibrations.
Narcissus, self-absorbed, sees only his own salvation.
So Lady, don't cry over your kettle...
His will is as strong as Black Metal!
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