Are always looking back
With a smile or a frown
That begs to be found out
She plays her part
Like a witness on the stand
You can see her at the bus stop
When you turn she’ll fix her hair
The women on your window-screen
Are only dressed for show
The slight Amish girl wore a plain bonnet
Her dress was plain yellow, nothing on it
Entirely covering body and limbs
No serendipity for her, no whims
Though in love with her debonair teacher
She was so demure, how would he reach her?
His picture under her pillow, she slept
Never dreaming – in her garden he crept!
She woke to the morn, felt somehow reborn
All doubts about her love, completely shorn
Skipping to school, her heart ne’er missed a beat
She came to class and flew into her seat
Seeing her love, she blew him two kisses
~ Two years on, they were Mister and Missus
***********
Well, OK. There are no steady feet in this poem, and neither is their reliable meter
Calling this a 'sonnet' makes me a bit of a cheater ~ gw
Common Barbie, let’s go party…
Because you know, girls just wanna have fun.
Which today means,
Oops I’m pregnant, what’s the best way to kill it?
Oh man, I’m so bummed to be a mom,
What’s the best way
To get rid of my little ones?
Damn, here I am, biological clock ticking
Where are all the good men?
And now, alone, quickly sliding down the hill,
At least I have my cats and a fine chardonnay.
TikTok girls at least got those likes
One time long ago.
Was it worth it, was it ever something more
Than just more adolescent drama?
Maybe that’s the wrong angle
After all,
Maybe it was only
Always just about the hormones.
(8/28/26)
_Scene: The motel car park_
Highlife spills from the bar,
Like beer from a full tumbler,
Fifty meters away.
Laughter. Glass. Night thick with sweat.
"Ten to seven," Oseh said.
"Twenty-three girls now."
"Oldest twenty-five. Youngest eighteen."
Felix nodded, like an agama
That had sighted a cockroach.
"We need thirty."
"Some are still undecided," Oseh said.
"I'll come see them," Felix gave reply.
"They're well-protected on this journey."
Die-hard girls can encourage them?
Who are die-hard girls?
Darkness' a gardener gathering dry grasses.
The count continued.
I walk among a ground where life is a trend.
Yet we don’t understand where’s our beginning and our end.
The burden to be like the rest.
We all stand shoulder to shoulder duplicate.
Not proving we are all imperfect.
The pressure to keep up.
But the feeling to be distinct.
I say to myself
“Am I really who I want to be”
“Or am I a carbon copy of other souls”
These patterns are confined in a box.
But do I have a key to unlock?
Proving ourselves to be different.
Is this really the craze we mimic?
Or is it an illusion we may just dismiss?
Time will tell it all.
But for now we just follow the ball.
A girl's tears; at their value
Boys can only scoff.
That mean their laughter. Who now
With turned heads walk off.
From out a rill its spirit
Blown up reed grass pleads
Whose own mushy blubber-trend
Into her's does flow
To scoop those pearls of sorrow;
Til ma intercedes.
The neighborly thing to do would be
to ask them over for a drink, those
four lovely blondes living next door.
But I know they would refuse - it
may not be Christian of them to
drink alcohol. Perhaps I should offer
them lemonade. No Kool Ade, thank you;
ever since Jim Jones I never mix it
with religion.
Anyway, they look
more like the Perrier types. I'll
put out my Bible and tune the radio
to the inoffensive Muzak station.
As long as the conversation on
religion stays generic, it might actually
go ok. I may get on quite well with
the flour blonde-haired Jesus girls.
I doubt there will be any real close
encounters between the sinner
and the saints, but you never know.
I'm gold God works in mysterious ways.
I just saw an article called,
“Being Smart Is Officially Sexy Again.”
Reading’s now considered a happy, shiny experience,
where once, it was considered a solitary, antisocial or
even lesbian activity.
Yes, after years of wellness-core and clean-girl aesthetics,
smart-girls are finally considered one of the juicier meats.
Haza!
That’s all we’ve ever really wanted.
“Peter, quick! Get a pic of me studying!”
.
.
Songs for this
Racecar by The 3 Clubmen
Wait Another Moment by The Bingtones
Black girls don’t get eating disorders -
And yet we do,
You may not see it but we do,
We live it, we breathe it - we are it
You say ‘a black girl can’t struggle’
I say ‘unlike you eating disorders don’t discriminate’
Our bodies are scrutinised - so what did you expect,
When you made a comment, and i followed through -
With results that you ignore,
Results that you score,
Results you caused - from your poor choice of words
Black girls struggle too,
Our bodies are the proof -
The truth,
That you deny,
But the numbers don’t lie,
And our bodies still cry -
For help,
Help that we don’t receive -
Because the world can’t believe,
That black girls get eating disorders too,
And how do i know this - it’s because i am living proof -
That black girls get eating disorders too
Expressed through playful delight.
Possessed by it!
This better type of fairy.
A sylph's; airy.
A young girl's; whom these are now!
With high pitched screams.
That close their realm to ours is
As can impart this.
"Beauty Abounds"
I’m amazed when beauty abounds
In hearts and souls,
In written scrolls.
I get excited when I see a
A smiling face,
A lady in fancy lace.
I’m happy when I find
Little boys at play and
Little girls who make them pay.
I smile when the aged
Hold hands on evening strolls,
Sit in rocking chairs with no place to go.
I’m amazed at the beauty found,
In fields of clover, and patties of rice;
Sunflowers drenched in morning dew.
I’m mystified by blue skies,
And lightning strikes,
Thunderheads and twister tails.
I’m puzzled by war
And men of power
Who know not flowers.
I’m tired of hate,
Placed on our plates,
With no regrets.
I am perplexed.
I long for joy,
In all we do,
In all we see,
In all we be.
We are much better
When beauty abounds
And peace surrounds.
A long tailed monkey
black as polished ebony
shrieked in frantic scrabbling
at the grey mouth
of a silver pouch
and danced on braided rope
with the paunchy pig
to hypno strains
on the gilded harp
plucked by geisha girls
hair bouffant and clasped
in shells and iridescent combs.
spooky girls three went everywhere together
in rain, sleet or snow, any kind of Midwest weather
they were named Hortense, Helena and Holly Heather
Sisters? We were unsure, said my brother, Merriweather.
Almost acting as if cojoined, these three were rather creepy,
If one cried, the other two wailed and got unbelievably weepy.
They liked October, it seemed to be their favorite month of all.
I always got frightened when they appeared in the fall.
They transmogrified out of mushrooms or tree stumps or moss.
Appearing before our eyes, it was weird, said my cousin Hoss.
spooky girls three sometimes put spells on us too.
This is how they banished our friend Linda Sue Lou.
And content- her sit
All alone, yon candle-bright
Her face warm and lit
Her heart- beats with pure delight!
As she reads...so late at night
A hilltop, and blowy.
Not least this urge through!
To let go, whilst arm in arm
Feels them this free too.
Off world's all round constraints
Pulling, keeping down;
Whence of an ethereal blue
The sky; and their gown.
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