How To Poems - Poems about How To

I know which cup to leave chipped in the sink, Mouth open begging for rot. I know which word to spill— Vinegar, nettle, sour-spit— To make him blink slow and tight, The way thunder coils before breaking. It's a little game I play. I wear the red dress he hates, The one that clings like wet birth skin, And I let my laugh scratch...

Continue reading...

Outguess me, outfox me, outstandingly simple to do Wrap me in a cloud cloak with a dash of rainbow too Like me and uplift me, so I can love you....

Continue reading...

I'll need a beginners guide to love you can't shatter a mirror and expect it to reflect so, how can you break my heart and it expect it to feel the same way about you over and over? you've run out of luck, this is a dead end, and the graveyard is nowhere near here aren't we so lucky to know eachother? here we...

Continue reading...

To make a spell to cast on your enemy Without strings and things For doing something nasty to you Take their photo Write what they did on photo Curse their photo Take it to the graveyard Dig hole and bury near entrance in soil Curse something nasty happen to them Repeat what they did At home Take a small cauldron Fill with water...

Continue reading...

Wake up. If you can. Or just lie there, blank-eyed, Listening to the ceiling rot. Time is fake. Clocks are arrogant. Let them tick for someone who matters. Forget food. Hunger is just the body begging To feel something. Anything. You know better now. Scroll until your bones rust. Doom is infinite. Your spine will curve to match the screen— A digital prayer To no god in...

Continue reading...

May we be blessed as Margaret Mead observed… especially today with our education system teetering on the brink… to understand children must be taught how…not what to think… And as history is being rewritten and books are being banned… where woke, diversity, equity and inclusion are wrongfully taboo… when it comes to teaching our children how or what to think… may...

Continue reading...

Tribute To: Prince “Purple Rain” I was a quiet ache, Tucked behind a smile too practiced, A soul in exile From the sound of its own name. Then your song came.. Not like thunder, But like morning. It didn’t shout Or demand my hands be clean. It just stood there, Open, And let the Light spill in. You didn’t say I had to be brave, Just honest. Not pure, Just present. And...

Continue reading...

Band aids just won't do! Hold the cone upside down, Let the drops fall around. Catch each one with your tongue! Until the cone lets go. Then right before the end, Bite it off! Too get...

Continue reading...

To teach a pebble how to sing, you need a simple shepherd’s sling. The stone’s inclined to be a grouch when first you set it in the pouch. It will go silent, being trapped so tightly in the leather wrapped. But as you swing the pouch around, it comes alive; you hear a sound. At last that pebble sings with glee as you release...

Continue reading...

Forget my name, Forget thy child, Became a fear, Of so many more, You expect me to cheer, But you leave my soul sore, Growing this pain, And feeling numb, While being trapped to far under your thumb, Forced my hand of cards, Shown the small heart, Watched you rip it apart, And take the crown, Killed love to replace with lust, While lust turned to rust, And rust to...

Continue reading...

She inhales the aurora, breath laced with frozen with light speed Pulsar fingers stretch through cirrus gauze, her bodice bending like solar flares. Astronaut A quasar shudders behind her lips, erupting across the event horizon. Space folds— she unspools like a nebula unraveling, luminous in the underworld aphrodisiac of your vanilla fragrance...

Continue reading...

She snaps like a brine tendon, spilling embryo chords across the basalt shelf. Tongues of nacre split her sides, each vertebra strung with gravid silence. Kelp-blind, she threads the continental rift, her fingernails seeded with unfinished continents. Magma foams in the pouch of her pelvis, grinding up vowels like crushed coral....

Continue reading...

Antiquated pipeline geysers ravage starry nebulae, blast ash. The hurricane bankrupts reed origami masts. It splits overripe pomegranates. Wild animal guitar buzzes, echoing through shattered valleys. Electrified abdomen dowels bobble and quiver. Balloons, gemstones, hot coals ululate. Feral cello cherries frost and educate potholes. They mold cracked roads into jagged mosaics of fire and ice. Fractured aqueduct...

Continue reading...

A cello moans through cedar fog, low notes trembling between her teeth. Amber bowstrings tighten, vibrating against ribs— wood groans beneath the weight of sound. Resin clings to fingertips, drawn taut over hollow curves. Each bow stroke sharpens the air, Splitting migraines into cascading cacophony The final note— held breath, a whispering overtone, unraveled into stillness....

Continue reading...

Fingers so sore from learning the chords, Getting the rhytme without knowing the words. It all sounds so good here in my head, Blood from my fingers turning the fret board red. But I've got to keep trying, just carry on, Or the thoughts that inspired me will be lost and all gone. I've got to decide on the ideal...

Continue reading...