The prognosis reflected an empty space.
My scrambled intelligence made it hard to embrace.
Dyslexic data merging all over the place.
Lurid innuendos impossible to trace.
My mind in tatters like torn Chantilly lace.
The vision before me was inconclusive to perceive.
How can I deduce what I cant retrieve?
Restitution would be the answer to weave.
Yet my brain simply cannot begin to conceive.
It is superior intelligence I wish to achieve.
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Now pixies can be mischievous and a little bad
leading people astray and silly pranks to be had
Some get old and sour a bit bitter in life
but there's always one that's a different slice
Lexie the happy pixie is a doll to behold
cheery and merry quite playful little soul
She dances about with laughter to share
giggles and singing without a care
When ever a pixie is feeling down
that's when Lexie comes around
Her happiness contagious away with that frown
soon everyone is laughing and dancing around
If a child on a trail ever gets lost
Lexie will lead them home at no cost
reunited with family the children had no fear
for a tiny little pixie guided them with great care
Dancing in the moonlight by the music of frogs and crickets
soaring high in a loop de loop with landing she stick its
All the boy pixies smile at Lexie and cheer
she giggles and wiggles with so much flair
Lexie the happy pixie brightens the mood
her happiness wins all over and with that she is shrewd
The pixies are joyful dressed in their green
to the lands they inhabit they keep them serene.
My muse is on vacation, hoping I won’t write anything until her return.
She is persnickety and prissy, and considers my stuff junky, trite even.
I look at the page with a happy leap of pure thrill in my heart.
I can do anything I want, and Trixie will have no say in it.
Yes, her name is Trixie;
she named herself, impressing her name in my head.
I tried to name her Pixie, Dixie and Lexie at first,
but she would not have it.
I picture her as Tinkerbell
except with black hair, red lips, dressed in pink.
Just a second that’s the phone.
“Hello?”
“My hair is auburn, stupid.”
1980
With deep sadness, I heard the awful news,
My favourite stand up comedian Richard Pryor,
It was June 9th while being in a drug-induced psychosis,
He poured rum over his body and set himself on fire.
1981
It was cold December everywhere was covered with snow,
I was living in Ayrshire, Scotland, on the 24th day,
Everything was in order, all was going remarkably well,
I said I do and married my wife Elizabeth Daye.
1983 - 1984
My wife gave birth to my first daughter, Lily, Louise,
She was a beautiful child not because she was mine,
Sofie, Lexie was born giving me daughter number two;
That was May the year after on a sunny morning on day nine.
1986
Shocked I was by the sudden death of my beloved father,
I was the youngest and looked very much like him;
Six months after that, I was to receive the same news,
The death of my grandmother Kimberley but we called her Kim.
I wish I was beautiful.
I want to be part of the in crowd.
Just beautiful not superficial.
That would make me proud.
I want to be part of the in crowd.
Being me makes me sad.
That would make me proud.
I long to be her real bad.
Being me makes me sad.
I don't know girl in mirror.
I long to be her real bad.
I want to see her much clearer.
I don't know girl in mirror.
A stranger is starring back at me.
I want to see her much clearer.
Ugliness is all that I see.
A stranger is staring back at me.
Hi I'm lexie, who are you?
Uglines is all that I see.
Because I have know clue.
Hi I'm lexie who, are you?
Just beautiful not superficial.
Because I have know clue.
I wish I was beautiful .
08-28-16
Contest: Best Sad Poem Ever
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Third Place
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