Streetlight dander. Jawbone asphalt.
Blink razors carve her iris script.
Rib stars ovulate in feral grates,
mechanical tongue juts a bloodline breath.
Keystroke ruin writes in collapse,
a waveform lodged in sternum glass.
Lipsticked rodeo—a gash in faded denim
Banana-knuckled hands torch filterless ghosts.
Tree-call through copper root systems.
Wire-pluck storm,
vapor chews the stock market
Cancer caught in molar hush,
brined in citrine static.
She opens her throat like a coin purse.
Spine bows in semaphore.
We dismount the edge—
An incisor cusp,
the confession still blistering
beneath the flesh of no language.
Categories:
lipsticked, absence, conflict, corruption, desire,
Form: Romanticism
asleep to awake in the
dreamless world of dreams,
where perception and reality,
have merged and lost their identity,
where the mist of reason is so thick,
that delusions guide the way,
purpose and direction is unknown,
but the journey is still made,
slowly through treacherous paths,
fear of death lurks but dread of life is more,
in those undefined vague wanderings
is a kindle of hope, that something
somewhere will jolt things to be right,
making reason takeover, and some
divine wisdom would light up,
the muffled silence in the ears
would be greeted by bird songs,
the paths will open up into green apple orchards,
a river would flow to its own rhythm,
and life would pulsate to reassure again,
that life is real, there are no dreams,
reason smiles like a lipsticked beautiful damsel,
beaconing to follow her to new opportunities.
And I follow as told….. to find,
cessation! Cessation of mangled uncertainty,
and glimpse of a new hope, a new beginning.
Categories:
lipsticked, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Free verse
I have an orange clown doll on my desk.
She is obviously from the 60's, perky and red-lipsticked
Dressed in orange, with sharp netting around her neck and ankles.
.My children do not say anything about my fantastically beautiful office
except"I don't like the clown."
This has elevated her to my most particular die-hard favorite item.
She is not going anywhere, ever,
Because I love her more every time someone says it.
When I am dead, they will fight over this doll,
And I will laugh.
Categories:
lipsticked, feelings, funny love, self,
Form: Free verse
I saw her sitting at a table for one,
her hands were slender as she grabbed a sesame bun,
which was stuffed with three inches of smoked turkey,
onion, tomato, lettuce and Swiss cheese,
opening her red-lipsticked mouth with ease,
she bit into the sandwich relishing every bite,
delicately chewing the morsel with delight.
Next came the mound of potato salad,
covered with a hard-boiled egg and pickle,
this woman knew what she wanted, she wasn't fickle,
she cleaned her plate and wiped her lips,
then realized she had forgotten the potato chips,
her eyes shone as she munched with pleasure,
relishing every piece of her salty treasure.
She drank her coffee without slurping,
and tried to be lady-like without burping,
the waitress asked her if she would like dessert,
scanning the menu she chose chocolate cake,
even though she was full and had a belly ache,
she lost self-control at the New York Deli,
where diets are a thing of the past,
and not a place for those who want to fast.
Categories:
lipsticked, humorous,
Form: Rhyme
She guides me in and sits me down.
Not the Remington portable typewriter this time.
I grab a pen and some parchment they have more life i believe.
The mechanical twists and clanks sound so hollow.
In this depression my colored skin only attracts sorrow.
I would like to escape on one of those planes high in the sky.
I dream of a ticket to ride wings to tomorrow.
If only this ear piece of gold was worth mountains of gold.
Everything so stagnant, grey and cold.
She offers a cig of course i say no.
I see the ashtray full of lipsticked butts.
Each puff takes life from her soul.
How to be free from this life.
They yell and throw stones.
My darling my lover to hide our love isn't right.
I see only our union it's colorless.
Why must everyone else see black and white.
Categories:
lipsticked, black african american, change,
Form: Free verse
Where were you when we lay dying,
listening to the north wind's sighing,
where were you in our confusion,
lost in your psychotic delusion.
Where were you when we slipped into Hell,
turning your back as we stumbled and fell,
where were you when all was lost,
ignoring reality at all costs.
Where were you when our lifeboat sank,
rotting in the earth, both cold and dank,
so much for your famed and infamous beauty,
want a mirror now, dear Trudy?
So vain that you put your makeup on,
lipsticked mouth around the gun.
Did you think the cops on the case
would think: my God, what a lovely face.
Where were you when we cleaned up the mess,
brains and bones and blood and flesh.
Your makeup, dear, was void and null,
when you blasted apart your selfish skull.
©Danielle White
Categories:
lipsticked, daughter, death, mother
Form: Rhyme