Your memory makes me
Even though I have forgotten
you
Everything in me loved you
Every last bit of me
I remember when you ruined
half of my annual ski days
all in one day
when I was dumb enough
to insist, I could teach a
Solomon Islander
On a green
It didn't help that you started
menstruating at the top of
the ski lift: but at least I can
blame God.
I remember crawling on
my knees, with my snowboard
up the mountain,
over and over.
I would do anything for you
And I know you learned that
over and over,
even if you forgot it
on your last day.
Still, I would do anything for
you
We talked about making a baby,
it was possible, though we were not young,
you were still menstruating,
I could seed fertile ground still.
Then reality checked-in,
a smiling God
(who was, naturally, in bed with us),
said: "Where would you put it?"
We both mentally looked around
the small apartment.
You suggested in the closet?
I thought the utility room
might be more convenient.
Resigned to a comfortable old age,
we both slept on it.
Where women aren't quite women
They're Menstruating folk,
Their gender simply Human,
The world gone truly woke.
Grasping for atonement,
The art of double speak,
The fancy of the moment
Our words they cutely tweak.
Political correctness,
Not He, nor She, but It,
In search of urban fairness,
With some a glowing hit.
For others who stay silent,
Not knowing what to say,
On tact sorely reliant,
For this to pass they pray.
But how about this thought
To brighten up your day,
Good sense is rarely taught
So why should wokes hold sway?
We the startled masses
Muted for so long,
Know Thoroughbreds from Asses,
That's how we get along.
Funny that
I used to take pretty
Girls out for coffee
In the seventies
And they questioned me
How come
You don't want to
Get in our pants?
Are you gay?
No and no.
I just want
Your intellect
Is that so odd?
Sex might come later
But for now
It matters not
If you are menstruating or ovulating
Your mind is what I want
Don't you get it?
I''m infected with an addiction
That addiction is blurring my vision
A bee infested tree tilted towards me
I couldn't realize, let alone flee
That addiction is draining my energy
Whom should I blame, no one, it's a synergy
I played the game as an experience novice
The paradox I didn't notice
Should I blame it on hypocrisy?
No, the action didn't succeed fantasy
I hit harder like a connoisseur, but I'm naive
I can't account for the punches I give
Should I term this an elegy?
For that addiction was an allergy
But why has my ink stopped menstruating ?
Oh! look at me, I was day dreaming
World Poetry Day , March 21
You help us talk less with wit
We are not quick to sit when vicissitudes pull because words make us fit
We are the dreamers of the world
We breathe into life with the ink and tongue
We make the world forever young
For when our inks stop menstruating, the world experiences an intolerable menopause.
When emotions heighten, our words cause them to pause.
We make hearts' heads toss
To every mood the word is the boss
We foretell, prophesy, preach, teach and rewrite history.
We are the sons and daughters of poetry.
We appreciate you poetry.
Shouts out to every poet.You are the dreamers of the world.
happy World poetry day.
cool breath of wind
winding down summer
harvest moon is aligning
hiding behind the shadow
of menstruating earth
blocking the mighty
golden rays of passion
fishes are dancing
welcoming the major
shift of energy
pent up anger and rage
easing into a breeze of love
existing in the subconscious
planes clouded judgements
clearing to heightened
sensitivity manifesting
new fruits of enchanted souls
sep 15 5.11 am 2016
PEDARIST
Why am I so flippant yet complacent?
Hypocritical Martyr
Torture chamber – secret sub-basement
Bomb shelter Pedophile aquarium
Abducted children raped half-dead
Migraines and Menstruating
Horrible highway ambiance
Static from a radio unaware
Of our new piece of world, our breath of new air
Almost caught so only kill their daughters instead
A farm for inbred rapists and prepubescence
Shattered psyche of victims to share
Till they pile into a mass grave dead.
And the blood from evil hands now to rinse.
Resent this road leading to nowhere.
I feel so left
Nothing feels right
This is my first day
I never knew what it really feels
Not until today
My first day a woman
Nothing feels right
I will find a way to change back
I miss my beard
infact i miss MANHOOD
Damn! everything there ever is
I thought being a woman was fun
What was i thinking?
My breasts are too heavy
I can't carry them all day long
I can't even find a bra my size
Who is these i call my husband,
a HE?
Damn! am i menstruating?
What do i do to end the flow?
I think am gonna die!
Is it spoilt blood?
Dose it mean i have too much blood?
What does it mean to be pregnant?
Well i'll save that question for another day
Where my balls at?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.