In the house groups, I am a bookshelf grope
I am ambivalent in chatting around the weather scope
Talking in circles represents an ophidian rattle
Quickly reminded me of the impending tattle.
I would rather be here, close to the library.
To grasp what is going through your mind prairie.
Written: November 09, 2022
I built a mountain to collect dew.
Glaciers are formed when ice and water glue.
Sculpt valleys out of the rock face of hills.
River canyons run ophidian to the spills
God constructed this beauty.
Humans build their homes from sooty
Farm work is acrid, and this costs blood.
And they might endure the flood
Written: November 09, 2022
A storm is brewing.
Heavy water laden clouds rise thickly,
the darkening sun plunges quickly
behind deep purple mountains,
hiding the gentle moonlight
that normally lights my erratic way.
I meander absentminded
around a maze of mountain paths,
suffering a terrible purgatory.
For the storm is raging outside and inside of me.
Outside electric serpents flash across the dark skies.
Inside is an aching heart of old desires.
No tears flow as I think of you.
Foul fog screens my feelings,
suffocates righteous repentance,
murders my murky sinful soul.
Deep inside me
emotions mingle, then surge,
and dissipate in thin air.
By midnight the summer storm
has already well and truly broken.
Ophidian lightning blaze in the dark skies,
Crashing thunder booms and echoes.
Rain falls in heavy drops.
I am well and truly soaked.
Water, the sign of redemption enslaves me,
but I am not baptized anew,
instead I wallow in self pity.
There is no hope for me,
or is there? Let the storm decide!
Your dreams can be achieved,
but ambitions are at times deceived
by fear, that like an ophidian rust,
can turn your aspirations into dust
Jan 20,2019
"Fear is a slinking cat I find beneath the lilacs of my mind."
- Sophie Tunnell
Oh, March
you pompous windbag
howling in the hollows
of Winters fade.
Scattering Fall’s gold
across warmed mud,
billowing tree bound
plastic bag kites,
hoisting the weightless hawk.
Oh March
you city street sweeper
funneling debris
down tunneled alleys,
tearing at the edges
of flailing flags,
hastening the pace
of lethargy’s malaise.
Oh March
you docile lamb
caressing soft peeking buds,
nurturing the squawk
of nestlings,
nudging idle cocoons
to wakefulness,
warming ophidian
cold blood.
Oh March
you are the hint
of warming’s kiss
titillating Spring’s yawn.
John G. Lawless
©3/1/2018
Thus I sail the sacrificial scabrous seas and touch tormented tides
Battle-scarred in the breeze and washed ashore where evil hides
The Sun regrettably retreats where malice mortals digressively dare
Walking barren saliferous streets where I live on a penniless prayer
The citadels of submission crucially crumble where they saintly stand
In their unholy cognition you are a slave to their carnivorous command
Embedded in stone my tangential tears will endure beyond the grave
Bludgeoned to the brutal bone by the unlawful carnal knowledge knave
Lost in oblivion my blood runs calamitously cold by the river's edge
Beware the Ophidian with sabotaging scales leaving you on the ledge
Deceivers of the realm punitive penetrators connivers as they clutch
They manipulate and overwhelm with their torturous tender touch.
Let's stop the abuse...and spread the real love
Aug.01.2017
Let's talk about it
Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
1 original, poem on the theme of abuse, emotional, sexual or physical.
Any form is acceptable.
Her eyes whispered in carnal tones
Passion hustling across her tongue
How her soft breath sexes my bones
Hushed an ophidian had sprung
Her skin beheld a subtle spark
Emitting a glow of temptation
To this cadence languid I hark
In lucid fevers of elation
Flushed be her beloved cheeks
Tantamount yet quite divine
'Twas a lovely sight to seek
Upon my lips peaked was a sign
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