SUNNY INTERVALS-:-
filtering
illumination
occurrence
sunbeams
aureate
into INTERMITTENT BRIGHT SPELLS
cast
atmosphere
piercings
periodical
meteorology
of SUNBURSTING PEEKABOO’S
momentarily
komorebi
inexorability
brilliantly
suspended
He pierced his nose, his eyes, one toe
tattooed his arm, his foot, you know
in competition with a friend
will these markings ever end
a spider, snake, fat rat too
tattoos in red, black and blue
piercing their feet, piercing their butt
piercing their neck, ankle and gut
that’s enough their mothers say
an intervention right away
in walk their dads – Beau and Boo
Each with a giant tattoo
Ultimately, only my sister can decide whether to let them know or they should be let known that she’s in a deep hole mentally trying to do her dissertation proposal. We are strongly advising she does something to help herself. Course leaders can only empathise if they know what's going on for students.
I’ve been giving silly solutions to her struggles – stopping for the day and giving our parents piercings, stopping for a day and emailing Mrs Coventry inviting her to Binley Mega Chippy in Coventry. The spring rolls there truly are MEGA.
Lucky me is just looking forward to getting my chicken on a bike tattoo with my self-drawn sweet, the only assignments I’ve got being ones I give myself. My current assignment is chilling waiting for my Jasmine Rice to cook as I write this, a katsu curry and carrot cupcakes already made.
When she’s working and studying and working, my sister often doesn’t have the chance to eat. She’s just got her laptop – hopefully she’s going to send that email. That email will be the only thing she needs for them to grant her a break from going down.
To my ears, not elephant ears
I did not inherit from my granddad.
I have ear piercings on my earlobes,
which allow me to showcase
my favorite earrings or studs.
The left ear is fully deaf,
allowing me to enjoy the silence.
In a hectic world,
those moments are golden.
The bridge above her nose was pierced,
Her nostrils were, as well,
With several silver bars laced through,
As far as I could tell.
Her upper ears both sported studs
And wrapped around her neck
A studded leather choker served,
With others, to bedeck.
I couldn’t count how many more
(I didn’t want to stare)
And on her wrists, assorted bracelets
Brightly dangled there.
She was a very friendly soul
And so I had to ask
If she slept with all her piercings;
She did not take me to task.
She simply laughed and said she did,
Not what I thought I’d hear,
Since I take my earrings out each night,
Just one in either ear.
He is seventeen
Wears his hair long, in a ponytail, it does not look clean.
There are piercings in his lip and his ears.
He wears a spider tattoo on his forehead.
His mother is horrified.
His father is having a fit.
Both grandmothers laugh at them.
Loving their grandson no matter how he looks.
Sometimes I think my friends don't care
They say you speak the truth drunk
And they never ever sober up
And they say I'm annoying as
They do stupid and flirt around
And I shake my head and eat my crisps
Yell at them to get to bed
Tell them they should sober up
They've never really sobered up
Instead they just trigger each other
And get on my nerves
DIY piercings and dresses with curves
Flirt with a boy I call him sir
But he likes this girl he knows from school
Yet he flirts with me anyway
Call it screen testing chemistry
And I was meant to sleep while it was sun
And now it's shade and i can't say
What l need to say to say what I need
So I'll say I'm fine and I'll say goodnight
Lie awake and listen to indie pop
With I could take off this top
Lie on the floor and just rot
Turn myself into ing dust
When I kill myself they'll make me dust
They'll make me dust
I don't wanna be dust
Bushels of apples are in tubs and bins all over the place
A variety of kinds, yellows, reds, none a disgrace
We cut out the bad spots and turn them into pie
Fresh applesauce smells make the harvest men sigh
Let’s make some cobbler says Gran as she rolls out the dough
She sprinkles it with sugar and love, making it just so.
I ask if I can fork the top and she says “I cannot see why not”.
But after a few piercings she yells out “now, stop!”
Apple cider is made along with apple butter for Gramps.
He brings home some farm workers, some of them look like tramps.
They use polite words and say “thank you” again and again.
Some leave with an extra piece of pie, wearing a great big grin.
Bushels of apples are in tubs and bins all over the place
A variety of kinds, yellows, reds, none a disgrace
We cut out the bad spots and turn them into pie
Fresh applesauce smells make the harvest men sigh
Let’s make some cobbler says Gran as she rolls out the dough
She sprinkles it with sugar and love, making it just so.
I ask if I can fork the top and she says “I cannot see why not”.
But after a few piercings she yells out “now, stop!”
Apple cider is made along with apple butter for Gramps.
He brings home some farm workers, some of them look like tramps.
They use polite words and say “thank you” again and again.
Some leave with an extra piece of pie, wearing a great big grin.
transgender posers
pansexual persuaders
is it a fashion?
is it a trend?
like tattoos and piercings?
Is everyone going to jump on board the bandwagon?
Does saying we are transgender or pansexual make us feel unique?
But if we all say it, how unique are we?
Is it a fashion?
Is it a trend?
Set in winter white, ice, snow, and cold
sunrises with brilliant light clear and bold
in pale gray-blue skies of old,
a cloudless stretch of shaded pales
shadow cast in black sails
waiting on the morning as night fails;
somber cries reach out of the night
winged birds in flight
flutter fly across the sky delights;
here comes the day snow caked
frozen earth crunches wide awake
crackles of life protruding snake,
pointed daffodils piercings preened
tattooing in between screened
the fallen scattered leaves serene;
life breathes anew within its form
pushing back against winter cold storm
anxious to take in the warm.
Set in winter white, ice, snow, and cold
sunrises with brilliant light
in pale gray-blue skies,
a cloudless stretch of shaded pales
shadow cast in black
waiting on the morning;
somber cries reach out
winged birds in flight
flutter fly across the sky;
here comes the day
frozen earth crunches wake
crackles of life protruding,
pointed daffodils piercings
tatoeing in between
the fallen scattered leaves;
life breathes anew
pushing back against winter cold
anxious to take in the warm.
Shawn was a sensitive boy; whose feelings were on the edge.
He tried to hide them under a harsh exterior.
Under tattoos and piercings.
Those of us who knew him saw his softness.
It was impossible to not see his sweetness.
He was teased and bullied by some at school.
He did not speak of it, wanting to keep his parents safe from it.
Not wanting them to feel badly.
This is the kind of boy he was.
Selfless and giving.
The art teacher was his worst critic.
He poked fun of his work and put it down.
Horrifying the rest of the class.
Shawn could never do anything right in art class.
And cartooning was his favorite thing to do, so he did it at home.
In the privacy of his own home
Where he took too many pills
And went to sleep
Escaping his insensitive idiotic art teacher
Who was the worst bully of all.
majestic foul who
whoms spies on mice regal eyes
claws out dives piercings
~
with his claws hootie
hoot hooty whoo acute sites
hearing site vision
~
sharply hooked beak the
flight of the owl silent
glide on flying owl
10/14/21
For OWL HAIKU POETRY CONTEST
SPONSORED BY: Robert James Liguori
At times He shouts to clear his throat, AHEM!
We are the phlegm.
Puffs of dandelion dust,
ignoring life, allowing hearts to rust.
Each day we rush upon ourselves,
shelving more decisions,
piercings and incisions,
in the side of eyelids, nose, and tongue.
unknowing victims, of
what we know not from.
beaming like returning martyrs,
blown to Kingdom Come.
matter splattered, gut ache or remorse;
no age is better for it; no age worse.
it’s what we choose to look at now;
it is our Holy Cow.
maybe sin is in the looking,
maybe in the not,
eyes averted;
disaster flirted with,
Mr./ Mrs. Smith,
composite couple;
doubling our efforts
to keep up, win the cup;
get the bowl;
satisfy a never-filling hole.
Our procedure is to marry;
double-feature of our troubled futures;
sutures for the wounds inflicted
in a psyche so conflicted;
we sit for hours and hours
hours and hours, paying folks
to analyze the guiltiness of flowers.
We simply grow, didn’t you know;
afraid of what we have created.
Frankensteins,
so overrated, - tall,
but not so unrelated after all.
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