Pinkie favored one color above all the rest
She decorated her car and her nest
with pinks of every shade and hue.
Decorated her snow people too
We knew where she lived before we parked.
It has to be this one, my co-worker snarked.
Many were jealous of Pinkie, who was confident.
We were served pink cookies with a hint of mint.
You could have not held this tea party in any other place
The Victorian Enchanted Forest had a certain kind of grace
The carnivores and prey dressed up and ate with each other
Raising their pinkies, using napkins, well-taught by their mother.
their table was always fancy with napkin rings and table linens of lace
violent actions would have been unwelcomed, and a disgrace.
fox, stag, deer, kangaroo, cat, rabbit and squirrel were here today
we had cupcakes at this glorious tea party in the middle of May
the crunch of gravel
echoes underneath my trudging feet
i walk alongside you
pinkies intertwined
the path forks;
your hand rips from mine
you cease-- expression resolute.
my feet carry me forward,
eyes still glued
to yours.
crunch. crunch. crunch.
i hasten.
crunch.
the looming trees fly past,
dancing with the wind.
crunch, crunch.
diaphanous clouds suffocate
the.
air.
crunch.
my neck snaps around,
eyes finding you--
an umbra in the fog.
crunch.
girl memories now gulped from too much air
I could not save you from feeling water
may a daughter's ashes be in sea's throb
the Diet Coke days, I knew who you loved
moments for awhile are in ocean fizz
I thought in your arms I would never drown
though not you turned your face from me within
strewn glass shingled there before me, and cut
kissie, kissie, my bare little pinkies
we sifted through sand for a chance above
the sandcastle we made sea fell over
disappointment slows to figure out waves
unknowing was I how you ward off storms
absolved eyes were blue enough together
an asylum's toll reached out, the buoy
I grew my two more feet after you left
salt tears only come when madness is past
your footprints making mine, between we share
may a daughter's ashes be in sea's throb
I cannot save you from feeling water
girl memories now gulped from too much air
Look, London ladies, buff your speech
Mind your soiled plantation fingers
Nary a trace of our old worlds
Occupy their halls royally
Porcelain cups poised on pinkies
I said I didn't trust promises,
so you made up your own special type.
We lock pinkies and kiss.
It's a new kind that harnesses,
because its so unalike
the promises from before.
So maybe I don't trust promises,
but I trusted you.
Guess I shouldn't trust promises
even from someone I love.
Because now I can't trust either like I used to.
I really don't trust promises,
but I sure did trust you.
So, maybe I shouldn't trust promises,
or maybe I just shouldn't have trusted you.
"Hey buddies. so what are we doing !"
Looks around and the clique has snotty faces on,
pedigree pinkies in the air. "You are not one of we,
the beautiful approved ones. You are uncultured and that's gross !"
Whatevs, go .... ........ !
(Junior follows them to camp and
pisssssssses on their campfire !)
Satisfying, takes a plug of tobacco and spits on their
jelly clog-Birkenstocks-for snob hill gardening-
before they lasso the noose and hanggg me high !
Worth it.
(Disingenuous Anglish prudes gather in their jerk-circlejerk...circling typos and chanting to Mammon...
We call upon the forces of the Upper Middle Class and beyond. "Get these Wal Mart shoppers looking for bargains for the poor out of here, they are not the "beautiful ones"...")
Bows to the beautiful ones.
All hail the clique ! Click.
Pinkie’s annual garden party was in full swing.
With a tea bell on the table, and a sheep’s floral ring.
Her fancy china was prissy, lemon scones ready to sing.
Pinkie the sheep loved this time of year – spring.
Who are these women
Who sit here three times a year
Sipping their tea with pinkies extended?
Once it was five times a year.
Five lunches shared.
Five birthdays come and gone.
Now two have gone forever
And they were the most fun!
One had a laugh—childlike and contagious.
The other liked to dish the dirt and saw all the latest films.
No one talks about them much anymore.
But they did exist.
I’m sure of it.
My love for language is the best
Yet my love for her goes far mile than that.
She lightens my heart with her smile
Even when in the nighttime, I see through her heart.
She is that- subsisting
Who makes me feel healed when drained.
I recollect the night devoured with her.
Her eyes flicker more than a diamond
Her lips are far more seducing than the pinkies
Her figure might not be the best but triggers me to the right
Her smooth pointers make me feel warm
Even in the harmattan season,
I feel I am covered in an air-conditioned season with her
I shall pronounce not her inscription,
For I know not who she is owned by
She is my conviction
For I confide in her
Even the peacock is not as peaceful as she is
Yet, She bears the name
©DR.MILLZ
We promised each other an eternity, whether we wilt or decay in the midst of what time becomes to be. We hold each other's pinkies under the moonlit sky breaking apart into radiant shards of warm-hued diamonds. As luminous as fire, passion, and light, we cross our hearts and kiss, igniting what appears to be love. As children we were, love was never-ending. It was delicate as butterflies and comfortable like spring, sweeter than sugar, and brighter than stars, we were no less than two flames never apart. Like a child, I believed in love, never fully understanding the means of devotion or dying attachment. Whether we fade into the abyss of eternity or dive into the depth of old years, we promised each other an eternity. We laughed under the moonlit sky and held our pinkies.
Broken promises,
eternity is finite.
Our love was fleeting.
07/17/2022
Like A Child Poetry Contest
“Frosty Valentines”
Softly it fell
In the middle of the night
Its earth bound flight
Turned meadows white
Trees all glistening bright
We scampered to the window
And held each other tight
We breathed upon the glass
And shaped it into hearts
Added arrows from our pinkies
I Love Yous from our hearts
We watched the morning sun
Glistening off the glass
Leaving our frozen mark
Treasured there for hours
On this winter’s day
I Love You
That pop you hear
is just another can of pinworms being opened
by the disgruntled, the entitled, the privileged.
Cackling about what they think they lack.
While ignoring the many things they do or could have.
They cluster together in a bait ball of perpetual misery
(of their own making).
Pointing stinky middle fingers at anybody that doesn't agree.
With their funhouse mirror philosophy...
In the (mean) time they grow fat off freebies.
Courtesy of (term limitless) pinkies in government.
Using the stinkies to divide the masses.
While taxing the crap out of the working class.
To perpetuate a two-class system made up of sheep herders and sheep.
With a big blue-collar hole in between....
and as long as the stinkies are miserable,
the pinkies have gotten what they want.
And will continue to fill our blue-collar noses
with the rose-colored snot of their bad intentions....
and that buzz that you'll soon be hearing
is the last of the sheep being sheared.
You look at my hands and see cute, dainty things
Soft palms that shape sweet rolls
Nimble fingers that pluck cello strings
A tender touch that runs fingers through your hair and won’t let you go
I look at my hands and wonder if they’re ugly or bad
My fingers too long
My nail beds shaped wrong
My palms too big
My pinkies crooked
My fingertips coarse
I hate my hands because I was convinced they are unsightly
“Big, ugly, awful things”
I don’t understand why
I can’t let go of her cruel words
They were so long ago after all
Nevertheless, they stick like
stubborn dough under my fingernails
“I hope my child will forgive me for the hate I’ve given her hands”
Thirty hours early for her interview.
Impressive or ludicrous?
She ordered everything on the menu.
Wanted to taste each dish before accepting position.
Is she the new chef? I inquired.
No, a potential hostess.
I stared at the woman.
She looked more like a bouncer.
Will she fit into the skimpy kitty cat uniform? I asked.
And if she does not, will there be a discrimination lawsuit?
We were consternated, confused, worried, concerned.
She are her feast daintily, holding her pinkies up.
Confident that in some way or another it was a win-win for her.
Not her first rodeo apparently.
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