They say words shouldn’t hurt,
but mine are crafted,
a perfect match for the tender places
you believe no one notices.
I don’t need to throw punches;
the right words can strike
with more force than a blow.
The best part?
I can smile afterward,
clean hands, no marks,
just your pride,
folded like a flimsy chair
at a backyard wedding.
Categories:
tailored, 9th grade,
Form: Free verse
Insatiable - Quest For Perfection historically
From The Republic of Plato's Socrates
Offspring with high intelligence, comradery
Athletic, science minded, co operative
Tailor made 8 cell diagnosis selects finest
Anxious embryo developer keen to accelerate
Pleasurable reflection held in liquid nitrogen
White gold filled syringe holder operates
Selective patronage of top notch chromosones
Sought out the prestige of Nobel Bank of Sperm
Files boasted outstanding bio father credentials
Mothers maintain reputation of ability to discern
Nobel's demise came in failure to maintain stock
Eugenics launched acceptance of IVF technology
Petered genius imput, deposits from general flock
Duped recipients faithfully awaited tiny prodigies
Varied outcomes, 215 proclaimed, now adults
Demonstrate unclear connection between elite
Genes giving invincible humans as sure result
Driven by nurture to thrive, rationale incomplete
9th September 2020
Kai Michael Neumann, Sponsor
Clutching At Straws
Categories:
tailored, baby, betrayal, corruption, dad,
Form: Rhyme
Roses are Red, Violets are Blue
Who would have knew
Our love would have grew
Into this
Surpassed seduction
Temptation and bliss
Still bound by our very first kiss
And the children you gave me
Rose are Red, Violets are Blue
For if who else s foot if not You
Fits my glass slipper
Written for Susan's , Finish the verse contest
Categories:
tailored, love, roses are red,
Form: Free verse
In the dark light of this winter morn, I see
The clothes that I am expected to wear
(Though, maybe, the fault of illusion lies with me)
From overuse, have become threadbare
Nothing there…
In a cloak of blue, I steal through these lanes
Measuring myself, roughly, for something new
A suit of humour, to cover my pain
A coat of hope, to stop the doubt shining through
Do not fit true…
This protective subterfuge cannot last long
So, with the aura of my old hide, around me spread
(Without my own skin I feel so wrong)
In this cloth that is woven from transparent thread
Words, unaltered, from my head…must soon be said…
Categories:
tailored, introspection, love, on writing
Form: Quintain (English)