sometimes coffee in an Antigua cup
or red,
not often, tea,
loose or bagged.
does the string stop the drowning.
occasionally, dandelion,
bitter, mildly unpleasant;
such as a visit
to the deck, tidied,
vacuumed, except for a corner
kept with leaves
waiting for a spouse
to hurry up and finish up.
a three-way
confusion, static;
like a bus-hop,
it’s no party, not even
an old-fashion
party line.
not likely to listen
to reason, cutting
remarks, saturated
in control.
chocolate cream, distilled sips
in a cordial glass,
stem pinched by thumb
and pointing out tact.
sometimes wine, red
in a heaping purple goblet,
only a quarter full;
I’m no fool.
falling into the coolness
of rain, insane
how things change, shift,
stay strangely the same,
and out of order.
hey, while I listened,
a lingering trash bag
disappeared.
this is why
complaining is
for nought.
perhaps tomorrow
will wake up sunny,
and exhausted,
rumpled and relaxed.
a three way cheer
of tact,
bittersweet parched.
If I could split my soul
I would want a three-way split
one would go into Cher
One would go into Bette Midler
I would retain one
in case the other two never returned
Does this outfit make me look fat? The crocodile asked the saleslady.
A bull-speaker, gusher and a compliment-er was, this lying gal, Sady.
You look marvelous, she said, I love the polka dots, stripes and plaid.
The crocodile strutted around the three-way mirror, pompously glad.
WARHOL
silk screen
has beens
PICASSO
three way
display
GIACOMO BALLA
motion
picture
Imagination nude
liquored and lacquered lips
ember-breathing phoenix
..lighter fluid magic
when let loose near a flame..
combustible thigh-highs
when moonshine-high is nigh—
the moon she bathes in dreams
I have you both in hand
my tongue slick and sleek seeks
to taste the fruits of fields
intoxicated snake
oh! my lust a slither
a quiver serpentine
squeeze innocence with sins
revive the withered vine
anthurium’s shield leaf
your phallic sword unsheathed
exotic frolic fire
in heart-shaped bloom I burn
fire-water-pulse untamed
grabbed by the mane restrained
—unrestrained dreams unleashed
tequila genie free
sassy-frassy lassie
a parasol in pink
frilly and unfolded
beholder beholden
to climb aboard and fly
feminine flamingo
through shaken sky uncorked—
liquid-libido rains
as thirst and thunder reigns
just drop the reins and ride
bridal sweet bridle free
yah barefoot and bareback
yes! drain the bottle dry
free way ticket three way
trifecta perfecta
primal energies spoon
la belle ‘Bianca’ blanc—
wine-skinned mademoiselle
She was playing second fiddle
Caught in a three way love affair
Sometime love becomes a riddle
She was playing second fiddle
She found herself in the middle
In this game of hearts all is fair
She was playing second fiddle
Caught in a three way love affair
Sometimes we throw rocks,
or we might be the rock that is thrown.
Rocks can masquerade as hearts and minds.
Metaphors are three-way mirrors.
When we listen to an Italian love song
we don’t need to understand the words
to feel the romance.
The sound of a great singer
becomes an instrument of Heaven.
Hell also sings.
Old friends can sit for hours
not saying a thing, then arise
completely satisfied by the conversation.
Dogs listen with their noses,
mouth-breathers savor their own thoughts.
I advised Jenny Wren that I’d be there by ten.
She told me Amber Rose was in the loop.
So, I simply assumed and just entered her room
Like a fox that’s privy to the chicken coop.
I eased open the door, but I don’t know what for.
The expressions on their faces told it plain.
In confidential three-way conversations,
Sometimes it's the fox that's left out in the rain.
Well done, she said.
Smiling her biggest smile.
I have never seen anyone else wear it like that!
There are other ways to wear a skirt?
On a head? Or a shoulder perhaps?
You should buy it! She sang out gleefully.
It looks great! Another stranger told me.
Turn around! The other one said.
I pirouetted, in front of the three-way.
A stranger had asked me to, after all.
It looks great!
It looks darling!
No one has ever worn it that way before.
I look at the skirt….
On my waist.
Wondering what that means.
They do not let me leave without it.
Telling me I have never looked better.
Nothing like shopping at a store
Where the salespeople are on commission.
I will have my mother bring it back in the morning.
A skirt I loathe, but I am such a people-pleaser.
They hip-hip-hooray me as they take my credit card.
Brown shoes tapping to a tune inside
glances fleeting off a three way mirror
waiting patiently for a smile to appear
Clock strokes many bags filled now heavy
worn eyes gaze windows day turns to night
carrying more than what's black and white
Colored choices tug at the short skirt of success
Enlightening everyday moments meant to impress
Brilliant the impromptu pirouettes of a happy soul
Cinderella dreams make even the timid feel whole
Here in violence and in beauty, living under the same moon
The beauty is so ancient, but the present violence here consumes
On one hand Afghanistan is all that it appears
Insurgents here are so deadly; through the land they spread fear
But a turn of that coin, would reveal a much different side
A land which contested the Great Alexander, and ruled by Shahs with pride
With its mighty Hindu Kush, and many rivers at hand
The graveyard of countless empires, its resistance that spans
The brave here fight hard, a fierce gamble, with their inheritance of wealth
Battling the Taliban with an opulence of old grit, using the hands they were dealt
Keeping Kandahar, Herat, Mazar-i Sharif, and the capital -Kabul
Free from tyrannical domination, oppressed by Taliban rule
I’m in awe of these courageous Afghans, this country has come far
This is the Afghanistan which I see, who else will share where they are?
This poem was inspired by "Under The Same Moon" a three way collaboration by Poet Destroyer A, Chris D.Aechtner, and NIKKO P..
Written DEC 2013 in Afghanistan
Self-Image
by Odin Roark
Once of water
Man first eyed himself
Perhaps leaning to drink
Club in one hand
Food clenched firmly in the other
Even today
How arresting first glance must be
While a mother hovers
Cooing with pride
The infant stares up
A crib’s mobile of heart-mirrors
Reflecting images just beginning
Sooner than later
Such imitative echoes become real
Revealing deception’s potency
Urging actuality into the shadows
Giving inner truth little chance
Such becomes one’s three-way mirror
What others see
What might be
What is inexorable
Façade’s reflection
Vague
Invented
Contorted
Mired
Forged
Such folly
Mere antecedent
Ultimately without a trace
Remembering when I was a young lady a few years ago
As gazing through my best friends guest rooms window
Spellbound her twin sister fondling herself passionately
Watching two beautiful women making love, on a video
Then suddenly my girlfriends housekeeper entered and
She was the most gorgeous creation; Angelica in white..
I had long adored her British accent, as her warm heart
Seeming surprised a bit shy until; amid beauty's desires.
We need time alone.
Time alone to play in our love dome.
Our love dome in it we'll turn on our passionate phones.
On our passionate phones there's no call waiting and no three way calls
And no three way calls is not all clear communication from the party of two
Communication from the party of two clearly stated as me and you
Two clearly stated as me and you know what we came to do
And you know what we came to do; come out of that outfit ;you don't need it
Come out of that outfit ;you don't need it; come here and give mommy some good
loving.
Need it; come here and give mommy some good loving. Yes, we need what we
about to do.
Some good loving. Yes, we need what we about to do. So punch in the time clock for
some me and you time.
So punch in the time clock for some me and you time. Tune in to me and I'll tune in to
you. Now we have time alone.
Time alone to play in our love dome!
Tiny quail
Hiding in corn patch
Motionless .......
Kindhearted farmer
Leaves stalks for cover
For Chris's contest
No. 1 in three way tie.
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