sweat-soaked
I exhausted countlessly
falling down the nights
throwing myself against
the hollow you left
maybe hurting badly enough
could make you mine again
but now the tide has drawn back
exposing my Sharpie on the sand
you were never something so frightening
as the love of my life
only an amalgamation
of my deepest fears
wearing the face of someone I loved
my foolhardy
but in this one instance
psychic psychosis
twitched my neck
you would be gone
by summer’s end
therefore I swore
enemies with the world
blind to how I was giving you
reason to do the same
I know it selfish now, the way I held on
though that truth sits poorly on my tongue
for I truly believed that every shadow I cast
was shelter for you
I was a child to his suckle
a pallid magro body
unable to bear its own reflection
until he made you his
She is as pretty as her bridesmaid cake.
She popped off the top and showed us her roses.
We were excited about her enthusiasm.
But she had to sit on the cake, right?
Maybe not because she refused.
A cake decoration that had a mind of her own.
We were surprised by her antics,
But no one could talk her back up there.
I cannot sit still when I could dance, she told us.
Her steps included spinning, whirling and twirling.
She did a pirouette that amused us.
Then she skipped out the door.
The next cake decoration had better not be animated the cook said.
I could not guarantee him that.
We get these cake toppers from an enchantress.
in the air
i declare
it is all there
all i can do is stare
in amazement
on the cold pavement
seduced properly by a scene so surreal
on a magical night so perfectly still
all emotions are on hold for this WonderFull Moment's Feel
i become gladly lost in its EverLoving Appeal
almost immediately i Give Thanks as i kneel
in the air
i declare
it is all there
i am swept off my feet
so radiantly sweet
is the magnificent view from the frigid street
inspired i am to change my ways
my ordinary normality vanishes in the haze
a wondrous experience i do have as i freely stargaze
this is far beyond a simplistic faze
my self esteem is up, and surprisingly my Spirits Raise
She is a story topper.
If your eye is quivering, hers has dropped out and slid under the couch.
If you think you are having a heart attack, she has had sixteen stints.
She is a story topper.
If you have broken your foot, she has broken her arm, leg, and neck.
If your refrigerator has black mold, two of her houses have burned to the ground.
She is a story topper.
If your man left you for another woman, hers left her for a horse.
If you got left at the altar, she got left in the middle of hell.
She is a story topper.
My husband knows better than to try to complain.
Because she is me.
Who is she? We asked in hushed tones
For the aura and ambiance, she elicited were magical
We were in awe without even knowing her
She is the Christmas Topper Faerie.
Be extra quiet. She only chooses one tree to grace.
We held our breath, waiting.
And all it happened
As i feared
Turned into life
A nightmare
When i touched the flame
I burned down
All my ashes
Lingered around
Seeing the sky
Lying on disgust
Can never bring stars
Into your palm anigh.
Awake
And revive
From those ashes
And burn down those stars
With victory of crashes.
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Our lovely tree still lacks its crowning touch,
the topper that my oldest son agreed
to bring this year, but since that day so much
has happened—disagreements and the need
to re-connect, to plant a healing seed.
Our conversations have been strained since then
and visits not as warm as in the past.
His job (he said) makes him unsure of when—
or if—he’ll come. Uncertainty has cast
a shadow, and the day is passing fast.
***************************
I’m up at dawn on Christmas Eve. I pray
I soon will welcome ALL my family.
I’m sipping coffee as I make my way
to place few more gifts—What do I see?
My son's here, with a topper for the tree!
I would like to thank you for your visit.
I have removed these poems for a distant future book publication.
I believe we poets, can make a difference
in this world. We live in the 21st century,
we have tools( technology), we have our past, and imagination.
We just don't have the courage, because
I guess most are afraid to fail, to loose money.
All I have to say is we can't take money with us,
when we die. I also say hasn't mankind failed enough,
and isn't mankind worth the effort, our children is worth the effort..
Thank you, and my your God Bless you
John E WordSlinger
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.