Sat Beside me a girl too slight for the swing's grace.
Sleeves hid her cuts, a secret she'd embrace.
She swayed, clinging to bars as a lifeline's trace.
Somewhere In her twisted mind, I'd planned this meeting space.
Somehow they yanked her from that peaceful place.
Silent in soil, a forgotten grave's face.
Staring at the swing, I saw my own lost case.
Good girls don’t.
Well who are you to say?
Donning shredded fish nets,
kissing with dark lipstick,
she’ll say what’s on her mind.
Clearly she’s a bit scholastic,
putting her nose in the issues
after removing it from a book.
Who are you to say what
good girls do?
A scream as she spits gum out,
running until there’s nothing left;
in the end crying herself to sleep.
Who are you to say what
good girls do?
On a mission to sit for a while
yet always yanked up by her hair,
A sure sign no one else is there.
The haute spark of a trendsetter,
talking smack without a word.
Her wretched stack is everywhere.
Good girls don’t.
Well who are you to say?
Here
I stand
by myself,
growing inside
the tiny crack of
the sidewalk in which I
took root; countless feet I spy
strolling past me, but I escape
being tread on, for I stand close by
a wall of stone, so sad and so alone.
I can see others, yellow like myself
clustered together like happy friends
until they get cursed as weeds and
yanked up! We are just as loved
by bees as those garden
blooms are. At what cost
have I remained
here - lonely
though still
safe?
Arrange every single drop with class,
ready to be the grande opening?
Take the chance and reveal it all.
In a splash of shade and trash polka,
silver linings are the cherry on top.
Paid the price with that blob of tears,
added a graffiti twist to the pristine.
Yanked out the picture inside my head
now it’s out there for everyone to see.
Eat it all up, let them feel your authentic.
Every room in Scotland,
Whether inn or a hotel,
Had a comforter upon the bed
To serve most people well.
It was always white and fluffy,
Meant for coziness, I guess,
And at first, when snuggled under it,
I liked it, I confess.
But I always woke up feeling
Way too warm and yanked it free.
Then I had no means of cover,
Which just doesn’t work for me.
So each night I fought that blanket,
Sometimes off and sometimes on,
Thinking if I’d had a top sheet,
All those problems would be gone.
Now I’m sleeping in my own bed,
Comfy underneath the sheet
And if I’m a little warm, I simply
Kick it off my feet.
Filmed by strangers,
a story doomed not to last.
Beauteous verse
wrapped in barbed wire—
each sonnet
a blade to the vein.
Eyes like jade—
not diamond,
but cut rock.
A granite heart.
Tar recedes
into stone.
Still, the boy covets
with hunger.
And the girl—
she has appetites too.
First love:
a pigtail yanked,
a giggle echoing through time.
Innocence dissolved
with each year gained.
But the eyes—
they never changed.
Breathe life and fire into love’s nest—
reignite the spark of youth,
peeking through years like iron curtains,
framing the fugitive selves
we left decimated.
I still see her—
not in dreams,
but in the hush between songs,
in the way a door closes softly
when no one is there.
She has appetites still.
And I—
I feed them
from a distance.
Let her starve for once.
I’m not sure what happens after this
but I don’t think it’s anything grand.
I don’t think we meet again,
if we ever even make it.
And if we do,
would you still want to?
I’ve worn this version of me out,
and I don’t know what else I’ve got.
I remember the first time
I realized I was in the world:
four years old when I came online,
became conscious I was alive
mid-plunge—
someone had shoved me
into the deep end of the public pool.
It was nothing cruel, just kid logic.
But the water didn’t care
how innocent the moment was.
Cold punched me clean through
the inside of my skull and everything lit up:
channels fine-tuned into something
I hadn’t known was broadcasting.
I wasn’t breathing,
but I was Awake,
and when someone yanked me up
by half an arm and a handful of hair,
when the air hit my face again,
when I realized other people
were there,
chlorine,
a sky—
it felt like heaven for a minute,
or at least how I'd later
hear it described.
I no longer believe in that,
not really,
not in the after kind.
But that moment sticks—
footsteps in wet cement,
part of me
that knew I’d been somewhere
and wasn’t anymore.
Scots golfers do not 'golf'
as they say in the U.S.A.
invented in Scotland
it's as they ought
a sport the Scottish play
the first tennis player
known by name
(Louis X)
did not 'tennis'
when he played the game
even so I may one day
bend my elbow
consider the racket
and give it a go
looks like the language
is slowly downward drifting
and come this Christmas
you won't see me 'gifting'
when did a noun become a verb
misconjugated by ignorant clowns
as English is oft Yanked and twisted
by illiterate dimwits verbing nouns
Just when things were looking up,
When the sun started to shine once more,
The floor is yanked from underneath my feet,
And I’m shaken to my very core.
I thought I climbed to the top of the hill,
Thought I’d finally finished the race,
But nothing ever goes as planned,
Just like that, life smacked me in the face.
I told myself life would turn out the way I wanted,
But life always seems to have other plans,
I was the one controlling my life,
But just like that, it’s out of my hands.
I thought I finally found my people,
The ones who I could call my friend,
My obliterated heart started to heal,
And just like that, it’s broken again.
What could be more pleasurable than this?
I muse to myself as I reminisce,
when each limb was pulled by a diff'rent horse,
that magic time when I went through divorce.
I am roused from protective amnesia,
my heart yanked out without anesthesia.
Mona Lisa, a destroyed work of art,
I picked up my brush for a brand new start.
I wager it is somewhat premature
to say I'm philosophical and mature,
but I don't wallow in desolate defeat -
with better lives now, I remain upbeat.
We can happily say we lived through hell,
and rich lawyers are overjoyed as well.
Written: January 03, 2025
___________________________________
In a world without walls, feelings run wild,
Their vision soars, such a curious child.
Unbound by meter or syllable count,
Words ballet freely, without a surmount.
Embracing nakedness in its pure form,
Expression flows, unafraid of the norm.
Yanked bare, in virginity embrace,
Binding belt of chastity finds no place.
In meadows, we sleep quiet and serene,
A pristine haven, free from squatter scenes.
No fighting for rights, with sonnet-built homes,
Just literature's embrace, where grace roams.
Departing from rite, followers claim note,
As castles rise, passion keeps hope afloat.
I have an appointment
To have a tooth yanked.
This lists pretty high
On the fears I have ranked.
So, natch, I am nervous
And needed a laugh,
Which has been supplied
By my better-ish half.
He told me – “Relax!”
As I work on my rhyme;
“You don’t have to leave yet
For tooth-hurty’s the time!”
The scales of Lady Justice
Slapped in the face on the left in the right.
Exposed in all my private place.
Choked by the cord of avenge and revenge both seek.
Stung by bees of foul and lied speech.
Yanked arms by extreme deception.
Legs mired in the sea of corruption.
Can Lady Justice no longer hold the scales
in this American land?
We went to Florida, as Al's friend was living in Florida, and he asked us to come down
there. We packed up and moved down there. When we arrived there; Al got a job
with his friend working for a trucking company. His friend told his boss that I cussed
right in front of him, to upset my husband, Al.
We were at his friend's house and his friend told my husband to make him at me so
that he leave me there at his house. He already had sex with his wife but Al didn't
leave me there; so his friend could also have sex with me. Al didn't listen and wanted
to take me home.
On our way home, he started calling me bad names. I raised my hand, to stop him
from calling me bad names. He stopped the car and started beating with his fists
on the floor boards of the car. When we arrived home, he made me stay inside the
car and sent the babysitter home.
He yanked me out of the car and threw me into the bathtub.
03/13/24
Inside our living room, there stood a table.
Three legs it had; its round top was unique.
Mom kept it in the corner, and she’d say
so proudly that the table was antique.
Well polished, it had a vase atop it,
and flawless was its base, legs widely splayed.
One day, with Mom away, we moved it to
another room. A few games we then played.
Our chairs fit well round that three-legged table
as we played our Yahtzee and Crazy Eights.
A lovely afternoon we spent, just I
with two of my dear sisters as my mates.
One sister (I can’t recall which one now)
brought drinks to us, and just as Mom walked in,
I spilled my drink! Mom became hysteric
as if I had committed some great sin!
She yanked us off our chairs and quickly wiped
the spillage – yelling at us the whole time.
The table got put back into its corner,
and we were punished for our little crime.
The vase was put back on the table’s top,
and we three got no soup that night to sup.
Mom’s in a nursing home now; we’ve all grown.
I wonder where that table ended up!
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