Perched on an emotional ledge as I have been for the past while, I find myself using my fingers to hang on to the cliff face with the hope the persistent ache resulting reminds me to keep the grip and not slide … plummet? … leap? … cavort? … into the abyss, or whateverthefuck it is, below.
The crag I cling to is QWERTY-shaped, and like velcro needs multiple connections doing a little dance to keep the stickiness happening.
Some shards pulled away by the friction between the rock and the hard place the other day got a comment that’s kept me busy lately while I hang around:
Have you ever considered writing poetry about anger? I read these yesterday, couldn’t sleep last night, don’t know why poetry about anger kept swirling around my thoughts.
So, thanks to Amy, it’s anger raising its fiery, swollen head and keeping me clenching …
Pissed off. What’s a Girl to Do?
To spew my anger ‘cross a page
would mean acknowledging my rage
It seems I was raised way too girly-ous
to allow such blatant show of furiousAn emphasis on contemplation …
consider each and every view …
and be no reason for vexation:
The mandate for a girl’s milieuNot that some don’t infuriate
when what they should do is placate,
but I have faced consequences dire
when releasing my indignant ireIt’s not that I don’t have a temper
I do, but somethings can be learned:
There’s no need to just sit and whimper’
but formulate through each slow burn …It’s helpful oft’ times to rattle a cage
and channel off more than a bit of outrage
through get-backs oh-so-very terse
in fits of pique disguised as verse.
Unfortunately, the season doesn’t help much …
The First Noel
The first Noel I hear
as we come toward the end of the year
will convey no festive tingling
but could earn a testes jingling
and a very hearty round of “Fuck you, Dear”.
And … of course, the usual angst that confounds and confuses …
Man: Optional?
I’m perpetually disappointed by
the sex that feels anointed by
the fact they sport a penis,
or it theyAlthough seemingly unfettered
and somehow strangely flattered
by a mass secreting phlegm
along the way,they find their bits impressive
even when the thing is restive
and can’t ever keep their hands
too far awayThere’s no doubt that cock’s amusing
and I’m very fond of using
the appendage on ’bout any
given day,but if suddenly to find it
hanging ’round there, I would bind it,
not assuming special powers
in its swaySince I wasn’t born with boy bling,
that male Lincoln Log-like toy thing,
it’s not possible to ‘get’ that
need to playwith it inside things or outdoors,
(little pickiness between whores)
just ’bout any hole will do it
So they pray:Fall down to your knees in full praise …
or upon your back with legs raised …
just give some place for to aim and
shout “Hooray”for the penis now he rises …
no, no need to think in sizes …
just appreciate the sight of
that beauTAY!If the thing could only speak it
would hardly need the geek it
uses to transport it ’round
each dayTruly, women are from Venus
and we’ll never have a penis
other than the ones we borrow.
That’s okayThere’re no shortages of offers
from those pleased to fill our coffers
and occasionally the man attached
will stayround long enough to carry
a few burdens, even marry,
giving more than just their penis
and a layBut …
I’m perpetually disappointed by
the sex that feels anointed by
the fact they sport a penis …
or it they
A collection of my short stories:
I'm in this one, too ...
And I'm in here, as well ...
Paradise Preoccupied 