a victim of self…

she had
so carefully
woven her crown
of thorns
from her beliefs
binding each row
with the twisted twine
of her sense
of worthlessness
wearing it
with olympian pride
year after year
turning water
into wine
that others would drink
while she hung thirsty
upon a cross
carved with her own hands
hands she marked
so her tormentors
would know where
to place the nails
and yet
she knew not
what she
had
done

none of my business…

Image by Malia Autio

well
now you know
i’m not one to talk
and lord knows
i cannot tolerate
people who run around
spreading stories
but
may lee
the woman who does my nails
said her cousin
who works with her
was having a hissy fit
about how hard it was
to get into the daughters of
of the revo
was it the french revolution
or the german revolution
i just can’t remember right now
but i’ll recall it in a minute
so there they were at the gym
naked as a bluejay in the sauna
and her cousin says
she had eye surgery
no not lazec
plastic surgery
so she wouldn’t have those
chinese eyes
as she calls them
well then she says
she found these old documents
in the attic of the house
that proved her great great great grandfather
had fought for the winning side
of some war somewhere
so she got to be
ah
oh yes
now i recall
one of the daughters of the
illusion of success

caution high voltage lines…

My friend Toni Cross has done it again…presented me with a photo and challenged me to write a poem based upon what I see…without any background information …just based upon what I see….of course in the true spirit of poetic brother/sisterhood I have sent her a photograph with the same detailed information that she provided me….I certainly hope you enjoy each of our poems.

 

 
 

Challelnge Photo From Toni L. Cross

sorry
i have some
bad news
for you
the power
has been off for years
in this damn societal enclave
the only thing running through
these lines
is yesterday’s dreams
this recycled ball of trash
that we have been living on
ain’t worth the cost
of the security system
we keep spending billions
on a worn out corner of the globe
that erupts in smoke and ash
flowing with blood-red lava
through the veins of history
shakin’ like some old damn car
just before the wheels fall off
yet
folks we elect
keep telling us
for national security
we must spend more
for an old wooden door
with rusty hinges
shut tight
years ago
with nails
of fate
and
neglect
for true
human
rights