I’m tired and horny It’s been a long day I need to be put away I’m tired and horny And only one of those, looks like it’s gonna change I’m tired and horny I need you in me Do it hard and raw and free I’m tired and horny I need to feed both body and desire Come with me, light my fire I’m tired and horny And I don’t want to be Won’t you come and set me free I’m tired and horny Now in bed Be with me and fulfill the promises of all the things you said I’m no longer tired nor horny The morning sun in my eyes Looking over to see you in my bed, and all that implies.
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Oh, that I could know that my Words could combine like a soul Ballad; one that has That deep groove, that grown Ups put the kids to bed, deep In your feels like, Damn, make the Wetness flow like rivers.
Oh yes. I’ve known rivers.
This is for a dVerse prompt: Write a Golden Shovel poem.
So here is the prompt: Write a Golden Shovel poem. *Choose a line from a poem that resonates with you. *Build your poem so each line ends with a word from that line. *Keep the words in order, forming the original line down the right margin. *Let your poem move in its own direction. Surprise us! *Include attribution (after [poet])
My Golden Shovel poem is taken from The Negro Speaks of Rivers by Langston Hughes. An excellent poem the line I’ve known rivers is from the poem as well and is repeated along with the line My soul has grown deep like the rivers. I hope you enjoy! 😊
I walked in a dream. Grandfather held my hand. Walk with me young cub The years lay in his calloused hand Wisdom and hard work Nature’s lessons taught through time
Listen to the words I speak Listen to the lessons they teach Hear and learn values
The turtle walks slow the truth upon his back Deliberate steps to take in the journey Sure of himself and upon the right track Integrity, sincerity, let them be the words that you speak
The wolf howls to the moon, joined by the pack Chorus of all singing praises to the moon Accept yourself, humility is not about what you lack Acceptance of all in their place above and below yourself
Be yourself, just as the Sabe Know who you are, honest in your assessment Use what and who you are, open as a babe Show the world who you truly are is a brave honesty
Fly like an eagle, soar above the mountain, observe and see Love unconditionally, parent to a child, peace as your reward Love is the center of all that is taught and in who we should be Can you love yourself and others? The highest of honors
Respect to the buffalo, all of it used from hide to bone, home and art Respect of the buffalo giving it’s all Honor to all, respect from the heart Waste not, want not, honor and respect those as you would want them to do to you
Brave bear growl and roar Face the fears within yourself and in the world without Find your strength to believe in yourself and you will soar Bravery and course lay in the steadiness of your convictions
Wise beaver holding back the water Using the inherent knowledge of nature To the benefit of family, not just some river otter Wisely knows between plus and minus and their results
Seven teachings learned Wisdom of the ages lessons Given in a dream
I wake now wiser Saddened by my loss Grandfather, teacher, no longer I seek to learn the lessons Teaching as I’m taught Gratitude of family
This is for a dVerse prompt: Your mission is to write a poem influenced by The Seven Grandfather Teachings in any way that you would like to approach the theme.
I chose to do all 7 as leaving out any seemed lacking when I thought of ideas. I hope you enjoy! 😊
Red color silence Anger in the words not said I long to listen
I hate when she does this to me. So demure, so fragile, curled up within herself. Shutting me out. It no longer is about what was done, I was wrong as was she, but this silent war has become our battlefield. The initial shots that started the conflict, like true war, are long forgotten in the bombings of words not said. Hurt feelings lay like open scars; maimed soldiers screaming in their voiceless ways for help. I tiptoe through shared spaces, navigating a minefield, the tripwire of speech certain to set off an explosion. Silence is golden yet I long for the boom.
Provoke her! Yell the war hawks in my head. Get her to fire and expose her position. But I am a veteran of the silent wars. Speak civil, speak sparse. Emotions are terrain too valuable to lose. Sentences can lead to conversation, conversation to confession, confession to contriteness and then all is lost. I will not be the first to bow to the silent winds. Everything I say can and will be used against me. Besides, this time I’m not the only one.
Silence has seeped into the very bones of our home. A war torn, shelled out area where the killing of conversation hangs in the air like the foul stench of death. The passing of ghosts as we walk from room to room. Silent wraiths of bitterness, haunted by past aggressions. Even when words are spoken they seem hollow; silenced of meaning. Hello. How are you? Do you want to eat? Okay.
I can’t take any more. A battle won must be worth the prize. I’m not even angry anymore. I’m tired, beat down by the silence of my own thoughts. I’ll come humble, hat in hand. I’ll come angry, full of bluster and fury. I’ll come with measured words intertwined with wisdom. All I know is that I must come and this silence must end. Speak to me of wrongs to be made right. Shortcomings that have missed the mark. Tell me what must be done to make amends.
“Babe, we need to talk.”
This is for a dVerse prompt: Let’s ponder silence as we understand it. Then bear witness to it in haibun! This week, write a haibun that alludes to [silence] in any way that works for you. Hope you enjoy! 😊
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Gerard Sekoto, Police Man on a White Horse in the Fields (1959)
Can you see him? The man on the horse. I can’t. I see through him. A white man On a horse In a field Of whiteness. In my country he’d be blue This white man On a horse In a field of whiteness. He’d look down from his horse At the few shades of brown In a field of whiteness What would be in his eyes? Would he see the brown Breaking up the field of whiteness As a splash of color Or stains In a field of whiteness. What would this white man On a horse See in his field of whiteness? Because in my country This white man In blue Would see the field as his He may not own the field Nay, Probably could not own the field, Not with his salary, But he’d think he owned it anyway And this white man On a horse In a field of whiteness Would look upon the brown On his field And he’d see With eyes cold Like ICE From his horse In a field Of whiteness Something different than I.
This is for a dVerse prompt: For today’s Poetics prompt, I’d like you to choose one of the paintings featured in this post and base your poem on it. I chose Police Man on a White Horse in the Fields, the picture above, to do my ekphrastic poem on. I hope you enjoy!
P.S. In this poem my country is the US not Canada as I was born in the US and chose to claim either one as I feel. 😁
Image by Wolfgang Eckert and by Sunrise from Pixabay
Yo, my man can you dig? Right on daddy-o! This thing is too jive, I gotta split. What’s this crazy jam on my radio? Ain’t too funky for my groove, I’m digging these far out tunes. Hey foxy mama let me see them moves!
This is for a dVerse prompt: Please write a poem of only 44 words on your blog. Use some form of the word dig. I hope you enjoy! 😊
There are often comic musings but very few consider them poems Laughter is the best medicine Poets are often sick Yet very few comedians who rhyme Did you hear the one about the - No. You have to let me finish No, I don’t and stop calling me Finnish.
Why is that? Why is what? No, what is what, why is because Philosophy The musings of failed poets who couldn’t rhyme
Maybe they should have been comedians.
This is for a dVerse prompt: … I hope you will at least look at this new-to-me form called the zuihitsu. …
Zuihitsu is not a new form. According to the Poetry Foundation’s glossary:
It is “a Japanese hybrid form that can be traced back to Sei Shōnagon’s 10th-century text, The Pillow Book, zuihitsu is often translated from the Japanese as “following the brush.” This capacious genre incorporates nonfiction, musings and confessions, poetry, and miscellany to create a spontaneous, layered text.”
I found writing the form a little chaotic, as in a bit of a controlled stream of conscious type. I hope you enjoy! 😁
Where does love go when it’s let free from its shell? The inner wrappings of yolk and membrane, released into the wild, or perhaps just into a frying pan. Sunny side up or scrambled, love stays the same.
Love does not run into some other place, become mixed with flour and sugar to create a cake. Love is the cake, and the cream. The icing on top and the filling between. Love does not have empty calories. It does not go free.
Where is the love when it’s given away? And doesn’t come home nor does it stay. It goes where it went when you sent it out. It is not a boomerang to turn around. It is a seed, a petal on a flower’s stem. Sent to grow and nourish and bloom if conditions are right. Not for spectacle but to do what it might.
Where did the love go? Nowhere. It’s right here, where it’s always been. The love didn’t leave, the relationship did. It’s not waiting here for you to come back, it went with you. I am not waiting for you either. The love never left but I’m gone and not looking back.
This is for a dVerse prompt: Your challenge is to take the title of your poem from the question ‘Where does love go when it goes?’ or ‘Where does love go?’ and answer it in your poem.
I chose to go a different route than I usually would. I’ve written a number of poems about just this (After All is Said …) so I wanted to look at it a bit differently in this piece. I hope you enjoy! 😊
Image by Seidenperle, Yerson Retamal, & Dominique from Pixabay
“I really appreciate you coming.”
“Hmmph,” she sniffed.
Hey, she was here. That was a win.
“Publication is the auction of the mind,” she said; unprompted.
I looked at her. Her with her second hand black beret, brown, real leather jacket, a pair of slacks most likely from Walmart and a pair of strappy shoes that could probably cover my rent for the next three months.
Really? Really! Let it go Peggy Sue. You wanted her here, remember that.
I smiled at her, “Few men have virtue to withstand the highest bidder and I am no man”.
I walked away, leaving my sister standing with her bottle of sparkling water.
“Congratulations on having your book published!” exclaimed Judy, my agent. “I see you got the heiress of AI to come.”
Holding her dog ransom was a small price to pay to get it done.
This is for a dVerse prompt: Write a piece of prosery of up to or exactly 144 words, including the given line in the order in which it has been given. You may add or change punctuation, but you may not add or delete words.
The given line: Publication – is the Auction Of the Mind -from Publication – is the Auction by Emily Dickenson
I thought I wanted your body To satiate a need, a desire deep within Lust, hunger, a feel for skin on skin
Love? I had that but I wanted more I thought it was your body That would heal my soul
Oh I wanted your body Those thick hips, soft breasts Those lips of yours wrapped around my head
It was your ass I wanted to grab tight Your pussy I wanted to destroy every night I wanted every inch of your body under mine
Yet it was not your body I needed It was your heart and it’s beating Your obsession not even I am fool enough to call it love
For I didn’t love you Not for who you are I wanted what you could give me, nothing more
It was your body I wanted But I wanted more I wanted all of you, yet that was too much For only your body is what I could afford
Read The Sex Cycle Collection!
Have you read The Sex Cycle, Seduced by Seduction, Fornication’s Fire and After All is said … ? Well now you can get them all together in one! collection. The Sex Cycle Collection. Read over 150 poems that explore the spectrum of sex, desire and relationships. Find poems that will excite, make you think, reminisce, hope, lament, seduce, satisfy and satiate.
The Author Stew webpage - Stories & Poems 