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Money Where Their Mouth Is

A red bag with white trim with 100 dollar bills fanned sticking out of it

Money out my hand
Where it goes I don’t answer
Into your pocket

“You should just donate money to the campaign. You’d get this cleared up in a jiffy.”

“Isn’t that bribery? That’s illegal. Isn’t it?” asked Mr. Green.

“Yes. Absolutely. And I’m saying that as your lawyer. Bribery is illegal,” said Mr. Johnson, “Political donations are not. And I’m not saying that not as your lawyer.”

“Donations as part of a bribe?” asked Mr. Green his arms crossed.

“Who’s doing that? No, nobody here is doing that. Or any suggestion of that sort. We are merely saying that if you were to make known that hefty donations were made to such candidates in support of their ongoing good work; they may look upon this case more favorably, well actually unfavorably, therefore more likely to dismiss.”

“So if I give money to some politician then he’ll talk to the judge and tell him to dismiss the case?”

READ THE REST here: https://theauthorstew.ca/blog/money-where-their-mouth-is/

This is part of the Trumped Up Views stories. Trumped Up Views – a series of micro-stories set in a parallel universe with events eerily similar to our own that mirror the politics of the time.

Screams Most Unpleasant

   Sound hits my ear hard
Inside my brain it burrows
  Noise most unpleasant

NOTHING IS WITHOUT

ONLY THE DAY BEGINS

INSIDE MY HEAD

SHE SCREAMS AGAIN

ETERNAL EVENING DISTURBS MY SLUMBER

Nobody knew her name

I saw her On the street corner alone

An Invitation extended

One She should have declined

Everyone knows you don’t talk to strangers

NEVER AGAIN WILL SHE BOTHER

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GRASS

INSIDE ALL OF US

SOMEONE OR SOMETHING IS ALWAYS SCREAMING

ETERNAL TORMENTS

She didn’t make the News

Girls like her never dO

She had some fIght

Screams and scratches, tears and blood

Doesn’t matter in the End.

This is from a dVerse prompt: Write a poem about noise. “Fill your poem with noise to paint us a picture of an event. Use noise metaphorically to express turmoil or unease, whether internal or external. You can play with onomatopoeia in your poem if you’d like but it is not required.”

I took a kind of horror play on it with a nod to Poe. The noise obviously being the screams but they’re in his head, the echoes of the screams he created. And the letters of noise scattered through the poem giving it a noisy look and aesthetic as well. Hope you enjoyed.

Why can’t I come?

Image by Hugo Leonardo De Souza Lopes from Pixabay


You have gone before me
I tried to keep up
Following like a lost pup
To be or not to be
Still couldn’t see
The question never came up
You left me with the bill, like Jesus’ last sup
One last wood ride from a branch tree

I’m wearing all black
Tears fall like rain
All gathered round to say goodbye
There’s no coming back
No losing this pain
No matter how hard I try

Why can’t I come?

cover of After All is Said ... A couple walking away from each other the guy looking towards the woman

Available on KU and Amazon.

After All is Said …
What’s left after you’ve been intimate? 30 poems that answer that question. Good, bad, worse & perfect. the responses to what happens after intamacy. Know what happens After All is Said …

https://amazon.com/dp/B0BT7S14QW

Where are the days before pumpkin spice?

Where are the days before pumpkin spice?


Where are those hot summer days?

When we ran in sprinklers, on lawns of green
We had no care of what our thighs looked like
Or if the neighbors might see

Where are the endless afternoons?

Reading a book or three
Bike rides down safe summer lanes
Creating mud pies, grass buffets, all natural with sugar on top

Where did the days before pumpkin spice go?

Where is grandma?
Making her pies
Where is grandpa?
Fixing our bikes
Where is mommy?
Kissing scraped knee
Where is daddy?
At the BBQ cooking meat

Where did those days go? Before we knew the spice of Autumn

Kisses were innocent, if awkward
Holding hands meant nothing and everything
You were mine, at least for this week

Where are those days before pumpkin spice?

This is a dVerse prompt: title your poem with the question – where are the/they… , use the questioning within your poem, even with repetition, DO NOT ANSWER it though – the questioning is rhetorical, employ concepts of mortality, the transience of life, a sense of nostalgia.

I actually created 2 other poems before this one having not paid attention to one of the prompts so this prompt created 3 poems instead of one. lol There is an intentional duality (or more depending on how deep you want to read into it :^) ) in the poem of seasons and aging. I hope you enjoy!

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Cradled Wetness

Cradled in my arms
Cradled in my hands
A warm wetness 
Desired desire

Let me drink from your pleasured springs
Wells of yearning ambrosia, flowing rivers of need
Passion fueled thirst 
Lust born longing

Let me touch you
Run my hands along the lanes of your body
Valleys and hills of nakedness
Lead to a vast wonderland

Let me touch you
With my lips, whispering words
Breaths of encouragement and delight
Sounds of longing slide over my tongue

Cradled in my arms
Drops of your essence still on my lips
My hands hold you close
Words of adoration in your ear

Fornication’s Fire

Burning passion, hot action, Fornication’s Fire. 30 erotic poems about the fires of love making, sex … fornicating. Modern poems take you on a journey that is sensual, sexual and burning. Read Fornication’s Fire on Amazon and KU

Nothing & Everything

“The future gathers in vine, bush, and tree: Persimmon, walnut, loquat, fig, and grape,” said Professor Manwani, each fruit corresponding to a different terminal. He walked by checking the output on each screen.

“You really think quantum computing is the future huh Professor?” asked Pete.

“Not just quantum computing, quantum engineering, quantum biology. The world is going quantum my boy! You just watch,” said the Professor. He stopped by the terminal labelled fig and typed on the keyboard.

“Call me sceptical. I mean I see the promise “theoretically” of what you’re proposing. I just don’t see how it’s even possible, much less useful.”

“Useful? Oh, there is no usefulness about it,” said Professor Manwani, “At least not yet. You need materials before you can build. And flipping this switch, we create the atoms to build the materials.”

He flipped the switch. Nothing/Everything happened.

This is from a dVerse prompt: Write a piece of flash fiction or other prose up of up to or exactly 144 words, including the given line from the poem – “The future gathers in vine, bush, and tree: Persimmon, walnut, loquat, fig, and grape.” From the poem “Time and the Garden” by Yvor Winters. I hope you enjoy.

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I Give to you My Power

Photo by Guilherme Stecanella on Unsplash

Power
The ability to do work
Work
An activity involving effort to achieve a purpose or result
Purpose 
The reason something exist or is done
Power
The ability to do an activity for the reason you exist

I give to you my power
Some say they would die for you
They would rather not live
Others would live for you
Yet do nothing with the life they have with you

I give you my power
My ability to do
To live or die
The reason I exist
Is you
My power

This is for a dVerse prompt: Your challenge today is to use one or more of the definitions of power that have been given and write a poem in any format or length you choose. I hope you enjoy.

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In Need of Kisses 2

The night needs kisses
As night’s often do
My lips pressed against yours, me holding you
The darkness hides much, the desire that this is
The sky is black yet the stars are wishes
My heart is full of desire yearning for a love true
Our lips feed the night, as the morning brings the dew
For I am hers, and she is his

Kisses in the night
Your lips on mine
Things done wrong feel so right
No worries, everything is fine
With your kisses we just might
Let our heart and desires take flight

The night needs moans
To fill the silence of the dark
My lips on you, my teeth leave a mark
Mark what is mine
You cry out to the night
I echo with cries of my own
Circle the moon where wings have flown
We live in the night
In need of kisses

Woman in black and white holding a rose in color with a rose on its side underneath

Seduced by Seduction
A collection of 30 poems about seduction, seducing and being seduced. Poems that are hot, introspective, a play on words, thoughtful. Find it all in Seduced by Seduction.
Available on Amazon & Kindle Unlimited, e-book & paperback. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WK51RR6

Cherita Poems

It’s carnival time

Bright lights, pretty costumes
Dancers in a parade

I can’t help but think of her
Dark skin, bright smile
Hips that swayed and told lies

            ***

You can’t shout over the music
Loud rhythms and pounding beats
I didn’t catch your name … or eye

Too many drinks
With umbrellas 

Can’t catch my lonely tears

This poem was from a prompt from dVerse: Write a cherita in either 1-2-3 form or 3-2-1 form OR write a double cherita where the second part mirrors the first: 1-2-3 then 3-2-1, as we did for Laura’s prompt.

My inspiration was Toronto’s Caribbean Carnival or Caribana as it used to be called. It’s a big summer festival here that is pretty well known. I’ve never been funny enough.

Gave My Burdens To The Trees

Give Your Burden to the Trees by C. Stuart Lewis

Take a walk among the trees.

Give them your problems & worries.

Their roots are deep to hold them steady.

They can hold your burdens,

Put them deep in the ground,

Feed them through thick trunks

To leaves open to the sky,

Where they release as oxygen.

Breath out.

Breath in.

Give your burden to the tree.

My favorite poem whispers through the leaves
Filtered like sunlight dappled upon the trail
Breadcrumbs along the pathway
Temptation for the tired soul
“Walk these trodden footsteps
Here among the trees”

I walk here in the midst of green and brown
Breathing in the scent of recycled carbon dioxide
Life springs all around
Yet death too lays beneath my feet
Summer soil to feed spring’s grown seed
Yet no burden does weigh my shoulders down

I step between the trunks of rings
Time’s passage counted in circles
Yesterday’s storms are not my present worry
Tomorrow’s rainbows are not yet circles complete
I walk beneath the branches that grow from stem and root
Home of the bird as it sings

I gave my burden to the trees
Fed their roots as I shuffled my feet
Walked alone 
In my silent therapy
Breathing in
Breathing out
Letting my problems and worries
Fall like the leaves

This poem is from a prompt from dVerse: Write a poem that either mentions the woods/forest, is set in a woods, or is motivated by one of the three images above.

It made me immediately think of the first poem which I had written quite a while ago. One of my favorites. Then I decided to use that as inspiration for the new poem. And that is what you have before you now. I hope you enjoy!