Biker Chicks
The girls who kiss me
don’t drive those
straight delusions.
You are what you love.
[word collage]
(vii)
of prompts – and other gimmicks:
dear me,
pretentious, pushing phifty;
what once was over the hill, now?
water under the bridge?
if i could, i would
love you to death.
because death will part us.
and on the burial fern-lilies would sway
to the plonk-plonk of a tinny piano,
chinese-lanterns in the waft of the
muted yet clear laughter of guests,
( she would wear her favourite patent leather boots).
like an unwritten elegy on snow,
branded in vodka, singed for weeks,
to none can one say no.
for at the end of that long stiletto-pocked night,
the morning would have broken
( like the first morning),
dear me!
The Raging and Consuming War of The Poetics
Part VIII
All matter of hell broke loose;
my exuberance and the intoxicating effect
of being in the poppy field led to detonation…
the battlefield,
red in poppy grandeur,
red from pools of blood
from people like me who sought to feel its effects,
not paying attention to the fact that all the red
wasn’t just flower pedals.
congealed,
soaking in my own red-eye gravy,
delirious, unclear, inebriated,
all states of being that bring danger.
– Michellia D. Wilson 8/23/14 3:00 PM
Refreshed, Renew and Rejuvenated
Some Lessons in life
are best learned through pain
Some times we must lose
In order to gain
Some times we must fail
In order to know
Some times we must be hurt
In order to grow
Pain is temporary you know
You have to go through it
many times though
Hope keeps you going
Think of a River flowing
The beautiful sound it makes
Gives that peace inside that no one knows
You can smell the fragrance as it flows
Oh how I love to see
The Splendor of Nature as I live and breathe
It is a part of me.
Prompt for Hour Eight
For this prompt, re-imagine a fairy tale or a myth. Take the general plot of one well known story and change one key component. It could be the gender of the characters, the ending, or just one of the important details contained within the story.
Dear Younger You, From Older Us
If I were to tell you that everything would be okay, you would call me a dead dog liar.
If I were to explain to you that you would be married before you were 35 and cooking at a hotel for people large and small, you’d most likely say I was telling stories.
But hear us out, believe us when we say it won’t rain forever.
And believe me, being a chef in the kitchen during summertime, you’ll wish for rain.
Believe us when we say, you’ll kiss a girl and she’ll actually want to kiss you again.
You won’t have children, but you will realize, offspring don’t necessarily make a family.
You will learn the hard way, that the world owes you nothing.
If you want something, you can’t pussyfoot around and expect it to fall in your lap.
You have to take it, but without being a bully.
But not to worry.
Don’t overthink it.
You will be just fine.
We promise.
Love,
Us
city underwater
i.
the day is knocking on your bedroom window. pull the covers over your eyes—
refuse to see it. refuse to understand the world you occupy—refuse to be it.
when the time finally comes to knock the nails from your coffin and rise,
wipe the night from your face. wipe away yesterday let it drain down the
sink. don’t let anybody see. don’t let anybody know where you’ve been
what you’ve done.
ii.
walk the halls of your house. back and forth and back and forth
try to find purpose on the hardwood floors try to find the thoughts
as they float away catch them like fireflies place them in a jar and
watch them shine.
iii.
get ready for the people. get ready to break the dam of your front door
get ready to emerge in the current of civilization, to be knocked around, prepare for the force prepare for the worst. you have to make it through the day just keep with the current don’t let yourself drown come up for air
come up come up come up come up
iv.
stop worrying about the things you cannot control. let your fears wash over
exhale them throw them into the arms of the air in the garbage bin, the sewer.
we are clean people with sewers and showers and trashcans we do not let waste suffocate us we are a city underwater we know how to cleanse to let go to float on.
v.
let your heart be the sun. let it rise. watch it fall. don’t let anyone too
close, warn them about catching fire.
vi.
make amends with the cliff side. tell it you know a thing or two about gravity. tell it you will not allow it to drag you down. tell it the world has a place for you and you refuse to
freefall.
Island
Dense warm with moisture
Skin wet from dew
The coconut tree swaying
The music in my head playing
A storm
A distance
The rumble of the ground
The banging of the waves
The cool breeze on my back
Whisper in my head
The spell of Winters over and the sounds of all the dead
One More
I stopped breathing
When you fell asleep
In death
Just one more hug
Just one more call
One more conversation
One more chance to make
You proud
I stopped breathing
And the sorrow hasn’t left
Epistolary
Dear Me,
Oh, dear- me.
Need I say more?
Yours irreverently,
Me x
P.S. If you want to get yourself out of this hole,
you should watch others;
most especially those who would write long,
gushing love letters to themselves-
those for whom humility is a byword for futility.