Poems by isms
Seated in white leather chairs
across from each other;
I allowed my to eyes run
the plains that are
your caramel dipped thighs.
Our chauffeur manipulated waves,
resulting in your sudden gasp.
You spoke about my need for moisture
while climbing my dry arms with
your wet fingers.
Each of your movements,
invite sheets you sleep on to
be aroused ripples.
My fingers now are
entwined in loose strings of my
boxers you borrowed
but when we're heartbeats
away, sharing pillows, I
cant decode your sighs.
Drunk in USA
I'm past drunk sprawled out
on a queen-sized bed
composed of empty flasks.
My Zima is frost encased
the tool I'm using to chase this ridiculous
reservoir of intoxicants.
I was armed with about three fourths of a keg, and
a case of propaganda
that was shaken over ice with a bottle
of Southern Comfort.
All of this blended with
the smell of cat piss.
Humph, no it ain't bliss.
A litter of kittens must have done it.
Hailing from the family of Political Parties.
And I see their mother hanging in the alleyway.
Without a flea collar, also bearing the name USA.
Her clad in a nightgown of stars and stripes,
in which her followers pledge alliance.
And she's been clawing my couch. My resting spot,
shedding her fur of promise in the
widely spread so called
On the clothing of most who have witnessed her acts.
But from afar she may be
a cute feline.
Drinking from the colored fountain
The black leaf bearing bush
atop of my head called for pruning.
Pruning as well as some goop.
To have those leaves keep form.
My journey to the grocery slash,
clothing slash, personal needs,
store wasn't pleasant.
Rosa and Martin sat in Parks each a monarch
Fought many times over for a simple concept.
Now I am appalled at what I am bearing witness to.
An isle alone with these features.
"S Curl" coupled with "Magic Shave."
Backed up by "Wave Pomade", whose elder sibling "Royal
Crown Hair Grease"
was lounging two cans of "Afro Sheen" away.
But I see no "Loreal." No "Herbal Essence."
I never saw "Maybeline."
Maybe someone put Southern Comfort in my
Biographical sketch: My birth name is Wesley. I am 17 years
old. I Want to study theatre arts after High School. Born in California
now in Portland, Oregon.
She by Saul Williams
Reason: Great book filled with innovative wordplay and description
Recommendations for writers:
Go from the self and try to be as original as possible.