Journal of a Spaced-Out Brain -poetry- (Book) - InkSpot.Com
Blog Calendar
About This Author
Writing poetry allows me to exercise my imagination and share it with others. I strive to write for the benefit of the reader using carnival fun mirror images of my life's experiences.
|
Most Recent Poetry (E) Poetry most recently written. #2035077 by Vanishing Vapor |
I fell in love with apples that rot, For them, I'd give everything I've got. Whether their flesh tasted good or not. There's something about the way they squish, That makes them my most favorite dish, For a slimy black mouthful, I wish. I know they have the stink of a skunk, I'm not really a fan of their putrid funk, But I made a vow and I'm no punk. |
A single lady knows what she needs, She searches for fruit among the weeds, Judging by eye, inspection proceeds. The sightly get a rap, tap, and slap, Ones that fall flat are treated like scrap, Her skills make unclear choices a snap. Her knife slices open the tough rind, The disemboweled flesh she hopes to find, As sweet and fresh as she had in mind. |
as he wondered what love's all about she ripped into his chest and dug out his beating heart yet he stayed devout as he wondered if he were insane she rolled back his scalp, scrambled his brain yet in love with her he would remain as he wondered why she blocked his calls she made a trophy of his two balls yet only her laughter he recalls |
my fear of failure, my fear of shame I'm controlled by fear like moth to flame I fear I'm condemned to take the blame I think I feel my bleeding heart rot at the end I ask what have I got at the end I ask what have I wrought internal cuts leave internal scars I watch the world as if behind bars where I write these unmanly memoirs |
The temperature is hot, I'm cold. I'm needy as a newborn, I'm old. Provide a better option, I'm sold. If someone adores my poems, I'm glad. If someone prefers to fight, I'm sad. If someone hates our country, I'm mad. If you love me for a laugh, I'll cry. If you stretch out a hand, I'll try. If you offer me your heart, I'll buy. |
How about something a little more uplifting? at winter's end I can't help but sing for the world's happiest in the spring this I know as well as anything in springtime I'll awake before dawn my legs shakey as a newborn fawn with hair a mess and my face long drawn Then I feel a breeze swirl around me I ascend like a white dove set free soaring overhead it's her I see |
The poet I revere the most, Shakespeare, Forever knight but never once knighted, Whatever the specifics are, it's clear, Into his world, we're always invited. |