Category Archives: The Poets

Dark haired wild eyed indian – m4w – 47 (Leeds, Walmart)

Dear dark haired wild eyed Indian I saw at the Leeds Walmart today…

Collards is green,
my dog’s name is Blue
and I’m so lucky
to have seen a sweet thang like you.

Yore hair is like one of em there crows
a-flapping in the breeze.
Softer than Blue’s
and without all them fleas.
You move like the bass,
which excite me in May.
You ain’t got no scales
but I think I luv you anyway.

Yo’re as satisfy’n as okry
jist a-fry’n in the pan.
Yo’re as fragrant as “snuff”
right out of the can.
You have some’a yore teeth,
for which I would be proud;
I would hold my head high
if’n and when we’re in a crowd.

On special occasions
when you shave under yore arms,
well, I’m I’d be in hawg heaven,
and am already awed by yore charms.
Still them fellers at work
they’d all want to know,
what I did to deserve
such a purdy, young doe.

Like a good roll of duct tape
yo’d be there fer yore man,
to patch up life’s troubles
and fix what you can.
Yo’re as cute as a junebug
a-buzzin’ overhead.
I bet you ain’t mean like those far ants
I found in my bed.

Cut from the best cloth
like a plaid flannel shirt,
you sparked up my life just today
more than a fresh load of dirt.
I can imagin you holdin me
real tight like a padded gunrack,
my life wood be complete;
Ain’t nuttin’ I wood lack.

Yore complexion, it’s perfection,
like the best vinyl sidin’.
despite all the years, (what are you 52?)
yore age, it keeps hidin’.
Me ‘n’ you’s like a Moon Pie
with a RC cold drank,
we go together
like a skunk goes with stank.

Some men, they buy chocolate
wen they fall in lurv this way;
They git it at Wal-Mart,
it’s romantic that way.
Some men git roses
on that special day
from the cooler at Kroger.
That’s impressive,” I say.

Some men buy fine diamonds
from a flea market booth.
“Diamonds are forever,”
they explain, suave and couth.
But for this man, honey,
these just won’t do.
Cause yo’re too special,
you sweet thang you.

I got you a gift,
without taste nor odor,
More useful than diamonds…
it’s a new troll’n motor!!

Call me my beeutea. I miss ya allready.
Contact me at Happy 102nd Birthday Meggy.

_____

Filed under: The Poets

She’s a fairy with broken wings… – w4mw

I missed a connection I had almost 4 years ago. His name was Edward and he was the best man I've eveer never really had, yet I fully had him and vice versa...once.
I'm hoping someone will recognize the reference made with the title of this...sonnet I guesse?
I'm broken, so broken down by life and love and the absence of both. I'm hoping that all the lonely people tonight will see this and respond, because it's a beautiful thing to seek out attention and reaction even if it's on craigslist. I truly love you all. To the trucker who saw the lovely blonde in he mercedes and waved hi. To the woman who had a guy help her change a tire and didn't know how to thank him. To everyone who missed the opportunity to share a piece of their puzzling selves with a stranger that struck them as that powerful and all-ending maybe that might revive and stimulate them. To everyone, especially to every single one of you who search these craigslist ads hoping to find a posting about themselves, dying to see that they were recognized as beautiful and worthwhile enough, but somehow too intimidating to, confront and request and beg for an audience with them.
To everyone who has enough susceptibility to love and be loved to the point where they will look for outreach in something so simple and damn near pornographic as an anonymous posting on craigslist bout a starbucks waiting line they might have been in. A subway sandwich maker who couldn't take their eyes off a customer. A walmart shopper who dressed nicely just to go grocery shopping for their broken family which fills their broken soul with every jug of milk and loaf of bread they buy.

As the beatles so lovingly stated; all the lonely people, where do they all come from? We are alive in an undead city, state and country yet we ll feel that sense of aloneness that overtakes you when you drink a bud light clamato and realize that you haven't been touched by a lover in a way that erases all the fears and ugliness of the world in one fingertip on your shoulder.

This is for all the single mothers who gave up the idea of chastity because that implied that there waas still the opportunity to be held and your own isolation was an act of choice. An act of defiance against the idea of instant gratification physicalized by another barstool filled, or another hotelroom barely used enough to need to be cleaned by a maid.

This is for the men who stopped looking for a woman to introuce to their father and mother because they just decided it was easier to say their parents were wrong all along when they said we were all made with another soul in mind.

This is for the people who miss God, however you remember him/her/it when you were six and recognized the infinite spanse of the stars and you heard your parents fighting in the other room about things they thought you wouldn't understand.

You beautiful, sad, lovely people. Chaos theory incarnate. I can say I truly love you because I AM you. I know I'm beautiful in a way that redefines beauty.
Anyone looking for not understanding, but compassion
Anyone looking for not conversation, but poetry
Anyone who may not be hungry, but just wanting

I empathise and adore you for taking the time to even look.

talk to me. email me, silly as that sounds/ Not man, not woman, just person. Allow me the honor of knowing why you clicked this link tonight, or tomorrow, or the weeks after
I'm not looking for a friend, not looking for a lover, I am looking for a person deep enough to feel the depth of my desert of thirst for true interaction. Woman, man, child or adult, contact me. I have mo arms to reach out, just an anonymous adress.

it's worth a try...

___

“We are alive in an undead city, state and country yet we ll feel that sense of aloneness that overtakes you when you drink a bud light clamato and realize that you haven’t been touched by a lover in a way that erases all the fears and ugliness of the world in one fingertip on your shoulder.” Now that’s poetry.

Filed under: The Poets

Filed under: The Poets