Sunday, April 20, 2008

Sunday Poetry Slam



I feel the need for some poetry today. I'd like verses from you, in the style of your choice, on the topic of something that is as important to you, as vital, as all consuming as the air that you breathe. Write something good, something spectacularly dynamite, or mess around and write something as maudlin and as bad as you wanna be, but c'mon, get writing. You know you want to.

12 comments:

G-Man said...

My Little Sherry
Nothing in your head today?
What a lazy post!!!

Sometimes Love..Just fits like a Glove!!


Curiosity
Thunderbolt
Infatuation
Lusting
Friendship
Trust
Love
Love
Love...Forever!

Curiosity
Obsession
Jealousy
Hatred
Filing for Divorce..
Murder-Suicide



I just Love the color Red!
On some toes, or on the Head.

Good Sunday Morning Sherry...Galen

xoxox

/t. said...

[       ]


















conceptual

¤ ¤ ¤

/t.

Serena Joy said...

Jes, jes, 'twas a lazy post. I believe my head must be emptier than usual because I am NOT getting the poetry so far, neither G's free-form nor /t.'s conceptual.

Violets are blue,
Some roses are red,
I think I shall tell you,
I'm going back to bed.:-)

Charles said...

Man's Needs:
Physical,
Psychological,
Sociological,
Intellectual.
Personal:
A job worth a damn.

Serena Joy said...

I get that one, Charles. I don't even have to think about it. It just IS.:)

Hale McKay said...

ALERT:

Suggestive material to follow;
Is it reality or but a dream?
Reader as you read that below,
Know: all is not what it may seem.

Where There's Smoke

While I lie there at rest
Watching her upon the bed,
She sensually got undressed;
Nothing needed to be said.

The way she moved was such
It drained the strength of me.
I tensed at her finger's touch
As it traced the length of me.

It was that moment she chose
For her tongue to wet her lip
Before she pulled me so close
That I felt it play on the tip.

Her mouth pursed into an "O,"
And I felt her heat, so warm.
I relaxed as she drew in slow,
Fire coursing through my form.

When she stopped for a minute
I felt tickled, almost laughed;
And the game she was back in it
Teasing and caressing my shaft.

When I had nothing left to spend,
She let me go and turned away.
Alas, all good things must end
As a cigarette dies in an ashtray.


There are many versions of this old narrative, maybe I'm the first to rework it into poetry?

Serena Joy said...

I've never seen that before, Mike, so it's new to me. Suggestive. Hmmm. You bet.:)

NYD said...

It was an instant

now gone past

...maybe not...

yes.

Serena Joy said...

Love your instant, NYD. Thanks for that.:)

I myself am breathing moon rays tonight. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Yet.

Light from the moon, full,
For better, for worse, courses
Like fire through my veins.

Mona said...

Serena, Galen's poetry is excellent!

I will tell you something, perhaps it will make you understand it:

" look at how he abused me and beat me, how he threw me down and robbed me." Live with such thoughts and you live in hate.

" look how he abused me and beat me, how he threw me down and robbed me." Abandon such thoughts and you live in love.

Mona said...

Ok... here is an old one I wrote a long time ago. The Avian Flu that spread around the world some while ago , specially in my region inspired me to write this one:

THE BIRD FLU

he loved
his brood of chicks
before the avian flu struck...

then he had to slaughter them...
cull them...
spreading gore,
spilling blood
of the ones he loved
as they got diseased...

now he hates the feeling
of memories...
"no brood"
he roars
with finality...

yet...offer him one
passed through fire
offer him one
all spiced
and juicy
tender and throbbing in pain...

offer him one
and he will swallow her
without a comment.

Serena Joy said...

Thanks, Mona.:)