We write of vaginas and old Morris Minor’s,
Of flowers and mud.
Of crosses and blood.
Where angels and devils cross paths in our pens.
Temples and stables.
Fiction and fables.
We lay cards open wide, splayed over our tables.

Sometimes of crying and lying and dying.
Of love that we found.
That which we have lost.
But we will keep trying.
No denying at all.
We are having a ball.

We pen tales of terror in world’s mad distortion.
As the world scrapes nearer to each days abortion.
Write of myth and orange pith.

We scrawl what we scrawl in the hope that it’s real.
Or maybe its what we saw in minds eyes.
In a darkened world of what ifs and whys.
One crazy man and one crazier chick.

All we both say hey, hey.
Offensive, defensive.
When time she merits.
Whatever fits at that time.

Of maladies and passions sprouts.
In words of others voice,
Never always mother tongue
Hell how we do play.
As to the God and Goddess of poetry
We the two of the twenty do pray.
VVV Glory to poetry no matter what way!

By ladylivvi1


© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)



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