if you ask me, Mother Goose was just another scapegoat

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(Such a poem riffed in simplicity

but why does it bring so much contradictories?)

 

a red Rose is the least of a Child`s interest

only that it`s the main color

in a box of crayons next to black; and

the color of their favorite toy car; and

the color of a little girl`s dress

that isn`t quite a Sunday best

if it has laces and bows

and shows above the knees;

 

Violet is a flower

and has no memory of being blue

if it`s blue it`s due

to the children stepping and

stomping on their whimsical petals

as children can be so quite cruel;

no unusual punishment there …

 

children don’t know

that they are succulent sweet

they only know how to eat the Sugar

then they think you`re a perv

for using such a dirty word

to describe them;

 

to an Adult there is nothing

rosey about red that

it only brings dread on Valentine`s Day

if she doesn`t receive her dozen Roses

all vibrant, long stemmed, un`thorny

if you`re expected to be loved by her at all; 

 

lovers do not think of Violets of blue

they are not botanists just civilians

trying to survive the headaches of

fashioning a garden to entertain the sane;

bring color to life in an obvious ashen world;

 

and what of the Sugar

as we are all obviously not as sweet

like the treats found in a drug store;

we are sour and sore and we want more

than what our cavities can endure …

 

 

poetic observation taken from “Roses Are Red“, a 1784 Mother Goose Nursery Rhyme; not exactly a fave of mine ~ published 6`18 Devlin De La Chapa ~ quite fitting for The DiamonD

 

“Black Friday“ … (underground poem from 2014)

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BLACK FRIDAY

@ 4:01 a.m. I awoke to the sound of the alarm,
my husband`s voice asking me for a divorce
I showered, and cried,
got dressed, and cried
jumped into my car, and cried,
drove through StarBucks, and cried

‘I can`t fake it anymore’ he said
‘I meant to ask you yesterday’ he said
‘But the Turkey looked so good’ he said
‘I figured I enjoy your cooking one last time’ he said

dodging through empty traffic,
a lady slammed on her brakes
I spill Cappuccino all over my lap
the malted liquid burns through my jeans
the pain like Sugar Plums pounding in my head

I tossed the empty cup out the window nonchalantly
like my husband tossing ten years of his life with me
I glanced through the rear view mirror
lights are blinking colors of Christmas

‘It`s a crime to litter, ma`am’ the cop says

‘Just give me the fucking ticket!’ I snapped

I snatch the ticket, crumple the ticket
like it was my husband`s dick
and toss it at the cop`s face;
the stench of foul piss sweat on the cruisers back seat
reminded me of our honeymoon
in our dingy motel room in Rio

I pled guilty to a disorderly conduct

‘Because I have to go shopping’ I tell the Judge

then I babble, babble, babble
Thanksgiving, Turkey, Divorce
I’m let go with a hefty fine.

@ 6:01 a.m. I fight my way through the Christmas rush of
screaming mothers, crying babies, depressed fathers
edgy girlfriends, reserved boyfriends, jealous singles
in search of that magical gift,
that quintessential gift,

that ‘please don’t divorce me’ gift

but I end up at the food court
downing more Cappuccinos than I could swallow
contemplating suicide on Santa’s lap
texting my mother, blaming my father,
swearing at my happily married sister
amidst all my chaos of becoming “Mrs. Ex”
I pull myself together
I think about the good, the bad, and
the extra-curricular of my marriage
now sitting beside me choking on a cancer stick

‘What did you expect?’ he says
‘He was going to find out sooner or later’ he says
‘You said that that’s what you wanted’ he says

I flick the cigarette from my lover`s lips
the butt grazes an elderly couple strolling innocently by
they don`t feel the threat of burning death lingering
on their ultra chic vintage clothing
I hiss, then I sigh out, then I start to cry
wondering why my husband couldn’t have waited
till after Black Friday to divorce me?
my lover tries to comfort my tears
but they just fall, fall, fall

‘It`s going to be alright’ he says

‘It`s not that’ I say

‘Then what is it?’ he says

‘Promise me you won`t ask for a divorce on Black Friday,’ I say

I sound desperate like once slugging my way from the past
of shoppers once killing themselves silly over
Tickle Me Elmo`s and TalkBoy toys
my lover then laughs and crosses his heart then uncrosses it
he takes my hand and we stroll through the mall
dodging shoppers drowning in oversized shopping bags
weeping invisibly behind maxed out credit cards while
having to go home to their spouses to explain their infidelities;
I rest my head against my lover`s shoulder
thankful that I didn`t have to explain mine.

 

poet`cerpt ~ HUSH in The Dark – volume 1

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abstract Filth in versesHUSH_ In The Dark volume 1

 

o                  pen

mouth agape

jaw detached

throat raped

forbidden is the hole

and ridden

is the semen

in a porcelain flush bowl

long before

I felt that bass in your cock

 

 

 

drop

     :

my tongue guts you

from shaft

to slit

you sputter

and spit

your bruise`y head throbs

and writhes

`neath that bludgeoned tourniquet

I feel your rush

the hustle and flow

I can no longer feel your bass

 

 

 

dropping

dripping

slipping

down

low

for my biblical knees

have spun a 90 degrees

where the other awaits

with dessert on his plate

sugar daddy jizz

spoils of bitches

I`s got the itches

but it`s in my glitch     powder shifts

this is the biz

show biz

ho biz

lights, camera, action ~

suck `n blow bitch!

     :

eyes gawk as I cunt squat

upon your golden tower

and drown you

in a golden shower

lubricants in my sunny

jacket yellows

become a political miss

the piss waters sing and

ring around your cock`ring

you want to slip

your ding`a`ling

into my vaginal bling

but I feel not a thing

only the gush and hush

of what makes your dick blush

     :

I want to feel my anal bang

so stop talkin` all that bedroom trash

and get to jackin` on my ass

like porn queen cheap

bung that hole, make it weep

against your cock `n balls

oh, baby, thrust me deep

I want to hear

my gospel walls sing

and my hostile shit scream

right as your slammin` cum

down my chute

and what pollutes

is oh so

perfumed stench pretty

“HUSH in The Dark“ volume 1

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Aside from writing, I do dabble in poetry – poetry which have been published in over fifty online rag`mags or poetry journals – so it was only natural that I pen poems based on The HUSH Series.

HUSH in The Dark is a 2 book volume of over thirty-five poems based/and or situated around The HUSH Series.HUSH_ In The Dark volume 1

Alike my Diva of Darkness Series, HUSH in The Dark also pushes boundaries but between sex,  incest, prostitution, sexual slavery and dark taboo themed erotica; poetry that is sure to shock as it is unique and thought provoking.

HUSH in The Dark will be available soon! 

 

 

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