Self immolation as sacrificial bleating lamb
promises eternal martyrdom
awaiting voluntary die hard protester,
where countless vestal virgins provide blissfulness
(think Playboy mansion on steroids)
synonymous with delightful
grand view garden of Eden
transmuting mortal flesh
(clothed in lovely bones)
into burnt offering
mummifying and searing
once robust sacred heart
courtesy hungry, and angry forked flames.

Fury
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson

With a title deeply rooted
in subject matter iterated above
invariably makes for hair raising poem,
though I immediately attest said material
constitutes atypical topic
the writing process (with intent
to share bizarre pet peeve)
mildly cathartic to ameliorate
long established body dysmorphia,
(which lifelong aversion

what a time it was
front door deliveries please
and then I saw you
firstly, a crown for a queen
lastly, our very own world

It's in the quiet I hear you.
My lungs elastic as they draw you in
with each comforting breath.

The memories of the day
expand my peace of mind
and careen my heart into you,

as you slumber next to me,
here in the solitude of our night.

Wonder of the world
And blessing for my heart
You appeared in my life like a
Shining star on my path

Only you, only your love
Forever in my heart

Longing for you, eternally
On the road to your heart; I'm
Venturing, hesitantly
Infinitely stuck in me; I'll
Never let you go, as you're a
Gift for my soul that's making it shine.

As origin of Homo Sapien species surged ahead,
harboring nascent predominance
asper said primate reproductively bred,
(albeit via incremental fits and starts)
evolutionary forebears didst dread
Tom Tom Club former members
an American new wave band founded in 1981
by husband-and-wife team Chris Frantz
and Tina Weymouth
as a side project from Talking Heads,
rocketing them to super stardom
similar to heights of fame and fortune,
where band zeppelin led
exemplifying, fortifying, and glorifying QED

Writer of these words,
a former Lower Providence inhabitant,
who dwelled within darkest depths
of Dante Alighieri's inferno
for most of his outlandish, impish,
and devilish growing up years
witnessed microscopic scrimmage,
where spermatozoan with most forcefulness
muscled itself handedly,
magnificently, and splendidly
envision unicellular olympic competition,

Resting on the covered porch
Hanging from two aging chains,
Sits a metaphor for simple living
Recording life's losses and its gains.

A simple swing with aging pillows
That we bought back in sixty nine,
Has listened to our fears and dreams
And all the joy we hoped to find.

We were there just three years later
With a baby boy we had been blessed,
We would rock our son for hours,
To raise this child we'd do our best.

No idea how this happened

I’m completely in the dark…

Stay calm and don’t get maddened

This basement’s pretty stark

Must come up with something

I need a lightbulb moment

Desperate times, at straws I’m clutching

No vision and the scent here’s potent

I now empathise with blind men

Albeit for just one day

I'm feeling like a caveman

Without wall drawings on display

Thirsty like a duck out of water

And hungry like a whale

Alone like a lamb to the slaughter