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It ain't nothing but a chicken wingnormal poem of borrowed cliches with my sincere apologies.

Submitted by loved on Wed, 2011-06-29 13:43

It ain't nothing but a chicken wing
Scarce as hen's teeth
Too many cooks spoil the broth
Keep your nose to the grindstone

It’s all good
hot to trot
Keep it on the down low
love is blind
A necessary evil
the lesser of the two evils
All hands to the pump

Acid test
A mile a minute

Silence is golden
Free as a bird
like a seven year itch
I’m game

Rotten to the core
Knock it out of the park
Knock the cover off the ball
a rolling stone gathers no moss

Workshop: 
Writing Forms workshop

Pole to Pole

Submitted by themoonman on Wed, 2011-06-29 11:27

Those belfry bats swing your moods,
leaving the stink of mind produced;
and here we are,
paddling in your shit again.

Drops of Compulsion

Submitted by vexations10 on Wed, 2011-06-29 11:01

Faded circles of bourbon stains
dot her weathered nightstand’s surface
like stars speckle the midnight sky.
Each remnant commemorates her
quest for sleep, a prop of courage
consumed to help forge another day.

Bras, slips, heels and flats
pepper the carpet
reflections of impediments
that fleck her soul.

Harbored distortions from her past
forgiven by those who know her
forgotten by others
festers in her frontal lobe.

here on earth

Submitted by Kailashana2 on Wed, 2011-06-29 09:13

the night is a blueberry poem
written by the waning light

if i could have had a bluer day,
imagination would be freer
than it is and wild horses
of chestnut and black beauty
would have ridden me into the meadows
of sunset

i would have drawn the shades of darkness
and let the vision of You sleep where poems
do not go hunting
and do not hunger,
for Thine is the kingdom
here on earth.

The Knowing

Submitted by docmaverick on Wed, 2011-06-29 03:04

If my mind is ever present

and my solitude's a friend,

dark ideas lead to actions

darker actions, towards a trend;

~

a stoic calm is my exterior

never, ever break a sweat,

in the hollow of my inner being

I've this appetite to whet.

~

Within the chasm where my soul goes

a dank pulsating yearns to start,

tuning out the distant conscience

because I haven't any heart;

~

half the time I am the predator

in the darkness after day,

Workshop: 
Storytelling in Verse

Cracked

Submitted by lou on Wed, 2011-06-29 00:41

Cracked

Fraudulent shell unyielding
tough exterior hiding internal bleeding,
frail and fractured.

Fusion of insecurities protected.
Verbal dexterity,
erecting barriers, to ward off feeling.

Splintered shards lacerate
and jab flesh,
droplets of vulnerability.

Prod and poke the meat
abrasions remain eternal,
Pulping organs.

Tough little kernal
Self healing,
Mending each fissure.

Deformed and scarred 
but gives impression of
Wellbeing.

Spector

Submitted by lou on Wed, 2011-06-29 00:36

Spector of lost dreams rises
as she gazes at the stars in mute prayer
Virginal innocence undone

Begat from the loins of hades
Cursed, to roam this unholy earth
Soul seeker is given birth

Innocent child tainted blood
Coursing through his veins,
Murderous creature undone.

Metamorphosis into adulthood
On the cusp,
Innocence receding.

Lust broiling uncontained,
breeding the monster,
destined to be undone.

IN THE GREAT HALL

Submitted by t. reflexion on Wed, 2011-06-29 00:17

I wandered to the portals of a great hall
On the entrance arc, was carved an inscription
Depicting courage, fame, noble actions, all
Boldly written, a two line axiom of perfection
‘Peak of physical expression is in beauty’
A revolving reflective door appeared
‘The intellect expresses self in poetic bounty’
And the shadows of misguided self disappeared
The self I saw, of beauty and poetry, I had neither
I think in one language and write in another
Mother tongue doesn’t help my English either

A Single Red Rose

Submitted by Barbara Writes on Wed, 2011-06-29 00:03

A single red rose on my pillow
Sweet-smelling cologne
Invaded my
Nous, while its
Glitzy petals
Lie quiescent in the moonshine
AWOL the sunshine

Rosette’s spiny stalk
Encased with golden silver trimming
Draped my singular reddish rose

Roseate dawn
Overtook the dusk
Silencing nocturnal prattle, that
Entered my chamber

At the dawning ascension
A single red rose on my pillow betrothed my forgiveness

Satchmo sings the blue...

Submitted by Roscoe Lane on Tue, 2011-06-28 16:20

Satchmo sings the blue….

Satchmo sang about a wonderful
world
I wonder where he was looking
with his bug eyes
thick lip so well earned.

To roll a dice and get six
while others
get only one,
is wonderful,
that’s a life of chance

To eat until your obese
while others watch on dying
from hunger, is not a life
of chance,

This is orchestrated
hunger and no it’s far from
wonderful, far from here,
that game of life
they play today

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