"Good Poetry"

Ok, This first poem is actually good.  I can say that because it was NOT written by me.  My great grandmother was a very spiritual woman.   She used to do the laying of the hands.  She also used to go into a trance state and commune with a spirit via automatic writing.  She called her spirit White Rose, an Indian Princess who would give her guidance and insight.  In one such session, White Rose gave her this poem, explaining life's true purpose and meaning.  I have always found it lovely.

You are here and you are wanted,

Though the sunlit hours are haunted

With the shadowy shapes of care.

Since the great one, The all seeing,

called your spirit into being

Gave you strength for any fate-

Since your life by him was heeded

You can trust and you can wait.

You can wait to know the meaning

Of the troubles he sent your soul

Of the chasms intervening

Twixt your purpose and your goal.

Of the sorrows and the trials,

Of the silence and denials,

Of times answering your pleas-

Of the stinted sweets of pleasure,

And of pains too generous to measure,

You can wait the why of these.

Forth from planet unto planet

You have gone and will go.

Space is vast and you must span it.

For Life's purpose is to know.

 

Earth retains you but a minute

make the best of what lies in it.

Light the pathway where you are.

There is nothing worth the doing

That will leave regret or rueing

As you speed form star to star.

You are part of the beginning

You are parcel of today.

When he set this world to spinning

You were flung upon your way

When this system falls to pieces,

When this pulsing epoch ceases,

When the is becomes the was-

You will live for you will enter

 In the great creative center

In the all enduring cause.

 

 

"And now... BAD Poetry"

When I first moved to the city at the ripe old age of 23, I decided to get a BIG apartment and find a roommate.  Thus the 1st year was a string of amazingly psychotic people.  I list the top 3 below.

There was the "Voodoo Chicken Killer" (an Ex-Drag Queen who turned out to be HIV positive and liked to leave pushpins pointy side up on the floor laced with his blood.)  His final gift to me was Broken Glass on my doorstep and a severed rooster head & feet in my mail slot.

The "guy who went to do laundry and never came back"  Nuff Said.

The "Paranoid Pothead" (all found out AFTER he moved in, would shave his head and leave hair in the sink - Ick. and constantly talking how the whites were putting the Black man down - usually after he would get reprimanded for blowing off work, and of course actually named Elmer but telling every one he was Alexei.)

Rooming

Rooming...                                                                                                                     Can we share a space?

Two souls can coexist....                                                                             "WHERE'S MY REMOTE!"

All you need is patience....                                                                                  "ARE YOU DONE IN THERE?!"

Never forget
you are not alone....                                                                     "TURN DOWN THAT MUSIC!"

Oh I don't mind him...                                                                                          God Does he EVER leave?

An apartment shared, is a great way to save money....
"AN APARTMENT SHARED,  IS A GREAT WAY TO START A WAR."

 

 

This next poem is a little explicit so please read at your own risk.  If your a family member I suggest skipping it all together, you would never want to look me in the eye again.. lol  I was falling asleep one nite, while single - SHOCK - at what I really wanted out of  life, love or both.  It wouldn't go away till I typed it out of my brain.  It is most probably drivel, but it is my favorite that I have written.

I want...

I want to be needed & loved…                                                                                                               I want someone to do something stupid and romantic just to show                             how much I mean to them,

I want someone to be stupid and romantic for and not feel a fool to try….                       I want to love without strings, without hurt, or regret… 

 

But, sometimes I just want…

 

 I just want to be fucked so hard I can’t see straight, or so good I can see again…     For hands to roam my flesh doing exactly what I want them to,                                           I want to have them so turned on by my reactions they almost come…

I want fingers probing, touching, caressing, and fucking,                                                        I want mouths licking, kissing and sucking,                                                                                    I want our bodies moving frantic for release…                                                                                I want to fuck and suck,                                                                                                                           I want to touch and caress till they can’t take it,                                                                          I want follow their desire thru the twisting path of mouth, breasts, and cunt or cock till we shudder our release …           

I want tangled bodies too spent for more to seek contented sleep… 

 

I guess it’s good to want things…

 

This last, was written during an interesting part of my life, I am not going to explain further due to my current employment status, if you know me well and have questions I will be glad to elaborate further.

 

Before Her

I feel her touch on my skin
A thousand butterflies, everywhere.
I hear her moan soft and low,
Each sound jolts me on.
I see her body tangled with mine,

every inch, flushed and glowing.

The alarm goes off!
I am awake and she is gone!
Its not fair!

Her touch,
Her taste,
Her voice,

Why is it I am more alone,
More alone than before,
Than before her.