If I could make an incision in my heart let my true feelings secrete
Reveal the true blood count I’d weep if we were to part.
If I stole your vision your very own sight – just one eyeball
to entice me to reveal how I love your ambition
your sexual prowess
I’d leave you sightless
Selfish -a crime with a sentence of life
no bail – a sin too priceless
I could impart with an auger in flight
Wing of the mystic
Would you send me letters written in pen ink well spilling out-
all of your feelings like tweed drapery drawn with bejewelled tie backs?
Is it wrong for me to want a piece of you or to borrow one fo your senses
prove I am sentient being ?
love you with my outer demeanour frozen in a stony glare
turned askance over my cold shoulder – drive you to break your sobriety – pour yourself a whisky – hold the ice.
To prove I dress in reptile attire –
Too afraid to entice you
Afraid you’d flee from a shy girl vulnerable to rejection
from the love of my life?
* A character who appeared in my head with a story to tell*
Paper, rock or scissors?
Choose one and you may win treasures.
Congrats you have received a first year wedding anniversary proposition .
I’m not even married – how is this a gift I can accept ever so gratefully, oh harry?
Will you marry me? I can make it true.
Alison threw a rock -aimed for the right side of Harries’ forehead- blood leaked out leaving his lips blue.
A twisty smile caught the ends of Alison’s mouth.
She needed a pair of scissors to cut out his heart.
Grim, I agree but her character is slightly Magee.
Squiggled by all the paper cut out men she’s collected over the years.
Paper mache collage project- in an attempt to fix her heart.
The glue worked better when she inhaled its fumes.
She would depersonalise from her very self and awake discombobulated- and rather confused.
This is the sad tale of how Alison decided she needed to repair her heart.
She flipped a coin that flipped her mind – all in one turnabout,
she came around -started singing the Hokie Cokie.
Her twisted jive improved when the moon drew in a little closer.
She could almost hear a beating heart – she put her hand to her chest and,
well, she fell apart.
Envious stares at Man Mickey Finn – his heartbeat loudly and glowered within.
He was her first.
The first attempt to re-enter the game of tick tockers.
Little did she know that this manic method would send her over to the bog marsh rockers.
Frozen on ice add a straw and a blueberry, she sipped her amorous bloody cocktail – Mary already had men gouging her blood every day.
Shaken not stirred.
Stern, she was shaking.
What did Mary’s conception have that made men fall head over heel and lap for her attention?
Frowned, knitted eyebrows – she added her rouge splash to the mix.
Men looked straight through her – perhaps she needed a bar of a Twix?
She had a cunning plan- not evolved or well thought out. She turned up her senses whenever men were about.
The throbbing, pulsating came not from the heart.
An alarming discovery – It came from below the waist.
Mary – scarlet virgin? miracle, my arse!.
Poor Alison only wanted to feel desired.
When she went for her next ingredient,
she baulked at its form and tried to appeal to its art.
Phallic and paternal it made her blush from the internal.
How would she get it to stay erect so she could snip it off when it was ready to launch and eject?
She tickled the floating accompanied planets and amusement came out in oohs and aahs.
Just a little longer, Alison thought blustered through scrunched up eyes.
make sure you aim for the right glass and not the glass eye.
The navy would be proud of her solid sea legs.
She mixed this new concoction. so sure she was,
she convinced me she was devout.
Up the straw, the gloopy mixture reached her swollen taste buds.
Horrified she spat it out – perhaps she needed to make it a little more tart.
She came across a nursing mother – whipped out her hunting tools.
Crying Babe clattered to the tarmac. Scattered Mother one breast left on the right side.
Shake it up and down the hatch. She waited for the rush of ardours to pour in.
Misery entered without a courteous knock. Sit down you gapless, toothy banshee of distrust.
Tears were rung around her neck -weighing in at a hefty sized albatross.
The grief of being ignored compelled her into complete disorder.
How could she end this frenzied quest without settling into a forlorn heap of a mess?
Then a thought rainbowed across her mind. It lifted the burdened clouds and she put her hand to mouth to suppress a giggle.
If no one would have her then she knew what was best.
Alison abandoned her empathy in the puddle of complicated attempts to gain acceptance.
She proudly took her first step into her role as the Queen of hearts.
If men wouldn’t love her, she would make sure they could love no other.
What a dreadful tale, is there are moral to end this fable – make it an epic!
I get bonus points if I end this and say she transformed – yes she did and serve this as a warning on how to never ignore the self- proclaimed piously.
… shake it baby
unsilence the drama
a happy Russian Soviet bass choir impersona
I can’t rap
But I do
70% water — can’t make this shit up…
Scientists don’t discriminate-
Updated stream filled in
by today’s quantified current
First and foremost a muse of note —
scale down the scratch post
common clouds count in beats
search for a pulse in
no more inches to add to her form
other than to
intro- apple -genuisly feed
worthy for wonderlands flowers to perform ?
‘mo brain mo crane’
Fly to the East
Sigh to the West
side with the South
Hustle with the true north.
Whatever get’s these words out
If this riff sounds willowy
Shucks,Throw in a hillbilly
ain’t apologising for being an invader of my own rythmic space.
ha ha when you cha cha.
Giblets strutting down this street.
Shake a tail feather to those with the Harmonised Harlem shufflers feet.
chiming the bell
Modest mouse slam beatbox a scat cat.
improvise the blues in fluent meow-skies —
Tell her where she lost the plot?
The living aint easy
Where is she at?
doing the wriggle worm , 8 years young
‘ maybe I’m a kid ‘— kidders rights to think
‘maybe I am shit hot.’
Impervious to the nonsense .
Tolerate her apparent nonchalance.
wind down tempo
No more Scratching ideas shape throw your hands in the air
Hit, publish —
have no shame telling people move on to another cloud
Your content is your own style and flair.
Sometimes you gotta groove the ghetto to let up some get up and get some get go.