Gun Control #erotic #poetry #NaraMalone
Some are flasherswaving their loaded weapon wide-eyed attentionmakes it stand proud Some prefer concealmentsecret powerdramatic revealthe rush of new respect But all guns Wanta holstera tight embrace leather, latex, silky heatwhether they ease inor slam home… once holsteredvelvet squeeze fingering hair-trigger then yes, thenevery gun cravesprays for gun control ~Nara Malone On April 16, 2007 a mentally ill boy came within a few seconds of blowing a hole in my life that I would never have recovered from. He came within seconds not once, but twice. I don’t have the heart to write about that. If I’ve crossed a line here, I apologize. I needed to shoot back. This post…
Working Girls
Warning!!! Graphic language ahead. Those offended by such should not proceed. Going solobehind the dust jacketfingers tappingforbidden placesprobing the g-spotthat turnsmidlist hookers toclass act pick-upsat the Big Apple pubs Idealisticvisions pile upbleed awayoverdressed wet dreamsstripped down to naked desiresilken sentencespoetic frillsripped awayas release approaches Nakedon displayspread for your viewing pleasurethey comein multipleformatshard coveredpulp presseddigital ease Fantasiessizedflavored and fetishedto suit every tastesex tension hookerspositions pimpedsales ranked by best yankfame and fortune bestowedby glide of plastic through slit Practiced practice yieldsprose prosputting out dailypumping out reamsof smash wordsbitcoin exchange for bitsof sex with soulhoping for biggerpiece of piegiving out quickies before they’re hotpropertygrab one while the word fucks are free They learn…
- depression, Friday Flash 55, mourning, Nara Malone, Poetry, spring, trioloets, widow's weeds, winter
Winter’s Weeds
With the cycling seasonpines bow under winter’s last snow,white-haired crones, mourners lined up at the junction. With the cycling seasonice-studded river dressed in black silk,flanked by sequined shores, spectral mist infusion. With the cycling seasongray-scale landscape inked on white canvasawaits exchange–black crepe for spring pastel profusion. I’m a greenling when it comes to the fine craft of poetry forms, but this is my crack at writing a kinda, sorta triolet for dVerse Poets and a Friday Flash 55 in one post. The last five words (not necessarily the last five words in the poem) were the hardest. Image credit:forest by night by gyst on Flickr; Daffodil, Beckenham by dan taylor…