THE BLOG OF SECRETS…

IT’S ALL ABOUT ME AND YOU…

UNTITLED FOR A GOD DAMN GOOD REASON SO READ ON MOTHER FUCKERS! August 4, 2008

Filed under: MY POETRY — salted7s @ 2:48 am
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SO IT GOES
IF YOU’RE CRUEL TO A WOMAN.
BUT-
PAMPER HER.
SHE PUFFS WITH CONCEIT.
YOU DON’T SUIT HER FANCY,
HER RAGE CAN’T BE BEAT.
REPROVE HER, SHE CRIES,
AND PHILANDER-BEFORE YOUR EYES,
TWO SPROUTING HORNS
OF JEALOUSY ARISE.
BUT-
JUST KNOCK HER OFF
AND SHE’LL HAUNT YOU
SURE ENOUGH.
A WOMAN IS A FEARFUL THING-
THOUGH WE CAN’T DO WITHOUT THEM,
BEST TAKE CARE, BEST
TAKE CARE-
A WOMAN IS A FEARFUL THING
INDEED!

YET MY 7 YEAR ITCH MARIONETT-WHO CAN BE THE CAUSE OF YOUR PAIN?
YOUR HEART
FLIP-FLOPS AND CHANGES
LIKE A MARIONETTE.
THERE’S SOMEONE IN THE SHADOWS
PULLING YOUR STRINGS.

TO CAROUSE
IS TO BE HOODWINKED.
YET EVEN KNOWING SO, 
YOU’RE SO SKILLFUL AT IT-

EVEN IF IT’S JUST A DREAM,
TWO LOVERS EASILY 
AT FIRST
IMAGINE ONE ANOTHER AS BUTTERFLIES,
TOGETHER
STILL AT THE END OF TIME.

MORE CONFUSION
SETTLES INTERNALLY

LESS LISTENING TO
DEW DROPS SPARKLING

ON THE GRASS 
BEGINNING WITH EARLY MORNING LIGHT.

LISTEN-
HEAR-
FOR WATER BIRDS SCREECHING
AND THE TASTE OF SAKE IN THE NIGHT.

FORGET PATHETIC CRYINGS OF INSECTS,
BURNING WITH LOVE,
AND THEN THE MORE WRETCHED YOU FEEL,
THE CLOSER YOU WILL BE TO
YOUR TRUE DELIGHT.

 

FROZEN MENTALITIES

Filed under: MY POETRY — salted7s @ 2:41 am
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THE NEXT DAY…  
(for exactly who needs these words)


A disinterested rapist of pig-tails and school girl kilts
Telephoned his addictions; 
His voice? 
A whisper of a forgotten thought.

Continuing to argue with crayon scribbles 
Arguing within his head while
Smashing cravings for veins 
Filled with chemical delights.

This man despises being with himself.
This man yearns for falsehoods of sanity; 
Only to cringe when the phone rings.
He walks around his own egg shells.

Even when the sun closes down for night’s stalk,
He thinks only of his skin.
Pain expands 
Into midnight…

Reality switches costumes
Becoming confusion and ouchless band aids.
And still he pastes on his stage make-up in hopes of
Goodnight kisses.

But, 
There
Are
Only 

Flinching lips 
Made from 
Mildew and 
Sardonic bitterness.

Apples taste better!
Deodorant suddenly is on one’s shopping list!
Now,
Count to ten my friend.

 

LACE FUCKING LACE FUCKING LACE FUCKING LACE FUCKING LACE

Filed under: MY POETRY — salted7s @ 2:37 am
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LACE. DO YOU HAVE ANY LACE? I DO. HAND ME DOWNS; SOME DONE BY SEWING MACHINE, MOST HAND SEWN. 

TODAY I WOKE UP FROM MISTY DREAMS OF LACE. I FELT CALM. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A VERY LONG TIME I WOKE UP AND KNEW EXACTLY WHAT I WAS GOING TO BE DOING FOR MY ENTIRE DAY. 

LACE. WHAT DO YOU THINK WAS FLOATING THROUGH THE MIND OF THE PERSON WHO DISCOVERED/INVENTED LACE? I HAVE NO CLUE MYSELF. CALL MY REACTION AS YOU SEE IT; APATHETIC AND INDIFFERENT.

THERE WAS SOME TROUBLE WITH THE AMOUNT OF LACE. I FELT OKAY. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A VERY LONG TIME I PAUSED AND KNEW EXACTLY WHAT I WAS GOING TO ACCOMPLISH NEXT.

LACE. HAVE YOU EVER MEDITATED ON THE QUESTION/NOTION OF LACE BEING VIRGINAL? I HAVE PONDERED THIS MYSELF. CALL MY REACTION AS YOU SEE IT; CURIOUS AND PENSIVE.

THE WALLS ARE DECORATED WITH THIS INCREDIBLE LACE. I FELT FINE. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A VERY LONG TIME I CHOKED UP AND KNEW EXACTLY WHAT I WAS GOING TO EXPERIENCE NEXT.

LACE. EVER USE AN ANTIQUE LACE TABLE CLOTH AS A BLANKET FOR THOSE BLISTERING HOT SUMMER NIGHTS? I HIGHLY SUGGEST USING YOUR LACE TABLE CLOTHES AS BED SHEETS DUE TO THEIR QUIET NATURE TRULY SET USEFUL FOR A NURTURING AIR FLOW. CALL MY REACTION AS YOU SEE IT; LANGUID AND CONTENT.

 

AN ODE TO TONY SNOW

Filed under: MY POETRY — salted7s @ 2:34 am
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AN ODE TO TONY SNOW…

(a short one at that; apologizes to The New York Times)

He did the White House beat…
Was not bad for a Republican; wasn’t too radical one way or the other.
So he cruised the Centrist greet…

Even those whom did not like him
Accepted his editorial political whims.

He did the cancer dance
And squashed it…
But the cancer came back for a deathly glance.

Now Mr. Snow
Is doing the ‘what happens now’ death…
His memory will be saved by what we reveal and what we will never know.

Now keep in mind; I’m somewhat slow…
I saw Tony Snow’s name in the Obituaries of The Washington Post
And mistakenly thought of Tony Hawk; he is the skater of snow.

Oh well, such is life; one either skates thru it
Or editorializes it; either way it’s all just the same shit.

 

SHE NEVER EXPLAINED HER POEMS April 9, 2004

Filed under: MY POETRY — salted7s @ 5:13 pm
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LATE APRIL DREAM WITHOUT SLEEP ‘O4

when evening breaks into hallow pieces of golden darkness
all bequeathed upon shadows smothered in light…

mothers wash dawn’s morning misgivings in puddles of dew without delight and
fathers march their children behind curtains of beaded grandious ideals…

melting past midnight, smothering details of forbidden flights, ringing and rhyming, forgiving and chiming, promising egotists,
fighting the good fight…

putting out fires, purchasing flowers, dialing numbers, driving away thunder 
and waking up to alarming sirens spinning, eager in lust, counting freckles created by dust.
no longer enduring night’s wicked slumber.