Ode to a Bitch

[[Note: Playing with form poetry -- a rarity]]

Man's archaic fear won't change me.
Independant thought puts me in your way.
A blow-up barbie I will never be.

I'm a bitch when I demand that we
Both need to have equal treatment and pay.
Man's archaic fear won't change me.

In your fevered dreams you want me to plea
On my knees in your hedonic mind play.
A blow-up barbie I will never be.

You become an emotional amputee
Because I don't let your desires hold sway.
Man's archaic fear won't change me.

Despite it all, I give you honesty
Not demure lies created to make you stay.
A blow-up barbie I will never be.

You punish me for my defiant decree
That I'll stay this way until my last day.
Man's archaic fear won't change me.
A blow-up barbie I will never be.

Copyright (c) 1998 AMJ-M




Photo Credit:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/rossinabossio/283098409/ 

My Ode to National Chocolate Day

Who new that the divine drug of chocolate had its own day?! I'm a bit late but  this sort of awesome occassion still  needs to be celebrated with something equally sinful and succulent. (Granted this poem isn't about chocolate. But, it does have the word mentioned ... err ... once.)


What's for Dinner?

The smell of strawberry syrup
Drifts through the house as the cake cools
On the antique ebony table.
You are drawn by the sugary scents
(ones you haven't smelled in awhile).

Your Cool Water cologne enters first
Then I sense your heat from behind
As you fix your hands on my hips
In that familiar way
And run your overworked hands
Down the curves of my hips and thighs
That are hidden in the sheer
Wispy cloth of summertime.

I turn around, inhale in the
Exhilarating aromas
Then gently nibble your bottom lip
As I savor the taste and heat.
You pick me up by my waist
In that familiar way
(that men show their sensual strength)
And sit me on the table's edge.
My chocolate kissed legs wrap around you
And pull you in closer to me.

You slide a succulent strawberry,
Drenched with juices and cream,
From the cake as you carefully
Place it between my open lips
You pull me in near. Your lips are
so close that your breath trembles me
As you say, "What's for Dinner?"

Copyright (c) 1998 AMJ-M




Photo Credit:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/ilianov/ / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Read about National Chocolate Day.

Father's Day Awakening

Young girls flounce in frills

As the sunlight makes prism sculptures

Off the hilltop church cross.

The smell of sweet scented powder

And azalea blossoms permeate the air.

Young boys play pranks

With the shiny jet hair

Of girls packed in rainbow

Folds of cotton.

As the organ hits its downbeat,

The whirlwind of eager faces

Flood the pews with their parents

To await the beginning.

Mass choirs echo

Ethereal melodies through the beams

Of walls flooded in memories

While voices travel through

The marrow of our bones.

One by one - mother,father,child

Stand clothed in pride as fathers receive

Accolades of acknowledgement

For a job well done.

All names are called,

Yet the bench is worn beneath me.

Never does my family stand,

Never does my name ring out

Among the holy walls.

I look to my mother for the answer

As tears flood her mahogany eyes

And clings to the contours of her

Pain etched face as they collect

Upon my hands streaming down

Into pools upon the withered wood.

In her eyes of crimson,

The tale unfolds before me

As I face the awakening.

Copyright © 1998 AMJ-M

Photo Credit:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/megyarsh/ / CC BY 2.0

Droplets on the Coffin

As the light rain falls,

Saturated hair clings to my face.

Rain ...tears become one.

Droplets intermingle on the surface

Of the cherry oak coffin.

A banal breeze blows through:

Smelling of sodden air.

I Listen to the pitter-pat of droplets

Splashing on the surface.

My feet rustle the wet leaves

As I reach out to touch

The coffin's perfection of symmetry

Which harbors the vessel

Of a woman so complete.

Her ashen face

Adorned in false paint.

Cherry lips dulled

To shades of mauve.

Remote reflection

of her past.

Surrounded by sweet aromas.

Her hands like fine sand

Worn from years of erosion.

In her arms,

Affection stretched like the horizon.

Twice as warm as the sun

But now the sun sets;

The clouds enfold her

As droplets descend

Upon my face.

Poem Copyright © 1997 A.M.J.M.

Photo Credit: Death Valley by Simonsun08