Scarlett Pumpernickel

“We are as free as we please!!!”
Sayest thou of the world we stand within bold;
Though in practice of it much lends to editorial prune
To which the eye glances focus to pasted oui
Regulated to the smother of the security of societal attune
For in the give rather than take an isolative scold -
Uniqueness is mottled stead of a tease

Scarlett,
Pump her nickel-
Within the want to the side out bulges
Upon edged chosen hast been a design handsomely unfickle
Just as one negates to savour the brine of a pickle
For the trace of trail to favour the indluges
Scarlett,
Pump her nickel

Opportune is meant to be one’s with a seize
Transpose ye not daze of olde
In delights pursued in afts of noon
Awashed white preened acts
That nature’s fear far the soon
Dissemble to angelic whispers in the retold
This day a moral is but trade to the sold
Freedom of thought is constrained to the link chained appease

Scarlett,
Pump her nickel
Tis of banal glory in used unsate
For fate selfed hast but a trickle
Lest be tantalized within mind trickle
To set unpromise nigh to resolve such coagulate
Scarlett,
Pump her nickel

It is but a dark satire that to be as one we secretly design our me’s
To collect a high percent of return of selfish boon
Where, why, what – a concocted sequence
As the whom expressed akins two dimensional cartoon
That mask the yearn with vocalized cold
As if individuality is but a disease

 

I’d like to thank the Poetry Palace for being chosen for this award, it is very rewarding when anything I do is noticed in a positive light!  I will nominate someone when I start perusing the talent in this round’s rally!

The Tale of Unfaire

Upon didst she I –

The foul prince of fools
Perch’d incommodiously upon thatched throne
Bleach burnt
Purged
Sanctified
Devoid of any adore
In Draconian accord
Of a mind un-full intent
Lest drapered finery believed own
Prove naught but rent
Once exposed to thine aire
Only to tatter
Unweave
In a cost ill afford.
Entombed by crumbled cards
And stoned resolve
Allowing but
Pricks of sun light pin
To puncture the security of oblivion
Of the hollowed within –

Engaged wast I
Abject in deject of unself reject
Cursed of being without a where
Punctuated by an etched frown
Lopsided to noble visage
As the paper templed crown

Lithe and small,
Gaze to the floor
She stood to me a fore
If she had not been such alien
To the images of predominant thought
Positioned so to be but a meager of measure
The question first would have been
Of how she gained entrance
To this place built purposely undoor.

I did attempt to ignore such a blatant intrusion
But her nakedness of alabaster flesh creamed slick
Pained these eyes
Accustomed to my constructed night’s thick.

“What of me do you request,”
I said in curt but tainted half behest.

“Love you,” she stated slow and sure
As if apace with the gait of a turtle
Rather than the welcomed scurry of a edged mouse.

Glared did I
As the acid spoken
Permeated through this crusted flesh
Only to further churl the unsettled waters of doubt
Contained deep within.
How dare she
To invade the core of my me
With such an ugly vile plea

I heaved from the throne my body
And roared
“Love me? Do you now?
For what travesty hast been upon me placed
That such a harsh sentence impaled
With such lack of solace!”

Stillness of the unnatured silence
Stood tween her and sought answered demand
Eyes that had been avert down
Rose –

Emeralds afloat in a small ivory pond
That captured the attent with their glisten
Commanding muted listen-

“Beg thy pardon of own,”
Said she in quieted boom
That the very echoes graced
Their dance upon each wall of my tomb
“But thine words to thee
Were of reflect –
By no means inflect.”

A step toward did she take
Yet in numb
A counter back didst I hesitate
To action none did I make
Then another step
Til if her breath were talons
Across my facial flesh they could rake

“Love you,”

Again she did state
Bringing one waspish palm
That warmed such the coldest cheek
The will to overt openness ceded
To that softness of touch
And the lashes separated by eye
Melded

Moment upon moment stumbled past
Til the novelty of that touch seemed gone
In want’s fast
And to the true sight I returned to regrettably last

I stood alone
A front of the bleach burnt throne
Nary a hint nor trace
That any but I am encased
To this defitting place
Built surround not by those
Whose of me kill’t
But of my own condone.

A Christmas ‘Toon

Little Sister

Run little sister run

She’s looking for fun

Run as fast as you can

Behind you comes Leanne

Fast little sister fast

if caught you will not last

her needle’s full to paralyze

to take out wrath upon her despise

Quick little sister Quick

Into your cheek a sharp bottle opener she’ll stick

And she’ll slash from it the outline of a heart

To cover the blackness of the old and over restart

I wrote an all Hallow’s tale called “A stalk in the Park” (http://subversify.com/2011/10/28/a-stalk-in-the-park/) last week for Subversify.com which is chock full of my usual foci: perversion, violence and gore.  I’ve always thought the most haunting part of the original “Nightmare on Elm Street” was the little girls skipping rope and singing a little ditty about the main character, the slasher “Freddy Krueger”.  In keeping with certain fascination I decided to write up a little sing along for the main character in the story, Leanne, a woman who has inverted the onus of her own betrayal of the notion of sisterly love and compassion from an internal struggle to external blame of little sisters in general.