For today’s prompt, write a story poem. Think of a story, could be a long, complicated, winding story, but for a poem, it may make more sense to make it a short, direct story.
a lot of my stories are strictly for over eighteens, but i'll try one straight up on the screen...yeah, i'm still doing that.
MY CRAZIEST GIRLFRIEND
mary jane jones would have driven the tasmanian devil insane dissapeared to have sex and drugs with strangers in back lanes was always embarrassing me on trains
was supposed to go shopping for food we did lack but spent all the money on heroin and crack when her worthless arse dragged back she did bring she couldn't remember a single thing.
this is actually a mild mary jane story. she was much worse than this, but i didn't want anybody to throw up ha ha - paul.
few good experiences. i'd explain, but as they say in the westerns " you ain't from around these parts, are ya? " ha ha. all the women i like are either engaged, or married, which is frankly.......shit! - don't go hitting anybody with black belts karate girl - love and peace - paul.
if i'd known about library ladies when i was younger, i never would have gone to pubs and night clubs bonita. isn't that a song " looking for love, in all the wrong places " can't remember who it was by. could have been bryan adams?
I considered not doing a verse for today and calling the whole thing my story poem. LOL. But I had to do it. The one I found the hardest for the anti-poem.
There was no room for Julie even though the house was huge the chill she felt each time she entered reminded her this was no longer her home
Once upon a time when love was new her groom proudly presented the house to her their nest to fill with love and children children that would never be each year the house got colder and colder
No laughter filled the space as he lay dying day by day age and hopelessness sucked the life from his soul ghosts of the past filled the rooms
she had buried him along with their dreams she turned and left the house memories crowded her out there was no room for Julie
not sure this makes sense and not to sound morbid but whatever brain damage was done when I went into respiratory failure has left me more focused on poetry. words seem to flow as the poems write themselves.
the fire started in the attic the children were all asleep mama had gone to the bar no excuse, she was just cheap
five children all under seven left totally alone just to die the fire truck came a little too late the kids didn't even have time to cry
at two o' clock the bar closed up mama walked home and we know what she found her blood ran cold as ice at what she saw the whole building had burned to the ground
mama screamed bloody murder mama screamed as loud as she could "why didn't anyone save my children do you all have hearts made of wood"
the squad car came shortly after that the police questioned her and made her cry they gave her slant eyed looks and cuffed her they stuffed her in the squad car as she was bawling, "why"?
This was based on a true story. The actual story was much more gory and I couldn't really write it here. This is actually a much more mellow story than the real one even though it is horrible.
knew a woman that had five kids. she had no idea where they where and couldn't remember the name of the 4th one. said he was a vegetable. i didn't want to ask, but i said " why? " she said " i drank a bottle and a half of vodka, a day while i was pregnant and he sortta came out pickled "....yeah, she would have made a good nazi - love and peace - paul.
I don't think any of us will ever forget that night. So many sad dramas played out on our street it's a wonder we survived. Vic wrote a poem about this called Lady Bug, Lady Bug
a lot of my stories are strictly for over eighteens, but i'll try one straight up on the screen...yeah, i'm still doing that.
ReplyDeleteMY CRAZIEST GIRLFRIEND
mary jane jones would have driven the tasmanian devil insane
dissapeared to have sex and drugs with strangers in back lanes
was always embarrassing me on trains
was supposed to go shopping
for food we did lack
but spent all the money on heroin and crack
when her worthless arse dragged back she did bring
she couldn't remember a single thing.
this is actually a mild mary jane story. she was much worse than this, but i didn't want anybody to throw up ha ha - paul.
Why am I not surprised that this about yet another horrible woman. Do you have any GOOD experiences with women?
Deletefew good experiences. i'd explain, but as they say in the westerns " you ain't from around these parts, are ya? " ha ha. all the women i like are either engaged, or married, which is frankly.......shit! - don't go hitting anybody with black belts karate girl - love and peace - paul.
Deletei keep telling you paul you're looking for love in all the wrong places. prostitutes and bar flies do not make good companions.
DeleteYou do have ales to tell and you tell them well.
DeleteI love your girl stories! You do a good job! I think your writing has greatly improved since gotpoetry.com days
Deleteif i'd known about library ladies when i was younger, i never would have gone to pubs and night clubs bonita. isn't that a song " looking for love, in all the wrong places " can't remember who it was by. could have been bryan adams?
Deleteyou put ales, instead of tales tash....which is sortta ironic, as ale was one of the problems ha ha - love and peace - paul.
Deletewish i loved my girl stories wolfie. most are horrific,....sssshhhh sleeping in the library. i'm in tired puppy mode - the wild woods - paul.
DeleteI said I wasn't going to post the whole thing till the 30th but given that the theme today is a story, well, it's a story. LOL.
ReplyDeleteSecrets slither down
hallways concealed by doorways
eclipsed by shadows.
Her red lips, red hair
red dress, shimmer in dim light
as the door opens.
"Stop," she cautions, then
views the intruder, smiles
with invitation.
Case of mistaken
identity, so like him,
she discerns too late
it was not bright, door
unlocked, unprotected. One
can intrude unheard.
"Pizza?" he inquired.
Pepperoni, sausage. Smells
waft across the room.
Memories flood her
senses, family dinners,
Friday gatherings.
"So like your father,"
she says, "thought you were a ghost
come back to haunt me."
"I battle that ghost
each day." her visitor puts
forth. "He's never gone."
A good deal of time
has passed since their last meeting
yet they do not touch.
"You should, could, have warned,
prepared my marrow for this
abrupt reunion.
Why now?" she laments,
purses her red lips, turns her
red dress to the wall.
She slumps, a spider
luring prey, feels arms surround,
capture completed.
"Let's eat some pizza
before it gets cold, but you
must hear my report."
Words tight, a coiled spring
ready to release, trigger
savage explosions.
Deflects, takes a bite
of pizza. "My favorite.
But you always were."
"You loved only him,
forsaking us for one kiss,
promises unkept.
Now you want reports,
tell me I'm your favorite,
so much temptation.
Your velvet threads weave
webs I do not understand.
Tangled, intimate."
Secrets slither down
concentric arcs of complex
silk disturbances,
persist toward center,
dangerous information,
bleeding edge of pain.
A rose in red dress,
her red lips speak sharp like thorns,
words destroy her prey.
Like dancers, fighters,
take measure of the other,
they find their balance.
It's not poetry,
there is no form to their stance,
cannot hold the line.
Surreptitious sighs,
mellifluous platitudes.
Just Barmecide.
"Carbon copy. Your
father. Why did I think it
would be different?
Stories, fantasies.
I need authenticity.
Grant me that at least."
always been one for authenticity vic - the genuine article - paul.
Deletewow! i didn't think you'd be able to do it but dang! you found a way to fit a story in ...
DeleteI considered not doing a verse for today and calling the whole thing my story poem. LOL. But I had to do it. The one I found the hardest for the anti-poem.
DeleteAmazing!
DeleteWOW!!! I loved it!!! You have done a marvelous job on this poem!
DeleteThere was no room for Julie
ReplyDeleteeven though the house was huge
the chill she felt each time
she entered reminded her
this was no longer her home
Once upon a time when love was new
her groom proudly presented the house to her
their nest to fill with love and children
children that would never be
each year the house got colder and colder
No laughter filled the space
as he lay dying day by day
age and hopelessness sucked
the life from his soul
ghosts of the past filled the rooms
she had buried him
along with their dreams
she turned and left the house
memories crowded her out
there was no room for Julie
Your poems lately all seem to give me chills. Another good one.
DeleteSigh, what a sad story, Lovely poem, though.
DeleteI love this poem! It is sad and beautiful!
Deletemy first love was called julie.....yep. it ended badly.
Deletenot sure this makes sense and not to sound morbid but whatever brain damage was done when I went into respiratory failure has left me more focused on poetry. words seem to flow as the poems write themselves.
ReplyDeletei understand too. after my 4 months coma, i only seem to be able to express myself in verse.
DeleteBallad of the wandering wheels
ReplyDeleteBlithely I set out to drive,
All a down a down a,
Feeling happy and alive
All a down a day.
Then on I sped and sped I on,
All a down a down a'
The road rolled on and one and on,
All a down a day.
The road rolled on and with it I,
All a down a down a,
And so the time went passing by,
All a down a day.
"Alas I fear I'm lost," I cried,
All all a down a down a,
"Tis true," said husband by my side,
All a down a day.
So I turned me round and round again,
All a down a down a,
The wheels they rolled 'til back I came,
All a down a day.
I called for help and was given,
All a down a down a,
Returning me whence I had driven,
All a down a day.
And I saw how my mind, so filled with fear
All a down a down a,
Misled my wheels when I was near,
All a down a day.
At last I did come safely there,
All a down a down a,
Though late I was they did not care,
All a down a day
Quite an interesting little story! I like it very much.
Delete" on the road again " - canned heat. i can't drive, but i know what you mean - love and peace - paul.
Deleteand old one but a fun one... and omg! haven't we all been there so easily relate to this one.
DeleteHad to post an old one as the day was consumed with visitors and visiting.
ReplyDeleteOops just noticed a typo abut I guess it wil have to stand, good night all.
ReplyDeletethe fire started in the attic
ReplyDeletethe children were all asleep
mama had gone to the bar
no excuse, she was just cheap
five children all under seven
left totally alone just to die
the fire truck came a little too late
the kids didn't even have time to cry
at two o' clock the bar closed up
mama walked home and we know what she found
her blood ran cold as ice at what she saw
the whole building had burned to the ground
mama screamed bloody murder
mama screamed as loud as she could
"why didn't anyone save my children
do you all have hearts made of wood"
the squad car came shortly after that
the police questioned her and made her cry
they gave her slant eyed looks and cuffed her
they stuffed her in the squad car as she was bawling, "why"?
This was based on a true story. The actual story was much more gory and I couldn't really write it here. This is actually a much more mellow story than the real one even though it is horrible.
Deleteknew a woman that had five kids. she had no idea where they where and couldn't remember the name of the 4th one. said he was a vegetable. i didn't want to ask, but i said " why? " she said " i drank a bottle and a half of vodka, a day while i was pregnant and he sortta came out pickled "....yeah, she would have made a good nazi - love and peace - paul.
DeleteI don't think any of us will ever forget that night. So many sad dramas played out on our street it's a wonder we survived. Vic wrote a poem about this called Lady Bug, Lady Bug
DeleteOMG what a sad story, you wrote it well.
Delete