Thread: Poem

A WOMAN'S POEM:

Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man who's not a creep,
One who's handsome, smart and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he's rich and self-employed,
And when I spend, won't be annoyed.
Pull out my chair and hold my hand..
Massage my feet and help me stand.
Oh send a king to make me queen.
A man who loves to cook and clean.
I pray this man will love no other.
And relish visits with my mother.

A MAN'S POEM:

I pray for a deaf-mute gymnast nymphomaniac
who owns a bar on a golf course,
and loves to send me fishing and drinking. This
doesn't rhyme and I don't give a darn.

Simulataneous clankings upon sun-bleached skulls
The dull thumping upon the drum of human skin
Torches' blazing fueled by the fat of the once insane
Sets the mood for the summoning of dark things.
Passing around the drink that opens the third eye
The torch flames' casts shadows' upon the cave wall
A blood curdling scream pierces the charged night-air
A doubter's mind slips into unfathomable depths.
Some begin to sway to the rythym of cosmic currents'
Others' stomp their feet in a spirited march
One smiles as he chews upon a rock
Spitting out blood, broken teeth, and hyena cackles.
In the shadows a man disembowels his only brother
And searches for the treasure he suspect's is inside
Handing the entrails to his anticipating wife
Both hoping to find the source of the brother's worth.
More of the elixar is drank from the skull-bowl
Along with the writhing maggots stirred within
A man lops of his left arm with masochistic glee
Realizing that one arm less will lighten his load.
The dead and dying are soon put into ceremonial use
Used as pillows to prop up weary, most conscious heads'
Who watch things unimaginable do what can't be explained
Studying astutely to learn from their mysterious ways.
Morning arrives and the few left creep cautiously into the light
No longer resembling what they were before they came
The mis-shapen forms shakingly roar at the sun in primal rage
Then scurry back into darkness from which they forever do dark things.