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A Women Yet a TreeA Woman yet a Tree By Margaret YorkA Women Yet a Tree
Long ago, before I was born, I stood next to women in concentration camps Before that, I kissed brazenly in open fields. Before that I was just a seed that grew trees.
I stood next to women in concentration camps who did not fear death. Before that, I was just a seed that grew trees, bearing fruit
who did not know death. I was She. A women, yet a tree bearing fruit of inexperience. And She was ignited with life.
I was She, a woman, yet a tree. Before that, I kissed brazenly in open fields &n
by ~clairvoyantwaters
Morning AtticMORNING ATTIC by Margaret YorkMorning Attic
I used to wish those winter weeks would never end. Our time in the attic precious, and spring seemed so far away. Mornings were spent in bed, under blanketed warmth that marooned our bodies on an island of cottony sorrow.
Sorrow drove us day by day, week by week. I prayed to man in the moon for just another night in the attic, your musky scent on my pillow in the morning. "I'll be there soon," you said, "Spring
is not that far away." And spring came, but brought along with it those words: " I'm sorry. T
by ~clairvoyantwaters
Rock and RollHer hands felt like crinkly silk And her kitchen always smelled like thyme. She spent a lot of time in the garden, but one Friday We curled up in her lime-green loveseat Listening to the Beatles repeat “Number Nine, number nine.” Which sounded lonely And fragmented. But she was there, to linkRock and Roll
My orphaned music history, which was so tame, To so something more epic. Filled with Nico’s cries And the bluesy wails of Benny Goodman’s swing. Their music defied entropy And in their presence I was humbled By etchings in the sandstone
by ~clairvoyantwaters
House of FlooziesIt all started with a pint of beer Last November at a fraternity party. The plight of the virgin man ever present As their nomads lead theHouse of Floozies
Way, weaseling into the pants of every Girl names Angelica Swallows, Committing treason in every room of the house,
Moaning, “Mmm Rebecca…” Smack.
I don’t know how many Johnny’s refuse to wear helmets With sluts that flit about like butterfly tattoos, And yellow urine testing positive for gonorrhea.
But I know of at least one baby spawned in
The house that flutters with floozies And sucks the dough from fr
by ~clairvoyantwaters
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: San Luis Obispo, California
- Interests: piano, guitar, anything pirate...pirates are awesome
- Favourite movie: Boonedock Saints, Donnie Darko
- Favourite band or musician: George Gershwin
- Favourite genre of music: jazz, classical, pretty much anything good
- Favourite artist: Mariano Fortuny
- Favourite poet or writer: Kurt Vonnegut
- MP3 player of choice: Winamp 5
- Favourite game: Half-life, SOF2, Battlefield 1942:Desert Combat
- Favourite gaming platform: PC
- Email: bluesgirl20@hotmail.com
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But there is that within me that shall Tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire.
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no.
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But there is that within me that shall Tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire.
A lot.
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no.
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But there is that within me that shall Tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire.
Recommend anything?
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no.
YAY!!!
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But there is that within me that shall Tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire.
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