Submissions by MadameLavender
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
6th Jun 2018 6:34pm
6th Jun 2018 6:34pm
Whore Of Christ
(written for Missy's "Forgive me Father, I have sinned" comp
Plaster eyed saints in
cathedrals
have not witnessed the depths, the
places
within, where The Son has gone.
The Father asked me:
“If I give you My Son, will you
love none other?”
And so I agreed
and became His dove, betrothed
in white light
on seas of glass, where
we ran across mountaintops, young
enamored, in
new life.
We fell in fields of
wildflowers, rolling
in kisses along every
thorn-mark on his...
Plaster eyed saints in
cathedrals
have not witnessed the depths, the
places
within, where The Son has gone.
The Father asked me:
“If I give you My Son, will you
love none other?”
And so I agreed
and became His dove, betrothed
in white light
on seas of glass, where
we ran across mountaintops, young
enamored, in
new life.
We fell in fields of
wildflowers, rolling
in kisses along every
thorn-mark on his...
#love
#erotic
#religion #Christian
#religion #Christian
44 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
30th May 2018 11:18pm
30th May 2018 11:18pm
Call Me “Jezebel”
(Written for "Wicked Nomination" competition)
Naboth would not give my husband
his vineyard, so
I, Jezebel, wrote letters
to the elders
proclaiming untruths,
his blasphemy against God.
They stoned Naboth
by my hand, and
the vineyard became Ahab’s
my king.
No one questioned the word
of I, Jezebel
Queen of Samaria.
My story rides
in the heart of history, in
1 Kings 21, and
It rides
and rides
through time
to the Whitewaters
of Alabama, where
Vince the...
Naboth would not give my husband
his vineyard, so
I, Jezebel, wrote letters
to the elders
proclaiming untruths,
his blasphemy against God.
They stoned Naboth
by my hand, and
the vineyard became Ahab’s
my king.
No one questioned the word
of I, Jezebel
Queen of Samaria.
My story rides
in the heart of history, in
1 Kings 21, and
It rides
and rides
through time
to the Whitewaters
of Alabama, where
Vince the...
#politics
53 reads
8 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
22nd May 2018 4:59pm
22nd May 2018 4:59pm
Greenblack
(Written for Missy's "I am the Sky" comp)
It was perfect, the
paint, named
“greenblack.”
I wanted to touch it
without my gloved hands, and
become the sky
in the split seconds before
a tornado.
I wanted to be the clouds, roiling
severe grays
absorbing the spectrum
of light, leaving
only ominous waves
of glowing greens, illuminating
the land, as if
animated.
But instead
I brushed it on a weather-worn
bench, making
it new again, and
I shall wait for the heavens...
It was perfect, the
paint, named
“greenblack.”
I wanted to touch it
without my gloved hands, and
become the sky
in the split seconds before
a tornado.
I wanted to be the clouds, roiling
severe grays
absorbing the spectrum
of light, leaving
only ominous waves
of glowing greens, illuminating
the land, as if
animated.
But instead
I brushed it on a weather-worn
bench, making
it new again, and
I shall wait for the heavens...
#sky
#storm
57 reads
7 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
3rd May 2018 2:38am
3rd May 2018 2:38am
The Tides
(Written for CWR's comp "Dark Side of the 80's)
I touched something a Nazi wore
and became unclean;
unseen
revulsions welling in my core,
made my fingers crack
and peal,
skin—I feel
I need the tides
to take it back,
wash me clean.
I steered the wheel to the beach
where I could reach
the waters
salty, rolling
onshore—I need more
New Order
runs through my ears
buzzing like bees,
electronic waves
in hollow jars—
we are
one with the seas.
I’m shell...
I touched something a Nazi wore
and became unclean;
unseen
revulsions welling in my core,
made my fingers crack
and peal,
skin—I feel
I need the tides
to take it back,
wash me clean.
I steered the wheel to the beach
where I could reach
the waters
salty, rolling
onshore—I need more
New Order
runs through my ears
buzzing like bees,
electronic waves
in hollow jars—
we are
one with the seas.
I’m shell...
#war
#beach
#water
48 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
30th Apr 2018 10:35am
30th Apr 2018 10:35am
I Win NaPo !
(NaPo #30, April 30, 2018)
I win!
I win!
I win!
Now gimme that trophy, for
writing my ass off
all month.
Oh yes—I did indeed
fill each poem
with fifty uniq-kay
words
and I pissed, moaned and groaned
about all sorts of stuff
and I punted at times
and I sucked down so much Claritin
that I’ve got Breaking Bad, brewing
in my G.I. tract, right now.
And I lost my kitty.
Oh my God, did I tell you
I lost one of my kitties?
I’m sure I did.
I’m sure...
I win!
I win!
I win!
Now gimme that trophy, for
writing my ass off
all month.
Oh yes—I did indeed
fill each poem
with fifty uniq-kay
words
and I pissed, moaned and groaned
about all sorts of stuff
and I punted at times
and I sucked down so much Claritin
that I’ve got Breaking Bad, brewing
in my G.I. tract, right now.
And I lost my kitty.
Oh my God, did I tell you
I lost one of my kitties?
I’m sure I did.
I’m sure...
#NaPoWriMo2018
60 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
29th Apr 2018 10:27pm
29th Apr 2018 10:27pm
Touching The Past
(Napo #29, April 29, 2018)
A friend came a-calling, and
I paid her a visit.
We sorted through her possessions
as she prepared to relocate, and
she made a pile for me
to sell.
A fellow Christian, she
insisted that I take a commission
for her goods, upon sale, and
I will respect her wishes, fairly.
Mary told me stories of each piece
as we sorted
and piled my truck, full, for
this is my dream
to pick and sell, full time.
But, when much is entrusted,
much is expected in...
A friend came a-calling, and
I paid her a visit.
We sorted through her possessions
as she prepared to relocate, and
she made a pile for me
to sell.
A fellow Christian, she
insisted that I take a commission
for her goods, upon sale, and
I will respect her wishes, fairly.
Mary told me stories of each piece
as we sorted
and piled my truck, full, for
this is my dream
to pick and sell, full time.
But, when much is entrusted,
much is expected in...
#NaPoWriMo2018
50 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
28th Apr 2018 9:18pm
28th Apr 2018 9:18pm
The Table
(NaPo #28, April 28,2018)
Furniture will tell me
how it wishes to be redressed.
Most are like weatherworn brides,
excited about choosing a trousseau , with
colors and adornments
to start their new lives, free
from dusty basements
and landfills .
The little white table, however
was a stubborn hold-out; smug
Victorian priss
wishing to remain white.
I peeled away the contact paper
that her former owner
stupidly
adhered to her surface.
Then....
I tried to...
Furniture will tell me
how it wishes to be redressed.
Most are like weatherworn brides,
excited about choosing a trousseau , with
colors and adornments
to start their new lives, free
from dusty basements
and landfills .
The little white table, however
was a stubborn hold-out; smug
Victorian priss
wishing to remain white.
I peeled away the contact paper
that her former owner
stupidly
adhered to her surface.
Then....
I tried to...
#NaPoWriMo2018
49 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Apr 2018 4:00pm
27th Apr 2018 4:00pm
Estate Sale Assholes
(NaPo #27, April 27, 2018)
Cars line street sides, yet
neighbors still balk
and whine—
the cars are near the end
of their driveways.
You can still get out,
can’t you?
It’s a two-day event—let
the estate sale company
do their job and
SHUT THE FUCK UP!
It’s a dead-end
side street, and
there is no traffic.
Perhaps
neighbors should get jobs
so they aren’t home to see
a few cars at curbside….
Perhaps
neighbors could charge
five dollars per...
Cars line street sides, yet
neighbors still balk
and whine—
the cars are near the end
of their driveways.
You can still get out,
can’t you?
It’s a two-day event—let
the estate sale company
do their job and
SHUT THE FUCK UP!
It’s a dead-end
side street, and
there is no traffic.
Perhaps
neighbors should get jobs
so they aren’t home to see
a few cars at curbside….
Perhaps
neighbors could charge
five dollars per...
#NaPoWriMo2018
45 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
26th Apr 2018 6:29pm
26th Apr 2018 6:29pm
"More", is More
(NaPo #26, April 26, 2018)
Fine lines exist
between
hoards and minimalists;
"Less, could be more", say
beliefs of decor authority
but
who deemed them, correct?
I would beg to challenge
thought processes
of conservative-ism, pasting
ones home with things
and colors
suitable for eventual resale.
The world cannot see
what is not there, in
plain view.
I balk at ideas
of furnishing abodes
on the basis of
what some future owner may like.
...
Fine lines exist
between
hoards and minimalists;
"Less, could be more", say
beliefs of decor authority
but
who deemed them, correct?
I would beg to challenge
thought processes
of conservative-ism, pasting
ones home with things
and colors
suitable for eventual resale.
The world cannot see
what is not there, in
plain view.
I balk at ideas
of furnishing abodes
on the basis of
what some future owner may like.
...
#NaPoWriMo2018
49 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
25th Apr 2018 4:05pm
25th Apr 2018 4:05pm
A Day For Rain
(NaPo #25, April 25, 2018)
Necessary, it is—
the rain.
I watch my potted seeds, rise
from the dirt, just
a little bit more, and
pollen-hazed air
washes clean, clearing
my lungs.
Bird shit slides
off my freshly waxed truck, in
the showers—dirty bastards
waited until it was clean, to
empty their bowels
onto it.
Everything is new again—
even the side-of-the-road
wooden rocker, bungeed
to the roof rack, a
stellar find
while amassing other
flea market items. ...
Necessary, it is—
the rain.
I watch my potted seeds, rise
from the dirt, just
a little bit more, and
pollen-hazed air
washes clean, clearing
my lungs.
Bird shit slides
off my freshly waxed truck, in
the showers—dirty bastards
waited until it was clean, to
empty their bowels
onto it.
Everything is new again—
even the side-of-the-road
wooden rocker, bungeed
to the roof rack, a
stellar find
while amassing other
flea market items. ...
#NaPoWriMo2018
48 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
24th Apr 2018 6:42pm
24th Apr 2018 6:42pm
Greed and Tea
(NaPo #24, April 24, 2018)
They sip, daintily, from
demitasses
as if the world weren't
amiss.
How swift, memory
does fleet
when swallowing mouthfuls of
contenders
belching in victory
after each gulp and acquisition.
Ah, the Fat Lady sings
for us all
since her bloated bloomers
burst
at the seams, in glut.
The hypothermia effect
sets in
where to keep the core, warm
blood and resources
are siphoned from extremities
to conserve the Mothership....
They sip, daintily, from
demitasses
as if the world weren't
amiss.
How swift, memory
does fleet
when swallowing mouthfuls of
contenders
belching in victory
after each gulp and acquisition.
Ah, the Fat Lady sings
for us all
since her bloated bloomers
burst
at the seams, in glut.
The hypothermia effect
sets in
where to keep the core, warm
blood and resources
are siphoned from extremities
to conserve the Mothership....
#NaPoWriMo2018
53 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
23rd Apr 2018 5:47pm
23rd Apr 2018 5:47pm
Dumpster Muse
(NaPo 23, April 23, 2018)
I heard them cry
my name, muffled,
impacted,
breathless and suffocating
in a tomb of cast offs.
She threw them in there ,
I saw her do it .
Under the guise of discarding
my own meager waste, I
sought them out, those
who called out to me.
Carefully, I dislodged them,
a crate bursting
with vintage Christmas stockings
and linens,
Radko glass, still in boxes, wood
and wreaths--decor from
someone's family member
no doubt, passed...
I heard them cry
my name, muffled,
impacted,
breathless and suffocating
in a tomb of cast offs.
She threw them in there ,
I saw her do it .
Under the guise of discarding
my own meager waste, I
sought them out, those
who called out to me.
Carefully, I dislodged them,
a crate bursting
with vintage Christmas stockings
and linens,
Radko glass, still in boxes, wood
and wreaths--decor from
someone's family member
no doubt, passed...
#NaPoWriMo2018
51 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by MadameLavender
