Yesterday to my delight and surprise I recieved a package from Kelly W, a blogger I read often but whose threads I rarely comment on, my preference for the past couple of years being on the debate that follows political articles or screeds about volatile topics.  Kelly writes more fiction and 'slice of life' sort of stuff, and while it's excellent and entertaining it doesn't lend itself well to (my sort of)  commentary.  I do want her to know I read, though.  Hers and Jo...

The leather creaks softly as she walks through the halls,
her boots barely making a sound as she goes from room to room.

The razor is slick in her hand, and bright red.
She pulls it out into the light, and the air sighs around her
as she licks the surface clean.

The corridor is slick, covered in flesh and memories.
Shrieks of past agonies and terrors spiral through the hallway.

There were many threads to begin with.

Coming out of her heart, winding down through the passages
endi...

You can suck my dick.
Even though I don't have one.
Kneel down, suck away.

~

Your ignorance stuns
Slack-jawed slobbering caveman
dull troglodyte, you.

~

Menopausal me
thrust thumbs into your eyeballs
pluck them out like grapes.

~

Wee little turdlet
drops steaming piles on forums
bigger than her head.

~

Bloviates Yoda.
With! bad. punctuation, yes,
Disorganized. thought,

~

Mommy blogs are cool.
Vicarious motherhood
sans poopy diapers.

~

Benevolent bo...

(I've been using this as a Christmas Greeting for several years now, perhaps it's time to write a new one, lol. Either way, here it is for your enjoyment...again. BTW, I used the name H8 (and a lot of variations on it, like 'H8fuL', or 'H8.point.5'--as in the richter scale--for many years before adopting the little whip moniker.) For those of you who don't "get it"...phonetically pronounced H8 = hate.


Happy H8Ful Christmas!

Merry Christmas, Assholes!
Let's kill a tree for Christ,
An...

stew-meat (crappy sonnet #10)

when buzzing silence is the only sort
of music my care-weary ear can stand.
and I become a hairy, pus-filled wart
that shames the muse's most delicate hand

when walls remove me from the pressing crowd
suppress me with their invisible load,
my hands become too big, my voice too loud,
i sit lost on dusty foreign roads.

friendless, devoid of meaning, all drawn in
from contact needed from those i repell
because I feel boorish, and riddled with sin,
an...

Today, Simon and I celebrate our third wedding anniversary. We met online in a poetry chat room, and fell in love with each other's words, and then with each other. Even after taking up residence as man and wife, we've continued to write for (and to) each other, so in honor of the day, here's one from each of us.

(warning: adult (but non-profane) content ahead.)

Whose Chain is It?

a tender elegance to your cruelty

even as i force you down on me
my length in your throat
choking y...

Why do some people
think that by
separating a mundane sentence or
three
into mini lines
like these
that what they've written
is now poetry?

Haven't they ever read
the dictionary?

POETRY:

1. the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts.
2. literary work in metrical form; verse.
3. prose with poetic qualities.

Now I won't ever be so presumptuous
as to claim that all of my poems are sumptuou...

LUNA

The luna moth is pale green and bears two long tails on either side,
luminous and frail.
A multitude of moths will come to lights when the night is dark,
but the luna moths always caught his eye.
They fly in search of the moon, and love, or more likely lust,
of an entomological kind.

Grey speckled spiders as big as a man’s hand
will construct large webbed orbs near bright sources of light.
We think of spiders as ugly and unkind,
as murderers who eat out their prey from th...

As promised, this is the poem which caught Simon's eye when I scrolled it in the poetry chat room where we met. After seeing this, He IM'd me, and 6 months later, we were married.

Good Machine

i played you like a slot machine
feeding coins of
attention, flattery,
respect and affection.

and like any good machine
my initial investments paid off in small
(and sometimes not so small)
jackpots
of caring considerations,
encouragement, praise and gratitude..
enuff at least to allo...

stigmata of a dead god


behold these wounds in mine open hands.
dripping endlessly with the culmination of my sins.
for ive tarried excessively long
in laying waste to paradise...
gorging myself on mans icy contempt,
and all the while starving myself of anything
bearing even a vague likeness
to pompous compassion.

mercy is not the due of this flagellant...
pity, but keep your notions of salvation
beyond the dying fringes of this malevolent mortal.
for i will not suffer half-fo...