Temptation

by Carol Brown ©

Reach

I am the first woman that you kissed.
Your lips, oh how you made me ache.
We are seeds blowing across a field,
you're going one direction and I the
other.
We have had passion and love, we've
made love on cold and mean winters
and on those hot steamy nights.

You and I are fading but at different
speeds...we both know how it all ends.

We have met...

We brought our love here and made.


Carol Brown ©

Spam Report

Progress.

Why didn't I think of this?

From: Etch A Sketch
Subject: Etch A sketch wired for your TV

Why not wire an Etch A Sketch directly to the brain, a good way to conserve electricity, eh?

And. This.

From: Sara Toga
Subject: Snack bar prostheses.

Sara, Sara, Sara... are you lonely?

.......................................


Subject: Unformalness expostulatively poetastress <--meth induced, clearly.

What's going on out there and do we really want to know?

Happy Birthday Baby

It's my birthday. I am now 100 years old and I don't look a day younger. We were going to do a sawdust firing today but it's been raining on & off. Guess we'll just sit on our asses and eat cake.

So... Carol, how ya gonna' blow out 100 candles hm?


Spam 'subject' of the day.

From: Maritza Anaya.
RE: "On swimming the incoherent undergone."

(I think that this would be a good title for my next poem.)


The Incoherent Undergone

With trepidation and an uncanny organized chaos,
I swam deep into the weedy incoherent undergone.
And through the murkiness of vague memories I
had a sudden yearning for pistachio pudding.
I asked myself Carol when you're swimming in
the sacred incoherent undergone why do you allow
yourself to be tempted by those sensual mini
marshmallows blended with the tongue dancing
textures of the ever so exotic nut and pineapple pulp?

Perhaps this is yet another rhetorical question I tend to ask myself too often oftentimes.

Yet, I continue to wallow in the depths of whipped
cream when I should be searching in the almighty
incoherent undergone.
A life devoid of undergones filled with nothing but
long ago bygones because I am unwilling to accept
that which is unacceptable.

Again I digress....where was I?

Oh yes. I was drifting in the weedy world of the incoherent undergone.

Actually, the 'weedy' in which I refer to is called Eurasian water milfoil. Pesky and prolific but the bass love it. Hell, early this morning I snagged an eight pound small mouth using a dead fly which I swatted yesterday but forgot to pick up.

Now. Back to my poem...

---

De Incoherent Undergone
-Dialectized in jive-

Wid trepidashun and an uncanny o'ganized chaos,
I swam deep into de weedy incoherent undergone.
And drough de murkiness uh vague memo'ies,
ah' had some sudden yearnin' fo' pistachio puddin'.
I ax'ed mah'self, Carol when youse swimmin' in
de sacred ncoherent undergone why do ya' allow
yo'self to be tempted by dose sensual mini
marshmallows blended wid de tongue boogeyin'
textures uh de eva' so 'esotic nut and pineapple pulp?

Perhaps dis be yet anoda' rheto'ical quesshun I tend t'ax' mah'self too often oftentimes.

Yet, ah' continue t'wallow in de depds uh
whipped cream when ah' should be searchin' fo'
de almighty incoherent undergone.
Mah' life devoid uh under-gones filled wid
nodin' long ago bygones cuz' I's gots'ta be
unwillin' t'accept dat which be unacceptable.

Again, ah' digress....where wuz I?

Oh yeah dude, ah' wuz driftin' in de weedy wo'ld uh incoherent undergone.

Actually, de 'weedy' in which ah' refa' to be called Eurasian wata milfoil; Pesky and prolific but da damn bass love it. Man! Hell, early dis mo'nin' ah' snagged an eight pound large moud usin' some wasted fly which ah' swatted yesterday but fo'gots'ta pick down. Now, so cut me some slack, Jack.

Back t'de poem. WORD!...


Carol

Waiting...

For the sunset.






"The sun is sinking into the heart
of silence next to the hum of light
where the water ripples...."


Verse is from: Of Wings and Heartbreak.




Digital art created using Corel Photo-Paint8

Carol ©

The Scent of Midnight

"She tumbled all the way down into a well filled with midnight magnolias..."

Shuck & Jive

AB positive flowin' through my veins while he's catchin' a glassy eyed lap dancer burstin' in the air all powdery like bug bombs 'splodin on a red hot licorice night. He'll kindly take her home, set up the bed with his fine bone china 'n serve her those sweet little finger sandwiches in hopes that she be lickin' his pâté what for his efforts 'n all.

Myself, I ain't got nothin' 'cept some copper regrets 'n mah eyes still got scars from them penny arcade nights of ridin' my thoughts dizzy on the eternal carousal counterclockwise no less.


With apologies to Bob Dylan...

They call it the blowin' in the wind syndrome, it's a simple twist of fate but don't think twice a hard rains a-gonna fall. Just above the Nashville skyline I'm knockin' on heaven's door where Mr. Bojangles is dancin' his dance and all the tired horses on desolation row long for the changing of the guards But...it's not dark yet. I'm a girl from the north country seen many a shooting star and just like a woman I threw it all away to be alone with you. Take me to the gates of Eden give me one more night make love to me baby until I'm all tangled up in blue.






C.B.