STICKS AND STONES

Words are deadly weapons
with a power of their own
meant to kill the spirit
and tear into the soul...
an insidious poison frozen
in time and space
a wound that bleeds again
with each memory
and each new cruelty
that violates the sense of Self
and the essence that defines
our uniqueness and betrays
our vulnerability

My name is K Elly

You like writing long stories
I like making em tall
so as you are now in Sydney
an Aussie Joshy is friendly with me
I have never met him
he is tall and a blonde...
cutey and a lovely beauty

go befriend him
he is young like you
and his name is Joshy too
convert him from gayism
will you?
to be a handsome guy
rich like or along with you..

You are a lovely gal I know
from a place
where another of my pal comes also

candy floss
the glitter gloss
like poison in its glass
she swallows the pills
feels her soul gasp
shudders her heart
feelings life pass
she walks her runway
green eyes mean
she drives too fast
in her lovers machine
Dolce Gabbana
and internet love
in the blackness of
ravens
she gives like a Dove

..

If the tide of life is rising,
will you stand to face the storm?
When you risk the fear of falling,
remember where you have come from.

You tell your heart to keep on carry on
though you never know where hope has gone.
You know the truth, you're born as champion
within your mental vision, you'll live the moment.

If it feels as if you're choking,
and despair is slowly growing,
embrace your faith, keep striving on,
Then you'll see your hopes, reborn!

the legible conundrums of the sweeping wings of an albatross
though the breath of the morning
where the crickets initiate their assidous toil
milk mingled of negligence to dystrophic awaited death
and the gullible faltered malady
amidst the lachrymose songs of gloam

belles dulcimer of the tattered sheets
is graphite ensembled of glass bread
spent fumes on the patter of earthenware
glittering the cluster of overcrowded necropolis
gone dusk feasible of the unripe animalculum
that sneaks to glimpse his share of earth

Thank the two for their creation
to whom we owe our existence
if not the fun they'd that day
we would not be here today

Whatever be they had that day
thank the two for their creation
may be a toast they raised that night
that helped them to get it pretty right

A boy, girl or would there be twins?
crossed fingers and sweet dreams
thank the two for their creation
for some nine months of abstention

the snow falls
and every beautiful created
individual
reminds me
it will break
and shatter
melt
obscurity
in its totality

I lay and lay
the cold seeping
welcoming
the moisture
from each perfection
like a tear
kisses from heaven

the tether breaks
its delicate
pressure
parted

THE SHUNNING

I hope to stay another day
or two or more
as far as the years allow
and when I'm gone
I wonder who will remember
my rhymes and metaphors.
I did leave a bit of myself
to see deep in my poetry
hard to find at times beyond
the occasional flaw...
but not enough to close the door.