meagan. (pinched) wrote in __amatory_verse,

  • Music:

mod// POM voting begins today.

Sorry for the inactivity. I'm busy. I have no other excuse.

Hmmm, well. We're going to try something new this time around. This is for POM for May, by the way.

- IF YOU DO NOT VOTE THIS MONTH, YOU WILL BE OUSTED FROM THE COMMUNITY. Kapish? I'm tired of only 4 people voting...soooooooo, if you want to be here, you'll participate. Simple as that. No, I probably won't do this every month.

- The voting will take place over the next five days.

- Vote for your favorite. If you don't remember what the theme was, go back and find it. ^_~

- You know the drill. Vote in the comment subject, a reason or two why in the comment body.

- The entires are


She walked the streets of New York.

From square to square of concrete, her mind

Wanders with her. My mother wasn't

Expecting, for the first time

To look up and see

The man himself.

She said, "Excuse me, Mr. Trump,

I thought you should know

You are the reason I am alive. You open my

Eyes to reality and my

Heart to love. I survive

On a diet of gossip

About you."

With a strange look, he turned away, but she

Continued. "Well, my heart consumes

Your life

And my eyes only see

What they want to.

Except, when you're around,

I see 3 dimensions

Instead of my usual 1.

I may not be your cup of tea and

You may not be listening to me

But how do you know you've lost if

You claimed defeat

From the minute you began?"

Of course, she was being blunt.

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes gleaming

With the hope of a child

On the night before Christmas. You see,

She is married but

My father bowls on Fridays.

So this is accepted

As a compromise.

She never claims defeat.

Even as he was nearly a block away,

She followed in her bootleg jeans,

Her purse flailed about her as she ran

And onlookers gawked

At her shamelessness.

"I will give you a keychain

As a token of my love

For the hair that allows me

To enter a world

With fullfillment and lust.

You have the pout of a model and

The modesty of a millionaire and

I think I fell

In love

With that."

Through Jimmy Vaughan's Eyes
my brother
with a frail,
soft voice
that trembles slightly
when you talk to him.
he sounds small
and speaks-
but tenatively
shyly, and not unlike
a small child
hiding behind his mother's
soft ivory hands.

he'd watch the blues guitarist
play every day
and his voice
by contrast
was full
and throaty
scratchy and
gin soaked
rattling your bones
and his guitar neck
as its strings bent
along to the heartbreak
in the bluesman's voice.

after the shows
he'd talk to the guitarst
that like him
the guitarist
had the heart of a bear
yet still retained
the humility
of a mouse.

my brother
would then run home
with his scrawny little legs
practicing his scales
that I could hear
through the paper thin walls.
and as I laid in bed, I knew
even if my brother
had the meekness of a kitten,
his passion ran deeper
than the stormy blue seas,
and his guitar
roared like a lion
when his hands

On that blissful, blustery mid-March day,
my mother, in her green High's smock,
met the man of her dreams.

No, not my father, you twit,
but the man she'd always dreamed
of meeting.
The one who makes her melt inside,

the one who, in her mind's eye,
knows her innermost desires, and has
fulfilled them
each time she dreams of him.

Who would have thought
that he'd be in this little old town ...
this tiny, little one-horse town called
New Market?

Just long enough to stop in
and grab a cup of coffee
and a 'freshly baked' doughnut

from my mother's store,
in this little nothing-of-a-town,
at five-thirty in the morning.

Running about, getting the store
she heard a tap-tap-tap
at the front door.

Not normally caring who knocks
before time,
she looked up and noticed
that it was him--

all decked out in his
fine silk suit and his dark glasses,
trying to disguise himself.

she knew immediately who it was.
Quickly running to the back room,
she "fixed herself up."

As she got back to the front,
she feared he'd left,
her 'tall, dark and handsome' wasn't

Thinking it a dream,
she unlocked the door
and stepped out to look.

In a rush, almost knocking her over,
he hurried by to get his coffee--
black, one sugar, and a creme-filled donut.

When he'd paid for his breakfast, he said,,
'So sorry 'bout that, I'm in a rush.'
And Frankie Avalon walked out the door.
. They are also few.

Ready, set, go.
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