Blue Rose Poetry

Always whispering. I know they hate me. I am fat. Why am I lazy? Never inviting. I know they avoid me. I am lonely. Why am I rude? Always laughing. I know they mock me. I am sad. Why am I odd? Never supporting. I know they see. I need them. Why am I me? Sign in to see full entry.

They call them twisters around these parts We drill all spring in their honor Children get safety lectures All respect their power Tornado alley Is where I live Run to the Basement Quick! This is not exactly an original idea, but I had fun playing with it, my one and only nonet. Sign in to see full entry.

Red is not just a color red can be felt. when you are in love you feel your cheeks flush red red with desire for that first kiss red with lust for that first touch when you are angry you see the red from within yourself red red with the need to lash out red with the heat of the rage inside when you are embarrassed you feel your stomach flip red red with regret red with the want to take it back when you are red, you are alive the red flows in your veins red it surges and pumps without it, you are... Sign in to see full entry.

October drifts by; compelling landscape green to yellow. Bouncing withered generations of autumnal leaves, ghostlike ancestral patterns, into shadows.... Sign in to see full entry.

Modern man marvels at material wealth. Worth is not grounded on morals or manners, but on magnificence and money. Personal profiles are plentiful with portrayals of physical perfection. Women wonder why wardrobes are worn which epitomize the perception that the wearer would act a whore. Fads feature food as forbidden fruit. Fashion fosters fear of fat. Families feast on fast food in a frenzy of festivities and fun. Perhaps, as parents ponder particular pleasures for their progeny, the importance... Sign in to see full entry.